One charming aspect of my new neighborhood in Oakland is that people block the streets. If my neighbors can’t find an open spot by the sidewalk, they park where they are and throw on their hazard lights while they run in to take care of something. When I pull out of the driveway so that my roommate can get into the garage, other cars just have to pass against traffic. A couple weeks ago, drivers were stopped on both sides of the street chatting, apparently realizing only when they crossed each other that they needed to converse. I had to wait just a moment before they moved to let me pass. My favorite was my neighbor blocking me in so that he could move some stuff from a car into his truck. Setting his truck in the middle of the road, he put some cones out as if that made it legit. He told me it would only be a few minutes, so I waited; I wasn’t in a rush. Though it can be inconvenient, I love this about my neighborhood because it makes me feel like it’s ours - we all live here together and sometimes that means taking up space and sometimes that means going around.

I was out of town last week when the police rioted against the Oakland Occupiers, but my roommate said that even though we live over a mile away it felt like a war zone when she stepped outside, with the floating gas and the exploding noises and the helicopters that hung around for days. She asked me, why are we talking about shutting down schools when we can afford this much police action? If they were worried about sanitation, wouldn’t it have been cheaper to put out some porta-potties? Why are these people being treated like they’re worthless?

I was thinking about all this on Wednesday as I walked to the Port of Oakland in a group of thousands, joining in the chant of “Whose streets? Our streets! Whose town? Our town!” I felt a little bad for cars trapped at intersections, and sometimes marchers would pause to let the cars through and sometimes other marchers would yell LET’S GO and weave through the vehicles. One commuter turned into the middle of the march and we laughed, knowing he wasn’t getting anywhere. Usually cars control the streets but sometimes pedestrians can. I saw children and rabbis and drummers and teachers and unemployed people and artists and people with disabilities taking a special protest bus and some guy in a devil costume I disagreed with and a dude in a blue bodysuit and American flag shorts who used to be my roommate’s neighbor. I saw some police on motorcycles hanging back, seeming afraid to engage, not wanting to provoke more outrage. Usually police control the city but sometimes people can.

We found friends as soon as we got to the plaza, and as we approached the port there was one open space in the crush and a friend I really needed to catch up with was standing right in the middle of it. We talked about teaching history, and the temptation to teach current events instead. I had just told my 6^th graders that class hierarchy is a primary characteristic of civilization, to set them up to study Mesopotamia. We wondered how young is too young to teach power analysis. I wondered how many times in history police forces have tried to brutally knock down a movement, and then had to quietly stand back as the movement clogged the streets the next week, that’s how many people cared.

At the port, a woman in a union t-shirt found a drummer and broke into West African dance, shouting, “A revolution without dancing is not a revolution worth having.” Around the corner, a crowd gathered around a live performance of Redemption Song. People climbed on top of trucks and shouted. There was a memorial to Oscar Grant and other victims of police brutality. Protesters walked around complimenting each other’s signs. A man yelled into a microphone: “The port is supposed to have a shift change in ten minutes! Is that going to happen? No!” We passed by a sign that reminded me, COMPASSION IS REVOLUTIONARY. I took it literally.

On our way out, we danced to some Lady Gaga blasting out of a bicycle stereo. The man voguing next to us yelled, “you go San Francisco” and we yelled, “we’re in Oakland! Oakland!” Personally, I wasn’t interested in shutting down the port for too long. The workers and the city both need the money. But I was happy to help shut it down for a little while, to show that we could, to give a reminder: There are a lot of people in this city, and these streets are our streets too.

This article has been around, but if you haven’t seen it, read it now. Learning about the concept of “mansplaining” has actually had unexpectedly concrete benefits for me. It could make a difference for you too! Though if you think you can identify, I’m sure the patriarchy will be happy to explain to you how you’ve never actually had that experience.

THANKS PATRIARCHY for being so patient when you’ve decided I just don’t understand!

A few weeks ago, I used public transit to visit a friend in San Francisco. A stop after I got on, the train was flooded with people leaving the Berkeley/USC football game. One guy sat down next to me, and his two friends hovered in our row (after I rejected an invitation to sit in one of their laps). We engaged in some semi-friendly chatter, then I turned to my education textbook.

“Hey, what are you reading?” As they all tried to stick their noses in my book, I pretended it was something top-secret. I did this because a) I could tell they were into kidding around, and b) I did not feel like getting into an in-depth conversation about educational policy/my life. “Why are you hiding that?” they asked. “Is it, like, feminist or something?” They seemed to think this was a funny joke.

When I told them I would not hide being a feminist, they figured it would be a great time to go for some “hilarious” “banter” about why women will never be as good as men at running companies (they were all USC business students). These are some things they did when I expressed my lack of amusement:
* assured me that it was okay, because women were better than other things, like mothering.
* explained, with surprise, that they were just joking!
* continued to make more “jokes” about everyone of my gender being inferior/bossy.
THANKS PATRIARCHY!

Here’s the thing about me: I like jokes! I often tell them! Even my brother, a professional comedian , occasionally admits that I am funny. I also have nothing against using humor with strangers - joking around can be an easy way to converse. Here’s the other thing about me: If you think it’s funny to denigrate a large group that I am a part of, especially if you don’t know me, that will not make me like you!

Unfortunately, these guys would not stop talking, so I asked them why they thought it would be so funny to insult women to a woman they do not know. Instead of answering or leaving me alone, they went on about how men could do better in business because they did not have to worry about children or emotions. This reminded me: the patriarchy hurts men too! Being the emotional woman that I am, I suddenly felt great sympathy for them, and told them so, for their souls were clearly a little bit dead inside.

Just another day in the patriarchy - gender expectations killing people’s souls, just a little bit :)