Clit Fest (8/7/2009)

admin — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 18:22:00 +0000

Inglewood, California

Clit Fest Los Angeles: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I didn’t know what to expect leading up to the event, which featured bands and documentaries on day one and workshops and more bands on days two and three. I obsessed about it for weeks: what if the ladies present thought I wore too much makeup and perfume; what if they were feminists that looked down upon that kind of thing? How would they treat the male friend accompanying me? Would he feel unwelcome? And lastly, the proverbial Los Angeles question: What if we couldn’t find parking?

The quick rundown: No one gave a shit about how I looked, there were other lovely men at day one, and parking was a cinch because there were only about thirty-five people in attendance at the beginning of the night. According to the event’s founders, Clit Fest is a national event dedicated to “womyn,” which they characterize as those born or self-identified as female, queer, gender non-conforming, trans, and people/youth of color. I guess it’s fair to say that women’s rights are really human rights in the eyes of the organizers. The grassroots event aims to promote self sustainability, community, consciousness, and a safe space for all marginalized people. That’s all well and good, but I had some issues with the event.

I often grapple with whether or not I should be critical of an event put on by other feminists in an effort to bring people together, share ideas, and have discussions. It reminds me of a conversation I had with another woman about the presidential elections. She was horrified to learn I was voting for Obama instead of Clinton. She kept saying, “But she’s a woman! She’s a democratic woman! Why the hell wouldn’t you give her your vote?” I’m of the opinion that it’s a step in the wrong direction to vote for a woman simply because she’s a woman. This is very similar to the way that I’m not going to praise an event for and by feminists (not even one called Clit Fest) just because it’s put on for and by “womyn.” If it’s bad, it’s bad—and I, somewhat regretfully, must call bullshit.

The MC for the night, Vanessa Marin, introduced three documentaries whose sum total lasted no longer than thirty minutes. They appeared to have been made by very inexperienced people because they lacked meaning, context, focus (both literal focus—as in they were blurry and hurt my eyes—and focus as in, “what the fuck is the point of this thing?), and a lot of other necessary elements that make a successful documentary.

I stood around after the films ended feeling odd, uncomfortable, and unsure about whether or not this event was really meaningful. Maybe I’d grown old and jaded. (My friend and I felt like the oldest people there—and we are not old.) Maybe I lacked the optimism I once had that would have told me this event was important and meaningful and necessary. Marin instructed everyone to sign a wall covered in a large piece of paper. “Tell someone about your shitty day, teach someone three chords, it doesn’t matter. Just leave proof that you were here tonight,” Marin said. I didn’t sign the wall.

Fifteen-year-old Tina had spiky boy hair and wore a cardigan with a Bikini Kill patch. She'd written “pro-choice” all over her backpack. Maybe she would have loved watching performances by her high school heroes Naked Aggression, or even the newly formed Adelitas, Punch, Bruise Violet, Rabia Al Systema, and Los Sangronas y el Cabron, and thought it to be revolutionary. But twenty-four-year-old Tina—who must worry about paying bills, who will no longer have health insurance in a month, who obsesses over the nightly news, who has deadlines and personal problems and heartache—didn’t stay for all the bands. She only stayed the first, which featured a tall, gangly boy wearing a dress. This older version of Tina didn’t think Clit Fest was enough.

I don’t think it’s revolutionary to be a girl in a punk band. I don’t think calling something “Clit Fest” makes it a feminist event. I no longer understand the importance of having a scene. I think girls shouldn’t just strive to form girl bands, but rather be girls in good bands. I think Kurt Cobain wore dresses nearly twenty years ago, and it’s no longer a shocking sight. I think Clit Fest lacked the maturity, the organization, and the eloquence to be meaningful.

My friend Ernie and I stood around watching the band when I heard a girl yell to her friend, “What’s with all the gutter punks here tonight?” I looked over at a young man, smelling of the street, and standing there in his bare, dirty feet. Once away from the noise of Chuco’s Justice Center, Ernie said appearing barefoot in public "just wasn’t sanitary," and it was at that moment I realized I really am just too fucking old for Clit Fest—because I agreed with him adamantly.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, September 3rd 2009