subliminal tyranny: For our mothers, daughters, sisters, friends...

One hundred years ago, on this very day, 15,000 women took to the streets of New York City to demand better working conditions, the anniversary of which then came to be known as "International Women's Day". I must say, this day is bittersweet, as it is a shame women still need to march to be treated as human beings, though at the same time encouraging to see the sheer will and determination of people, women and men alike, to see an end to oppression of all forms.

I wish I could provide a more insightful piece, but alas, I do not know what it means to live life as a female of the species, so I hope you will forgive my inadvertently ignorant statements, should you happen to notice any - I am hopeful you will also bring them to my attention. All I can do is share my experience - as a boy, then a man - in relation to women.

I suppose the best place to begin is at my point of entry into this world twenty-eight years ago, almost to the day: after carrying me in her womb for nine months and providing me nourishment and comfort, she endured countless hours of grueling labour to grant me life on my own. Since that time, she supplied me the nourishment, shelter and compassion I required. She stood by as I stood on my feet for the first time. She worked herself to the bone to ensure my siblings and I were properly fed and had everything we needed. She washed our clothes, kept our home and acted as our chauffeur, all the while holding job after job after job. Only in my adult years did I begin to appreciate the sacrifices she made for her family, nearly being driven mad in the process (here, I nearly wrote "nearly driving herself mad" before quickly recanting, for it was not she who facilitated this "near-madness", but those of us around her). I am eternally grateful for all my mother has done; I marched today, in part, for her.

As a boy, I primarily hung around other boys, and quickly learned how our female counterparts were viewed. Talk of "Boy, what I would give to fuck so-and-so" and "That stupid bitch/hoe" and "Stop being such a pussy!" hung in the air like mustard gas: one could not help being intoxicated by them, and intoxicated I was, frequently spending Saturday nights watching pornography and denigrating women with my male chums. In an effort to try to "be one of the boys", I succumbed to this chicanery. Perhaps that's why I was so afraid to approach girls in my youth: my male comrades had instilled in me the notion that women were things to fuck, and should be approached accordingly. Only in my adult years do I see the error in my ways. If only I didn't allow myself to fall into that trap... but then how do these boys construe women in this manner? Hormones? Media portrayal? "Wisdom" from the elder males? Competition amongst one another over who gets "the prize"? All of the above, and more? I marched today, in part, for the men I know who consume pornography, who frequent the strip clubs, who are bombarded by advertisements featuring scantily-clad women of "ideal" proportion, each of whom capable of violence - physical, psychological, sexual - towards women, myself included.

As for the day's events, I was thoroughly moved by the speeches and performances at the rally, and by the dedication of the attendees, who marched through the snowy, blustery, bitterly cold streets of downtown Toronto this Saturday afternoon. Of course, the Trotskyist Leagues (all sixty of them) were out in full force; I asked representatives of two of them why there are so many, and why they allow political and philosophical differences to drive wedges between them, and how they expect a revolution to happen if each believes it is right and the rest wrong. During the course of the day, I couldn't help but ponder, after so many years immersed in "masculinity", how much easier I feel I can relate to women: my dearest friend is a woman, and I am more comfortable relating to my mother than my father.

The march concluded with a fair, which included an information session, workshop, and live music: the time for rubbing of elbows was now at hand, meaning time for me to take my leave. I wanted to stay and chat with people, but I have a hard time doing so. I couldn't help feeling alone and let down; did I really belong here? Perhaps because I felt such a high at the rally and during the march, I allowed myself to feel this way. No matter, though; I'm glad I made the effort to show my support for the women in the world: for my mother; for my sister; for my aunts and cousins; for my friends; for the workers and caregivers, mothers and daughters, sisters and friends, who continue to live under patriarchal rule, who yearn for the day when they can finally stand on equal footing with their male counterparts, when we men finally view them as they ought to be viewed: as human beings.

The strength of Man has been lauded since time immemorial, though it pales in comparison to the strength of Woman, for all She has endured.

2008/03/09: As promised, I have included some photographs I snapped yesterday, for your viewing pleasure. I apologize to those whose names have escaped my fragile, marijuana-plagued memory.