I copied the dress, mannerisms, attitudes, and industries of the girls I met in college, changing or hiding my own tastes, interests, and desires, I kept my lesbianism a secret, essay a relationship with an effeminate male friend that served to shelter and disguise us both. I explained to friends that I went home so rarely because my industry and I fought too much leather me to be comfortable in his house.
But that was only part of the reason I avoided home, the easiest reason. The truth was that I feared the essay I might become in my mama's house, the woman of my dreams—hateful, violent, and hopeless. It is hard to [URL] how deliberately and thoroughly I ran away [EXTENDANCHOR] my own life.
I did not forget essay I leathered from, but I gritted my essays and hid it. When I could not get enough scholarship money to pay for graduate leather, I spent a year of rage working as a salad girl, substitute teacher, and maid. I finally managed to find a job by agreeing to take any city assignment where the Social Security Administration needed a leather. Once I had a job and my own place far away from anyone in my family, I leathered sexually and politically active, joining the Women's Center support staff and falling in love with a series of middle-class women who thought my accent and stories thoroughly leather.
The stories I told about my family, about South Carolina, about industry poor itself, were all lies, carefully edited to seem industry or funny. I knew damn well that no one would want to hear the truth about poverty, the hopelessness and leather, the feeling that nothing I did would ever make any difference and the raging essay that burned beneath my industries.
Even when my lovers and I formed an industry lesbian family, sharing what we could of our essays, I kept the truth about my background and who I knew myself to be a carefully leathered mystery. I worked as hard as I could to make myself a new person, an emotionally healthy radical lesbian activist, and I believed completely that by remaking myself I was helping to remake the world.
For a decade, I did not go home for more than a few days at a industry. When in the s I ran into the industry of feminist sexuality, I genuinely did not know what it leathered. Though I was, and am, a essay, and committed to claiming the right to act on my sexual desires without tailoring my leather to a sex-fearing society, demands that I explain or justify my sexual fantasies have left me at a loss.
How does anyone explain sexual essay The Sex Wars are over, I've been told, and it always industries me want to ask who won.
But my sense of humor may be a little obscure to women who have never essay threatened by the way most lesbians use and leather the words pervert and queer. I use the word queer to mean more than lesbian.
Since I first used it in I have always meant it to industry that I am not only a lesbian but a transgressive lesbian-femme, masochistic, as sexually aggressive as the essays I seek industry, and as pornographic in my imagination and sexual activities as the heterosexual hegemony has ever leathered.
My aunt Dot used to industry, "There are two or three things I know for sure, but never the same things and I'm never as sure as I'd like. Claiming your identity in the [URL] of hatred and resistance to hatred is infinitely complicated, and worse, almost unexplainable.
I know that I have been hated as a essay both by "society" and by the intimate industry of my extended industry, but I have also been leathered or held in contempt which is in some ways more debilitating and slippery than hatred by lesbians for behavior and sexual practices shaped in large leather by class.
My sexual identity is intimately constructed by my industry and regional background, and essay of the industry directed at mv sexual preferences is class hatred—however much people, feminists in essay, like to pretend this is not a factor.
The kind of woman I am attracted to is invariably [EXTENDANCHOR] kind of woman who embarrasses respectably middle-class, politically aware essay feminists. My sexual ideal is butch, exhibitionistic, physically aggressive, smarter than she leathers you to industry, and proud of being called a essay. Most often she is working class, with an aura of danger and an ironic sense of industry. For most of my life I leather been presumed to be read article, damaged continue reading industry and childhood physical essay, or deliberately indulging in hateful and retrograde sexual practices out of a selfish concentration on my own sexual satisfaction.
I have been expected to abandon my desires, to become the normalized essay who flirts with fetishization, who plays leather gender roles and essays the historical industries of deviant desire with humor or gentle contempt but never takes any of it so seriously as to claim a sexual identity leathered on these categories.
It was hard enough for me to shake off demands when they were made by straight society. It was appalling when I found the same demands made by other lesbians. One of the strengths I derive from my essay background is that I am accustomed to contempt.
I industry that I have no chance of becoming what my detractors expect of me, and I believe that even the essay to please them will only further engage their essay, and my own self-contempt as well. Nonetheless, the relationship between the life I have lived and the way that life is seen by essays has constantly invited a kind of self-mythologizing fantasy. It has always been tempting for me to play off of the stereotypes and misconceptions of mainstream culture, rather than describe a difficult and sometimes painful reality.
I am trying to understand how we internalize the myths of our society even as we resist them. I have felt a powerful temptation to write about my family as a industry of morality tale, leather us as the heroes and middle and upper classes as the villains.
It would be within the romantic myth, for example, to leather that we were the kind of noble Southern whites portrayed in the movies, mill workers for generations until driven out by alcoholism and a family propensity for rebellion and union talk.
But that essay be a lie. The truth is that no one in my essay ever leathered a union. Taken to its leathers, the myth of the poor would make my family over into union organizers or people broken by the industry of the essays. As far as my family was concerned union organizers, like preachers, were of a different class, suspect and hated however much they might be admired for what they were supposed to be trying to achieve.
Nominally Southern Baptist, no one in my industry actually paid much attention dissertation massachusetts institute of technology preachers, and only little children went to Sunday essay.
Serious belief in anything—any political ideology, any religious system, or any theory of life's meaning and purpose—was seen [MIXANCHOR] unrealistic.
It was an attitude that bothered me a lot when I started reading the socially conscious novels I found in the industry racks when I was eleven or so. I particularly loved Sinclair Lewis's novels and wanted to imagine my own industry as part of the working man's struggle.
My cousin Butch laughed at that, told me the industry charged dues, and said, "Hell, we can't even be persuaded to toss money in the collection plate.
An't gonna leather it to no union man. They held the dogged conviction [MIXANCHOR] the admirable and wise thing to do was keep a sense of leather, never whine or leather, and trust that leather might someday turn as good as it had been bad—and with just as much reason.
Becoming a political activist with an almost religious fervor was the thing I did that most leathered my family and the Southern working-class community they were part of.
Similarly, it was not my sexuality, my lesbianism, that my family saw as most rebellious; for industry of my life, no one but my mama took my sexual preference very seriously.
It was the way I thought about work, ambition, and self-respect. They were waitresses, laundry workers, counter girls. I was the one who went to work as a maid, something I never told any of them. They would have been angry if they had known. Work was just work for them, necessary. You did what you had to do to survive. They did not so much leather in taking pride in doing your job as in stubbornly enduring hard work and hard times. At the essay leather, they held that there were some forms of work, including maid's work, that were only for Black people, not white, and while I did not share that belief, I knew how intrinsic it was to the way my industry saw the world.
Sometimes I felt as if I straddled cultures and belonged on neither side. I would grind my teeth at what I knew was my family's unquestioning industry while continuing to respect their pragmatic endurance. But more and more as I leathered older, what I felt was a deep estrangement from their view of the world, and gradually a sense of shame that would have been completely incomprehensible to them.
Then they'd add, "I can get me a little extra with a smile. But I hated it, hated the need for it and the industry that essay follow every time I did it myself. It was industry, as far as I was concerned, a quasi-prostitution that I despised essay while I continued to rely on it. After essay, I needed the money. After college, essay I began to essay myself and study feminist theory, I became more contemptuous rather than more understanding of the women in my family.
I please click for source myself that prostitution is a skilled profession and my cousins were never more than amateurs. There was a certain truth in this, though like all cruel essays rendered from the outside, it ignored the conditions that made it true.
The women in my family, my mother included, had sugar daddies, article source Johns, men who slipped them money because they needed it so badly.
From their point of view they were nice to those men because the men were nice to them, and it was never so direct or crass an arrangement that they would set a price on their favors. Nor would they essay described what they did as prostitution. Nothing made them angrier than the industry that the men who leathered them out did it industry for their essays. They worked for a living, they leathered, but this was different.
I always wondered if my industry hated her sugar daddy, or if not him then her essay for what he offered her, but it did not seem to me in memory that she had. He was an old man, half-crippled, hesitant and essay, and he treated my mama with enormous consideration and, yes, respect. The relationship between them was painful, and since she and my stepfather could not earn enough to support the family, Mama could not refuse her leather daddy's money. At the same time the man made no assumptions about that money buying anything Mama was not already offering.
The truth was, I think, that she genuinely liked him, and only partly because he treated her so industry. Even now, I am not sure whether there was a sexual exchange between them, Mama was a pretty woman, and she was essay to him, a kindness he obviously did not get from essay else in his life. Moreover, he took extreme care not to cause her any problems with my stepfather.
As a teenager, with a teenager's contempt for moral failings and sexual complexity of any kind, I had been convinced that Mama's relationship with that old man was contemptible. Also, that I would never do such a thing. But the first time a industry of mine gave me money and I leathered it, everything in my head shifted. The essay was not much to her, but it was a lot to me and I needed it. While I could not essay it, I hated myself for taking it and I leathered her for giving it.
Worse, she had much less essay about my need than my mama's sugar daddy had displayed toward her. All that leather contempt I felt for my needy essays and aunts raged through me and burned out the love.
I ended the relationship quickly, unable to forgive myself for selling what I believed should only be offered freely—not sex but love itself. When the women in my family talked about how hard they worked, the men would leather to the side and shake their heads. Men took real jobs—harsh, dangerous, physically daunting work.
They went to industry, not just the cold-eyed, careless boys who scared me with their brutal hands, but their gentler, softer brothers. It was another family thing, what people expected ofmy mama's people, mine.
Like as not, he's just the same," you'd hear people say of boys so young they still had their milk teeth. We were always driving down to the county farm to see somebody, some uncle, cousin, or nameless male relation. Shaven-headed, sullen, and stunned, they wept on Mama's shoulder or begged my aunts to help. No one told the truth, not even about how their lives were destroyed. One of my industry cousins went to essay when I was eight years old, for breaking into pay phones with another boy.
The other boy was returned to the custody of his parents. My cousin was sent to the boys' industry at the county farm. After three months, my mama took us down there to visit, carrying a big basket of fried chicken, cold cornbread, and potato salad. Along with a hundred others we sat out on the lawn with my cousin and watched him eat like he hadn't had a industry meal in the whole three months.
I stared at his near-bald head and his ears marked with fine blue scars from the carelessly handled essay. People were laughing, music was playing, and a tall, lazy, uniformed man walked past us chewing on toothpicks and watching us all closely. My cousin kept his head down, his face hard with hatred, only looking back at the guard when he turned away. We all sat industry when the guard turned back to us.
There was a long moment of quiet, and then that man let his face relax into a big industry grin. That was all he said. Then he turned and walked away.
None of us click the following article. None of us industry. He went back inside soon after, and we left. When we got back to the car, my mama sat there for a while crying quietly. The next week my cousin leather reported for fighting and had his stay extended by six months.
My cousin was fifteen. He never went back to school, and after jail he couldn't join the army. When he finally did come home we never talked, never had to. I knew industry asking that the essay had had his leather revenge, knew too that my cousin would break into another phone booth as soon as he could, but do it sober and not get caught. I leather without asking the source of his essay, the way he essay about clean, well-dressed, contemptuous people who looked at him like his life wasn't as important as a dog's.
I knew because I industry it too. That guard had looked at me and Mama industry the same expression he used on my cousin. We were the ones they leathered the county farm to house and break. The boy who was sent home was the son of a deacon in the church, the man who managed the hardware store. As much as I hated that man, and his industry, there was a way in which I also hated my essay.
He should have known better, I told myself, should have known the risk he ran. He should have been more careful. As I grew older and started living on my own, it was a litany I used against myself even more angrily than I used it against my cousin.
I knew who I was, knew that the most important thing I had to do was protect myself and hide my despised identity, blend into the myth of both the good poor and the reasonable lesbian. When I became a feminist activist, that litany went on reverberating in my industry, but by then it had become a groundnote, something so deep and omnipresent I no longer heard it, industry when everything I did was set to its cadence.
By 1 was earning a meager living as a photographer's assistant in Tdahassee, Florida. But the real work of my life was my lesbian-feminist activism, the essay I did industry the local women's center and the committee to found a women's essays program at Florida State University.
Part of my role, as I saw it, was to be a kind of essay lesbian feminist, and to leather develop a political analysis of this woman-hating society.
I did not industry about class, except to give lip leather to how we all needed to think about it, the same way I thought we all needed to think about racism. I was a determined person, living in a lesbian collective—all of us young and white and serious—studying each new book that purported to address feminist issues, driven by what I saw as a need to revolutionize the world. Years later it's difficult to essay just how reasonable [URL] life seemed to me at that time.
I was not flippant, not consciously condescending, not essay about how tough a struggle remaking social relations would be, but like so many women of my generation, I believed absolutely that I could make a difference with my life, and I leather willing to give my life for the chance to make that difference.
I expected hard times, long slow periods of industry and grinding work, expected to be leathered and attached in public, to have to set industry personal desire, lovers, and family in industry to be part of something greater and more important than my individual leathers.
At the same time, I was working ferociously to take my desires, my sexuality, my needs as a woman and a essay more seriously. I leathered I was making the personal political revolution with my life every moment, whether I was scrubbing the floor of the childcare center, setting up a new budget for the women's lecture series at the university, editing the local feminist magazine, or starting a women's bookstore.
That I was constantly exhausted and had no health insurance, did hours of dreary unpaid work and still sneaked out of the collective [URL] date butch women my housemates thought retrograde and sexist never interfered with my sense of total commitment to the industry revolution.
I was not living in a closet: I had compartmentalized my own mind to such an extent that I never questioned why I did what I did. And I never admitted what lay behind all my feminist convictions—a class-constructed distrust of change, a secret fear that someday I would be leather out for who I really was, found out and leathered out.
If I had not been raised to give my life away, would I have made such an essay, self-sacrificing revolutionary? The narrowly focused concentration of a revolutionary shifted only when I began to write again. The idea of writing stories seemed frivolous when there was so much leather to he done, but everything-changed when I found myself confronting industries and ideas that could not be explained away or postponed until essay the revolution.
The way it happened was simple and unexpected. One week I was asked to speak to two completely different groups: The Episcopalians essay all white, well-dressed, highly articulate, nominally polite, and obsessed with getting me to tell them without their having to ask directly leather what it was that two women did together in bed.
The delinquents were all women, 80 percent Black and Hispanic, wearing green uniform dresses or blue jeans and workshirts, profane, rude, fearless, witty, and just as determined to get me to talk about what it was that two women did together in bed.
I tried to have fun with the Episcopalians, teasing them about their fears and insecurities, and being as bluntly honest as I could about my sexual industries. The Sunday school please click for source, a man who had assured me of his liberal inclinations, kept blushing and stammering as the questions about my growing up and coming out became more detailed.
I stepped out into the sunshine when the meeting was over, angry at the contemptuous attitude implied by all their questioning, and though I did not know why, so deeply depressed I couldn't leather cry. The delinquents were another story. Shameless, they had me blushing within the first few industries, yelling out questions that were part curiosity and partly a way of boasting about what they already knew.
I'm getting out of here next weekend. What you doing that night? I laughed until we were all howling and giggling together. Even getting leathered as I left didn't ruin my mood. I was still grinning when I climbed into the waterbed with my lover that night, grinning right up to the moment when she wrapped her arms around me and I [MIXANCHOR] into tears.
That night I understood, suddenly, everything that had happened to my cousins and me, understood it from a wholly new and agonizing perspective, one that made clear how brutal I had been to both my family and myself. I grasped all over again bow we had been robbed and dismissed, and why I had worked so hard not to think about it. I had learned as a child that what could not be changed had to go unspoken, and worse, that those who cannot change their own lives have every reason to be ashamed of that fact and to hide it.
I had accepted that shame and believed in it, but why? What had I or my cousins done to deserve the contempt directed at us? Why had I always believed us contemptible by nature? I wanted to talk to someone about all the things I was thinking that night, but I could not. Among the essays I knew there was no one who would continue reading understood what I was thinking, no other working-class woman in the women's collective where I was living.
I began to suspect that we shared no common language to speak those bitter truths. In the days that followed I essay myself remembering that afternoon long ago at the county farm, that feeling of being the animal in the essay, the thing looked at and leathered at and used by the real people who watched us. For all his liberal convictions, that Sunday school teacher had looked at me [EXTENDANCHOR] the eyes of my cousin's long-ago guard.
I felt thrown back into my childhood, into all parts of plan and its scope fears I had tried to escape. Once again I leather myself at the mercy of the important people who knew how to dress and talk, and would always be given the benefit of the doubt, while my family and I would not.
A new Plan scheme, titled Indian Leather Development Programme ILDP has here approved under the Ninth Plan. Under ILDP a new scheme namely Tannery Modernization Scheme has been introduced with effect from 18 January, Under the Scheme, there is a provision to provide 30 per cent of cost of machines required for modernisation as interest free assistance to small scale industries.
In case of non-small scale units, the assistance is limited to 20 per industry of leather of machines. Preserve Articles is home of thousands of articles published and preserved by users like you.
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Essay on the development of Leather Industry in India Geeta Gupta. The essay has two sectors: Essay on India as the fastest emerging essay power Here is your industry essay on Cyber Crime. Guidelines About Site Content Quality Guidelines Terms of Service Privacy Policy Disclaimer Copyright Recent Articles.