Plus ça change, plus c'est la même

For every reminder of how far we've come, there's another reminder of how far we have left to go.

Like many women, I was filled with joy and pride as I watched Nancy Pelosi call Congress to order for the State of the Union, emotions that overflowed as the President (who, I must admit, handled the moment with uncommon grace) said, "And tonight, I have a high privilege and distinct honor of my own -- as the first President to begin the State of the Union message with these words: Madam Speaker."

One more chink in the marble ceiling, one more branch of government successfully breached. Such a big step stirs emotions that are difficult to accurately convey.

Wanting to be sure that the moment would be properly impressed in her mind, I called my daughter over from where she was doing homework, explained to her who Nancy Pelosi is and why the moment that was occurring at that moment mattered very much indeed.

While I was talking to her, my mind drifted back to my own childhood, to when Sandra Day O'Connor was nominated and confirmed as a member of the Supreme Court of the United States. I was very young at the time - about seven if I recall correctly - but the moment still had a potent impact on me. I was a child of the 1970s, and a rather precocious one who had watched more news than most (one of my first television memories was of watching coverage of the Iran Hostage Crisis when I was five). I grew up as the second wave was breaking across the shore, watching coverage of ERA rallies, hearing conversations about mothers going to work on sit-coms, and hearing "libber" used as a sort of pejorative. At the same time, however, I was the daughter of one of those early feminists, a woman who always taught me I could do or be anything I wanted to be.

In the face of those conflicting voices, Sandra Day O'Connor was a beacon of hope, a personification of the fact that I really could do anything, that gender need not be a barrier. At that time, I fully expected that I would see relative parity in Congress before I had children of my own and that I would see a viable female Presidential candidate, if not a female President, by the time I reached college.

Of course, it didn't turn out that way. We are still miles from parity in Congress, we are only now seeing our first serious female candidate (and if she is elected, there will always be murmurings about her not being able to do it without her man, with all the implications that carries), and we are only now seeing a woman break the marble ceiling in the House.

Thirty years to move from cracking fully into one branch of the government into another.

So, in retrospect and with that span fully in mind, it is difficult to feel as much joy as I know I should, to not fall back on the French aphorism and recall that the more things change, the more they remain the same.

I just hope it doesn't take another thirty years for women to break into the Presidency.

My daughter and I may share an experience in that we were both, as young children, able to watch firsthand while a great step for women was taken. I don't want her to share the experience of having to wait until she has children of her own before the next step is taken.

Oh no! Here come the single women!

I was watching Hardball for reasons that escape me when an advertisement for tonight's NBC Nightly News came on. One of the stories they were advertising was one that posed the question of why so many women are living alone (without spouses) these days, and "why so many of those women are truly alone."

Gah! Could NBC have tossed out more faux doom and gloom if they tried?

Why is this even news?

Would it be news if we were talking about men living alone?

Maybe my cynicism is showing, but I doubt it. For men, living alone is a valid choice, something that no one really questions, outside of the occasional comment about a person being devoted to their work (a comment that is almost always framed in complimentary terms). If, however, a woman chooses to forego having a spouse and children or if she chooses not to remarry after divorce or the death of a spouse, questions are asked.

The implication, of course, is that women are not capable of taking care of themselves.

An implication that, quite frankly, I find more than a little offensive.

When Personal Meets Professional

There are memories that will be with me until the day I die. Some of them are memories that - to one extent or another - are collective, shared with the rest of the nation: the day the Challenger exploded on launch, 9/11, the week after Hurricane Katrina. Others are, of course, more personal: sitting in my grandparents front lawn and watching the sun come up, the birth of each of my children, pausing in the middle of a hike with my Mom to examine a tuft of cat tails. Beyond all that, however, there are some memories that become almost talismanic, things I can reach back to in times of need because of the manner in which they embody perfect encapsulations of all that I believe and am.

I don't know if being sworn in as a member of the Bar is a huge deal for every lawyer; frankly, it's not something I've discussed in any detail with other members of the profession. However the majority may perceive it, for me being sworn in was a sacredotal experience.

In order to understand why this is so, it is important to also understand something about Celtic Paganism. Within that faith, certain virtues are considered paramount above all others. Truth is one of those preeminent virtues, and implied in it is the absolute obligation, both to one's community and to one's gods, to stand fast by any oaths sworn in one's life. For a Celt, an oath is more than a promise. The obligation that a Celt sets on him or herself with an oath has all the power of a geis. It is an obligation that must be held to. No escape, no excuses. The only way out of an oath is if someone else breaks it first.

By way of illustration, it is helpful to consider the bargain made by Cu Chulain and the forces of Medb. As the men of Connacht approached Ulster, Cu Chulain met them at a ford, offering single combat to the champions of the Connacht army. He and Medb swore oaths that the Western forces would not advance further into Ulster, provided that Cu Chulain was able to meet and best one champion from the army each day. In return for this, Cu Chulain swore to stop harrying the forces of Connacht each night. For many days, the bargain held, until one day Medb broke the oath by sending nine champions to face Cu Chulain at the same time. That night, Cu Chulain, released from his bond, attacked the camp of the Connachtmen. He was able to do so freely on that night, but not before. Prior to Medb breaking her side of the bargain, he was bound by the oaths that they swore.

Breaking their mutual oath as she did is but one of the ways that Medb is shown to be an agent of chaos, but it is instructive. Especially since a concern with holding to one's word is a recurrent theme throughout the Celtic Corpus. Oaths are sacred, not to be sworn lightly and not to be broken unless and until they are abrogated by the one the bargain is made with (presuming that the oath is the result of a bargain).

Becoming a lawyer, at least in my jurisdiction, involves being sworn in. The lawyer takes an oath (and a long one at that - it takes about five minutes to administer). The oath is administered by the state Supreme Court in a chamber that is full of the sort of dark and serious solemnity that such an occasion is presumed to require. I can still close my eyes and see the room as clear as day, even without the help of the photographs that were taken that day. And I can still feel what it was like to take that oath. For me, however, the most profound moment was not in reciting the oath itself. Rather, it was in reciting the closing words. Instead of defaulting to the usual "so help me god[s]" that many people use, I whispered the old words, used by generations of Celts. "This I swear by the gods my people swear by." In that moment, I felt the oath settle into me. It was a physical sensation, enclosing and settling around me in the same way that a blanket settles on your shoulders.

It was, quite simply, a moment that is beyond my ability to describe, though I can feel the oath's presence in me as strongly as I could the day it was sworn. And I know, every day, that I am bound by more than my own desire to do right. I am bound, more firmly than can possibly be recounted, by a commitment made both by and to the gods. I am bound beyond promise, beyond honor, beyond will.