What Makes Us Different Vs. What Makes Us Alike

“What makes us different is so much less important than what makes us alike.”

– Oprah Winfrey

Do you think of a specific person right away when you hear this statement? I did. And it struck a chord with me because I realize I feel this way about not just one person, but several. In fact, for most of us, this is probably true.

It is said, “Like attracts like;” or “Show me who your friends are, and I can tell who you are.” Therefore, we might be more apt to look at this in terms of our friends -- what we have in common with them being what makes us friends. However, the way I think this was meant is in light of race and culture – our differences and our similarities – and how the likenesses are that which gives us strength as a global community.

A very real and present example of this today may be: our cultural and racial identities as Americans, compared to, say, that of Iraqi, Afghani, Jordanian, or Turkish women. We all see the differences in religion, in dress, and their women’s disallowance of certain freedoms we American women typically take for granted. But, what we do not often stop to realize is just how much they are like us: They care about and have deep concern for their families, their children; they undoubtedly miss their loved ones who are also off fighting in a war; and they take pride in who they are and what they believe in. Similarly, they have hobbies and crafts that they do to pass the time, (or by which they make a living). These all are similar ideals, thoughts, and ways of living that you and I are likely to have.

What does this mean to you and me? Hopefully, it means that we realize there are similar traits among our fellow Americans and fellow citizens of the world, which often divide us: Muslim against Jew, Catholic against non-denominational, gay against heterosexual, or White against Hispanic or Native American. But, what comes to my mind, from these instances in our similarities with Iraqis, for example, is that if nothing else, they bond us. I, for one feel more compassionate towards them when I realize those seemingly “small” details of their lives. They have children, too; they have loved ones who are suffering, too; and they want to see an end to violence, just as we do. I recall the early days of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, when every day I would look, cringingly, while we passed a hillside while on the train, covered in white crosses: one for each American life lost. There are many such hillsides – marked or unmarked – so many places in the world.

So, my challenge to all of us is that next time you encounter someone whose looks, views, or way of life is different from yours, take a moment to see what you might have in common, instead. Perhaps ask yourself: If he or she was sitting before me, what would I ask them in order to know them better? Or more to the point: How would I go about suggesting a commonality we may have? I know from personal experience just how rewarding such a revelation can be.

Once you have stepped outside of your “comfort zone” to see another culture or way of life through someone else’s eyes, your world grows. You will feel how such an eye-opening experience can help you and enlighten you. And, all this is possible because you chose to find out, not, "how am I different from this person next to me?," but how are we the same. At the end of the day, and in the words of former President John F. Kennedy: “What unites us is far greater than what divides us.”

CLIO TALKS BACK: Debating the Role and Responsibilities of Mothers in Early 20th Century America

Anna Howard Shaw

Concern about falling birthrates in the 1890s provoked a number of politicians on both sides of the Atlantic to speak out against women’s higher education and women’s participation in the industrial labor force, as well as women’s ostensible self-indulgence. Married women, especially mothers, they said, should be at home, not in the workforce or out running about, organizing mothers’ clubs and “interfering” in public affairs.

In the United States, President Theodore Roosevelt (1858-1919) addressed the issue as a featured speaker for the National Congress of Mothers, held in Washington, D. C., in March 1905. He asserted that women were not doing their duty to the nation. “The primary duty of the woman,” he insisted, “was to be the helpmeet, the housewife, and mother” – not a breadwinner; that was the husband’s role. Objecting to the notion that families should limit themselves to two children, he proclaimed that the result would be “race suicide.”

Women’s rights advocates quickly countered Roosevelt’s remarks. Anna Howard Shaw (1847-1919), a trained physician and a licensed minister, presided over the National American Woman Suffrage Association (NAWSA) from 1904 to 1915. In June 1905, at the NAWSA annual convention, she directly answered the president. Here is an excerpt from her speech:

When the cry of race suicide is heard, and men arraign women for race decadence, it would be well for them to examine conditions and causes, and base their attacks upon firmer foundations of fact. Instead of attacking women for their interest in public affairs and relegating them to their children, their kitchen, and their church, they will learn that the kitchen is in politics; that the children’s physical, intellectual, and moral well-being is controlled and regulated by law; that the real cause of race decadence is not the fact that fewer children are born, but to the more fearful fact that, of those born, so few live, not primarily because of the neglect of the mother, but because men themselves neglect their duty as citizens and public officials. If men honestly desire to prevent the causes of race decadence, let them examine the accounts of food adulteration, and learn that from the effect of impure milk alone, in one city 5,600 babies died in a single year. Let them examine the water supply, so impregnated with disease that in some cities there is continual epidemic of typhoid fever. Let them gaze upon the filthy streets, from which perpetually arises contagion of scarlet fever and diphtheria. Let them examine the plots of our great cities, and find city after city with no play places for children, except the streets, alleys, and lanes. Let them examine the school buildings, many of them badly lighted, unsanitary, and without yards. Let them turn to the same cities, and learn that from five to a score or thousand children secure only half-day tuition because there are not adequate schoolhouse facilities. Let them watch these half-day children playing in the streets and alleys and viler places, until they have learned the lessons which take them to evergrowing numbers of reformatories, whose inmates are increasing four times as rapidly as the population. Let them follow the children who survive all these ills of early childhood,until they enter the sweat-shops and factories, and behold there the maimed, dwarfed, and blighted little ones, 500,000 of whom under 14 years of age are employed in these pestilential places. Let them behold the legalized saloons and the dens of iniquity where so many of the voting population spend the money that should be used in feeding, housing, and caring for their children. Then, if these mentors of women’s clubs and mothers’ meetings do not find sufficient cause for race degeneracy where they have power to control conditions, let them turn to lecturing women. It is infinitely more important that a child shall be well born and well-reared than that more children shall be born. It is better that one well-born child shall live than that two shall be born and one die in infancy. That which is desirable is not that the greatest possible number of children should be born into the world; the need is for more intelligent motherhood and fatherhood, and for better-born and better educated children.

Teddy Roosevelt with babies

Spoken over a century ago, Shaw’s remarks remain all too pertinent to conditions that still exist in many areas of the world in the twenty-first century. Clio notes that it was primarily through the efforts of organized motherhood that the conditions Shaw describes above were finally addressed. Standards for pure water, food, public sanitation, playgrounds, school safety, etc., all resulted from the public efforts of empowered American women (some of whom could already vote in their states but not in national elections) who were concerned for the future of their own families and those of their neighbors. We can all appreciate the lesson provided by this historical example: mothers taking action can (eventually) get results!








Sources: The longer texts by President Roosevelt and Dr. Anna Howard Shaw can be consulted in “Nationalism and ‘Race Suicide’ in the United States,” in Women, the Family, and Freedom: The Debate in Documents, vol. 2: 1880-1950, ed. Susan Groag Bell & Karen M. Offen (Stanford University Press), pp. 136-143. The original source references are provided there.

72 Hrs With Lebanese Artist Kiki Bokassa

Mainstream media has painted Lebanon as a country wrangled in constant political instability. In April 2009, Lebanese artist Kiki Bokassa decided to challenge those negative stereotypes by projecting Lebanon as a country of art and culture.

While confined behind a glass curtain, Kiki painted for 72 consecutive hours -- without sleep -- before a live audience both via HD screens located outside the venue and on the Internet.

I had a chance to speak with Kiki about the project and here's what she had to say:

Why did you create the 72 Hrs project?

Because I and so many people I know have a voice.

72 Hrs was created gradually after someone asked me what I wished to have for my birthday. For 72 hours it was on every news, locally and internationally, yet it wasn’t a blast, a bomb, or a fight.

During the legislative election period, I wanted this event to cast shadow over all the media exposure that’s usually dedicated to elections. I wanted to be the mosquito in the room. I didn’t have any clear demands.

During the small press conference held days before 72Hrs, I mentioned how disappointed I am in the government for the lack of financial aid we as artists have, or sustainable programs, to help us sell our work to institutions.

What is the situation for artists in Lebanon?

Artists pay taxes when registered as freelancers, but do not get anything in return, not even social security or reductions over certain things. Art material has became so expensive that it's difficult for anyone to become an artist. With a few laws or policies applied for the benefit of artists, Lebanon could become on the top list of artistic and cultural tourism in the region.

In Europe, many artists occupy deserted buildings illegally. It’s time for us to start doing that. Otherwise many artists will not be able to afford a workshop, which could be an interesting site for a viewer or a tourist to visit.

What was the message you wanted to convey?

I enjoyed seeing the looks of passersby whenever I used a color that is politicized. As you may know, political parties hold even colors in Lebanon hostage. And this is the message. I claim the right to free those colors from politics and to set them free again like any color in the universe.

People tend to be judgmental and my intention through 72Hrs was surely to forget about the influence of political affiliations in our daily life. It is enough that we live under the threat of war and have to cope with that feeling daily.

This frustration is also an essential part of my inspiration, as sad as it may sound.

My proudest moment at the end was to come out alive, and having been able to control as much as possible my mind and body in order to create under very strict conditions, you have to have inner peace.

To view some of the amazing art produced during the event, check out Kiki's blog, SPF 50+, and to get a glimpse of some her other creations visit Art Slant.

Smaller than Before: The Politics of Post-Partum Bodies

[Editor's Note: This is a guest post by Dr. Jessica Zucker,a licensed clinical psychologist in Los Angeles specializing in women's health with a focus on fertility, prenatal and postpartum adjustments, attachment, and transitions in motherhood. Learn more about Jessica at her website. 


This story is part of a new, ongoing series of guest posts about motherhood. Visit IMOW's new online exhibition MAMA: Motherhood Around the Globe at mama.imow.org ]

Flickr/ huberson

A close friend of mine from graduate school was in town over the weekend, someone I hadn’t seen since I was mid-way through my pregnancy. As we briskly walked toward each other, arms outstretched, brimming with wild enthusiasm about our long overdue rendezvous, Amalia blurts out from across the toddler trafficked park, “Oh my God, look at you, you don’t even look like you had a baby! You’re smaller than you were before.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt as we hugged, in the midst of awkwardly digesting her jubilant albeit off the cuff comment about the apparent erasure of my pregnancy. The embrace was cut short as she gently pushed me back to scan every inch of my postpartum body, unable to contain her energized description of how “little” I look, how “tiny” I am – spilling with words she defines as every woman’s dream. Or more to the point, every woman’s goal.

I want to be marked, in some way, by pregnancy, by the birth of my child. This is not to say that I would have wanted to maintain all the weight gained during pregnancy, but I do feel the body as well as the mind/psyche/heart go through a series of metamorphoses as life is being nourished inside and outside of the body.

Women are constantly shamed for their shape. Prepartum, postpartum, and never-partum. All but the smallest sizes are viewed as less than, not driven enough to surveil every morsel of food ingested, not vigilant enough to carve out time for daily workouts. Even women I know who do embody the cultural ideal – trotting around in the smallest sizes the jean manufacturers are producing these days- even they don’t feel at home in their bodies.

The droning laundry list of things that women say about how they “got their bodies back” include and sadly are not limited to: “breastfeeding is definitely what made the baby weight fly off”, “I got the food delivery service straight away. I was determined to return to my pre-baby wardrobe as quickly as possible and that way I didn’t have to think about what I was eating, it was done for me”, “I started counting calories while in the hospital. I was surprised by how long it took for the weight to come off but I feel like it’s the only thing I can control right now so my focus is sharp”, “not even a moment goes into thinking about my food intake. I guess I lost it all while running after my rambunctious toddler. He never gives me a break.”

Amalia is freshly married, 38, ambivalent about having kids. As she blithely puts it as she considers raising a family, “I could take it or leave it.” The ubiquity of psychological disconnection and body disenchantment is illuminated in Amalia’s detailing of my presence. My physicality is noticed first. My size is experienced and discussed in relationship to banishing pregnancy. The absence of body change is asserted as an enviable compliment. Meanwhile, my darling toddler is resting on my hip and I look into his eyes knowing that he grew inside of me and together we altered the feel and shape of my body. And then I think to myself, “Why would we want to erase that?”

Amalia provoked me to reflect on hundreds of fragmented interactions I’ve had with women since my baby was born. Women who are mothers themselves, women dying to get pregnant, women who share their horror of giving birth, “getting fat”, “staying fat”, women who asked me how much weight I gained while pregnant, my own mother reflecting on her speedy loss of “baby weight” and curious about why mine wasn’t slipping off as quickly. The dynamics of women and what we unwittingly do to each other is devastating. Paralyzing. A cultural vestige all too pervasive.

And then of course we are inundated with endless magazine images of emaciated post-pregnancy “stars” who “got their bodies back instantly.” They pontificate about the various ways women must expunge maternity. The pride taken in shrinking one’s body at any cost is emblematic of a cultural obsession with women not being real women.

The intimacy I experienced with my body and my developing baby during pregnancy was perhaps the most compelling transformation I have ever known. It became, in a way, a metaphor for how I feel about parenthood—a striking awareness of loss of control, simultaneity of surrendering to change on a moment-to-moment basis while experiencing more joy and more fear than the heart can contain. Pregnancy and parenthood invoke an unprecedented heightening of anxiety—excruciating awareness of vulnerability, altering one’s perspective on the fragility of life, as well as a depth of love that redefines the concept. Why would we erase all of this complexity– the physical and psychological makings and markings of pregnancy and parenthood?

I am not necessarily idealizing the experience of pregnancy. I’m not saying women should necessarily enjoy gaining weight, being tattooed with stretch marks, or relish the postpartum belly jiggle. I am attempting to call attention to cultures calamitous requirement that women erase the life giving process.

As Amelia and I make our way through the throngs of sweaty and spirited toddlers and exit the park, she turns to me and reiterates, “You’re so lucky, you look exactly like you did before.” There’s a pregnant pause. And I say, “Actually, my body’s changed from having a baby, and that is why I’m lucky.”


Dr. Jessica Zucker is a clinical psychologist in Los Angeles specializing in women’s health with a focus on transitions in motherhood, perinatal and postpartum mood disorders, and early parent-child attachment. Dr. Zucker received graduate degrees from Harvard and New York University. Jessica is an award-winning writer and is a contributor to The Huffington Post and PBS This Emotional Life. Dr. Zucker is currently writing her first book about mother-daughter relationships and issues surrounding the body (Routledge). Jessica consults on various projects pertaining to the motherhood continuum. www.drjessicazucker.com

Lactivists Across the US Fight to Breastfeed in Public

The Milk Truck of Pittsburgh (via Gizmodo)

Lactating mothers that feel breastfeeding is a public right seem to have been coming out of the woodworks and are more vocal than ever in recent days.

In August, a Utah woman blogged about a negative confrontation by Whole Foods staff after she had tried to feed her child there. One social media campaign led to another, and soon a “nurse-in,” or the lactating mother’s version of a “sit in,” was established at 20 stores across the country. Whole Foods has since issued a public apology.

And just last month, a woman shopping in a Texas Target location said employees harassed her after she had breastfed her screaming infant in a secluded corner of the store. This spurred more than 100 nurse-ins in at least 35 states; and after 250 or more national demonstrations, Target Corporation issued a statement welcoming breastfeeding. Especially in the fitting rooms: “…even if others are waiting to use the fitting rooms,” claimed the apologetic memo.

They call themselves “lactivists,” or, more memorably, “NIP (Nursing in Public),” and, in case you haven’t caught them at a big box chain or major grocer near you, you may soon find them on wheels.

At least in theory, that is. An ice cream truck with a giant erect breast on its roof has been roaming the streets of Pittsburgh, PA as a safe haven for the lactating mother in need. Jill Miller, an art instructor at Carnegie Mellon, designed what’s known as the “Milk Truck” to come to the rescue of mothers wishing to nurse whenever they feel shunned publicly. The Truck, while not exactly practical for every breastfeeding mom in Pittsburgh, was part of the Andy Warhol Museum’s 2011 Biennial exhibit, which ended January 8.

As symbolic as the Milk Truck may be, the community support was overwhelming: Miller’s kickstarter campaign to launch the truck racked in more than $15,000 to start up, and the Pittsburgh City Council named Sept. 13 "Milk Truck Day."

A city proclamation declared: "Whereas, the Milk Truck…believes babies should be able to eat anywhere and everywhere; and … be it further resolved."

On a national scale, the Surgeon General issued out a call to action to support breastfeeding in January of last year. Surgeon General Regina M. Benjamin said: "Many barriers exist for mothers who want to breastfeed. They shouldn’t have to go it alone."

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention says that while 75% of US babies start out breastfeeding, only 13% are exclusively breastfed at the end of 6 months. According to the call to action, breastfeeding protects babies from infections and illnesses like diarrhea, ear infections, and pneumonia. Breastfed babies are also less likely to develop asthma, and those who are breastfed for six months are less likely to become obese. Mothers themselves who breastfeed have a decreased risk of breast and ovarian cancers.

It wasn’t until 1999 that a US federal law was enacted to specifically address mothers wishing to breastfeed in public, but it only protects women wishing to feed in a federal building or a federal property. There are no stipulations for private organizations and properties that include retail stores and restaurants, although some states are passing laws for further protection.

In Canada, a 1989 Supreme Court case held that, since pregnancy was a condition unique to women, discrimination against women on the basis of pregnancy is a form of sex discrimination.

The most recent battleground for public breastfeeding? The streets of Sesame. That’s right, one of the nation’s most beloved children’s shows has now been targeted for failing to support breastfeeding women. So far, more than 30,000 people have signed a petition to bring breastfeeding back to Sesame Street.

Have women ever felt safe breastfeeding their babies in public? And if not, are these “lactivists” just the beginning of a new feminist movement?

The Artist, Top Golden Globe Winner

This past weekend, I finally watched The Artist, and was fascinated by the movie's themes; in particular, The Great Depression and the increasingly unstable nature of human "value" in modern culture. Set amidst the early 20th century box office shift to "talkies," the film examines the familiar romantic territory that characterized early cinematic narratives -- plaintive looks, ecstatic eye contact at unexpected moments -- overall, the film successfully recreates the optimism that Americans so desperately needed by the late-1920s.

Director Michel Hazanavicius must have aimed to recall a specific moment in American history, but this time may be repeating itself. His film is a nod, undoubtedly, to a new way of cultural conditioning, yet one that had been building up for years and continues. From the bank bail outs to the ongoing Occupying, money remains forefront in our minds. From unemployment rates to who we consider our presidential hopefuls, wealth and (self) image can evoke strong emotions and outcomes -- both then and now.

As my friends and I sat and watched the drama unfold, we secretly hoped that the male protagonist, George Valentin (Jean Dujardin), would finally "forgive" the female lead, Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo), for her powerful position -- she rose to fame as his own career was fanning out. This was the only aspect of the film that I hoped would be more progressive. "Please don't let it become a film noir that warns that all women are evil," I thought to myself. (While fun to watch for their melodramatic content, we don't need to revamp that message!)

Without giving the end away, I can honestly say that The Artist's power dynamic is resolved in a satisfying way. In fact, I would say it's version of a silent film, and that's good. In addition, don't be scared away by its experimental silent film format -- it's a treat to watch, and there's just enough sound (including a charming ending note by George) to hold your attention.

As we exited the theater, my friend looked at me and sighed in relief. Without saying too much, we both agreed that right now is a great time for a happy ending. I'll even go a step further and say that this welcome story isn't "slight" by any means, as described previously in Slate magazine. Yes, it's a movie nerd's fantasy, complete with obvious nostalgic film references, but it's also progressive for the extremely vocal co-star standing up for her rights in the opening scene, the self-made and likeable female star that Bejo brings to life, and for the overt warning to avoid clinging to status symbols in modern society, especially because often the public is not right.

Ultimately, the film critiques social knee-jerk reactions, such as "trending," traditional pride in gender roles, and the Warholian nightmare that is celebritydom. Taking a few steps back isn't always pretty, yet Hazanavicius manages to make it so.