June Eric-Udorie (20), Writer: ‘We Need To Centre On The Voices Of The Vulnerable And Marginalised
As a 20-year-old black, lesbian, disabled woman, nothing has felt more frustrating this year than watching the ways in which women like me are erased from the dialogue or forced to pick a side. For instance, I constantly see conversations about whether or not the hijab can be a feminist statement, with few hijab- wearing women weighing in on the discussion. Or white, female celebrities in the #MeToo movement being featured prominently, while black women’s accusations are often sidelined.
In a political climate where there is a fast-growing awareness of how unfairly women have been treated at work and in the home, it’s imperative we make sure certain voices aren’t being left out of the conversation any more. All too often, we’re focusing on the needs and voices of white, heterosexual, able-bodied, affluent women. As someone who’s often felt powerless, either because I’m a black woman or because I’m queer, I would like us to break away from that by centring on the voices of the vulnerable and marginalised.
I’m grateful for the work that’s been done by my elders, but I want more of us to recognise that we aren’t all the same. As the civil rights activist Audre Lorde once said, ‘I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own. Being a young, black woman today, I’m proud to see the ways in which other women like me don’t pander to the white gaze any more. When we’re talking about the issues that affect us, from job insecurities to impostor syndrome, we don’t seek to make others comfortable. We’re loud, difficult and we rock the boat of mainstream feminism, to remind others when we’re being failed. We work to provide a feminism that is truly for all.
All of which means that I’m excited about my future. But terrified too. I’m scared I won’t get into law school and I still put pressure on myself to be perfect; I worry that I won’t fall in love because I still don’t feel good enough; and I wonder how I’ll balance childcare and work. I panic about money: according to a Business Insider survey, nearly 10% of Generation Z (those born between 1995 and 2010, like me) think the number one issue we’ll have to face will relate to debt and the economy. I also worry about being solely responsible for myself, since I don’t have a good relationship with my parents.
Like many my age, I feel alive when I travel and love experiencing new things. But I’m scared about what the future holds and about losing the people I love. I want to be successful and I need to get better at asking for what I want. I guess these hopes, fears and dreams show me that I’m living like a 20-something woman in 2019. What’s telling, though, is that I share the same worries as my mentor, Sheila Anderson, a practising attorney in DC, who graduated in 1983.
Afua Hirsch (37), Writer And Broadcaster: 'I Applaud How Much Better We've Got At Protesting Systems That Hold Us Back
When I was at university, I went to a lecture where I was the only undergraduate in a sea of far older, mostly male, PhD students. I knew one of them, a friend of a friend, but when I said hello to him on the way in, he was rude and dismissive, clearly contemptuous that I was diluting the serious scholarly atmosphere with my 19-year-old female presence. At the end of the talk I asked a question, self-conscious that it wasn’t clever enough, but the effect was astonishing. When the talk was finished, the man who had been so scornful earlier ran up, exclaiming. ‘That was an incredible question! I had no idea you were... you know... so knowledgeable.’
It was a moment in my journey into understanding what my womanhood was going to be like: constantly underestimated for looking young, brown and female; benefiting from privilege because of my class, education and light skin tone and slamming up against disadvantage because of my gender and blackness. Some of these things I learned to work in my favour – sometimes low expectations meant that simply being able to string a sentence together in coherent English, let alone exercise some intelligence, would blow people away.
Other social structures I experience are specifically designed to be inimical, in a society that is still racialised and unendingly patriarchal. I am constantly applauding how much better we have got at naming and protesting the systems that hold us back – but that doesn’t change the fact they’re still there. Now, like many black feminists, I am networked up to the eyeballs among groups geared towards change: feminist groups that are populated by women, often predominantly white, and race-equality groups, which are predominantly black and populated mainly by men. I need these worlds to overlap. Gradually, that’s beginning to happen. We live in paradoxical times, where networking has never been so easy, and so effective. Every year – and especially at this time of year – the number of events, celebrations, and awards ceremonies seems to multiply. I keep thinking how powerful it must be for a new generation of black women to see the achievements of people who look like them be promoted so visibly. I know it would have been a huge source of confidence and reassurance for me growing up.
And yet, it’s complicated. As I advance through my thirties, now a mother too, the reality that society both relies on our work in the family and simultaneously penalises us for it is really sinking in. Events and awards and celebrations don’t by themselves change the structural barriers to equal opportunities – from bias in education to poverty, poor housing and being crowded into low-income work. They simply acknowledge that some women, especially black women, are achieving in spite of them. While the reason for this frenzy of activity is nothing less than four centuries of anti-black- woman propaganda that urgently needs countering, I hear more and more critics lamenting that ‘people like me’ – black women – have ‘never had it so good’. The loss of privilege, minuscule though it has been, hurts for the group losing it.
I can’t separate out my identities, but I do know that looking at the odds against us – as women, mothers and as black people – I don’t always feel like celebrating. I thought that by now we’d be further along than we are. Of course, anything that brings us together has got to be a positive thing. We just can’t let it distract us from the work.
Kay Burley (58), Sky Newsreader: I Refuse To Melt Into The Background
I am absolutely not into man-bashing. I love men. Some of my best life experiences have involved men, but it’s not always been a love affair. I have two successful marriages, so far, and have spent more than 40 years in newsrooms previously populated by sexist and sometimes misogynistic men. I’ve also had my fair share of unwanted attention, but have always approached it as a feisty Wigan street-fighter rather than a victim. Both responses have their merits and disadvantages.
Thankfully, unacceptable behaviour from the weaker sex (men) is changing, though there is still work to be done. Forceful male colleagues are seen as strong and no-nonsense, whereas female counterparts are regularly viewed, in the words of Theresa May, as ‘that bloody difficult woman’. As I canter towards an age when most women feel they have to fight to be heard, I’m determined to blaze a trail for the next generation of female broadcasters. Part of that challenge is dealing with the menopause – a taboo that leaves young, male colleagues shuffling their feet nervously in meetings as I deal with yet another power surge. It leaves me looking like a drowned rat, but I’m not prepared to melt into the background.
Social media and high-definition TV certainly makes the ageing process more of a challenge. Faceless keyboard warriors on Twitter are rude about the fact I’m pushing 60. ‘Why haven’t you retired yet; you’re past your prime,’ are regular rebukes. Well, I’m not. I’ve had a lower face and brow lift and recently experimented with ultherapy. I work out, watch what I eat and also party hard. My mother was dead by my age, but I honestly believe 60 is the new 40. For goodness sake, Jane Fonda is 80!
I, of course, have female role models, including Michelle Obama, Harriet Harman, Fiona Bruce and former US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright, whose famous quote about there being a special place in hell for women who don’t support other women is a life code. Another US politician who made a big impression is Hillary Clinton. She taught me a brilliant life skill: fail to prepare, prepare to fail. I interviewed her several years ago in Washington for IWD. Shaking my hand for the first time, she knew my son’s name, what the weather was like in London and a little about my career. Enough to break the ice and impress. You only get one chance to make a first impression and it was a great one.
But the feminist who has made the most lasting impression on me is my daddy. He taught me and my sister, from the moment we could understand, we should have a healthy disregard for the impossible. That advice has and continues to serve me well.