A jam-packed Saturday opens with a ritual by Goddess priestess Kim Duckett and members of Whisper, the group that brought Johnson back into the public forum last year. The beautifully staged ritual incorporates music and dance and continues the life-affirming themes of Friday night.
Korean scholar Dr. Hye Sook Hwang then speaks about her journey to feminism and the goddess—in her case Mago, the Great Mother Goddess in the Korean pantheon. Hwang movingly relates her working-class upbringing in Seoul; her lifelong spiritual and intellectual searches that led her through Christian fundamentalism, Christian feminism and graduate school; and her discovery of the works of Daly ( Hwang has translated two of Daly's works into Korean ) and ultimately her 'transpatriarchal voyage' to Magoism and 'gynocentric consciousness.'
After a meditation with New Mexican feminist activist Sandra Aaron that again focuses on female-positive energy and connections and a surprisingly delicious lunch ( vegetarian, of course ) , Daly offers a brief presentation. Daly, who is nearing 80 and is clearly in poor health, is assisted to the podium by Jade DeForest. After a standing ovation, Daly reads from her latest book, Amazon Grace ( 2006 ) , and ignites the crowd with extemporaneous comments, reminding everyone just what magic she can weave with her words and how funny she is in her own wicked way. Phrases such as 'interconnectedness of all biophilic beings' and 'the archaic past, present and future' still have the power to delight, invite and provoke. The women in New Mexico hope to convince Daly to come to the southwest, where there is a supportive community—including an LGBT retirement home in Santa Fe ( Rainbow Vision ) —but she continues to live alone in Boston.
Oakland-based educator and musician Afia Walking Tree treats us to a concert of percussion and vocals. Filled with joy and positive spirit, the Jamaican-born shaman energizes the auditorium-bound group, encouraging clapping, chanting and even dancing. It seems that most of the women are tired of engaging endlessly in what Sally Gearhart will later name 'woundology.' They want to feel joy and have fun while working toward change. In fact, DeForest has brought a supply of hula hoops and attempts to get the graying group to give them a try.
During a break I meet and mingle with lesbians in the 'actual chat room' ( as opposed to the virtual variety ) . I am particularly charmed by Ina Mae Morris and Stella Lopez-Armijo, working-class dykes who have been together for 27 years. Morris was raised Mormon, served in the Air Force, married a 'fallen Mormon man,' lived in Berkley in the '60s and had a lesbian affair; she was also Johnson's first lesbian acquaintance when she organized Mormons for the ERA. Lopez-Armijo, who also started out as a practicing heterosexual and came out after her divorce, has four grown children and six grandchildren. 'Ina was the first woman I ever made love to sober, and we've been together ever since,' says Lopez-Armijo. The couple, who met in a San Francisco bar, lives in Fremont, Calif., and is out to their mostly accepting families.
The afternoon closes with a satiric faux-academic presentation by Australian visual and performance artist Suzanne Bellamy. 'The Lost Culture of Women's Liberation: the Pre-Dynastic Phase, 1969-1974' presents findings and analysis of an archeological dig in Sydney, Australia, that unearthed the remains of the first lesbian feminist women's center in that city. ( Bellamy actually founded the group in real-time history. ) Through slides and lecture, and her wonderfully droll humor, Bellamy's presentation is a highlight of the weekend, especially for those at all familiar with the politics, attitudes and jargon of academia. 'There's only one rule in archeology,' she says. 'If you don't know what it is, it most likely was of ritual significance.' This axiom allowed the 'professor' to indicate several 'finds'—including a speculum and a mimeograph machine—as being 'clearly of ritual significance.'
After a dinner break, Margie Adams takes the stage for a solo concert. She is a charming performer and an accomplished musician, playing mostly her own compositions on a baby grand, singing, reminiscing and talking about her current involvement with peace work and environmentalism. She is forthright in declaring that this is a kinder and mellower Adams than 'back in the day.' She is integrating her spirituality with her activism and is heavily engaged with social justice and Labyrinth Peace Walks in an initiative known as The Avalon Project. This composer of protest songs has just released Portal, a disc of piano solos intended for meditation and walking through a labyrinth. She has also released a meditation DVD, Portal to Avalon. Women are still first and foremost on Adams' agenda, leading the charge, so to speak, for world peace, spiritual enlightenment and environmentalism, but it is evident that her work is inclusive of all genders.
On Sunday, the incomparable Sally Gearhart takes the stage. Of course I'd read Wanderground back in the day, and loved it. I met Gearhart while registering on Friday and was captivated by her sparkle and energy. She is as strong a speaker as she is a writer and her message is loud and clear—and different. Gearhart, whose Wanderground is a classic—perhaps the classic—of lesbian feminist separatist utopian literature, gets right up on that stage in front of a couple of hundred lesbians, most of whom still proudly declare themselves separatist ( and live it ) , and declares that she is no longer a separatist. She says that she is a 'recovering activist and is done with the victim/oppression mentality.' She talks eloquently about how she came to this place, and how 'all the suffering I did for people only added to the suffering.' She also discussed how she reached the depths of despair when the Sandinistas were defeated: She turned inward, seeking a source of personal power and acknowledging that the 'personal is political,' explored 'Buddhism, Seth [ a 'spirit guide' entity ] and sex.' She spoke of the difference between motivation, which is based on fear of consequences, and inspiration, which flows from a vision of joy.
Gearhart asserts that diversity, and not peace, is the opposite of war; that we are all connected; and that recognizing that everything and everyone is sacred and embracing all beings—including people who hold differing opinions and including men—is the only answer to our problems. Embracing gender identity in all its variations and combinations is part of embracing diversity. It is at about this time that a few women walk out.
'The separatist movement I embraced in the 1970s is not who I am today,' Gearhart boldly states. She still believes that the female is primary and that we need women's space and women's power, but that we also need diversity and we need to make space for the male. There are questions that need to be explored, and all genders need to explore them together: What is the role of the male in a utopian society? Is the source of violence really in the male psyche, as philosophers such as Daly and Johnson declare? Is it the male chromosome or is it just a part of the human species? Then, she says, we need to think positively with undiscriminating love and recognize that everything is sacred. 'If I can change my feelings by changing my thoughts, can I change reality?'
After this love fest—which some loved and some hated—Stanford professor, writer and award-winning playwright Cherrie Moraga takes the podium to wonder why she has been scheduled at the end of the program and why she is there at all. 'When anyone asks me to be positive, it pretty much sets me up,' she says. Moraga expresses great anger at the lack of diversity at the event, reading a list of names of women of color who are not there. She would have the white attendees identify specifically as 'white feminists.' She notes to the 'sisters of color who are in the room' that she is not addressing them with these remarks, and that she 'assumes that you are standing with me.' She wonders why she is there at all and suggests that perhaps she is the only Chicana the planners know: 'This Bridge Called My Back is probably the only book by a Chicana that you have read.' She states that she is a feminist because she wants to remember being an Indian, not because she does not want to be of color. Moraga says that she is having a hard time with the platitudes at the conference and that there are indigenous women who are organizing around issues, in closeness to the mother culture, the earth. She then cautions the group about adopting someone else's culture in an effort to be 'close to the mother.' The 'big white feminists' need to 'find your own way home, find your own business. You are not the cutting edge, you are first world people. Stay out of our business. Live a life of reciprocity, but stay out of our business.' After leaving the stage Moraga leaves the conference.
We break for lunch and then it is time to reaffirm our unity, love, interconnectedness and commitment to each other; to all womyn; and to the earth, peace and positive social change. Most of the presenters are still at the conference and they participate in a reaffirmation of these principles. It is, after the dressing down by Moraga, a bit self-conscious, with some of the women of color giving extra time to words of inclusion, diversity and working together, and a number of white women taking pains to declare themselves white but well-intentioned.
Shaba Barnes—writer, minister and national co-director of Old Lesbians Organizing for Change—leads a 'commitment ceremony' stressing unity and asking the attendees to take the message and energy of the weekend home and translate that energy into action on behalf of women and the planet.
Ultimately, what really revitalizes the group and raises positive energy is, not surprisingly, the joy of the drums and movement. A Mother Drum is carried to the stage and 16 of us share eight mallets as we begin to drum the heartbeat. Afia Walking Tree takes center and begins the lead drum and chanting while more than 200 women affirm their lives in the archaic past, present and future by stomping, chanting, clapping, shaking, laughing and touching mind, body and spirit.
My friend Stacy, a staunch lesbian feminist now living in Montana, wrote: 'Was it wonderful? Did you feel cradled in womyn-centered theory or did it feel staid and rigid? I would love to hear.'
Engaging, entertaining, educational, yes, and even inspiring. I certainly felt cradled—definitely not staid and rigid. And it was well worth the trip.
