Hi!  Fellow girls!  If you’re like me, you’ve had it up to your cute ‘lil chin with the dull and dubious rhetoric of the campus liberals (or, what do they call themselves, ‘progressives,’—I call them pinko, two steps from all-out Smithie).  I’ve come to feel like there’s no safe space on campus for nice girls like us, who want to bake cookies without analyzing the gender issues behind butter, or whatever.  It’s time for us to organize, to call for our own cultural house (please set it in the middle of the Amherst College campus, yea for boys with future earning potential!) and our own organization which will sponsor events such as pretty dress-up teas and panel discussions on important girl stuff.  (Maybe we’ll call it White Women for Patriarchy—has this already been tried on campus?  Was it a huge failure, besides being totally ironic?  I have vague memories…).  In order to accomplish this task, I believe step one is to infiltrate a leftist organization, and expose it for the hotbed of illegal and immoral activities it is— this will rob them of their influence and help us to take back the campus.

Day 1:  My first move was to join the SCA and express interest in becoming a “core” member, giving me instant access to the main wrongdoers.  That same night I was invited to dine with the group.  Let me tell you, girls, I’m pretty sure half of them were drunk or high.  How else can one explain the most disturbing choices in clothing and hairstyles?  No wonder they have time for all these meetings—they obviously don’t see the inside of a salon or upscale boutique too often.  Anyway, there was a lot of talking, WEF, Fair Trade, bargaining units, construction companies, petitions, tables, blah blah blah.  In my infinite genius, I volunteered to take charge of the final edit and printing of their pedantic commie rag, The Catalyst, which is how I will publish my exposé—turning their own weapon against them!  The brilliance of the plan made me black out for a moment (this might be linked to the tightness of my very fashionable corset, very retro-Victorian), but I was able to recover and left the meeting.

Day 2:  My next act of genius—to ask if I could get interviews to write an article on the core for The Catalyst!  Perfect way to get juicy information and expose the groups various evil-doings;  perhaps someone would even offer me some Crack Cocaine as a gesture of “solidarity.”  With hopes that they would be high, I scheduled to meet with the Editor-In-Chief of The Catalyst, and one of the Chairs.  I started with a few simple questions, such as ‘who is the biggest druggie in the core group’  and ‘why do you hate men?’  Editor girl, simultaneously dragging at a cigarette and swilling black coffee, began the discussion., saying “what was this article to be about?  Would you like me to explain the Optimum building situation to you?  It’s rather interesting, a good case study in the way we operate and in the way businesses will do their best to save a little money by shortchanging labor.”  Chair girl broke in, “yeah, people think we’re all sad that [name unimportant—think girl with dirty Hampshire hippie-hair] is serving 5 to 10 on a charge of terrorism, but actually it was the best thing that could happen.  The publicity of the lawsuit did a lot to highlight the abuses of the corporation, as well as the craziness of this current situation, where our freedom of speech and press are being cracked down on.  It only went bad for [other Chair] because they found her stash of--”   “Drugs!,” I interjected, feeling that I was getting to the bottom of the story. Chair girl resumed her story, saying, “uhh, no, they found these boxes of what they considered Anti-American literature in her dorm room.  I think there were some brochures about how it’s wrong for U.S. corporations use slave labor in the third world.  It wasn’t even hers, it was the SCA’s, old propaganda materials, but it’s all good.  We send her the extra cookies from our bake sales and stuff.”  I was afraid my cover was blown, as I knew that the cookie baking story was a lie—“are you telling me you have SCA bake sales?  Aren’t you opposed to women’s being oppressed by kitchen appliances?  Or is this code for cooking meth?”
Editor girl gave me a smug pinko look and said “actually, we can bake things using vegan products. It’s an easy way to make money.  Are you on something?  The only oppression in the situation stems from the lack of funding we get from Student Government. ”

This interview was going nowhere fast.  I decided to change tactics, swing the conversation to a place where they would open up and spill the dirt.  “So,” I began, “are we planning any illegal actions in the near future?”  “Yeah,” answered the Chair, “we’re going to dig a tunnel under the jail and break [hippie girl] out.”  Both girls break into laughter, saying something about “if we were really dumb anarchists.”  With frustration barely contained, I picked up my handbag (strategically unmatched to my shoes, to give the aura of ‘activist’) and left.

Day 3:  Another meeting.  Terribly, terribly boring.  From the looks and sounds of things, these women were actually busy with making plans, holding events, and having meetings with practically every man, woman and child on campus.  I made note of this to the girl sitting next to me, who commented, “that’s sort of how this works, we have to try to get people’s attention, if that means bothering them at dinner, in class, in their dorm rooms, at their meetings, and the same goes for faculty, staff and administrators.  If we get one more signature on a petition, one more supporter of the Code of Conduct, then that’s a success for us.  We work hard and yet people think we just put up a few flyers and are done with it.  It’s not like that at all.”

Self-righteous, boring, too intellectual, and ultimately, only successful occasionally, I was moved to shed a little tear for these sad little activist girls (careful not to smear mascara!), who were not as immoral and wicked as I had originally thought.  Although I will publish this piece and then resign from the core group, I can’t help but feel that girls like me, who care more about nail polish than nuclear disarmament, should at least give a little smile and a free makeup tip to these hardworking ladies when they pass them in the hall.  So keep it up, girls, and maybe when I’m married to a Very Rich Male I’ll write you a little check.