Up Against The Wall
By Cindy Layton
I try to write honestly. My intention is to write about events that affect women, with depth, in a way that will resonate with them. They might find truth in these experiences because it’s their truth, too. But consider: It’s been more than fifty years since the publication of the Feminine Mystique, thirty-three years since The Handmaid’s Tale, five years since we were arguing earnestly about Lean In. We’re still writing about the same thing. Change is slow.
But wait - women have made advances – they’re doctors, astronauts, supreme court justices. We have power, influence, access.
Until the truth is revealed and it shows we don’t actually have any of that.
Until a booze infused (aka “boofed”) frat boy with a kegged-up libido, a calendar datelining his privilege, and a yearbook chronicling his animus, sends out a hunting call to his brothers.
Until - Poof! In a matter of weeks, the fraudulence of women’s equality is exposed in a way that Margaret Atwood has been warning us of for years. It’s as though the vacuum of a time warp sucked us up and dumped us into the lap of Phyllis Schlafly.
Writing doesn’t seem to be the appropriate salve to an abrupt and forceful body slam against a brick wall. As a writer that’s tough to admit. Maybe that’s more of a feeling than a reality. I have always believed that words are the tools of influence. But right now, words seem wholly inadequate. (The irony is not lost on me that the avenue I pursue here is writing.)
These last several weeks have felt like a whiplashed backslide through the decades that no amount of literature or written commentary can reverse, no matter how widely consumed. Hey, I read The Power. Does that seem like a match for the virulent assertion of dominance that has come blasting back to the mainstream from its hiding place? Consider - relevance is not the same as influence.
The thing about writing is, it can become an echo chamber. Those of us who read The Power are the same ones reading curated articles on Medium and searching through Twitter for anti-Kavanaugh tweets.
People threatened by women’s empowerment (when did I ever think I would write a sentence like this one?) are bringing AR15’s to a knife fight. For them, reading and writing is second rate. They’ve gone to their audience where they live - TV, visual and social media, talk radio. Those choices provide instant gratification, create a cult of personality, and don’t require critical thinking. These mediums are meant for stimulation, and an opportunity to create unity of experience. Think of the audience chanting “Lock Her Up! Lock Her Up!” Animated hordes of emotional people banded together in common cause creates a multiplier effect. Unity creates synergy which amplifies righteousness. Visual imagery implies legitimacy and influence, which becomes magnified beyond actuality.
How does writing begin to stand up to that? It’s rather frightening to consider. Writing and reading are, for the most part, solitary experiences. A written piece is a permanent rendition, a device designed for thoughtfulness, not a pseudo-religious conversion event.
The only answer is to create based on truth of experience. Truth that resonates with readers. That is the advantage writers have. The opportunity for truth.
I also know that writing will face its limits. Truth is absorbed over time. I must be prepared to do other things, take other actions, while I write with all the honesty I can muster.
