Okay. I give in. I've got two ovaries and a uterus, a husband, three kids and seven grandchildren. I should have known better, but I've betrayed my own kind; my Feminist-First-and-Foremost Friends have finally convinced me. It is time for a woman in the White House. A smart woman. A real woman.
I like men just fine. My husband's a really nice guy. I've got a son and grandsons I adore. But male leadership seems to have gotten us in such trouble we probably need a woman to straighten things out. There's plenty of conventional wisdom to support the gender change in the Oval Office:
Aside from advanced degrees or political savvy, smart woman, a real woman, brings invaluable life-experience to the table. We're experts in health and human services, economics, education and diplomacy. Ask any real woman with a family what she does. She keeps her house in order, sees to it meals provide essential nutrients, stretches every damned dollar, oversees (and often explains) homework assignments, settles domestic disputes. She is the one responsible for explaining why little Mikey can't whale the tar out of every kid he doesn't like or take some other poor kid's toy away from him just because little Mikey thinks he needs it. She's the one who explains why little Sally can't spread nasty stories about kids on her hit list--especially when she knows full well they're not true. This woman prizes peaceful resolution to conflict, sharing the wealth and honesty.
A woman is far less likely to send other women's children off to war. We're the ones who carried those kids--before and after birth. We're the ones who bandaged scrapes and cuts, soothed our frightened, wounded children. We know, first hand, how fragile they are, how easily they bleed. We're the ones who remember what our babies smelled like, how warm and soft and sweet they were. And we're more apt to understand that everyone on earth, no matter their race, culture, religion or sexual orientation, is some mother's child. Just like our own.
Women would rather talk than fight. We believe in hashing everything out. We are quick to explain why we feel the way we do, why we do the things we do and we want to understand those same dynamics in our interactions with those around us. We demand two-way communication. Ask our husbands. Aggravating? Yes. Time consuming? Yes. Worth the effort to save the family? You bet.
A woman is unlikely to go too far down the wrong road. A bad neighborhood makes us nervous and, unlike most men we know, we don't mind admitting we're lost. We're quick to stop and ask for directions.
A woman in a lousy mood will find someone to talk to, cry, eat chocolate or plant a new bed of perennials. Daisies, maybe. A man? He's more apt to holler and posture like the Naked Ape. Or tear down the garage. Men like their Big Tools.
But a woman knows that words are often better tools than sledgehammers and that, if the only tool you think you've got is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. Even someone else's children.
So. When we are caught in a senseless, bloody war; when somebody's children are being displaced or maimed or dying by the millions; when this man's world is neglecting poverty, disease, injustice, and genocide; when our economy is circling the drain and 47 million of us have no health insurance and our kids are not learning enough to succeed in a global economy and big business types are getting richer by the down-sizing, outsourcing minute while the rest of us are losing our jobs, our homes and our dignity; when our government ceases to hear us and lies to us about damn near everything ...It's patently obvious that the time has come for the thoughtful, patient, unflappable, intellect-over-the-Big-Hammer approach to governance. It's time for civility. It's time for honesty and humane public policy.
And that's why--
I can't do it. Hillary Rodham Clinton touts thirty-five years of experience as the reason she's the best and brightest hope for positive change. Were it true, that would be the thirty-five years that got us where we are now. She's chosen the posturing Naked Ape, Big Hammer option, not once but twice. There's been little thoughtful, patient, unflappable civility in the campaign that bears her name. She's toyed with facts. In New Hampshire, about being the better pro-choice candidate. In Ohio, about being against NAFTA. And she's lied to us. Lied. Big time. She did not "misspeak" about running the bullet-fire gauntlet in Tuzla. Saying "I misspoke" implies a little slip of the tongue. A tiny lapse. I don't care how sleep-deprived you are, you don't mistake hugging a child on the tarmac with dodging gunfire.
And worse: A smart woman, a real woman, does not take her child along on a trip "too dangerous for the president." To try selling the rest of us that fiction is appalling.
Smart women, real woman, feminists, know when they've been manipulated. We've had plenty of sad experience in that department and we expect better from one of our own. We want more than just any woman in the White House. We want feminist principles in a campaign and in the Oval Office. If we have to vote for a man to get them, we will.