Unconventional Feminist
Written by: Josette Deschambeault
“Feminism” has always been a trigger word for me. I’ve gone back and forth between claiming it, and denying it. Around my conservative, church-going friends growing up, we’d dance around the term. “Feminists” were liberal man-haters, right? Feminists didn’t belong in churches. Feminists were out to corrupt society and bring chaos to the cultural structure that we were all so used to.
But when I moved to Alaska to guide (then manage) rafting and hiking trips, it was implied that I had to take up the feminist flag. I was doing the same work as the men, I was fighting hard to hire more women, and I argued for more and more opportunities for the few girls who had already proved their mettle, in — what I was routinely reminded — were roles historically filled by only senior, male guides.
In the outdoor industry, women are fighting hard for equality, for representation, for anything other than pink hiking boots. The standard-setting American Mountain Guides Association (AMGA) says that only about 11% of their certified ski-guides are women. In emergency services nationwide (both paid and volunteer), less than 7% of firefighters are women. As of 2015, only about 10% of Protestant congregations had “a woman in senior or solo leadership”.
So what does all of that mean when someone asks me — a volunteer firefighter, EMT, Search and Rescue Tech, raft guide, outdoor industry professional, and Christian — “Are you a feminist?”
I’ll admit — I’m torn. Torn between definitions, between popular and prevailing opinions, between standards of faith, and between my everyday reality. Am I a feminist — or not?
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I’ve strayed from the “feminine norm” for as long as I can remember. While I love to sew and bake, I also play hockey, drive a truck, and wear Carhartts regularly. I grew up in a small Colorado town that’s famous for its whitewater scene, as well as its access to backpacking trails and climbing crags; my first job out of high school was with a guiding company in that valley, where I spent the next four years learning to guide rivers, trails, and rock climbing routes (and take reservations). I moved to another guiding company in remote Southeast Alaska, where I’ve spent the last three years. When I wasn’t guiding, I was hopping on the ambulance or racing out with Search and Rescue as a part of the volunteer fire department. So it came as a shock to me when I (finally) realized how few women there were in the outdoor and emergency services industries; my wake-up call came when I joined my father’s fire department in rural Maine. “Congratulations,” the fire chief commended me, shaking my hand. “You’re this department’s first ever female firefighter.”
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What you need to know about me is that I’ve never been the girl to rail against a patriarchal society. Generally, I’m too conservative with my words to do so. My male co-workers and bosses have (mostly) been kind, supportive, and empowering of women. All that I’ve looked for is equality for both my male and my female guides. If that guy can lift more than I can, great; he can drag the heavy junk. Most likely, I have bigger things to attend to — like scheduling 75 employees for the next day, or repairing a broken raft frame. Am I mad that he was given the heavy lifting job? Absolutely not. Saves me a sore back. Could I do it, if he weren’t here? Yes. I could, and do it well. But when it comes down to it, I’ve always shrugged — so what? That’s just a part of my job. It’s never mattered whether or not I was a woman — my managers just knew that I would get it done.
What I did speak out about, however, was the inequality of opportunities for female river guides. My program consisted of hiking two miles, then rafting three miles back to the vans. Across the canal, other guides were rafting longer, more technical stretches of river. While there were many female guides who ran those other rivers on a daily basis during my three-year tenure up north, when they needed extra sets of rowing arms, only male guides were called over. I spoke up, several times — to my manager, to our director, to the different operations managers, to other guides. I scheduled myself three times to check off on the rivers over there, and each time, an “administrative oversight” prevented that from happening. As the manager of our hiking and rafting program, I came into the game with whitewater rafting experience, technical knowledge, and, frankly, the stamina to row those rivers. Not once was I called over to assist; as a third-year guide and manager, I was routinely overlooked for first- and second-year male guides. Not once did I see any other female guides sent over, either. When questioned about my opportunities on a prized trip — our multi-day river expeditions — our director informed me that those spots were reserved for senior guides, and rattled off the names of four male guides who historically led those. All four of those men had personally complimented my skills and boating knowledge, and one had even asked to have me transferred to this “more technical” side of the company. I had guided our full-day whitewater trips with these men as a first-year guide and proven myself. Yet, once again, I was told no. They wanted me in the office, he said, not guiding.
As I began to move up in the administrative and managerial ladder of the company, I hired men and women equally, but found that most of the time, my female candidates came more highly recommended and with greater skills. I filled the program with ladies, and expressed my desire to move these women through the ranks into management and senior guide positions. Our only female senior guide left in my last year; the woman who took over management for the other half of the company still guides, occasionally, but she has much more on her plate with administrative tasks. As I talked to the senior male guides, I heard multiple comments about needing more women in leadership. Unfortunately, I never got to see that come to fruition. Injury and surgery took me out of the guiding industry in the spring, and while I’m gaining second-hand reports of the progress and prowess of my female new-hires, I have yet to hear of one move into one of these coveted senior guide positions.
In the outdoor industry, it is still an uphill battle for women. Within the world of rafting, female raft guides are the butt of some pretty raunchy jokes. Hairy girls, smelly girls, crude girls, dirty girls, dumb girls, weak girls — the stereotypes are all there, and it’s not uncommon to hear the jokes paraded around post-boating bonfires, even told by female guides, themselves. I’ve heard “I can’t do that,” more times than I care to admit spew from female new-hires’ mouths as they see their male counterparts haul 500+ lb rafts across the beach, or dangle twelve pairs of heavy rubber boots from their manly fingertips.
I’ve had men ask me, “Do you want me to help you hold that, honey?” as I wait for their wives to climb into my raft. Worse, I’ve had middle-aged men jump out in glacially-fed rivers if my boat gets stuck, thinking I need their assistance as I push the boat off of the object. What they don’t know is that if they take one step to their right, they could fall off of the glacial silt embankment and into a current strong enough to suck them into the 33° water. All of a sudden, I would be caught in a logistical nightmare of rescuing them from the water, combatting hypothermia, exercising group management for the rest of my clients, and of course, comforting a grumpy, wet, cold man who would most likely complain about my inability to guide. That same dad from Oklahoma who jumps out of my boat to “help” would never dare do so to my 6’3” ex-swimmer male co-guide. What these male clients failed to recognize was that my male co-worker has been rafting for less than four months; I’ve been river guiding for more than four years. I’ve had male co-workers threaten to quit, rather than work under me. I’ve had male co-workers bitch about my leadership style. (I’ve been known to be a hard-ass.) But, I’ve also had male co-workers tell male clients to have some damn respect when speaking to me; I’m the boss-lady for a reason.
Being told “no” has fueled me to fight, and fight back hard. I fought to manage the hiking and rafting program well, hand-selecting my staff and training them to a high standard. I inspected all of our equipment, every season. I had to get creative when our resources failed in rural Alaska. When the trucks that hauled our rafts broke down, what did I do? Convert a van into what we need to finish out the season. When a boat was skewered by a stray branch? I sewed it up with a Frankenstein-esque patch until a replacement could be found. When an employee threatened to no-show because they don’t like their schedule? I broke out the no-nonsense-tone and told them they could pack up and leave, or show up to work like an adult. Tell me it can’t be done, and I guarantee, I’ll fight it, find a solution, or figure out a different way to spin it.
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Now, I say this under the assumption that 90% of the time, those fights are waged subconsciously. Most of the time, I’m not operating under the thought that I may be encountering roadblocks because I’m a woman; I’m just dealing with the roadblocks as they come.
I am increasingly frustrated by the argument, “Treat me the same as a man because I’m a woman.” Because of this, I face head-on my aversion to “feminism”; I want to be given opportunities and because of my temperament, experience, and references, not because you need my female parts to meet a diversity quota. I want to be chosen for a Search and Rescue call because I respond well under pressure, because I know the area, and because I can pull my own weight – not because you need to mix up the group with a girl. I am a hardworking, motivated, gregarious human. If a man is more qualified than I am, then by all means, please give him the opportunity. But I chafed so badly under a director saying that these coveted multi-day opportunities were reserved for experienced guides — then only listing men. I’ve chafed at a male co-guide threatening to quit because he was upset that a “less experienced woman” had been given the managerial position over him. (Fun fact — I had two more years of experience on him.) I really chafed when a fellow volunteer on a Search and Rescue call balked when I was chosen as part of the first-strike team over him. “You’re taking her over me? Why, because she’s a girl?” Our lead responder, a female EMT with years of experience, looked him in the eye as the rescue helicopter landed behind us and said, “No, it’s because I trust her, not you.”
Sometimes, I’m afraid that we, as women, are our own biggest roadblocks. I heard it often while guiding — female guests would exclaim that they could never do this job as they watched someone row a raft stuffed with 10 people down the river. Female guides would watch the male guides heading off for a 20-day mountaineering trip, carrying an 80-pound backpack, and say, “I could never be a mountaineering guide.” Once, upon boarding a plane, I took my seat and pulled on my fire department sweatshirt. A woman reached across the aisle to ask me, “Husband or father?” It took me a moment to realize that she was asking whether my husband or my dad was on that fire department; when I responded that I was the volunteer, she smiled and said that she, too, was a firefighter. Why, then, I thought, are you assuming that I’m not?
Not all women, or men, are cut out to be a raft guide; neither are all men (or women) cut out to be an EMT. Who you are as a human should speak louder than whatever anatomy you walk around with. But, once again, I think of all of the strong female new-hires huddled on a cold beach, mouths agape and eyes filled with dread, saying, “We can’t do that!” as they watch a male co-guide drag a raft across the beach by themselves. Then I think of incompetent female guides who argued with me that I wouldn’t schedule them for difficult tours because they were women, who demanded that they be given “the same opportunity as the boys,” when they simply weren’t skilled enough to lead effectively. With barely-restrained frustration, I would explain to them my reasons — their error rates, my concerns for safety and efficiency — and then show them the three other women I had scheduled for that very tour.
With these examples, I’m even more torn about the moniker “feminist.” Have I fought for women’s opportunities? Yes, vehemently so. Have I also rolled my eyes when those incompentent guides said, “It’s just because we’re women, isn’t it?” Yes. I have. Not a single part of me wants women to become our own roadblocks. I’ve fought — and will continue to fight — to show women that what they thought they couldn’t do, they can, whether that be rafting or hauling an injured hiker out of a ravine. I wish fervently that I had thought to correct that woman on the plane, wish that I had asked her why she assumed that I was wearing a sweatshirt earned by a male firefighter, rather than making the assumption that I was the volunteer.
So, even with that desire to break down our self-imposed roadblocks, why does “feminism” still leave a bad taste in my mouth?
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Within the history of feminism, there are many waves. The first was political — women’s right to vote — and the following were socio-economic — equality in the workplace — and then went onto cultural, sexual, and political — undoing gender roles, embracing the LGBTQ community, legislation and political representation, etc.
My struggle with feminism is that I’m a generally moderate person; I don’t like extremes on either end. Do I believe that it’s absurd that women are paid less than men for the same work? Yes. Do I believe that we should address an individual by genderless pronouns? No. (Especially as a former English major.) Do I hate a patriarchal government? Not necessarily. I wouldn’t keep a woman out of office, just as I wouldn’t boycott a church with a female pastor. But I desire that our society could see women as Christ would — on equal ground as men. Christ never rejected a woman for being a woman; he spent time with prostitutes and good housewives, equally. He treated them as his beloved disciples, like he did his male followers. Did he take women with him on the road, or send them out as apostles to preach? No. Do I have to wrestle with that? Yes. But not for an instant do I believe that Christ would have looked at me and said, “You’re not worthy to preach my gospel because you are a woman; I’ll have a man do that.”
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To call myself a feminist, I’ll have to review my definition of “feminism.” My stance as a feminist means that I count myself equal amongst both men and women. I don’t see men as superior to me, nor do I see them as inferior. Do I believe we have different roles in life? Maybe. But I’ve seen incredible stay-at-home-dads, just as I’ve worked with phenomenal female firefighters. At the end of the day, I see us all as Christ has made us — broken, sinful, and graciously saved humans, regardless of our anatomy or historical roles. Maybe that’s not “feminism” as the world portrays it, but I’ll claim this definition, any day.