The Illusion of Moral Cohesion

I sometimes think many of us feel an imperative to represent ourselves as having moral cohesion.

I don’t know about you, but my moral life is messy at the best of times. Let’s get specific by choosing a way in which I strive to be moral, but frequently disappoint myself: in living an anti-racist life. 

There are things I do which I can say are oriented towards relating to different cultures and/or ethnicities, staying open to people of colour as they feel emboldened to be authoritative in ways which white Australians might censor or negate… when I locate that tendency to censor and negate within myself, I try to a) calm down, and b) ask questions which can get me to a more accepting place. The goal is to create space for people of colour to be themselves - messy, imperfect, variable - and still worthy. 

Now, I have personally benefitted from the knowledge of many feminists of colour, such as Bell Hooks, Audré Lorde and Sara Ahmed… But…

In my messiness, I have not always been able to be as generous to someone like Sara Ahmed as I can now see as ideal. For example, I articulated to myself the value of analysing the emotional states that feminism often results in (Sara writes of feeling like an ‘affect alien’ in ‘Living a Feminist Life’, describing, for example, feeling out of sync with the rest of society as they might laugh at a joke in which the punch line depends of gender stereotypes). But for ages I put undue focus on what I regarded as the least rewarding part of the book, its word-play. 

Browsing through Amazon.com reviews of ‘Living a Feminist Life’, I noted that just about everybody else was too enthralled with the revolutionary insights of the narrative to bother complaining at all. But, reader, I insisted that what I now experience as a minor flaw, ought to be duly called out. This eventually ended with me being passive-aggressive to a feminist I met on the internet who had noted that Sara Ahmed was one of her favourite authors. I regret this.

Rather than a tidy, open-and-closed case of me having been morally dubious (being overly critical of a Black woman, then being micro-aggressive to a woman of colour about it), and having atoned for it by recognising my rightful position as an admirer and amplifier of Ahmed’s work, and going forth into the world with more ardent anti-racism… I don’t mind sharing that I have made similar mistakes since, and will probably continue to make them in the future. 

I strive to be fair and just to everybody, but is it even realistic to expect constant adherence to this perfectionistic standard? As a white person in a white supremacy, I am a product of my environment, and I unconsciously act out what I have been taught… until I catch myself in the act, back off, get calm… and curious. Reflect, and change… Then reinforce the strengths in my anti-racism and expand upon them. 

But one thing I cannot offer is moral certitude, moral cohesion, or moral consistency. If my morality is a painting, it is constantly rearranging itself. Sometimes I am pleased with myself. Sometimes I am not. I notice I am more pleased if I opt out of representing myself as morally cohesive. Removing the pressure to be perfect creates space for more self-compassion, and giving myself permission to fail ironically gives me more freedom to take more risks. Self-compassion and a growth mindset helps me grow: as an anti-racist and as a person with moral agency.

Morally messy - that is how I am. It’s a relief to be open about it, and it would make me happy if I could encourage someone to feel more comfortable with their messy, ambiguous self. I am still worthy - and so are you.

Some Further Thoughts on Travel

Don't wait for the 'perfect' time to visit a country

In 2019 I enjoyed reading Shani Silver's 'Every Single Day' column in Refinery29.com (US). Shani's witty, conversational style defended single (hetero) women against social expectations of coupling up. She disavowed peer judgement for not having married, and other intrusive negations of her and others' single state. Defiantly feminist, she described the pleasures of sleeping starfish-style on a double bed, being soothed by your lovely pet, and the freedom to pursue a Parisian vacation on a whim. 

So I was a little surprised when Shani wrote that she was interested in experiencing Italy for the first time, but was saving it for the day when she could travel with a romantic partner.

I think to confine Italy to a solely romantic function is to bypass all the incredible experiences you can have in this country. What about viewing its exalted art, either by staying for a while in one of its larger metropolitan areas, or pursuing a path through several different cities, perhaps with a theme? Indulging your tastebuds multiple times a day with uniquely delicious dishes? Browsing the latest, impeccable fashion, or admiring the design of everything from moccasins to Murano glass? Finding an inspiration of your very own in one of many extravagantly ornamented churches? Discovering the motivations behind that colourful character you just fell into a conversation with, and trying to figure out to what extent they are an outlier of society or to what extent they fit right in? Joining in the passeggiata (the leisurely evening stroll with possibilities for socialising) and enjoying the cadences of the language, the theatricity of the hand movements and the fun of socially acceptable flirting? Admiring the hues of sunlight as they disperse further warmth onto the residential buildings coated in yellows, oranges and pinks?

When it comes to a large nation that's well-established in the tourist industry, finding pleasure there that has nothing to do with romance (in the strictest sense) is easy. If you really want to visit Italy, trust the many solo women travellers that have already made it there, and had an optimal experience. Who knows, maybe when you meet a romantic partner down the road, you can show them your favourite places, basking in the knowledge that they are benefitting from your experience. (Visiting the same place twice can also be a wonderful source of pleasure.) But even if it's just for you and you alone, you deserve to live in the moment and make the most of how things are right now. 

Reflecting on Travel Privilege

While I can't say I am the most privileged person in the world, I can say that I have privilege in the following ways: 

- I am white

- My family is financially stable, and middle-class

- I have time to travel

- I speak English fluently

- I have a passport from a nation in the Global North

- I have dual citizenship with an EU country

- I am cisgender

- I am able-bodied

My unique set of circumstances allows me to travel overseas every year, something which is inaccessible to the majority of the world’s population. I haven’t always been aware of just how lucky this makes me!

Ten years ago, I would occasionally try to implement a screen on friendships, where they would have to have travelled to at least two continents other than the one they were usually on. I became more open-minded with time, and currently pleased say that this defence mechanism no longer applies.

These days, I am open to friendships with people for whom travel is not a priority (or who simply can’t afford the luxury). I have learnt from the kindness and intelligence of many a colourful, well-rounded soul… and now know that you can be open to experience without ever having left your home continent. That you can appreciate other ethnicities without having witnessed their country of origin first-hand. That you can be wildly imaginative without moving between different locales. What makes someone appealing is their inner world. (And there are many well-travelled people who are emotionally unavailable.)

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There is a different aspect to travel privilege which has caught my attention recently, which will be more relevant for those who find themselves in the travel community. The following short video introduces it:

I’d like to add that all travel joy is valid travel joy. In my twenties I ran around as many major cities as possible, visiting 2-3 attractions a day, being alive to every moment... it was fantastic. Nowadays I love getting to know locals and immersing myself in different cultures... it is also fantastic. Travel in a way that is aligned with your values, and you'll find yourself in the company of like-minded people. Together, we can build solidarity. 

Trans Literacy & Feminism

It’s still popular to refer to the “opposite” sex (or gender), which represents the idea that femininity and masculinity are mutually exclusive. But when I think of a trans person, I see their capacity for a variety of gender performances. They contain multitudes? Their body is the site of aspects of both what is considered traditionally feminine and traditionally masculine? 

There are no two trans people alike, but a feminist trans woman doesn’t change from considering herself a full (non-objectified) human being to a being that is as a collection of body parts (which must all be embellished to make them acceptable to the heterosexual male gaze). One would hope that the feeling that one is an integral, coherent organism would stay with her, no matter the new standard the world offers when she starts presenting as a woman. 

To be awake to the possibilities of all things transgender is to enhance one’s feminism. It’s like a superpower. When emotions (like anger, or crying in sadness) aren’t tethered to gender, emotions can proliferate. Any person can contain the full emotional spectrum. Right now a traditionally gendered person cannot legibly claim possession of the full emotional spectrum, e.g. the ability to punch a wall in anger AND weep openly in public. 

As far away as it may seem, I still think the best thing we can do for public health is to transition into a gender neutral society. Let today’s extremes of femininity and masculinity fade away. I, for one, won’t miss them. In my ideal future, I regard myself as an authoritative being, and am regarded as such by the people I come into contact with. I relate to those beings with kindness and empathy, humour and integrity. I have more freedom to move because my gender performance is not policed. 

I think the more trans literate you are, the more pathways you create for reaching your full potential as a human.

The Right to be Hairy

Q: Why should there be one set of rules for cis men's leg and underarm hair, and another for cis women's and non-binary people's?

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Ever since teenagerhood I've observed the growth of innocent little hairs over my legs and underarms, and wondered why people waste time and money on obliterating their existence. The natural function of body hair is to allow the retention of heat, and to show that the individual has reached a certain maturity in their development. Yet we are taught to revile body hair in approximately half the population. 

When it became apparent that all my schoolfriends were mercilessly waging war on their bodies, I half-heartedly figured I'd join them. I tried creams which were messy, time-consuming and immobilised me physically for the amount of time it took for them to kick in. They achieved the desired effect - for a few days, that is. After that, it was time to repeat it all like a good masochist. I thought perhaps waxing would get it over with quicker - surely it couldn't be so painful if it was wildly popular? But it turned out that the pain was as acute as I had initially guessed. Why were so many of us willing to submit ourselves to this torture? I decided never to tear out my hair from the roots again. After a while the annoyance of using the creams led me to meditate on the regrowth and decide... what would be so bad about leaving it there? It seemed to resurface for a reason, and it wasn't bothering me. I would let nature run its course.

Due to attending a selective all-girls high school, most of my friends declined from commenting on my legs, but I did have an unpleasant experience when one acquaintance pointed to them and laughed. However, I felt comfortable enough in my own skin to shrug it off. I even believe I got the last laugh, because I have rejected the shame the patriarchy encourages me to feel. On the contrary, I feel proud of what I have achieved in integrating my body hair into a positive self-image. These days I mostly wear long pants, but on the occasion that my leg hair is visible in public I emotionally prepare myself for occasional derision from strangers, knowing that I am strong enough to handle it. 

It occurs to me that subscribers to the patriarchy prefer not to treat cis women as mature, grown, full human beings. They would rather infantilise and patronise them. A cis woman without body hair looks (and feels) more like a pre-pubescent girl than an adult. It's easier to treat her like an immature or underdeveloped being whose function is to be restricted, controlled and dehumanised. 

I have different ideas about the way I show up in the world. I surround myself with people who respect what I do (or, in this case, what I don't do) with my body. My friendships are egalitarian. If I'm to have a relationship in the future, it will be with someone who treats me as an equal, whether their gender predisposes them to this or not. I consider life to be too short not to allow my body hair take up its rightful place in it. I hope I can inspire my readers to revise the way they see norms and beauty standards around this.

The Hairdressers of Hannover

In 2011 I met a bubbly Taiwanese feminist who made international headlines for marrying herself. Only was her name, and she wanted to make a statement about the pressure placed on women to submit to the institution of (heterosexual) marriage. 'Why not have a solo honeymoon after my self-celebration?', she had thought, and this was how she came to be staying in Sydney. 

Something I learned about Only's philosophy of travel was that she had a habit of getting a haircut in each country she visited. She was ready to meet whatever version of the local fashion and beauty standard she was presented with on the day - an act of optimism I found delightful. While subjecting one's follicles to the whims of (so-called) "foreign" stylists may not everybody's idea of a fun time, incorporating this tactic into my travels has been a source of (tactile and conceptual) pleasure, not to mention an opportunity to find out more about the culture. 

So I was stretching my legs around my local neighbourhood on my first week of Hannover, when I noticed the sign that signaled 'hairdresser', and quickly rearranged my steps. It was modestly decorated with lots of white space, but I could see that every chair was filled, and imagined a small but loyal clientele. I entered the space and waited for one of the employees to pause their work. When one of them did, I encountered a problem so common that I was surprised I hadn't planned for it in advance: they didn't speak English. This can still be saved, I thought, pulling out Google Translate on my smartphone... 

But after several slow and awkward attempts to set up an appointment and indicate some preferences through the technology, it became apparent that this was an ineffective way to do things. For one thing, I wanted to be able to communicate that I like tying my hair back, so it needed to be long enough to allow this. This seemed hopelessly convoluted a thing to type into my device. The delay between forming an idea and communicating it dampened my enthusiasm, and after a while I gave up, thanked the employee and walked out.

'Just because I can't get my hair cut at *this* hairdresser doesn't mean that I can't get my hair cut at all,' I comforted myself, and realised there would probably be more English speaking businesses clustered around the central suburbs. So I hopped on the next tram into town, and didn't have to walk for long before I saw a rather upmarket-looking salon, complete with mood lighting, designer carpets and posters of fabulous models. 

Inside, the team were friendly and welcoming in a way the previous people hadn't been, and enough of them spoke English so that they could put together the pieces of what this non-local was after. Charmed by my new stylist's soft gaze and energised by complimentary tea, I wondered what they were visualising as they started implementing their vision. Clearly they enjoyed their job and felt relaxed enough to return my smile. If you had asked me I would have guessed that they had not left Europe - there was a surety to their perspective that I find in people who have not experienced other continents first-hand. But that's just a guess.

Having someone stand so close to you and touch your head can communicate a lot, even if they don't speak to you. I guessed that my stylist was a cis woman who was straight, and beauty was an important part of her day. She wore a dark red top made of quality materials, suggesting a bold elegance. Her lined brows were aesthetically pleasing, and I found myself approving of them, even though I don't usually value makeup.   

I found myself with a hairstyle that had a lot of volume, and a complexity which I enjoyed. Some stylists don't "get" the waviness of my hair, but I felt this one had been appreciative of its multi-facetedness. 

I had allowed myself to be modified by my environment, which made me feel more attuned to the stylistic quirks of Germany. More confident, both in blending in and standing out, I wondered what other aspects of Europe I could embrace.

Sense of Loss

I am looking at a world in which attending public events is not safe from a coronavirus point of view. Prior to the pandemic, I entertained myself by watching films at independent and mainstream cinemas, or being in the audience for talks, panels and discussions. It not only brought variety to my life, but helped me (witness and) take part in the cross-pollination of ideas in a city which can feel anti-intellectual. 

I miss this. It was with grave reluctance that I cancelled my (free) ticket to see Mona Eltahawy speak at UNSW. I want to be around other feminists and observe how they make sense of the vicious misogyny we all have to put up with these days. I haven't yet had the courage to cancel my ticket to see Gaia Vince (the author of Nomad Century) at the same venue. I have vague fantasies of finding a seat in the back row, or as far away from others as possible, making it in and out safely. With my mask, of course. 

Will I ever attend a comedy show at the Opera House again? A concert at Sydney Olympic Park? 

It's not looking good. 

And so, I grieve.