The first day that I walked into the Clare Boothe Luce Policy Institute (CBLPI), I was simply an intern coming from a small private college in western Pennsylvania. Fortunately for me, this meant I had not been impacted by V-Day as other students across the country had. I was vaguely aware of The Vagina Monologues (TVM), but couldn’t have told you who wrote it or what it was about. I could, of course, infer some meaning from the title, although I assumed it was a metonym of sorts. I had no idea that the title of the play was almost as literal as titles can get, or that the work had sparked a movement of such stirring proportions and questionable validity.
Then I landed smack dab in the middle of CBLPI’s campaign, V-Day Unveiled, and I was quickly educated on the event. My first action, in the interest of forming my own opinion and avoiding hypocrisy, was to read the book. I imagined that it had to be compelling, deeply controversial, or possess some other quality that could have conceivably inspired all the excitement that it apparently has. One hundred and twenty-five pages later, I was at a loss.
Three weeks later, I was involved even more thoroughly. I had seen the V-Day websites, I had read the testimonials, I had heard the facts, participated in the discussions, and to tell the truth, I was still at a loss. Wisdom dictates that we must look at an argument form all sides to get the clearest perspective, but no matter what I angle I approach this topic from, I simply cannot explain how a person can find this work enlightening, empowering, or even entertaining. If there is some great cosmic truth contained in the pages of TVM then I fail to grasp it. In fact, I imagine the work has the potential to do more harm than good.
The play is composed of a selection of soliloquies centered around the female anatomy that could be based on stories recounted to the playwright by real women or could by, by Ensler’s own admission, something that she fabricated almost entirely. Page after page, this play spews one vulgarity after another, glorifies statutory rape, portrays men as violent or strange, and reduces the meaning of women down to their genitalia.
The idea is that if we can “reclaim” the word “vagina,” we can somehow find our inner power and use it to cure the ills of the world. I find no difficulty in saying “vagina.” I can say it till I’m blue in the face, but it yields little more than strange looks. The magical sense of empowerment that is supposes to come with this magnanimous feat of vocalization fails to materialize in me. Maybe I’m pronouncing it wrong. Although, I doubt that the ability to articulate “vagina” is of any more consequence to the millions of women and children who are victimized globally.
For argument’s sake, let’s assume momentarily that the meaning of the play and its ability to empower, educate, and affect positive change is simply a matter of opinion; can’t we all agree that the result of V-Day is one we can all support? We would all like to end violence against women, and if the proceeds of the play go to organizations with this aim, isn’t the justification clear?
Well, the Ku Klux Klan built orphanages, supported education, and donated to needy elderly, but I won’t be running out for my sheet-fitting anytime soon. Now, my intention is not to say that the contents of Ensler’s play are morally equivalent of a KKK pamphlet, but it is difficult to defend a work that, in its original form, contained the words, “If it was rape, then it was a good rape.” Granted, these sentences have since been removed, making the play’s content more pointless than offensive. What is truly offensive is the hypocrisy of the claim that a day that was inspired by TVM aspires to end violence against women. The only thing this play has managed to accomplish is trivializing a very serious problem, and giving the work’s proponents a chance to dismiss their adversaries as prudish or anti-woman.
Inasmuch as I have gone from ignorance to bewilderment to disgust, I occasionally wander onto the V-Day website, which never fails to inspire eye-rolling disdain. Today, I noticed the “Vagina Warriors” describe among their goals the creation of V-World. I realize this is supposed to be a touching abstraction, but I was deeply immersed in the utter ridiculousness of a world where a woman is defined in the strictest of physical and literal terms. With this mindset, I began to picture V-World: an amusement park built in homage of Ensler and her work. It could have graphic rides and games, maybe a caricaturist who draws the patrons’ vaginas as “flirty” and “huggable.” I’m sure that I could come up with a great deal of analogies and puns that would come in handy (but won’t because I’m familiar with the concept of tact).
Bizarre? You bet. But if we as a society are going to be ridiculous and invest our time, money, and energy into something absurdly counterproductive, we might as well go whole hog.
I recently had the opportunity to confer with not only my vagina, but all the other parts of my body as well, and the conclusion is unanimous: They all think that V-Day is absolutely ludicrous and in very poor taste.
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