March 8th, 2010 §
Starting back on this abandoned blog with a series of thoughts on women’s issues this week. Today is International Women’s Day and also, in Victoria and Tassie, Labour Day so work seems an appropriate subject.
“Women in today’s workplace still earn less than blokes, they work harder for promotion but are often overlooked in favour of men for more senior positions, and when they retire, have far less income to retire on. If they have children, most of the childcare, or organising it, will be left up to them. They will often work in poorly paid casual or part-time positions in order to prioritise family, especially in the pre-school years. ”
— Trish Bolton, Feminism is more than a memory
THE FACTS:
- Women’s average full-time weekly earnings – 17.2% lower than men
- Women’s average, inc. part-time and casual work – 35% lower than men
- Women’s likelihood of old age poverty – 2.5 times higher than men
- Women’s average lifetime superannuation – 50% of what men have
MY RESPONSE TO THE FACTS:
Are these figures quite appalling? Yes. Are they unjustifiable? Certainly. Do I feel enraged? I simply… don’t.
As a lifelong feminist, I have always found it difficult to get worked up over the pay equity issue. Partly, it is a question of triage. If the average woman has enough money to feed and clothe and house herself and her children, then my focus will be on other issues. In the face of serious threats to women’s health and safety, for example, the question of who is getting the biggest piece of the pie becomes rather trivial to me. Will a few more female CEO’s or female millionaires – often lauded in the media like some kind of breakthrough for women’s rights – change the daily experience of the average woman’s life? Make her more free? The average woman, and even the average man, will never have access to that rarified air.
Incidentlally, the pay gap is actually at its widest in that rarified air. (Women CEOs, for example, are often earning 50% less than a male in similar positions.) The lowest paying jobs are where you will find the smallest gap. And yes, yes… Women are over-represented in the lowest-paid jobs. It kind of makes that old catch-cry of “Equal Pay for Equal Work” seem rather silly when women don’t get ‘equal’ work.
And perhaps I should be more outraged about that. Because that IS about cultural attitudes and stereotypes which inhibit a woman’s power to choose. Of course I agree that any woman who wishes it should have equitable career rewards and opportunities for advancement but the reality of this capitalist, consumerist Western society is that the majority of all people do work that is not particularly fulfilling or financially rewarding. The issue for me is not whether women should be getting more of the pie: It is whether or not that pie is worth buying into at all.
Can we measure someone’s societal value by their earnings, or by the prestige of their position? Should we? Yes, I know we do… but should we?
What exactly is wrong with those “low-paid” jobs anyway, apart from the fact that my telly might not be as big as my next-door neighbour’s? Would I somehow feel more important and valued if I was an accountant than I would if I was answering an accountant’s phone? Would I actually be more important, or are we really just talking emperor’s new clothes here? Can my paycheque really define my value as a member of this society or, after a certain point, actually improve the quality of my life, not just its appearance?
I might sound facetious but I am actually serious. Our society places a lot of emphasis on work (in that old male ‘public sphere’ anyway) as identity and it grades identities with a rather ridiculous scale. Doctors sometimes save lives. But garbage collectors do more to make my life livable every week.
Isn’t there the danger of actually creating another yoke around women’s necks with the pressure to be ’successful’? Isn’t this simply another double-edged sword for women, like sexual liberation, where more is expected and less is given? (Not that I’m knocking sexual liberation, but any number of conversations with women worrying that making a phone call after sex might be overstepping the bounds tells me there is some power imbalance there.)
I would suggest that this social pressure already exists. Over the last decade several older feminists have come out and said, “We got it wrong: You can’t do everything. That Superwoman thing was a big mistake.” And we know what the crux of the Superwoman problem is, and it is a significant part of the problem with pay disparity: Motherhood.
In a brief discussion on Facebook earlier today, it was pointed out to me that because of lower earnings, often women are dis-empowered in the negotiations at home about who will work and who will care for the children. If women earn less money, they will obviously be the ones who will stay home, or do flexible, low-paid work to supplement the family income. This does take some choice out of the equation, it’s true, but I am not by any means convinced that even with equal work and equal pay there would be equity in those negotiations anyway.
And this is where the way we value work and the way in which we assign social value really comes to the fore: Even when both (heterosexual) parents are working full time, the majority of housework and childcare falls on women. The vast majority of all unpaid work has no (acknowledged) social value and continues to be “women’s work”. There will most certainly never be equal pay for equal work while this division of labour remains so firmly in place. And while perhaps some legislative action and governmental changes might improve a woman’s pay cheque, and even her social status, the price is the expectation that, if a mother, she will have two full time jobs and will often feel that both of them represent a failure.
As a single mother myself, one would think that I might sometimes wish for the support of a partner, and perhaps if I had one my finances would be less of a worry, but the feeling I most often get looking at perfectly happy relationships is relief.
“The cost in human terms of feeding him, grooming him, humouring him and financing his recreation is way out of proportion to the contribution he makes in return, even if he is a sensitive and attentive lover.”
– Germaine Greer, The Whole Woman
Equal pay for equal work? How about just getting paid? Yes, now I am being facetious, but if anything is to change in the experience of work for women, there needs to be a societal shift in the way all work is valued and it can’t be measured in cash. For all the achievements of feminism made in the last century – and they are enormous, and I am exceedingly grateful for them – we still live in a society of irrational hierarchies and I’m not sure that climbing the ranks is the solution.
Women should have choices. Affordable and accessible childcare should be a priority. Longer and paid parental leave should be a priority. And I am in favour of equity in the workplace and at home. I am all in favour of women having career goals and financial goals above and beyond the necessities of life, if that is what they want. I truly am. I simply can’t find in myself the feminist urge to march in the street for it.
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March 6th, 2008 Comments Off
Eeek. Sorry for last night’s rant. 
It has been a massive week of organising my life and despite the fact that a couple of trivial things (like bad software) have made me pretty hot under the collar, I’m having a wonderful time and I’m happier than I have been in… I don’t know how long.
I promise I’ll write a lovely Smiley Saturday post and tell you about all the the things that are making me joyful.
At the moment, the big job is getting myself 100% sorted for this semester so it’s focus focus focus in the best sort of way. With Cas, I don’t have the luxury of fluffing my way through study any more. Besides, there is nothing better for me than being super-productive and working towards something meaningful. I know that when I’ve got a handle on all my studies over the next couple of weeks, I’ll have heaps of energy built up to deal with the things which have been dragging me down.
However, I have had second thoughts about taking on a full time study load this semester and I think I will be withdrawing from that 3rd subject, only because I’ve been stuck in this living situation for too long. I want to be able to get out of here and into my own apartment by midyear break. That, of course, will depend on someone buying my house but at the very least I would like it ready to sell and on the market. Once I’m free of that albatross, I’ll be able to pick up extra subjects and do them justice. As much as I would like to do everything at once, only so much is possible.
I’m also in the process of trying to come to an arrangement with the bank so that I can consolidate my debts and reduce my monthly payments. I’ve had to ask a relative to be a guarantor which is horrid position to be in (both for me and them) but at the moment I’m hopeful that I can get it sorted. Not having things in the red, at the same time as reducing my total monthly payments is going to make a huge difference to my psyche.
Over at the Aussie Bloggers Forum today, Ben Barden (great blogger, nice guy) linked to an article by Neil Jenman, How To Save Your Home, and everyone agreed that it was worth reading. Right now, I almost fit into the “mortgage trauma” category, despite the fact that when I bought the house the mortgage repayments were less than 25% of my income. I wasn’t foolish (Who needs a McMansion, anyway?) but life circumstances change. I just have to get my income and my living arrangements compatible again.
On top of all that, I’ve also got a dozen blog posts in development for here, there and everywhere, so it seems like I will be getting my blogging life under control soon as well.
Let’s just hope that the bank doesn’t send me into a tailspin again.
Overall, the best thing about being at university is that I feel like myself. (Can you hear all the energy?) I feel purposeful; I feel like I’m involved; I feel like I’m moving.
I’m a busy person now. I mean business.
(Btw: First history lecture today. It was fantastic! Off to write up my notes now.)
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February 20th, 2008 §
I’m stressed at the moment and it is getting in the way of me getting things done. I haven’t been meeting my own deadlines for getting the WinterWarm site finished, even though I’m so close. I’ve hardly written a thing on my other blog, and what I have published has been uptight and, well, basically pretty crappy.
And another thing is stressing me out. Feel free to stop reading now because there is nothing tackier than whining about money and that is what I’m going to do.
Basically, my income doesn’t actually cover the bills I need to pay. I put in an application a while ago to draw down some of my home equity to clear some debts and help me fix a few things at the house so I could sell it but nobody ever got back to me. Needless to say, my credit card company has had enough and I now have a month to come up with $8,500. That’s pretty hard when, after paying a home loan, a personal loan and some of your minimum cc payment, all you have left for the rest of life’s expenses (you know, like food and electricity, or replacing glasses) is less than $200 a month.
So I get on my bank’s case and ask what is going on with the loan. I get a message back simply saying, Sorry but it was not approved. Er, thanks for letting me know.
But I understand. My credit rating is screwy. It all went pear-shaped after the indecent assault by an employer, when I left my job (obviously) and went spiraling into depression.
However, the things that shits me is that I have, at a minimum, $60,000 equity in that house. There is no danger to the bank. Especially because drawing down on my home loan will actually reduce all my expenses each month making it easier for me to pay the damn home loan. Especially because drawing down on the loan would make it easier for me to sell the thing and give them all their damn money back.
Basically they’re saying, We don’t trust you to pay less than you do right now. Does that makes sense? Well, no. But banks have their little ways.
So I wrote back asking what I could do. Could I go higher up and appeal the decision? Could I reduce the figure being applied for? And so on and so on. They have said they might approve it if I can get a family member to be a guarantor. Um, yeah.
My mother lives in Sudan: I don’t think they’ll want her signature. My sister is living on income insurance because of her spinal injury and has her own home loan to pay. And she’s already stretched from paying the bills for a household of 3 because I can’t afford my fair share of the utilities.
Does trying to find a solution to this feel too hard? Yes, it does. Is sitting here whining about it going to help? No, it’s not. Right at this moment, can I think of anything better to do? In a word… No.
But c’est la guerre, right? C’est la guerre…
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January 15th, 2008 §
A few of days ago, Caspar broke my glasses. This wasn’t unexpected. In fact I was expecting them to fall apart any day even without his intervention. They were old and I was resigned to the fact that soon I would be walking around all geek-like with duct tape holding them together. In order to do that now, however, I would need to know where the arm Caspar snapped off was hiding.
I don’t.
After walking around for a couple of days with my glasses lopsided and falling off every time I moved my head, something worse happened: I lost them altogether. There is a chance that they are somewhere in the house but there is also a chance they are somewhere in the park. And that is not good.
They were annoying me while I was pushing the swing and lifting Cas to the top of the slide and bouncing up and down on the stupid, sprung see-saw.
(Seriously, when was the last time you saw a real see-saw? I mean, just a plank of wood? Is everybody so isolated these days that they don’t even build play equipment for two people any more? And don’t say safety issues. Those sprung things are way more dangerous.)
Anyway, I hung the one-armed glasses over my v-neck so we could play. Then we walked home. I’d like to think that I would have noticed if they were missing when we were walking home but my specs are for distances and walking with Cas generally requires stopping to examine every pebble or flower or leaf along the way. It’s very possible I didn’t actually look up the entire time.
Last night I realised the enormity of this loss. I’m not so blind that I can’t get around the house without them but I wouldn’t recognise my own mother walking towards me in the street. And I certainly can’t drive which, out here, makes grocery shopping both tedious and expensive. It leaves me with the local IGA which has hardly any stock that I would consider food (you know, the stuff that doesn’t come in five layers of packaging) and everything is twice the price.
It also means I cannot get to my house to fix it up, which means I cannot sell my house, which means that I will be stuck here in this hellhole the suburbs, crammed into my sister’s tiny spare room with Cas for the rest of my life. I’m really not feeling good about that.
And I’m supposed to go into the city next week. For the person who’ll be meeting me, I’ll be the one either standing there blankly or waving at anyone and everyone who might seem to be looking my way. If you want me to recognise you, you’re going to have to get close.
Of course, between now and then I might be able to locate them but right now I think the most likely outcome is that tomorrow I’ll find the missing arm.
After all, what is a paper cut without a little lemon?
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December 16th, 2007 §
I’m back from a few days away, with so much to write about, but I really just need to get everything under control again. There are only 60 unread emails and 261 posts in my feedreader, and I think I’ve managed to reply to all the comments here already, but still feels a little out of control.
I need to clear myself some headspace. I need to clean up.
Obviously there isn’t going to be a Sandbox Sunday post this week because for the first time in a long time I didn’t spend Saturday night at home on my computer. I had hoped to write a [Fiction] Friday piece while I was away but didn’t have internet access in time. (Something to do with my cousin having a few too many knockoffs after work to remember to bring the laptop home with him.) That’s okay though, because Friday’s theme was Skeletons In the Closet and I couldn’t come up with any ideas that didn’t seem trite or tired.
In other news, you might vaguely recall me mentioning a while ago that I’d had a “stellar idea” for a new blog, a resource rather than a personal journal? Well, I’ve been working on it a little and today I came home to an email proving that I must be the luckiest depressed person on the planet.
Thanks to All For Women and their 12 Days of Christmas promotion, I have just won a new domain name, a year’s worth of hosting and assistance with the initial set-up of the blog. (That’s on top of winning that $250 recently from the Imaginif team!)
All for Women put together a wonderful collection of giveaways and they still have one prize left to give: $100 cold, hard cash. Entry is open until the 20th so stop by for a visit. Aside from my prize, my personal favourite was the Bright Star Kids Wall Graphics (which was won by KateF over at Picklebums), a wonderful and surprisingly affordable product which I will definitely be investing in once I get somewhere of my own to live.
If my good fortune has inspired you to leave a comment or three in hopes of some Christmas gifts, Imaginif is giving out another cash prize this month: Christmas Competition: Child Safety Tips. Or if you’d rather win an iPod, toddle over to Outfit Inspirations and take part in The Great Online Christmas Scavenger Hunt.
I’ve already solved the puzzle, of course. I’m annoying that way. (I still remember with sadness the day my mother said that she wouldn’t by me any more for Christmas because I solved them too quickly. Didn’t she realise that was part of the pleasure?) But I’m not going to tell you the secret. Because it’s about the journey, you know. It’s possible, however, that one of the links in this post contains a clue.
But back to my prize… I’m still not going to mention what the new site will be about, but I’ve got a busy year ahead of me and I’m hoping that it will be very successful. I’m even hoping that it will bring in a couple of dollars to pay for hosting once my year has run out.
And while I’m handing out the linky love (and, believe me, it’s genuine linky love) , I know as I set to work I’ll be spending quite a bit of time reading Andrew Boyd. He’s writing two interesting series at the moment: Get A Real Blog, for those thinking of moving to selfhosting, and the Flagship Blog Project, which is all about setting up new, quality blogs. It’s one blog a month for those involved in the project, a task I wouldn’t even consdider tackling, but so far the content has been really valuable and I hope the process laid out can help me achieve my goals.
But that’s enough for now. I need to do some serious cleaning to get my cyberlife back to almost manageable proportions. And then tomorrow I will begin to tell you about my long weekend.
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September 19th, 2007 §
My computer is at least 1000 years old and was cobbled together lovingly by my friends PC and Shaun using discarded parts and ingenuity. My monitor is the size of mouse poo and I had been rapidly shrinking the display on it as the edges became blurrier and blurrier. Last night it fizzed. This morning it popped.
I am now going to do something which goes against the grain with me and talk about money. I say goes against the grain partly because I think I have read too many English novels and partly because I have a very specific notion of “class” which is worthy of a post in itself. But this is my blog and I’ll cry if I want to, cry if I want to, cry if I want to…
Money is just money. You can do fun things with it but beyond covering the bare necessities, it’s really not that interesting. This morning when I heard that ominous sound, it really did seem like being able to access my computer was a bare necessity. It was a disaster of untold proportions.
What was I to do while I drank my morning coffee if I couldn’t look at all my site statistics to see who had been reading my blog? How was I to transfer the loan payment for the house I can’t afford to live in, already a day late? How was I to download the forms I need to fill out so I could go back to university next year? They are due in 3 days and I can’t afford the late fees. And tomorrow is Big Sis’ birthday: I need to make a lemon meringue pie. All my cookbooks are packed. If life without books is hard, life without books or my computer is untenable.
So panic. I need a monitor. I need a monitor now.
And I needed to buy laundry detergent. And toilet paper. And baby formula. And a present for Big Sis’ birthday. And I’m scraping the bottle of the change barrel. Last month we were down to our last few cents to keep us in milk; this month… Money is sometimes depressing. So off I go, with $35 in my pocket for the next three weeks, hoping against hope that somehow I will find a way. If only formula wasn’t so bloody expensive. It’s not like I would have ever started feeding Cas the stuff if I had had a choice. (Cleft palate children can’t breastfeed.)
Fortunately, or so I think, I live at the end of the earth in an outer suburb that used to be a separate town, where dead-end drug users shoot up behind the op shops and pawnshops which breed here like flies. I try one. I try another. The only monitor I find even close to my price range is $25. That’s too much.
And that’s depressing.
So my mind starts adding up all the things I wanted to do, that I cannot. Like the present I was hoping to buy for Caspar’s first birthday, that present I’ve had my heart set on for ages.
And I cannot buy it. My little drummer boy’s first birthday and I cannot buy him that special gift I know he will love.
Now that’s depressing.
So I move on. I find good laundry detergent I can afford, $2 a box. I find a pink leather iPod cover for $3.50 to give to Big Sis. That’s a nice present. I realise that Caspar doesn’t need the most expensive baby formula any more. He eats 3 meals a day and his digestive system has matured enough so that it won’t make him constipated and gassy like the last time I tried an alternative. I find some on sale for less than half the price of my usual formula. I have $10 left. And my mind, so hooked on the percussion desk for his birthday, lets it go.
Maybe for Christmas.
I start to calm down.
I leave a message for Shaun. He always has computer junk lying around. So what if he’s on holiday. I won’t die. Big Sis has a computer and it doesn’t matter if I have to reset every password I’ve ever had because I rely on my computer to remember them for me.
And two days ago, Caspar took my pen from me and did real scribbles in my notebook. I can afford crayons. He will love crayons. And I will love sitting and drawing with him and pinning his artwork on my fridge.
That’s right.
Money doesn’t matter.
I don’t like getting down to my last penny, or having to pay my bills a little late. I don’t like not being able to fix the things that break or go out for coffee every other day. Sometimes it’s stressful. Today, I had a bad hour. Verging on tears, it was still just a bad hour.
In a few months, when the house is sold and I have no more debt and I have a five figure bank balance (hopefully), Cas and I can live a slightly easier life. Perhaps I still won’t be able to buy whatever I want. Perhaps I’ll only go out for coffee once a week, but what can money buy that compares to the delight in my son’s eyes when I blow raspberries on his feet, or his giggling pride when he toddles back and forth across the room?
What can compare to his slimy kisses in the morning or the way he hands me my glasses when he thinks it’s time for us to get out of bed?
The death of my monitor was a bad hour. Not the first, and not the last.
But it’s only bloody money.
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