Ram Trucks and Feminists
Written by JoAnn Meyer
I drove four hours one night a couple of weeks ago in the dark and rain. The dreary conditions outside mirrored my disconsolate mood behind the steering wheel. I was mourning the sudden death of someone who most would classify as a colleague. But just as Tommy, the man, wasn’t easily characterized, neither was the role he played in my life. Tommy was more than a colleague. He was a trusted advisor, un-anointed mentor and guide on an unfamiliar path.
Joining me for half of my journey that night was a mid-night blue Dodge Ram pick-up truck. Sometimes the Ram truck was ahead and at others my little SUV was in the lead. Occasionally, we sped along side by side on two rain drenched westbound lanes of HWY 290. At any other time, the vehicle would likely have gone unnoticed and the make and model been insignificant. On that particular night, neither was true, as Tommy drove a Ram pick-up.
The sight of the truck was oddly comforting. For two hours, I remembered Tommy and expressed my gratitude to the symbol, since I never did so to the man.
Remembering Tommy, triggered thoughts of others I need to thank. Men, who during my 30 years in the oil and gas industry, assigned me to exciting projects and gave me the opportunity to lead organizations. They asked for my opinions and although their feedback wasn’t always delivered gently, were genuinely interested in my professional development and career progression.
These fond memories were interrupted by thoughts of feminists, or more accurately, the word feminist. The word makes me squirm. Not ready to leave my sad, but peaceful mobile memorial service, I tried to swat the intruders out of my consciousness. The word was persistent likely emboldened by my having read and heard the word, earlier in the day. Eventually, I relented and my serene thoughts were replaced with the familiar, worrisome reflections on the word, feminist.
My discomfort stems from an unwillingness to label myself a feminist, without a clear understanding of why. I embrace the literal definition of feminist as I am unwavering in my support for equal rights, treatment and pay for women. I have many friends and a husband who wear the label proudly. So, why am I, who if not a trailblazer in the male dominated oil and gas business am at least a pioneer, unwilling to be a feminist?
I am not the only seeming contradiction when considering those reluctant to embrace the descriptor. Just that morning, Robert Redford, while promoting his latest film, Our Souls at Night, said, “I’m not a feminist, but I like the idea of a woman driving the story.” Later in the day, on LinkedIn while responding to a comment about men not welcoming women on oilfield platforms, @ScarlettMummery (aka Offshore Blondie) said, “ I have never been a feminist, I will never be a feminist but I will defend the place of females within the offshore energy sector.”
I don’t know why others resist the label. Certainly, for women, I don’t presume there is homogeneity in opinion and belief just because we share a gender. However, somewhere on that dark, wet stretch of highway, I gained a little clarity as to why I may never describe myself as a feminist.
Accepting that label, to me, feels like joining an exclusive club. Even though the club has a worthy, an important, mission, by definition it strives to benefit only those born with two X chromosomes. I can’t intentionally commit to work that elevates the stature of just one group, leaving others to feel like outsiders.
I remember too vividly the shock followed by the sting of words and actions intended to “put me in my place”. I’ve wasted too many hours wondering what I did to deserve such treatment. I’ve spent too much energy convincing myself the snub, or insult, whether veiled or conspicuous, didn’t matter. I’ve lost too much sleep burying emotions that if exposed the next morning at the office might make the majority of my colleagues uncomfortable and maybe threaten my livelihood.
In short, I can’t be a feminist because there are too many memories of being excluded.
I am grateful that the offices I work in today are, in general, more female friendly, than those of 30, 20 and even 10 years ago. I am not blind to the continuing evidence that more work is needed, particularly in light of the recent Harvey Weinstein scandal. Nor can I ignore the significant role proud, persevering feminists played in creating these improved workplaces. I endeavor to expand these improved conditions for all, regardless of gender, race, ethnicity, religion, sexual preference or identity. I hope I am not considered traitorous because my passion and energy are directed toward a more integrated inclusion.
On that cold, dreary night, my thoughts, although solemn, were also appreciative and hopeful. I was grateful for the good guys and the feminists and the contributions each made to my professional fulfillment and success. I hope the fact that I can't claim membership in either group, isn’t a barrier to all of us working together to achieve greater inclusivity for all, in workplaces of the future.
