Judith

Judith and I can’t remember when we last saw each other. She was passing through Portland today and we grabbed the chance to reconnect. We were close friends in the 70s when we both lived in New Orleans and were part of a thriving community of women who threw ourselves passionately into the work of dismantling white supremacy, patriarchy, and the class system. We set up rape crisis centers and battered women’s shelters, we established women’s centers, we demanded birth control for all who wanted it, advocated for abused children, marched for the Equal Rights Amendment and to “Take Back the Night.”  We created art that celebrated women, we called ourselves lesbians, we stood up to domination and oppression. We were never compliant with the system, never wanted to “fit in.” One of the bonds between us is that we were both working-class girls; we knew poverty and powerlessness, and we knew what it was to stand alone without parental support or parental money, in ways our middle-class comrades didn’t. Judith and I needed each other, respected each other, cheered for each other as we worked our way through university and supported our children with no safety net. We saw each other and admired each other, and we sympathized deeply when our children suffered because we weren’t the conventional heterosexual cookie-baking moms they saw on TV. 

It is heartbreaking to see the resurgence of white male domination and unfettered toxic capitalism in all spheres of life in this country. We hope this is the last gasp of that way of life. We see millennials, our grandchildren, rising up to eliminate those oppressive systems, and even though our work took place before the internet and therefore remains mostly invisible, we hope it laid a foundation for theirs.

We look at each other and see ourselves in our thirties, not as we are now; yet we are both amazed to be still alive and able to support the change we have worked for all our lives. “Look,” we say, “we’ve made it this far. We’ve done good work. Who would have thought we’d live this long?” We never imagined ourselves in our seventies, and so we find it surprising to be here. There is a kind of disbelief that sweeps over us when we look in the mirror. And gratitude. Always gratitude. Each day a surprise, a gift, and a wonder, even as hatred rises around us, resulting in so many deaths of black people and in Charlottesville this past weekend.