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Slanted agenda
Women’s studies program overtly promotes lesbian curriculum
JESSICA FLANAGAJN is a
senior English and philoso
phy major and a Daily
Nebraskan columnist.
The women’s studies program.
Feminism? Lesbianism? If those were
the terms that came to mind, don’t
despair. You’re not a b-b-bigot, nor are
you guilty of vicious stereotyping. It
seems to me you’re right on the
money.
I am actually a proponent of
women’s studies programs. In fact, I
was actively pursuing a minor in
women’s studies and intended to do
my honor’s thesis on the black women
authors of this century.
I am in favor of a women’s studies
program if it “explores the contribu
tions of women to all aspects of soci
ety, and integrates a new and broader
understanding of women and gender
into traditional academic fields,” the
stated goal of UNLs program.
Such a program is both worthwhile
and needed. It is valuable for students,
male and female alike, to spend time
in academic pursuit of understanding
gender differences and how they con
tinue to anect dinerent aspects ot soci
ety.
Pretty politically correct, eh? So
anyway, I used to be this women’s
studies buff.
Then, I single-handedly (with no
help from my scholarly guides) dis
covered the women’s studies program
at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln
is a conduit for the lesbian agenda.
Now, I’m not saying there is no
place for the study of lesbian literature
or experience in die program. I’m not
even breaching the political or moral
arguments surrounding a homosexual
lifestyle.
Rather, I am asking if a well-devel
oped program is one that devotes the
most study to a faction of society that
makes up only 10 percent of the popu
lation.
Before I proceed to argue that the
program promotes the lesbian agenda,
I want you to consider something for a
moment
UNL is exempt from federal
income tax under the Internal Revenue
Code. As a result it is prohibited from
participating or intervening, directly or
indirectly, in any political campaign.
May I point out that political cam
paign does not necessarily denote the
candidacy of an individual.
As a matter of fact, I do believe
homosexual issues are widely accept
ed as partisan issues to some extent.
Having said that there are several
questions that follow. Is there an actual
campaign for the political advance
ment of the gay and lesbian lifestyle?
And it so, does UNLs women s studies
program qualify as participating in that
campaign!
I’m glad I don’t have to answer
those questions, because if the
answers are yes, things could get
messy. UNLs continued tax-exempt
status could be called into question.
All of this hinges on whether or
not the women’s studies program
could be considered part of a political
campaign.
May I direct your attention to the
women’s studies Web site (at
http./Avww. uni. edu/womensspAvshom
e.htmiy! Here we will find the history
of the program by Professor Moira
Ferguson, who was appointed the first
chairwoman of the program. “Its (the
women’s studies program) impetus
came from a national movement to
elevate standards of justice and
democracy in the United States. The
personal unrest and desire for social
transformation that characterized this
movement took place throughout the
1960s.”
She goes on, “A fundamental
change erupted in the traditional acad
emy: interdisciplinary studies and the
link between activism and scholarship
was formally opening up.”
The program hails one of the
advantages of a degree as its focus on
and dedication to the study of women
of different sexual orientations. The
program also ensures students they
will be encouraged to examine alterna
tive lifestyles. In my experience, that’s
code for “today, we will be studying
lesbian literature... again.
This historical account goes on to
discuss the evolution of course work
and points to English 3ION, 20*
Century Lesbian Novelists, as a course
“particularly worthy of singling out
because of its subject matter.”
Ferguson further lists the housing
of “Sinister Wisdom,” a lesbian-femi
nist journal, for three years at UNL as
one of the “spectacular” accomplish
ments of the program. She raves that,
during the same time, 1979-1982, the
Lincoln Legion of Lesbians was orga
nized and co-sponsored important
community women’s events.
In addition, when the Midwest
Women’s Studies Association confer
ence was sponsored and hosted by
UNLs program in 1985, the keynote
speakers were lesbian and poet Pat
Parker and lesbian feminist Mary
Daly.
Just imagine for a moment the
family sciences department sponsored
a conference in which the only speak
ers featured were from organizations
such as Focus on the Family and the
Christian Coalition.
The argument would certainly be
made that speakers were not “inclu
sive” of other points of view.
Likewise, a women’s studies con
ference that showcases only lesbian
authors and speakers is not inclusive of
die majority of the female population.
If you were to search course syllabi
for the program, you would find read
ing lists that concentrate on such
renowned lesbians as Lorde, Feinbeig
and Allison.
And while I have taken several
women’s studies classes that have been
both challenging and well-developed,
such as Black Women Authors taught
by Dr. Venetria Patton (a course that
could very well be the superstar of the
English Department), I have taken sev
eral courses that were not so flawlessly
designed in terms of accurate repre
sentation of cross-sections.
For example, I took a 20* Century
Women Writers class where at least 70
percent of our reading material was
lesbian literature.
And while I would concede les
bianism certainly has its place in the
20th century, I am not convinced it
comprises 70-plus percent of 20th cen
tury women’s works worthy of study
ing.
Do you see what I’m getting at?
The current focus ofthe course materi
al does not present an accurate cross
section of the experiences and contri
butions of women. It is heavily weight
ed toward advocating lesbianism.
I’m not saying the program is sole
ly devoted to die lesbian agenda. Nor
am I saying all feminists are lesbians,
or all students in the women’s studies
program are lesbians, or even femi
nists for that matter.
I’m simply raising the question as
to whether or not the women’s studies
program at UNL should be considered
a campaign outiet for the political
advancement of the lesbian agenda.
I’ll have to get back to you on this
one.
Are you there, Mark? It’s me, God
i • • r J ‘
Teen-age religious experience leaves memorable impact
MARK BALDRIDGE is a
senior English major
and a Daily Nebraskan
columnist.
I was called to be a preacher of the
gospel when I was 16, and the Holy
Spirit descended, like a tongue of
flame, on the Alamogordo Church of
Christ sometime after midnight the
second night of the Winter Youth
Retreat.
It was hot in the little auditorium,
and the sour sweat of adolescence
rose like incense through die abstract
cross of prominent roof beams.
A hysterical, three-hour tag-team
sermon, “On the Resurrection of the
Dead,” had resulted in extra choruses
of “Just as I Am” to accommodate the
boys and girls who’d come forward,
dozens of them, for prayers and
rededications. There were also to be
three baptisms.
We stood, the rest of us, and kept
on singing.
A girl in one of the front rows
fainted from all the heat and standing
around, and a little window of colored
glass was cranked open on arthritic
hinges, letting in a shaft of cold air. It
entered the room like a physical pres
ence, reviving everyone.
I looked out the window at white
moonlight falling on White Sands in
the distance, a layer of sugar frosting
spread across the New Mexico desert.
My thoughts raced. I was having
some kind of seizure.
We were a stoic and straight-laced
people, vigorous in our religion.
There was no dancing, no drinking
anckve sang our simple songs a capel
la.
Fundamental in our faith, with no .
room for the frivolous, so-called
charismatic gifts of the Spirit, we
were holy but we did not roll. There
was not a snake handler in the bunch.
But there I stood, nevertheless,
choking back prophesy.
Gagging on the word of God.
Biting my tongues.
The burden of the
gospel had been laid
upon my heart like
an ache.
Colorful shapes,
swooping, reckless
balloons, rose
through the dark
ness of my body
and burst into
sentences in my
brain - as if a
teaching machine
had been turned
on, activating
encoded material
I had never previ
ously examined.
I only wanted
it to stop.
1 he scent ot
chlorine ran in lit
tle invisible
rivulets through
the room, kissing
flushed, upturned
faces as the curtain
opened behind the
pulpit, and a man
waded into the
water of the baptis
tery. He wore a
house-painter
white denim jump
suit and was leading
a pretty, teen-age
girl by the hand. -
She looked terri
fied as she stepped
down into the pool,
the thin, white robe
they’d given her floating to
her hips in the water. She . g
seemed absent, as if part of her |
had already disappeared - the
devil cast out.
The minister took her con
fession of faith and then, covering her
face with his enormous hands, shoved
her down, under the water...
And brought her up again, clean.
Her white smock
became transpar
ent when wet,
and all of us
caught a
glimpse
of nip
ple as
she
Deb Lee/DN
arose, hair streaming. She disap
peared in a cloud of amens, and
another took her place, inching into
the water, toe first. This was going to
take a little while.
I held my breath - a cure for hic
cups - to keep from shouting out what
God was telling me.
Because the vision or the halluci
nation or whatever it was that gripped
me formed an equally clear impres
sion of my life ahead were I to tell a
single word of what I suddenly knew
- and a hairy, raving Prophet of the
Lord was not what I wanted to be
when I grew up.
Not for me the wilderness and
wind, the lonely, mad, hideous stars
turning in a winter sky. I wanted
to stay indoors, with my
friends, to be like people.
I remember think
ing, absurdly, that the
brand-new drivers’
license, of which I
was so proud (and
which I showed
no one because,
aisle, landing splat on the polished
wood floorboards, convulsing like an
vaddict. And then there would be no
stopping my mouth.
I ground my teeth together, sewed
my lips and eyes closed.
But someone nudged me, and I
opened them again, letting out my
breath at what I saw: my little brother
slipped under the baptismal flood. I
had not even heard him confess.
He exploded from the surface,
panicky, like a fish on a line. He
tossed his head and sent a spray out
over the congregation, clung to the
preacher and was ushered out of sight.
Slowly, the curtains closed.
Another song rose up from some
where, “Happy day, happy day, when
Jesus washed my sins away!”
And I felt the unspeakable urge
subside, like watching a storm pass
among mountains. There came a slow
release of pressure as God went look- -
ing for another virgin to carry his
unearthly child. *
rinany someone sieppea 10 me
pulpit and motioned us to sit. We sang
a few more choruses, exhausted. A
closing prayer dismissed us, and we
staggered into the sharp night air,
everyone hugging.
All the way home Jon was quiet.
He looked like a little wet bird, seri
ous as hell.
I knew how he felt, having passed
through the rite a few years before -
in those days I could walk on water -
and he would be insufferable for
weeks to come: our parents, who had
packed him off in Superman
Underoos, would receive him hack in
swaddling clothes.
For 10 or 20 days he would live a
new life, and then he would mastur
bate again, lose sight of his pure white
soul and sink like die rest of us into
the dirty world once more.
I drove somewhat over the limit. I
sat uneasy behind the wheel, stared,
exhausted, through the windshield.
The sky ahead turned gray and
then quite blue...
Jon fell asleep as we crossed into
Texas.
