Boxed

Boxed is what I am. What sort of box you wonder and I can hear honest concern in your voice. If you’re picturing a glossy-eyed puppy whimpering away at the walls of its narrow confinement you are actually pretty close. Just imagine that puppy to be the size of an elephant. That’s me – mother, spouse, but above all female.

How did I get stuck here? How on earth did I get my 12,000 pound elephant ass stuck in a crate that’s half the size of a fridge? Quite effortlessly, actually. After all, as you may have guessed by now, we are not talking about your standard plywood crate. This one is much more airy and yet it is uncomfortably limiting.

I was born to it – a nine-pound female infant. My parents, however, did their best to pretend there weren’t any limitations to my young being. After all, back then the idea was to see children simply as human potential. So, they raised me with a certain amount of benign neglect so that I might become who I could be – instead of who I was supposed to be. Raised in non-conformity, my hair was a tangled mess most of the time, my pants often ripped, and my homework generally sketchy. I preferred matchbox cars to dolls and more often than not I lead rather than follow.

Yet, by the age of four, it had already dawned on me that it was a good idea to stay clear of boys because they seemed prone to inflict pain. I also knew that if I didn’t hide my most prized matchbox cars from them, they would end up chipped and missing doors. Thus, in a subtle way, I had already figured out that in order to survive unscathed I had to make the necessary compromises to avoid violent or destructive behavior by my male peers. Female socialization had set in. The box acquired its first stage mold.

But, hey, it could have been worse. After all, in other parts of this world, say, some poor rural Indian state, the mere fact of being female would have been reason enough to get rid of me before I could have even gotten comfortable in any sort of box.

And the truth is, we all get more or less comfortable in our respective boxes. We settle in, arrange ourselves, and organize our thoughts so they fit the confinements of our existence. In short, we cope. Whether that means avoiding ground-level living and unlit parking structures, or maybe just a pay cut, or higher mark-ups on haircuts.

What good comes from pushing against the walls of social convention, right? Feminism has brought us little but a bad name and the double day. Again, it could be worse. Imagine life under a burqa, for instance. A life without access to education, choice, and human dignity is, in every sense of the word, limited and, yet, most Afghan women find a way to survive that too. It’s just another compromise, right? Life must go on.

And even though my box is much more spacious, as a wife and mother of three I would still be the one who would get royally screwed if it came to a divorce, with no social security to call my own, no line of credit, and no CV to speak of. Knowing that, I would probably be well advised not to let it come to that… However airy it seems, this box is still a box.

Now you may argue that men, too, live in confined spaces of social expectations, norms, rules, and conventions. They can’t, for instance, get up in the morning, yawn, and chirp ‘I feel like wearing a flower dress today’ (just ask those who do…!). Also, being a stay-at-home dad may be considered modern – for a year – but then it’s back to the rat race.

There is, however, a slight but significant difference between the spaces women and men occupy in today’s world. So far, it has been men who assign them. Thus, it comes as no surprise, that men occupy most of the better ones and, in addition, have a finely tuned reward system for the jobs they do. It is widely known, for instance, that they pay each other better wages and that they are prone to promoting each other’s interests, whether that means helping men rise up faster or keeping women from rising too fast.

The fact is, no matter how you look at it, this world is still a man’s world and it is of little impact how many female heads-of-state, CEOs, soldiers, or sport icons there are. Because in the end the female head-of-state, CEO, soldier, and sports icon will still have to accommodate those who, for one reason or another, protect them and their interests – and chances are most of them will be men.

Entire belief systems are modeled according to male hierarchies – take, for instance, the power instilled by terms such as ‘the Lord.’ In contrast, ‘Mother Mary,’ if she is at all admitted to the illustrious circle of deities, is rather limited in her scope and she sure is not the one to make the rules. Ever enduring and forgiving as she is portrayed, she makes a perfect female role model. Thanks be given, guys!

It doesn’t end there, however. Our secular believes are just as powerfully shaped by male paradigms. Take, for instance, concepts such as success, intelligence, or progress. Have you ever wondered why a race car driver earns more than a mid-wife? And why do college entrance tests love to quiz us about converting ounces into grams but don’t test how we would do in a complex social situation? And why, in the face of ruthless exploitation of our natural and human resources, is the concept of progress still tantamount with economic growth and profit-margins?

So, not only are the places assigned to us uncomfortably narrow – somewhere between Madonna and Pin-up – but they also are way in the back. That means that even if we holler at the top of our lungs – as some of us so admirably do – “This show stinks!” our voices hardly ever get heard.

The simple fact is that we are not the top-ticket holders and that’s why the show will go on, whether we like it or not. There are powerful sponsors who are pulling the strings and they seem to like what they see however inane, insane, and obscene it in reality is.

So, bombs will continue to be built, wars will be waged, rivers polluted, prisons filled, and children sent to the streets. Not exactly what we tried to bargain for when they shut the lid, is it?