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What my sister gave me: a thread about feminists and feminism.
My sister was 20, a student in York, when she was knocked off her bike, fractured her skull and died. I was 14. Losing her was one of the most profoundly formative experiences in my life. There’s no way to/
My sister was 20, a student in York, when she was knocked off her bike, fractured her skull and died. I was 14. Losing her was one of the most profoundly formative experiences in my life. There’s no way to/
untangle such a loss from your identity, of course. But, equally, it’s hard to clearly discern the significance of what others gift to us.
One thing my sister gave me was the word feminism. I am sure it was her, bringing this word, that first challenged the 1970s ideas about/
One thing my sister gave me was the word feminism. I am sure it was her, bringing this word, that first challenged the 1970s ideas about/
‘women’s libbers’ that I had grown up with. She was the one insisting that we (a peace movement family) talk to the women who had set up a peace camp (in solidarity with Greenham women) in our local park.
She was the one who took on my angry uncle as he listed the nasty/
She was the one who took on my angry uncle as he listed the nasty/
feminists he’d met. I sat, listening, at the kitchen table as she argued. I must have been 11 or 12. Finally, I tapped my uncle on the arm. ‘But, she’s talking about feminism and you’re talking about feminists.’ And there it was, the understanding that/
we could argue for the rights of women without having to spend all our time answering every accusation, every suggestion of bad character or cruelty thrown at feminists. Sometimes I wonder what she’d have made of today, of all the new labels, insults and accusations. I think/
she’d be busy doing feminism. Miriam Rogers, 1965-1985, my brilliant sister.
