Forms of Resistance.

Even though I spend much of my life teaching and tutoring various forms of history, I still find the notion of knitting as resistance fascinating. Back in the '90s, in angstful high school days, I first learned of knitters and codes during the French Revolution. It was while reading A Tale of Two Cities for English that the portal of knowledge came to life. The tid bit has stuck with me, and the modern pins and symbols one wears for cultural resistance have manifested on me. Somewhere, in the back of a jewelry drawer, are the remnants of DIY Riot Grrrl feminism of the 1990s. Rusted with age, forgotten from wear, pins denouncing the patriarchy, demanding power for the people, and declaring women's rights... trinkets of a life's work, a long held passion, and the thrust and drive of much of my life's work reside in the images and memories of those tchotchkes.  

And, then in an assaulting shock of night I--with the world--found myself awoken to a new world order. An order I refuse to say with capital letters, an order I justly fear, and an order that threatens the very core of progress, my life's work, and even prosperity. Thus, when the power of social media, the disdain of disbelief, and the anger of social assault hit us via calls for protest and crafters creating the Pussy Hat movement I joined my fellow DIYers by wielding my knitting needles and casting out a hat to show my voice, my person, and my cause on my head. 

Why yes, here's a new meaning to wearing your heart on your sleeve. Today, I'm wearing it on my  head and as my five foot three frame trots along  in crowded NYC streets I can only hope that when my pink tiger stripes bounce along someone, among the masses, regains a bit of hope, sense of dignity, and portal of rebirth. 

These hats in various shades of pink--with the hot pink variations (reminiscent of Women's Lib itself)--have caused a shortage of pink yarn, have spurned an array of crafters--young and old--to spew them out in the prescribed pink and variations of colors found in stashes. Men, women, and children have been posting selfies, group shots, and random pics of these creations popping up around the nation and globe. 

In a snowstorm last week, poetic indeed.  

The hat, a basic rectangle stitched together, can be easily altered with unique designs for the wearer, but the premise is the same. The rectangle forms ears on our heads, as a cat, since--ya know--women have been demoted to little more than pussies in current rhetoric. A small, goofy hat stands for so much more. It shows power, it shows hope, it shows resistance, it show belief . . . and most of all it shows the voice of the people in the direct face of the backlash.  This backlash is one women have seen before . . . promises made, promises broken.  The glass ceiling still stands.  Yet, actions of protest, refusals to engage with the patriarchy, grasping hope, and refusing to give up pave the way for progress to stand firm, tall, and strong.  

Hats for friends, one hat not pictured . . . for a friend's small daughter.  I imagine these will be a mainstay in the coming days. 

Yet, as we all know I'm not stranger to a protest . . . and I'm certainly no stranger to women's lib and activism.  That being said, don't ever tell me protesting has no place or purpose.  How in the hell do you think we ended Jim Crow laws, segregation, and lines or servitude? Yeah, the Washington Post released an article about how we should eschew the pink hats for the Women's March this weekend.  Yeah, I think that one pissed me off about as much as the link about Bachman saying US women don't need a museum.  Yeah, I hear ya . . . and I've got an emoji for ya too.  

You don't want to conform, conscript, or  . . . better yet, you don't want to publicly state your stance so that you can deny it when need be.  Or maybe you hate pink.  Well . . . wear another color.  You know what the hats symbolize? Well, at least to me . . . they show hope in a tide of uncertainty.  They ease my broken heart, providing hope that maybe my life's work has not been in vain or will not be undone.  They tell me that maybe the next time I find myself waiting on a midnight train with an old friend of a different skin color some jackal in a uniform won't pull me aside and make racial remarks.  They tell me the pages I write, the courses I teach, the beliefs I have, the causes I work for, and that the upcoming generation will have solid ground, hope, and stability.  

So, don't you dare regulate me, my hat, or my voice as ridiculous.  Instead, remember that without a voice, a sign, a platform, or a coded message within a sock, a scarf, or a hat the voices of resistance, change, and progress would not be heard, seen, or would not find each other in troubling times.