Ed. — From the Sunday, Aug. 21, print edition.
VIRGINIA BEACH — In 2017, a few cousins on my mother’s side participated in the Women’s March in Washington, D.C. I observed on Facebook and Instagram as my cousins moved with the sea of people in the nation’s capital that day. My thrill at watching them was less a matter of my perspective on the issues than my admiration for the conviction underlying my cousins’ actions.
They had left their families and homes on the West Coast to travel across the country to show their support for something they believed in.
Like their father, my Uncle Richard, who fearlessly traveled to Montgomery, Alabama, after the violent Bloody Sunday confrontation on the Selma bridge in 1965, my cousins were unafraid to represent themselves. They were activists, a pejorative term, to be sure, for some people. When we refer to ourselves or someone else that way, we know we are holding a loaded gun. And that’s a shame because activism is a powerful tool for change on both the political and personal levels.
In graduate school, I worked as a research assistant in the Women’s Studies Department at East Carolina University. My job was to aid the professors while they worked on their professional publications. I spent many hours amidst the library shelves, imagining the day I would have an assistant handle academic life’s grunt work and learning as much as possible about women’s lives.
One day, after returning to my shared office space, I ran into a friend who greeted me by calling me by my soon-to-be-married name. It was nice that he used the title “doctor” before the surname, but I was confused. It was the first time it occurred to me there was an expectation I would change my last name once I married. I hadn’t planned on that. In fact, in my excitement over the prospect of earning my Ph.D. one day and then the title “Dr. Beardslee,” I had neglected to think about what my impending nuptials would mean for my identity.
Worried I would not have a choice in the matter, I set to work to find evidence to the contrary. An avid researcher, I scoured the history of married surnames and the legality of women changing their surnames upon marriage. To my immense joy and surprise, I discovered that changing my surname to my soon-to-be husband’s name wasn’t required for me when we married. I could stay just as I was if I wanted to, and that’s what I decided to do. I didn’t anticipate the backlash my decision received.
I was surprised by how vehemently my future mother-in-law, for instance, opposed my choice to stay known as I always had been, calling me selfish and self-centered. My fiancé only mildly argued against my reasoned decision, but others vociferously took up his defense. Keeping my own name was a controversial subject to others.
I realized that if I didn’t learn to stand for myself on the issue, no one else would.
I suppose I became an activist at that moment.
I sought to engage others in the debate so I could better understand the varying perspectives surrounding my choice. I began publishing and speaking at conferences about female identity and autonomy. I was on fire with the idea of changing minds and making a difference in the world.
I wasn’t asking anyone to do what I intended. My last name was tied to my own sense of self, my own identity. It mattered to me. I found it odd that my choice somehow threatened the status quo and made others defensive, even confrontational. I only wanted my intention to be respected. It was just that simple.
When I think about myself back then, I wonder about my naivete. Sometimes I long to have a bit of it back. But I am always happy to find it in young people who seem to know that activism thrives through reasoned debates that drill down to the simplicity of the issues at hand.
As in the 1960s, when my uncle became an activist, many young people today tap into the uncomplicatedness of our myriad social and political problems to make cases for common-sense decision-making from their leaders.
For all our worry and complaining about “kids today,” their unapologetic willingness to step up for what they believe makes me think the kids are doing all right after all.
The author is a former Virginia Beach Planning Commissioner and college professor. Reach her at leejogger@gmail.com.
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