documentary

Portlanders: Come out to In Other Words tonight

Debbie Rasmussen — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 13:35:45 -0400

We're excited to be sponsoring an event that showcases the ways in which grassroots media is being used to open up dialogues about social change issues like gentrification. Please join us tonight for "There goes the neighborhood: Changing communities in the time of gentrification." Two videos will be screened--"Moving In: A nonprofit bookstore and the politics of space," by Dawn Jones, B-Word/Bitch board chair and "Locusts," a documentary by Iqaa the Olivetone and featuring MC Invincible (interviewed in the current issue of Bitch).

7:00 at In Other Words Women's Books and Resources.

Humanizing animal rights

Debbie Rasmussen — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 13:47:54 -0400

Several weeks back PM Press sent a video to Bitch for review. It sat in my inbox for weeks, because I knew would break my heart. It's called Behind the Mask: The story of people who risk everything to save animals. I finally watched it, partly out of obligation, partly because I wanted to share it with others. As you can probably guess, many moments are excruciating. Watching a researcher laugh at a monkey flinch and flail as he electrocutes her, watching a researcher pummel punch a beagle in the face... There are no words.

But amidst all of that -- and fortunately taking up much more film time -- are stories of and interviews with some incredibly committed, amazing, inspiring people. For people unfamiliar with animal rights activism -- or especially for those whose minds immediately conjure up masked "terrorists" -- it offers an incredibly humanizing and touching look at why they risk their lives for the sake of animals.

More conference bitching

Debbie Rasmussen — Sat, 07 Jun 2008 17:33:03 -0400

I was back in Minneapolis this weekend for the National Conference for Media Reform, an event organized by the folks at Free Press, a nonpartisan group focused on media reform and policy.

I've had conflicted feelings about the conference since it started in 2003. Actually, back when it first started, I wasn't so much conflicted as just pissed off. A lot of us were pissed. I was living in Madison then, which was the site chosen for the first conference. Many of us were part of a vibrant and active independent/grassroots media community that included, among many other projects and efforts, a radical community newspaper, an active Indymedia center, and a long-running community radio station. What pissed us off is that although the conference was to be held in Madison, none of us local independent media creators/media justice organizers were included in the planning. Actually, we weren't even alerted that the conference organizing was taking place. It was beyond ridiculous; it was offensive. How could an event focused on media reform blatantly ignore the folks who were a critical part of that work, even if our focus was different?

What made the situation more frustrating to me is that at the time, I was in somewhat regular contact with two of the founders of Free Press – Bob McChesney and John Nichols. I'd turned to Bob for assistance in designing an independent study course on media criticism (I was taking courses at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where he'd taught years earlier but was allegedly ousted for being too radical; he now teaches at the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana), and he kindly provided some much-needed guidance and mentorship. He'd also allowed us at the Madison Insurgent to reprint some of his articles on media conglomeration. John had kindly assisted those of us involved in the unionizing effort at Whole Foods by writing op-eds for the local paper, and helping us get the word out about our struggles.

In other words, the founders/organizers of the conference were well aware that there were active local independent media projects, yet didn't make a single effort at reaching out to any of us. In fact some of us tried to reach out to them, but our calls and emails were not returned. It was infuriating, to put it mildly.

In response, a radical contingent of Madison independent media producers/media justice activists organized a shadow conference that, from all accounts was very successful (I was unable to make it because by the time the conference came around, I'd already moved to Oakland).

Two years later, the conference moved to St. Louis, and it was clear that efforts were at least being made to be more inclusive. For one thing, Free Press offered scholarships to those of us who otherwise wouldn't be able to attend. I was grateful for the opportunity the scholarship provided, to meet lots of folks doing great grassroots work, and reconnect with old allies/comrades. But my overwhelming reaction (and the one of countless other radical media folks I talked to) was one of frustration at the extent to which media reformers still didn't seem to notice (let alone value) those of us creating media, and/or those of us who incorporate a media justice ethic into our work. It was frightening to see how many people think policy and lobbying is the only way to effect change. It was frightening to see the absence of challenging deeply systemic power structures. It didn't feel like movement-building. It felt like a lot of disconnected policy talk, a lot of strategizing about organizing through the usual channels (without an examination of the structures that produce and replicate systems of oppression), and a painful absence of creativity and misunderstanding (or outright refusal to consider?) democracy and media justice.

So I knew what I was getting into this year, but wanted to give it another shot. And overall, I'm glad I did. Over 3,000 people attended. Again I thank Free Press for offering scholarships to those of us who otherwise wouldn't be able to attend. I met many new folks, learned about some exciting organizing going on, reconnected with people working on some incredible projects (like the Center for Media Justice, the Prometheus Radio Project, Youth Outlook, and People's Production House), and at the end of one long day, was even lucky enough to visit two of my favorite Minneapolis night spots (The Brass Rail and The Saloon), where I got some much-needed kindness by a loving contingent of Minnesota Nice homos and fags (thanks, all of you, for being as sweet as you always have been).

But. When I registered and opened this year's conference packet, I read the welcome letter, the opening line of which is, "We are here because the media's failure to inform and represent our communities poses one of the greatest threats to our democracy."

Our "democracy"? Call me nitpicky, but my definition of democracy means that people actually have power. Moreover, or more specific to this conference, considering the ongoing criticisms of media justice activists and media producers that they don't feel included, it seems all the more strange to use such loaded language.

I missed last year's conference in Memphis, but I talked to a number of folks who said they felt things had actually regressed this year, and they were openly questioning whether they would continue to return.

We need a media movement that's engaging and built from the ground up. We need a movement that examines power structures and seeks to destroy the status quo. This does not feel like a movement. It does not feel inclusive to many of us from marginalized identities, and/or who are fighting on the margins.

It also replicates the same cult of personality/power that we as progressives/radicals claim to resist. With all due respect, how many times do we need to put folks like Amy Goodman, Bill Moyers, Phil Donahue, and now Dan Rather on a platform? I understand the need to lure folks in, but if that's what it takes, we have more work to do, most notably in the areas of listening to other people's stories and opening up doors and spaces.

I'm still on the fence about my future involvement, but I do want to end on a positive note, because I experienced many inspiring and refueling moments over the weekend. Things like:

Interacting with folks from one of what I consider to be the most radical organizing efforts around, the Kennsington Welfare Rights Union. If you're not familiar with their work, please read about them and support them. They're a multi-racial organization by and for people who are poor and homeless.
Hearing Chris Rabb emphasize the importance of organizing across race and gender, focusing on inclusive efforts that also foreground class. I've been hearing a lot of talk lately (well, for a long time, really) about the importance of not playing oppression derby, but I still see a lot of it happening, and as long as I've been politically active, I've seen class/classism take a back seat to other identities. I have a lot more to say about this, but for now I'll just express my firm belief that until we start foregrounding class and critiquing capitalist values, efforts at effecting social change are meaningless.
Hearing Daisy Hernandez speak to the history and current work of Color Lines, and appreciating her reminder to those of us involved in grassroots publishing projects that it can be more meaningful and impactful for one person being incited to action through reading a story than to have massive numbers of subscribers.
And finally, seeing an incredible movie called Hip Hop: Beyond Beats and Rhymes, which examines masculinity, sexism, violence, and anti-gay sentiment (and homoeroticism) in hip-hop culture. Using interviews with hip-hop artists, cultural critics, and his own experiences and relationships to hip hop and anti-sexist work, Byron Hurt did a phenomenal job of covering the multiplicity of forces converging to make hip-hop what it is today. For anyone who thinks feminism is/should be all about women, for anyone who doesn't recognize the profound ways in which men are constrained by our oppressive cultural values, this movie is a serious wake up call. Many parts were painful to watch, but it was a powerful story and an extremely well done film. Following the screening, Byron answered questions, and emphasized, as others have recently, the importance of inclusive organizing that transcends race, class, and gender. I left hopeful knowing that there are folks out there who realize the necessity of inclusiveness in movement building.

Resisting and organizing through creative media

Debbie Rasmussen — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 19:42:31 -0400

I'm back in Portland, still processing and reflecting on my trip to the Midwest. I'll be posting more about that soon, but in the meantime, I wanted to share this video about displacement/gentrification in Detroit, featuring Detroit-based female hip-hop artist, Invincible. It's a beautiful example of how powerful a story becomes when different forms of media are combined.

In a couple weeks, I'll be headed back to Detroit for the Allied Media Conference, an event that has always been refueling and inspirational for me because all sorts of folks committed to independent media creation/justice and grassroots organizing come out for it. If you can make it, please do! Not only is the conference itself an incredible experience, just spending time in a city with some of the most radical, effective community/social justice organizing going on is transformative.

Thanks to Samhita for the heads-up on the video.

"If a femme falls in the forest..."

Debbie Rasmussen — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 22:02:27 -0400

This past weekend, we at Bitch were honored to be a community partner in Portland's Queer Documentary Film Festival 's screening of FtF: From Female to Femme. QDOC is the only festival in the United States (and apparently one of two worldwide) devoted to queer documentaries, and FtF: From Female to Femme is – to my knowledge – the first feature length documentary that explores the experiences and identities of femme as a queer identity. This lack of femme analysis is a little alarming, considering the breadth and depth of analyses focused on butch, FtM, and other masculine(/queer) identities. But then again, as books like Julia Serano's Whipping Girl: A Transsexual woman on sexism and the scapegoating of femininity illustrate, femme identities and femininity in general continue to be misunderstood and maligned (and in some senses, masculinity so fetishized), so it also makes sense.

I admit I was skeptical when I first heard about FtF a few years ago. The title seemed to be appropriating langauge of trans identities and experiences. And indeed, during the Q and A with Kami Chisholm, one of the filmmakers who was at this weekend's screening, the title has sparked some controversy, particularly from trans-identified folks.

And while I'm still not completely convinced of the appropriateness of the title, witnessing several articulate, passionate femmes (including actress/writer Guinivere Turner, novelist/activist Jewelle Gomez, poet Meliza Bañales, and musicians Leslie Mah and Bitch) explain that it is/was very much a transition for them, a crossing over into another gender/sexual identity, I have a stronger appreciation of the title, not to mention a clearer understanding of the struggles and hostilities faced by those who identify as femme.

As for the film itself, I thought it was a useful and much-needed addition to the conversation, but I also felt like it was lacking in many ways. There was a lot of focus on burlesque, as if femme identity and burlesque are synonymous. Are they? Is an element of performance (and sometimes parody) an essential component to femme identities?

What about the history of femme identity? What kinds of organizing around femme identities is happening? How is this identity situated in queer communities? Are discussions and cross-alliances happening between other radical identities? How can femme identities challenge and resist mainstream and (especially) queer assumptions about gender, sexuality, femininity,
and identity?

And how do we overcome the very real challenge of creating a liberatory framework and space when we're all coming from different histories, socialization experiences, identities, perspectives...?

See the trailer for the film here (for some reason, it wouldn't let me embed it into this post). And if/when you have the opportunity, see the film itself – it definitely opens the doors for further conversation.

Thanks to the Russ Gage and David Weissman at QueerDoc for inviting us to be a community partner!

p.s. The title of this post is a quote from a professor being interviewed in the film, who explained the importance of remembering that femme doesn't exist only in opposition to butch; it's its own identity. She followed that statement by joking, "If a femme falls in the forest..."

Q It Up

Miriam Wolf — Mon, 19 May 2008 17:28:36 -0400

Are you out, proud and ... femme? You owe it to yourself to check out Kami Chisholm's FTF: Female to Femme, a documentary celebrating the femme identity. It features such legendary female-identified females as actress and writer Guinivere Turner, novelist and activist Jewelle Gomez, poet Meliza Bañales and rock stars Leslie Mah (Tribe8) and Bitch (Bitch & Animal). The best part? Bitch magazine is sponsoring this entry in QDoc, Portland's queer documentary film festival. It screens Saturday, May 31, at 6:30 p.m. at the Clinton St. Theater.

Other intriguing festival offerings include Living with Pride: Ruth C. Ellis @100, about an active, out lesbian who just happens to be 100 years old, and The Universe of Keith Haring, about the pivotal 1980s artist. For a complete schedule, check out www.queerdocfest.org

Hope/politics of place

Debbie Rasmussen — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 11:57:45 -0400

Here in Northeast Portland is a place called In Other Words Women's Books and Resources, a nonprofit bookstore founded in 1993. I've only lived in Portland for a year, so most of what I know I've learned from talking to people and reading news articles, like this.

A few nights ago I went to a screening of a short documentary called Moving In: A nonprofit feminist bookstore and the politics of place. The documentary, created by Dawn Jones (who's on the board of Bitch; photographed below), examines the bookstore's 2006 move, which resulted from being economically displaced from their original neighborhood, to a historically African-American neighborhood. The film is fantastic; you should see it if you have the opportunity.

Following the documentary, community activist and educator Roslyn Farrington facilitated a discussion, featuring four panelists: Allyson Spencer, a longtime NE Portland resident who was involved in the Albina Arts Center (the organization that most recently inhabited the building); Sue Burns and Amara Perez, In Other Words former executive director and current program director, respectively; and Jeana Woolley, development consultant to the Albina Women’s League, the nonprofit African-American organization who still owns the space.

I'm hoping Dawn will post a link to the video of the panel discussion, but in the meantime, here's my stab at summing up the main points of each panelist and the discussion...

Allyson Spencer shared her experience of coming upon the Albina Arts Center in the 1970s. As an African-American arts organization, it was less of a place for social activism, she explained, and more about love and the creative process. She emphasized her perception that IOW revitalized the space, and preserved the energy and spirit of what was there before; she said she prefers the term revitalization over gentrification because the Albina Arts organization was at one time "vital," but it had been empty for over a decade because funding for arts programs had dried up.

Sue Burns shared the history of IOW's founding. Its previous location (SE Hawthorne, for people familiar with Portland) was at one time a site of counter-cultural resistance but, like many of these areas across the United States, has devolved into a site of hypercommercialization. While at one time they valued the experience of being a radical voice on the street, they were eventually unable to afford the ever-rising rent.

Amara Perez focused her introductory remarks on what she sees as the complexities and contradictions surrounding the move, and highlighted the problem of a primarily white feminist organization moving into a historically African-American neighborhood. She explained the big picture of what happens in the process of gentrification: Increased property taxes, which result in forced displacement of low-income people (particularly of people of color); increased police surveillance, which results in increased harassment and abuse of people of color; the decreasing availability of public housing; the privatization of schools and other community and social services; the displacement of businesses run by people of color; and the overall change of the neighborhood's cultural and social character.

Jeana Woolley (pictured below) briefly explained the founding of the Albina Women's League in the early 1970s and the operation of the Albina Arts Center, which was in operation until the mid 1980s when funding dried up. She explained the idea of "disinvestment" from community, and what happens when a community has no access to capital. As an advisor to the Albina Women's League, she encouraged them to create this partnership with IOW because they're an organization with social consciousness and expressed interest in being a part of the community—creating a new community by working with the old community. She explained that because IOW commissioned a strong volunteer force willing to upgrade the building, the idea seemed even better.

After each panelist made their introductory remarks, Roslyn offered her own opinion, that gentrification exists on a continuum. She explained her belief that because IOW made the move with consciousness and intention and has continued to evolve in ways that better serve the community, the move was healthy and a model for reinvesting in a neighborhood that had suffered disinvestment.

I think it was Allyson who added the importance of viewing the situation as an opportunity and be mindful of being solution-oriented—it's happened, so what are we going to do about it? What are the guiding steps to build community? How can we utilize the assets of community members, in terms of time, expertise, energy, and art.

The discussion was engaging and provocative, but also frustrating. Partly because there was barely enough time for it to get off the ground (I realize this was inevitable, and I think Dawn will be organizing future discussions to follow up). But more importantly, the frame of the conversation was limited, which led to this idea of "good or bad," this good-intentioned-but-not-honest-and-thus-not-useful discussion. And this worries me.

For example.

Someone in the audience shared how drugs and violence were rampant in the neighborhood (he lives about a mile from IOW), explained how community members had wanted the neighborhood to change but change wasn't happening.

Following his comments, Amara took "the other side," by posing the rhetorical question, "Is gentrification is a solution to poverty?" (Of course not, but I'm not sure he was arguing that it was.)

Amara started to bring the conversation to a deeper level, to the need to eradicate and dismantle the systems that lead to poverty...

And then, unfortunately, we ran out of time...

This was only the beginning of a conversation and I obviously wasn't expecting huge movement, but I left hoping for future discussions that allow for more nuance. It's scary, it's difficult. But I also think it's necessary.

...

A few months ago, I went to another neighborhood talk about gentrification. Nathan McCall, author of Makes Me Wanna Holler: A young black man in America, read from his latest book, Them, which examines gentrification through a fictional account of a neighborhood in Atlanta.

One of the most important points I took away from his talk was the importance of recognizing that gentrification is a complicated process, and while it has many "bads," it also has many "goods," including the literal goods and services being brought into a neighborhood previously neglected.

Acknowledging this isn't saying gentrification is "good." Rather, it's a necessary part of complicating the discussion, pushing us to honestly examine what's happening in our urban areas, pushing us to a deeper level of political analysis and critique.

Because if the frame of the discussion is good/bad, how do we make a determination if people (and I'm specifically talking here about the people who are long-time members of a community undergoing gentrification) have different truths? How do we acknowledge that the number of marginalized people is growing exponentially in this country, and avoid further divisiveness? How do we make space for other truths, like the truth that independent bookstores are marginalized and disappearing quickly in this country, themselves victims of the same forces that are displacing people? For the reality that the situation is even worse for feminist and nonprofit bookstores?

I don't know what the "right" questions are, but often as I'm watching people talk about gentrification, I wonder why the conversation so rarely turns to a critique of the economic structure we live in and instead remains on the level of "good or bad."

...

But maybe I'm being impatient. Maybe the conversation needs to start here. I just worry that when it starts from a dualistic frame, it's doomed from the start.

Anyway, one of the more useful/productive questions from this most recent discussion was how do we preserve the status of the original residents of neighborhoods while encouraging diversity?

Jeana explained the process of gentrification — how the simple act of investing in a community creates opportunities for people with resources and leaves people without resources at a disadvantage. The challenge, she explained, is to be proactive about finding a balance between the new and the old, to create a community that embraces everyone. When new people are moving into a neighborhood, they should be asking themselves, "How do I move in to an area and support its history, How do I meld to the community?" not, "How do I change it to make it comfortable for myself?".

How do we spread the wealth to make sure everyone benefits? How do we create opportunities for people who were already in a community?

I think the answers are out there; I just think we need to dig a little deeper. It's also something I want to give more thought to here at Bitch, as a new member of a community with a rich history.

I'm excited at the possibility of future discussions...

** Thanks to Dawn Jones for the photos **

"Are you ready to rock 'n' roll?"

Debbie Rasmussen — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 11:56:00 -0500

If there's anything more awesome than seeing an eight-year old girl scream that into a microphone, it's being in a theater full of girls like this celebrating the opening of Girls Rock! The Movie.

Filmmakers Arne Johnson and Shane King focus on the inspiring breakthroughs, but don't skip over the heart-wrenching breakdowns. And interspersed through it all are statistics about adolescent girls – ones we often hear (e.g., the number one wish of teenage girls is to lose weight) but could stand to be reminded of.

The film follows four girls: Misty, a 17-year old who's transitioning from a lockdown group-home and a life of gangs and drugs, learns not just to play bass guitar but also to interact with her peers in a way that doesn't depend on her typical style of bullying. Laura, a 15-year old from Oklahoma obsessed with death metal, reminds us that even girls who seem brimming with confidence on the outside are often still suffering from the same struggles with self-worth on the inside. Eight-year old Amelia – who's clearly accelerated musically – admits that she has only one friend and struggles to mesh with other camp girls. And then there's Palace – a 7-year old charmer with a rebelliousness, intensity, and troubled nature way beyond her years.

The film really is incredible, and if there's any doubt about the power of the camp, Laura – who earlier explained (with a smile on her face) that hating herself is just a normal, accepted part of her existence – erases that when she tells us, "I've been waiting for so long to finally admit to myself that I'm amazing. I really am!"

Five Conversations About One Thing - Jim McKay

Kyla — Tue, 01 Mar 2005 00:00:00 -0500

Amy Richards met Jim McKay as he was getting ready to release his first film, Girls Town, in 1995. McKay was kind (and political) enough to offer his film to the Third Wave Foundation, which Richards cofounded, for a benefit screening. Though Third Wave has had dozens of events since then, none has come close to matching its success, in terms of sheer dollars raised in one sitting (over $20,000), the number of new donors and allies attracted to the organization’s work, and the unparalleled visibility that comes when you combine social justice and Hollywood.

Since their introduction a decade ago, Richards—coauthor, with Jennifer Baumgardner, of Manifesta: Young Women, Feminism, and the Future and the recently released Grassroots: A Field Guide for Feminist Activism—has seen McKay every few months, walking the streets of New York City with his family, at events like the Human Rights Watch Film Festival, or, more deliberately, through their mutual interest in and commitment to social-justice work; McKay and his wife and business partner, Hannah Weyer, produced a film for Scenarios USA, a youth-produced media organization that Richards works closely with. When Bitch approached Richards about contributing to our masculinity issue, she could think of no better subject than McKay.

Amy Richards: How do you describe yourself, and how did you get involved in filmmaking?

Jim McKay: I’m a filmmaker, writer, director, husband, and father, in no specific order. I’m in my 40s—it’s hard to remember [that] sometimes. I got into film basically by watching films; I wasn’t one of those kids who was shooting Super 8 at the age of 8. Music was the art form that enticed me first, not film. In college, I started realizing that there were interesting stories out there. I spent a good four years watching films, then gradually entered that world. I didn’t go to school for film—I studied secondary education—but I did get tons of help from people around me.

Two of your films—Girls Town and Our Song—have been described as emotional and political coming-of-age stories with girls as their subjects. Was there a reason you focused on girls rather than boys?

When I got out of school, I was becoming a political being. I became interested in every “ism” that wasn’t my experience in order to understand the world in a fuller way. I studied feminism, but not in a formal way, and through that I saw the need for the stories of real women. When I started making films, I was trying to fill that specific void.

It’s been a challenge to tell girls’ stories, but it seems like a greater challenge for me to confront the story of a boy. In a strange way, I’ve always felt less comfortable exploring masculinity.

When you’re a political person, it seems natural to tell the less powerful person’s story. It seems silly to tell the rich person’s story or the white person’s story, though those are instructive too.

Exactly. People often say, “Why aren’t there conservative voices in documentary films?” The reason that conservatives don’t make documentaries is because they make the mainstream films. If the mainstream was liberal, conservative voices would be in the art houses.

Also, focusing on girls explicitly doesn’t necessarily exclude boys. In what way does your work directly or indirectly take on masculinity?

Actually, the film that I just finished, Angel, focuses on a young man, and my third film, Everyday People, has many male subjects. Angel is about a kid and his social worker, a 38-year-old woman, and they are both at turning points in their lives. The film deals with issues of family, fatherhood, and motherhood.

How did you come to do Angel?

I often take a minor character in one film and explore their story further in another. Girls Town fed into all of the other movies I have done. When you immerse yourself so deeply in something, there is bound to be one part that you didn’t get to tell, or it leads you to a parallel or emerging story. After Girls Town and Our Song, I wanted to rise to the occasion of telling a male story. Everyday People focuses on two young females and one young male, and my venturing into that character gave me the background to develop Angel.

In both Girls Town and Our Song, the protagonists are young women with a conspicuous absence of fathers or father figures. What shaped that decision for you? You must have a more personal relationship to this subject now that you’re a father, though you weren’t when you made those films.

I’m certainly dealing with family and fatherhood now that I’m a father, but I don’t think I would have done the films any differently. One of the moms in Girls Town is not present either, and I actually completely don’t deal with moms at all. With Our Song, I was confronting an unfortunate reality, which is the absent father. When you do work that comes from a certain social background, it’s a challenge to make things honest but not exploitative. I had to push myself—and actually Hannah pushed me, she said, “It’s okay to make [the father] a fuck-up.”

The subject of fathers is very personal to me, since I don’t know my father—my mother left him two months before I was born and I have never met him. It’s not fair that we tend to have different expectations of our mothers than we do of our fathers.

The norm is different now. My mom was a teacher before she had kids; she took a lot of time off, and then she went back to teaching. She was living in a time when there was little questioning of being a full-time mom. What I notice today is that parents have another life beyond parenting, and that makes parenting [more] challenging. I wish I had a blank slate and could just create these roles. For mothers, it’s especially problematic because so many more moms have full work lives before they have kids. When they spend more time with their kids, they are very aware of what they are missing.

Having spent so much time with the girls in your films, developing their characters and hearing their stories, has it been helpful in shaping your thoughts on how you want to raise your children?

My daughter is 3 and a half years old, and my son is four months. I feel no security at all about what I’m doing. I turned out okay and I can only worry so much about whether or not they are going to be in a good school or are going to be picked on. That’s life. You have to keep reminding yourself that it’s the lack of perfection that makes them into full human beings.

I am constantly trying to check myself. A Barbie found its way into my daughter’s hands, [and] it tripped me out for a couple of days. She was obsessing, “Daddy, look at her hair.” I made snide remarks and told her that I didn’t want to play Barbie, I wanted to play something else. After about four days, I delved into a very adult discussion about how Barbie is not like a real person. Then I realized that my daughter doesn’t need this, and she certainly doesn’t want it. It is horrifying what is out there that’s defining the culture. [But] that’s the world, and I have to trust that my kids will learn how to think.

I spend a lot of time on college campuses, and I’m shocked by how often students just want to know what “the” answer is. They ask me: “Is this a sexist ad?” Or, “What’s feminist about Mean Girls?” They’ve forgotten how to analyze the world for themselves; they expect the answer to be obvious.

Media and critical thinking are the most important classes. If you take today at face value, without interpretation, what are you getting?

Jim McKay’s new movie Angel will premiere in the U.S. in late 2005. Amy Richards’s latest book, Grassroots, is out now.