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The selection from Derrida reminded me of my first introduction to Three Guineas.  It was in Methods, and though we didn't read it formally, the professor encouraged us to read it on our own because it is, in his opinion, both birlliant and devastating.  He summed up Woolf's argument as saying that disempowered, marginalized women absolutely need to gain power and recognition in the dominant power systems of their society; but—and this is the devastating part—in order to not become patriarchal oppressors themselves, they must maintain their outsider status.  This argument is especially apparent when Derrida says things like "if the success of women's studies would be to constitute men as an object of study, and women as mastering subjects, nothing will have happened.  It is necessary not to reproduce the same structure" and asks, "What are the risks and stakes of the institution of women's studies?  Do the women who manage these programs, do they not become, in turn, the guardians of the Law...?" (203, 190). 

Why I've been having so much trouble this semester—or, at least, in the first third of this semester—defining this course as feminist seems precisely to go along with Derrida's insistence that women's studies not become an oppositely-sided but identitcal version of the current system of academia.  That is, this course has not perpetuated the objectification or subjectification of women only; instead, it has pushed at the bounds of sex, gender, and identity in a way that makes it about far more than "women's studies."  

In our class, we've talked about gender, sex, and sexual preference; we've read texts about and/or met people who are classified or classify themselves in different categories of these identity-determiners.  Despite efforts to be multicultural and to pull groups from the margins, much has been excluded; this is inevitable, given time constraints.  On Tuesday, I voted for Becky's poem idea, and I maintain that vote.  It allows the greatest number of voices to enter the classroom without assigning special importance to one over another, and it further means that each of us contributes to constructing the curriculum.  Unless everyone absolutely agrees, a democractic vote still means that some people lose while others win, that some have to settle.  I believe it was Kendolyn who expressed concern about silencing the minority groups; selecting one majority-determined text does not seem a particularly empowering end to our class.

As I'm writing about exclusion, I'm thinking more about how Bryn Mawr is such an interesting location from which to consider women's studies.  I was worried when I applied, but I really like that Bryn Mawr is a women's college.  I like the environment that it fosters and the sense of community that I didn't feel when I was a freshman at NYU.  You could argue that it's a matter of size difference, but I inherently know that it's not entirely.  But in our post-modern world, how can Bryn Mawr justify discriminating on the basis of sex/gender?  How can we, in a (western) feminist studies class, work at breaking down the barriers between identities while our mother institution rigidly upholds them?  Is our class pioneering the future of Bryn Mawr?  And how will I feel if, fifty years from now, there are no more women's colleges, no where for women to go to find the environment and experiences I have right now?