Who can name all the Presidents of the United States in order?

::Raises hand::

It’s not easy, but I credit my keen scholarly acumen, my dedication to the pursuit of knowledge and the fact that my mind is like a steel trap.

And Warner Brothers.  Don’t forget  Warner Brothers.

I had a friend once who was a scholar studying Ancient Rome.  One day, over a cup of five dollar coffee, he declared in a very resolute, yet soft voice, “What does America really have to offer to humanity?  None of the great art, the great poetry, or anything of cultural value was ever produced here.”

Yes, he was an American.

And, yes, I realized then and now that his statement was a bastardized version of something either Victor Hugo or Oscar Wilde had once said.

But, no, I didn’t agree with him at the time and I still don’t.  I suppose that’s the nature of any conversation about literature or art, though.  Everyone has an opinion, and to some degree everyone is right.

For example, I’ve seen the Mona Lisa, and really, I was not impressed.  It’s a painting of a lady.  It doesn’t say much to me other than people will stand in line for anything.  But, people wrote songs about her, you know, so I guess there’s something there?

Despair is a transforming process, integral to creation, in my opinion.  And, yet, the greatest art can also be the articulation of hope.  The art that appeals to me is the kind that walks the fine line between these two.  A little despair, a little hope, that’s art to me.  Actually, that’s life.

So in my opinion, our artists and writers have competed quite well in the international arena.  America is not short on despair.  Nor on hope.

This piece came to my mind immediately after that statement about a lack of cultural contribution.  And it still does.

Let America Be America Again, Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!

Back when I took History of the Old South, somebody brought up the topic of whether Florida is really part of “The South.”

I never knew this was a topic for debate until that moment. I grew up in the Florida, and, yes, ma’am, why I do consider myself a Southerner.

I mean, sort of.  Minus the legacy of racial tension. Hey, my people were chilling out and drinking lassis when all that nonsense was going down.

Anyway, this past weekend, we went to Savannah for my birthday and as I munched on some of the best fried green tomatoes a human being has ever eaten, I started thinking about that question, “Is Florida really the South?”

I suppose you could define it in terms of the Civil War. Confederate state? Check.

Or whether people have an accent. Most people who grew up here say “Y’all,” “Yes, Ma’am” and “No, sir,” and have a tendency to drop the last letters of their words, as in “goin’ ” or “surfin’.”  Check.

South of the Mason-Dixon line… check.

Racism or racial tension. Ummm. I’m going to go with “check” on that one, too. Trust me.

Hospitality? Hello, we have Disney. So, check.

Although, I think there’s a viable argument to be had in the idea that Disney has actually made Central Florida decidedly less southern with the passing of time.

Sweet tea. Check.

Don’t get me wrong, if there was a big “Who’s the most Southern?” contest between, say, Alabama, Mississippi and Florida, Florida would definitely go running from the stage faster than Kanye on a day he forgot to take his meds, but I stand by the fact that I am a southerner.

Sort of.  Sigh.

Is Florida southern? How do you define “The South”, anyway? And what the hell is rule for capitalizing the word south?

You know there’s a history test that individuals applying for naturalization have to take, right?

And, yes, I’m recycling a (very slightly modified) post from before anybody read my blog.  You got a problem with that?  I figure that people with real jobs (ha, ha) get six weeks maternity leave.  As of Wednesday, I will only be at week four, so expect a few more recycled posts.  This one is about feminism… as the title indicates.  I apologize for the length, but, I was not the succinct and polished blogger that I am today when I wrote the following post (ha ha, again).

**************

I was sitting in the ninth circle of hell yesterday, or what some people call a “training session.”

Just as I was going to try to muster up my long forgotten high school talent of sleeping with my eyes open, our moderator, an unnaturally chipper young woman in her 20s, said, “So, we have such and such speaker coming next month who will be discussing the evolution of the feminist movement over the past few decades in this and that room.”  Then she rolled her eyes and said, “I mean, I’m not a feminist or anything, but, if that’s your thing, you should come.”

After much deliberation I have decided that this young woman simply does not know what feminism really is and that is the only logical explanation why such a bright person would be so negative about feminism.

So, I asked around to find out how other people define feminists. Apparently, people think that feminists are almost always lesbians with an aversion to depilatory procedures who hate men and think the world would be a better place without them.

This is not only untrue, it is just stupid.  I know that’s harsh, but facing up to our stupidity is perhaps the ugliest of all human burdens.

Believing that a feminist is always the above described person (who by the way is a perfectly acceptable sample of a human being) is as stupid as believing that one particular race of people are inferior due to the color of their skin or believing that Lindsay Lohan is never going to rehab again.

So, let’s discuss the American feminist movement as painlessly and quickly as possible.  (Dear College Freshman, do not base your paper on modern feminism on this post, you will get a “C.”)

Feminist movements of the 19th and 20th century centered upon suffrage, or the right to vote.

The feminist movements of the 60s centered upon social issues, such as women’s right to equal access to education, equality in the workplace and reproductive choices (this includes but is not limited to the issue of abortion).  A few feminists in this era burned some bras, but the majority of them, contrary to popular belief, did not.

These days, feminism builds upon these past concepts, but also recognizes that Western women should not be dictating feminist agendas to the world’s diverse populations (or even the diverse populations within their own countries.)

The Oxford American Dictionary defines feminism as “the advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social and economic equality to men.”  If you live in the United States of America, you really should not have a problem with that.

In fact, you should be for that.

If you live outside of the United States, well, according to most new generation feminists, also called “post feminists,” we might not agree with how women are treated in your country, but we believe that they should be the ones who set the agenda for those changes, not us.  (This is a particularly complicated issue, so I’m not going to delve too deeply here.)

I find it ironic that many Americans will roll their eyes at the mention of feminism, but quickly jump on the “Saudi’s need to let their women drive” bandwagon.  Interestingly, we decry feminism at home, but champion its cause as we attempt to denigrate cultures and value systems outside our own with the intent of, at least culturally, subjugating them.

Let me wrap this up by telling you what I believe American feminism is not.

American feminism is not an excuse to point out the flaws of men.  As a matter of fact, many men are feminists, too.  Not because they are afraid their “butch” wives are going to beat them up, but because they believe women are their social, political and economic equals.

Feminism is not a platform aimed at disintegrating motherhood, staying at home or family values.

Feminism is not the reason kids in our society seem to be from another planet (I personally believe this one can be attributed to Nicole Ritchie and Paris Hilton who are, in fact, from another planet).

When someone brings up the movement for racial equality in the United States, do you go out of your way to distance yourself from it?

Do you roll your eyes or get a stupid grin on your face like someone has just said something very funny?

No, you don’t.

Unless of course your white hood and robe are drying on a gentle setting and you’re running a few minutes late for your weekly cross burning.

So, why do Americans do this when the feminist movement is brought up?

I’ll end with the following correspondence, which I have no intention of sending:

Dear Ms. 20-something,

American feminism has a long history, over 130 years in its making.

You don’t have to be feminist if you don’t want to, I don’t mind if it’s not your thing.
However, since you are a woman living in America, I respectfully ask that you appreciate what these women did for you and treat them with more respect by refraining from acting like they are crazy PETA members who throw red paint on celebrities wearing fur.

They gave you choices and opportunities that women in other parts of the world are literally dying to have.

They fought for your right to vote, your right to be educated in any field of your choosing, your right to work in any field of your choice, your right to make decisions regarding your reproductive system, your right to have legal recourse if someone says or does sexually inappropriate things to you in your workplace and many other rights that you now take for granted.

No, feminism may not be your thing, but, Ms. 20-something, feminism is your blessing.

P.S. Please stop calling other women your age “girls.”  Girls play with Barbies and Little Ponies.  You are a woman, as are other women your age.

P.P.S. And stop saying “like” every two minutes.

P.P.P.S.  And don’t bounce when you talk.  It’s distracting.