Showing all posts tagged patriarchy

In Culture, Nurture, Politics, Relationships, Uncategorized

Community Care

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

For the last few months, I’ve been leaning into the phrase community care. Now, with a COVID-19 global pandemic stirring up fear and uncertainty, it’s a critical time to examine what it means to move beyond self care and into a broader sense of helping one another.

If you’re like me, logging onto Twitter multiple times a day causes your anxiety to skyrocket (Rita Wilson, Tom Hanks and Sophie Grégoire Trudeau all have the virus??!). This week, every couple of hours we faced a new coronavirus cancellation or announcement. Uncertainty is the order of the day (will schools close, should we go to this event, how much toilet paper is reasonable to buy?).

One of the biggest downsides of the internet is constant access to information, particularly when what we read or watch may not be accurate. We are all informed, but not necessarily qualified to speak knowledgeably about complex medical, economic or political issues. I’m trying to listen to actual experts in these fields instead of someone spouting opinions. I’m hoping this will keep my fear level a bit lower.

Over the last week, my panic cycle went like this: This is the end game and we’re all going to die, go stock up on food and supplies, never leave the house again, cry over our tanking investments, lose all hope. (Overall, not very pleasant or helpful.)

Thankfully, these last few days I’ve been more careful about the articles I’m reading. I’m going for more walks and looking at Twitter less. The positive side of this is slowly taking shape for me, like a Polaroid photo sharpening into focus. A global health crisis can show us the worst of humanity, but also the best. This is the opportunity for community care: for us to take care of one another.

I’ve been developing a novel about a post-patriarchy world, where capitalism as we once understood it is destroyed and something new is built in its place. Perhaps this crisis is what we need to address rampant wealth inequality and profound selfishness. Maybe it’s an opportunity to hit the refresh button on our modern lives, where busyness and status are the insubstantial goals we strive for. If we want a fairer, kinder world, the old one must disappear so that we can imagine something better.

Our world is in a true crisis. It’s definitely scary and I’m not attempting to minimize that. But stories of people helping out their neighbours who are quarantined bring me so much joy. Our reliance on technology has isolated us from true connection with one another, but now we are seeing just how much we need each other when we are facing life and death issues.

It’s a time for community care. To stay home to contain the risks of spreading this virus too fast for our medical systems to keep up with those who are sick. To change the way we look at what’s happening; to see that our response to this crisis could make our society more compassionate and equitable. The way we save lives is by working together, not by panicking and attacking one another. Community care. We all need each other to survive.

In Culture, Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking

Use Your Voice

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Use Your Voice


At one of the teachers’ conferences I spoke at in February, I realized the importance of using my voice. It’s not hard to see how valuable it can be to share ideas and resources in a formal workshop setting. I’m all in for that, but the learning I experienced came during a speaker’s luncheon in a beautiful hotel meeting room.

I had finished all of my sessions for this conference and I felt tired, yet elated. My flight home to Vancouver was leaving in a few hours, the sun was shining in Calgary, and my sessions had been productive and stimulating.

The soup, sandwich, potato chips and brownie on my plate were delicious. I chatted casually with the five other people at my table, all wearing “Speaker” badges. We asked about each other’s sessions. One was a math teacher and another ran a foundation and spoke about their charity.

One man explained that he was female at birth but transitioned to a man in early adulthood and now he spoke on his experience as a trans man to promote kindness and acceptance. I told him that I had new material this year called The Future is Female where we brainstormed ways to create a fairer world outside of patriarchal systems with their focus on domination and power.

The two women at the table nodded and looked interested as we ate. The mood at the table was gentle and warm. Then the man to my right spoke up. He said, “We have to go really slow when we talk about change. For older people, societal change is hard and we have to be sensitive to that. These things take a lot of time.”

Years ago, I would’ve agreed or nodded or even stayed silent. It’s certainly what everyone else at the table did. In a split second, I noticed how the air had changed between all of us. Suddenly it felt thicker, heavier, colder.

I thought about the courage of the trans man at our table to invest money and time in procedures to match his outside appearance to how he felt on the inside. He travelled around to conferences to speak to others about his complicated journey, promoting tolerance and acceptance, and still he had to listen to a person advocate for sensitivity to those having a hard time with societal change.

“No,” I said, somewhat forcefully. “The time to be slow and sensitive has passed. I’m a woman, and I want equality now. I can’t wait any longer. And the comfort of white men is no longer a driving concern, particularly when women, the LGBTQ+ community and people of colour have had to bear the incredible pain of sexism and bigotry for far too long. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for men to behave just a little bit better, be a little bit kinder, and work a little bit harder too so that we can have a fairer world for everyone.”

Glancing to my right, I could see that the middle-aged white man who made the comment was now angry. His neck flushed red. He opened his mouth to argue with me, but I didn’t feel interested in debating this with him. Thankfully, my plate was empty. I stood, wished everyone good luck with their afternoon sessions, mentioned I had a plane to catch, and walked out of the lunchroom.

I don’t know if anyone carried on the discussion when I left or if they all breathed a sigh of relief that I was gone and the tension quickly dissipated. It doesn’t really matter to me. I believe that silence is violence. I spent too many years not using my voice when I heard something I disagreed with. I didn’t want to cause trouble or rock the boat. But now I’m teaching on these subjects, and I want my life to look like my workshop sessions. I want to be the change I wish to see in the world.

We all have a voice. It’s time to start using it. Living small is not going to get the work done. Yes, it will be uncomfortable sometimes. That’s okay. Silence is violence. Our collective voices, used together, carry power.

In Books, Culture, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Writing

Your Little Corner

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Your Little Corner

I honestly don’t know what to say anymore. People are being slaughtered weekly with assault rifles in our neighbour to the south and those in power have zero interest in doing anything about it. The president lies, every single day, and on top of that makes racist, misogynist and offensive comments and faces no real consequences for any of it.

My rage is on a slow boil and has been for a long time, but it’s wearing me down. I feel bruised, deep in my soul, and hopeless that nothing is changing. This is not the world I want my kids to grow up in, but I can’t fix these massive problems.

What I can do is focus on my own little corner. You have one too. The people and the pets and the hobbies that you love reside here. You can look after them (and this includes your own beautiful self). You can grow a flower or bake a delicious cake. You can watch a movie or a TV show that helps you escape the horror of the world or gently ushers you toward a fresh outlook. You can read a book that has the power to transform you.

I’ve been making my way through Hillary Clinton’s book, What Happened, and as excellent as it is, I had to stop reading for a bit as what could have been was simply too raw. (Side note: If you don’t like HRC, you are welcome to your opinion, but I don’t want to hear it right now. She is being unfairly bashed online constantly and I’m not allowing that nonsense on my watch).

For a break from real-world pain, I picked up a People magazine borrowed from the library and put it down immediately after reading the headline “Taking Down a Hollywood Predator” with Harvey Weinstein’s mug front and centre. No thanks. More suffering in the form of patriarchy gone wild with power and abuse. I needed something else to inch back toward hope in humankind.

Thankfully, the brilliant Celeste Ng’s newest novel, Little Fires Everywhere, was in for me on the hold shelf. I raced to the library to get it, having just finished her debut, Everything I Never Told You, which broke my heart but in such a healing and redemptive manner. If you haven’t read Celeste Ng, please put these two books at the top of your TBR pile. Her talent is awe-inspiring.

This brings me back to my little corner. I’m finding it really, really, really challenging to write blogs right now. Everything I want to say is too raw and unfiltered – too brutal for human consumption. I start to type it and I can’t get it to sound right. So I backpedal and feel like I’ve failed. I know I’m not adding anything meaningful to the conversation. But maybe that’s okay. Perhaps what I’m meant to do in this god-awful time is just to say, “I’m here too. I’m hurting, just like you. Let’s look after ourselves and our loved ones.”

Anne Lamott tells a story in one of her books about planting a certain type of tulip that only blooms for a few days each spring. She was complaining to a friend about it, saying, “What is the point of all that work to only enjoy the flowers for 4 or 5 days?” Her friend’s answer? “The point is those 4 or 5 days.”

I’d like that lesson to patch up my hope so I can keep going. It doesn’t seem like enough. But when it’s all we have, perhaps that will have to do. I’m going to tend to my little corner while you tend to yours. Maybe, just maybe, it will temporarily brighten up the world and help us find the solutions we need for harmony, peace and optimism again.

In Culture

Me Too

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Me Too

When “Me too” began trending on social media this week as a response to the horrific allegations of sexual abuse by Harvey Weinstein specifically and Hollywood in general, I loved the idea of revealing how widespread this issue is but hesitated to participate myself.

In a display of personal gaslighting, I thought, “What’s happened to me is minor compared to what other women have had to endure.” But when a friend of mine shared her story on Facebook, I commented that ALL our stories of harassment and sexism matter. That’s the point of the whole damn thing – to say “me too” so we can continue the conversation because cultural patriarchy has become so widespread that we fail to notice it for the evil that it is.

I grew up in a conservative evangelical Christian setting. I went to church every Sunday, Bible Study on Wednesday, youth group on Friday, church camp in the summer…you get the idea. I lived and breathed patriarchy and sexism. I was taught that God is the leader, and he is male, so therefore in the human realm, the man is king.

This flawed ideology has caused untold pain and suffering in our world. Words like “submit” and “obey” were used regularly in my Christian school and church environments for the relationship a woman was to have with a man. A woman was to be quiet, sweet, giving and gentle. She was not supposed to have her own ideas or disagree with a man.

In the last few years, I’ve completely abandoned the evangelical Christian world. A number of factors went into this decision, but the rampant sexism and racism present in this patriarchal system is now abhorrent to me. I’ve been hurt by it in more ways than I can count and I will not participate in it anymore. I truly believe that the whole thing must crumble so that something new and fair and equal can grow in its place.

One example of physical harassment came at the age of 17 at what used to be called Klondike Days in Edmonton. I was walking with a group of friends when several drunk men, about fifteen years older than us, catcalled loudly as they approached. We tried to ignore them, but one of them grabbed my crotch as he walked by. It hurt physically and stung emotionally. That happened nearly thirty years ago and yet I feel ashamed and embarrassed to recount it now.

What gives a man the right to physically assault a woman in a public place? Or a private one? The answer is: THE SYSTEM. They have the power to do what they want, and this is why the system must change.

I love the idea behind the “Me too” hashtag. It shows frightened and angry women that we are not alone. It provides hope that safety can be found in numbers. It also reveals how huge this problem of toxic masculinity and power abuse really is.

While we’re at it, let’s do a couple of things immediately to give equality a fighting chance:

Stop Calling Women Girls

When a girl gets her period, she is no longer a girl. She is now a woman. Language matters and we don’t refer to a man with a mortgage, a job and children as a “boy”. If we want to be fair, stop calling women girls and even this part of the playing field.

Change Your Language Around Rape and Violence

As Jackson Katz brilliantly demonstrates below, stop using the passive voice when referring to “violence against women”.

Silence is Violence

Speak up, as a woman and as a man. When something is sexist or misogynist or unfair in any way, say something. Be brave and bold. This is how equality works – we cannot stay silent and hope for change. WE ARE THE CHANGE.

Keep up the good work, my friends. We can support and love each other through the pain and shame we have suffered. The “Me too” movement is beautiful and we need every voice in this fight. Don’t lose hope. I’m here and would love to hear your stories.

In Culture, Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth

Hope and Rage

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Hope and Rage

If hope is a balloon, light and airy and free, right now it’s firmly attached to an anchor of rage for me. I feel so fucking mad right now, angrier than I can ever recall being, at the state of our world and the sheer madness of what some people are thinking, doing and saying.

As a woman, I’m tired of staying quiet. Remaining calm, stable and gentle. NO. Not now. Not with this lunatic American president spewing hate, misogyny, racism and fear-mongering on a daily basis. Not with the evangelical Christian community I came from (and left in 2014) still supporting these dangerous rantings from a man unfit in every way to hold the office of president.

This tsunami of rage has threatened to take me over completely. I know I have to feel it, to let it have its way, for the purpose of anger is to cleanse and to prepare us for a new stage of positive action.

We are all in for a fight. It’s beyond time for the patriarchy to die, with its failed notions of male hierarchies grasping the power structures of the world. I’d love to believe that we can resist our way to a healthier society with no blood being shed or lives being destroyed, but history tells us this is not how the process works. The arc of social justice is long, messy and deadly.

Clearly, the time for wealth and race to dictate who holds authority is over. Finished. We are watching the death throes of the rich white man wielding power by blaming minorities, women and the poor for everything that goes wrong. It’s time for the evangelical church to perish right along with this male-centred structure of abuse, so something new and inclusive can form instead.

But the question remains, how violent is this clash between love and decency versus hate and supremacy going to get? How many lives will be lost? Exactly how brave are we going to have to be to stand up for what’s right?

Perhaps the fury I feel, together with many other women, people of colour and all who have been oppressed and humiliated for too long, is the fuel we need to move our resistance forward. To say “Hell no” and “Fuck you” with spirit and courage. To fight, but never to hate. To build the type of world that we’ve long believed was possible – not one with faulty top-down ideas of success that hinge on being male and white, but instead one that embraces everyone who has been marginalized and says, “Let’s work together.”

That’s where the hope comes in. And maybe, after a ton of work, time and acceptance, we can cut the string on the balloon and watch it soar into the sky, knowing that the future can be brighter than our distressing and unfair past.