Why Southern Women Never Need the "Power Hyphen"

It was French 101 at Meredith College, my senior year. In the room there was a din of laughter and chatter as we filled those precious few minutes before class would begin. Among my group of friends, the topic of discussion on that particular day had been baby names - not an altogether unpopular topic among college seniors who are engaged or nearly so, with dreams for family intermixing with those of career. I remember one dear friend whose last name was Anderson piping up "Well my first child will be named Anderson, because that'll work for either a boy or a girl." I smiled to myself.

We've all met him, John William Thomas Wedgewood Worthington IX...he exists in some version in every fraternity house from Alabama to Virginia, a mouthful of a family name passed down from generation to generation. In a way it lends to a sense of solidarity, the likelihood is that whatever place the man held in society  nine generations ago that started the whole thing is still held by Worthington 9.0. In another sense, its seems to be a reminder of the strong patriarchy that still exists in the South. It seems archaic. After all, we're behind the times down here, right? Or are we?

What most don't know is that Mr. John William Thomas Wedgewood Worthington IX has a sister or a brother, whose first name is something like Hudson, Anderson, Dale, Nixon - family names from Mama's side of the family tree. People who aren't from the south won't have a clue what's going on - who names a girl Anderson?! But every Southern girl knows this is nothing short of one small victory for feminism. Our little girls might be dragging Daddy's name behind them, but they're charging forward with Mama's.

For generations, southern women have been sneaking their grandmother's, their mother's, or sometimes even their own maiden names into the names of their children. To be honest, its one of my favorite traditions. Maternal surnames become first names and middle names in nearly every southern family, and what really makes this tradition amazing is that it transforms a name that once connected a child to his or her father into a name that connects that child to their mother.

All in all I'm not totally knocking the hyphen, not only can it be the new equal sign when it comes to family names, but sometimes it results in some pretty fabulous sounding last names. However, my point is that down here we may still name our sons John William Thomas Wedgewood Worthington IX, but don't let it fool you, Mama's name will work her way in there somehow, too.

For Women.

“If any of us had heard the word "feminist" we would have thought it meant a girl who wore too much makeup, but we were, without knowing it, feminists ourselves, bound together by the freemasonry that exists among intelligent women who know they are intelligent. It is the only kind of female bonding that works, which is why most men do not like intelligent women. They don't mind one female brain if they can enjoy it privately; it's the idea of two or more on the loose that upsets them."
--Florence King, Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady

I remember my first encounter with "feminism". In my tiny little one horse southern town it might as well have been a curse word for all the hatred it stirred up as soon as it crossed someone's lips. I was in the tenth grade in Honors English. We were reading Moby Dick. Our teacher was bestowing upon us knowledge of the literary technique that was known has "reading from a perspective". For instance, you might read Moby Dick in the political perspective, which would require analysis of the current political atmosphere of the author's time and its relationship to the themes in the book. I raised my hand, and I asked my teacher, what if I read the book and analyzed its messages regarding the place of women during this period. "Ah" my teacher said, "That would be reading from the Feminist perspective." He smiled down proudly at his pupil, but I knew all hell was simultaneously breaking loose. The verdict had been issued, and my sentence would be mockery if I didn't do some swift damage control.  "You're a Feminist!" someone yelled out. "I am not!" I frantically said back. Panic-stricken, I sunk down in my chair and tried to blend into my wooden seat, chameleon-style.  

You see, for young women, particularly in the South, its taboo to desire equality. Doors are still opened for us, our dinner tab is still covered by a gentleman, we "don't have to work", we will be "taken care of". Why ask for equality when you can be "treated like a lady"? How ungrateful of the Southern Woman to desire something like the ability to be financially independent, to work outside the home after childbirth,  to be the primary bread winner, to be paid the same wage as her male counterpart for the same work - doesn't she know he has mouths to feed? The list goes on.  The South is the last place where one can find chivalry, and if Southern women keep pushing, it will be chivalry's final resting place. And so we live in our glass castles. We are trapped atop the pedestals to which we are exiled. 

For most of my childhood I believed this version of our reality. I accepted that a man opening the door for me somehow justified the systematic silencing of our voices. I felt guilty for not being grateful for the protection and security found in the paternal arms of the charming southern suitor. I felt alone in my desire for something more. In matters of religion "women were to sit and be quiet"; in matters of politics, leadership should be left to the colder logic of men, devoid of emotion. After all, why would a pretty little thing want to bother herself about such boring topics, best to let the menfolk handle that. I resigned, and accepted. 

But even in my first days at Meredith College, a small Women's College in the South, I felt the strength and the power that comes when a young woman is finally armed with truth. The truth that we're all made equal. That we all deserve the same things. That we're all capable. That while its nice to have the door opened for me, I don't need it, and I won't trade my rights and power as an individual for it. 

Everyday I'm reminded that society isn't happy with my choice. I've been called a liberal maniac and a femininazi, I've been told that I'm just making my own life harder, that I'm just being difficult, that I'm overreacting. 

But is it overreacting when an entire panel is assembled before Congress to discuss Women's Health and there isn't a single woman on it? Where is the representation? Did America not start a revolution in 1776 because they had no representation in Parliament? Are we forgetting our own history? After all, aren't the tax dollars of working women all across America covering the additional cost associated with Birth Control coverage? Don't we pay premiums out of our pay check every week too? Let there be no mistake, I am in no way advocating for the violent overthrow of our country. I love my nation and I believe in the ability to work through our system and implement change. But let us not forget where we've been. Its time to recognize our own hypocrisy.

So yes, I'm liberal, I'm a feminist, and I'm a Southern woman. I'm done trading my freedom for chivalry. Afterall, if you're only opening doors in order to perpetuate a system of oppression, its not chivalry; its blackmail. I think I accepted this exchange because I was afraid to take responsibility for myself. With equality comes responsibility, and with responsibility comes risk. But ultimately, its time for the southern belle to stand on her own two feet.