It’s National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and we’re awash in a sea of pink. Pink ribbons, pink wristbands, pink Cartier watches, pink makeup kits, pink Tic Tacs, a pink Delta airplane, pink nail polish, a pink Montegrappa Micra Pen, pink bouquets, pink tweezers, pink candles, pink jeweled key fobs, pink totes, pink shower gel, pink tea, pink moisturizer, pink Lean Cuisines, pink teddy bears, pink Waterford crystal, pink Post-its, pink M&Ms, pink sneakers, pink umbrellas, pink yogurt, pink golf balls, pink pencil sharpeners, and even pink toilet paper. That’s right, wipe for the cure.
It seems as if every corporation with female customers has realized that pinking it up can be good for business. Take Avon, for example, the fairy godmother of pink events. On its Web site Avon claims that between 1992 and 2004 it donated $350 million for “medical research, access to treatment, screening, support services, and education.” Three hundred and fifty million over 12 years is a lot of money, true, but let’s remember that we’re not talking about an anonymous donation. Avon scores a lot of pink P.R. points for its “breast cancer crusade,” and the company’s dedication to the cause is good for the bottom line, too. According to Breast Cancer Action, a grass-roots organization in San Francisco, Avon’s 4-year-old Kiss Goodbye to Breast Cancer lipstick line actually drove a 6 percent growth in the sale of its lipstick units.
There is a particular irony in this corporate sponsorship. Many cosmetics contain parabens, estrogenic chemical preservatives that can disrupt normal hormone functions, and exposure to such external estrogens has been shown to increase the risk of breast cancer. Another common ingredient in cosmetics is phthalates, which cause a broad range of birth defects and reproductive problems in laboratory animals. A recent study by researchers at the University of Missouri at Columbia found that prenatal exposure to some phthalates can disrupt normal male reproductive tract development. The link between environmental pollutants and breast cancer is also becoming clearer. When absorbed into the body, certain pesticides, plastics additives, and chemicals present in foods, household dust and air act like estrogen, possibly increasing the risk of breast cancer.
Given this, to some women the very idea of a corporate-sponsored breast cancer awareness month is dubious. Peggy Orenstein, author of “Schoolgirls: Young Women, Self Esteem and the Confidence Gap” and “Flux: Women on Sex, Work, Love, Kids, and Life in a Half-Changed world,” was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1997 at age 35. She believes that by encouraging women to “Shop for the Cure,” pink October cheapens the reality of breast cancer. “It provides people with the illusion of activism in the place of real action,” she says. It also troubles Orenstein that so many of the October events focus on awareness and screening, rather than on the causes of breast cancer. “When corporations dominate the giving, they drive the direction of the research and right now, they routinely steer it away from investigating potential environmental links to cancer,” she says. “Focusing on the environment wouldn’t serve the interests of Big Pink companies like Chevron, whose Bay Area oil refinery has had notorious toxic accidents.”
In November 2001, Barbara Ehrenreich published an article in Harper’s, “Welcome to Cancerland,” which expressed her umbrage at the “cult of pink kitsch.” The teddy bears, the pink journals complete with crayons where a breast cancer patient was supposed to “express different moods, different thoughts,” all these were part of what Ehrenreich viewed as a “general chorus of sentimentality and good cheer” in which everyone is a survivor until the moment she isn’t, and breast cancer is “a chance for creative self-transformation — a makeover opportunity.” Ehrenreich wrote about the vast culture of women with breast cancer, their families and friends as a kind of religion complete with its own salvation and redemption: a cure. October is, then, breast cancer’s high holy days, when the pink “amulets and talismans” of the faith are most prevalent, readily available even to the unconverted.
I absolutely sympathize with Orenstein’s and Ehrenreich’s resistance to the cult of pink. I’m fairly certain that if were diagnosed with breast cancer I wouldn’t gloss my lips with Stila pink tint or blush my cheeks with Remy’s Hint of Cure. I wouldn’t Sip a Republic of Tea for the Cure or have a Wacoal bra Fit for the Cure. Like Orenstein, I find the notion of a vast commercial enterprise devoted to breast cancer very unsettling, and like Ehrenreich, I resent the implication that an ill woman, or any woman, should be treated like a child.
My husband’s much-loved aunt died last year, at 56 years old, after battling breast cancer since 1996. My friend Karen evacuated her home in New Orleans right after her second chemotherapy treatment. Another friend, a mother of four, was diagnosed at 37, the same age as her mother was when she died of the disease. My friend Ginny is two years post-surgery and chemo. My friend Sandra, diagnosed with Stage III cancer this past year, is doing well on Herceptin and other chemotherapy drugs. We all have these stories. We all know too many people with the disease.
And some of them resist the pink, while others embrace it. Ginny and Sandra find solace in the events of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, the walks, hikes and gatherings. Sandra, Ginny and I have known each other for 10 years. We’re part of a circle of women — there are 13 of us — who e-mail regularly. Last weekend Karen, another woman from the group, flew from Rochester, N.Y., to New York City to do the Avon Breast Cancer Walk with Ginny. Clare, another e-mail buddy, walked alongside them. Particularly meaningful to my friends was that part of the funds raised by the New York Avon walk went to the organization God’s Love We Deliver, to provide meals for women undergoing breast cancer treatments. “I know research is so important, but I also know how important a support structure is,” Ginny told me. “While I was in treatment, friends brought my family meals for 30 days. I wanted to help people without the same kind of network.”
Twenty-five of Sandra’s friends joined her for a hike up Mount Tamalpais, in Northern California, on Sept. 17, to raise money for the Breast Cancer Fund. A neighbor whom Sandra had barely known before the hike organized a team in her honor. Sandra hiked with her friends and felt nurtured, supported and loved. “Never in my life would I have pictured myself hiking on that mountain because I had breast cancer,” she told me. “It was an amazing day, and I was incredibly moved. I tear up just thinking about it.”
My cynicism, the suspicion I feel at the rivers of corporate pink, fades when I look at the photograph of Sandra on Mt. Tam, of Ginny and Karen, standing together in their pink and white Avon T-shirts. Their smiles are so huge and lovely; they are glowing.
Breast Cancer Action, which doesn’t accept funding from the government or the pharmaceutical and healthcare industries, does not totally reject Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Rather, its “Think Before You Pink” campaign encourages consumers to ask questions before they reach into their wallets and “shop for a cure.” “Ask [companies] to reveal how much money actually goes to breast cancer, how the funds are being raised, who gets the money, and what programs are being supported,” says a BCA e-mail newsletter. For example, programs focusing on “breast cancer awareness” may not be all that helpful since the disease is widely publicized already. After 21 October Breast Cancer Awareness months, the problem is not awareness. It’s the number of cancer cases — 211,240 new cases of invasive breast cancer, and 40,410 deaths expected in the U.S. in 2005, according to the American Cancer Society — and the number of people who have to fight the disease without health insurance. “Ultimately, we encourage people to do what is most meaningful for them, but a truly meaningful decision has to be well-informed,” says Barbara Brenner, executive director of BCA. “If shopping for pink ribbon products was truly the path to a cure, we’d have solved the breast cancer problem by now.”
According to the American Cancer Society, a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer every 1.9 minutes, and over the course of her life she has a 1 in 7 chance of developing the disease. Seventy percent of women who get the disease have no risk factors. Mammograms miss 25-38 percent of breast cancers in pre-menopausal women, and result in up to 12 percent false positives. These numbers are disturbing. New therapies, like the drugs that have so far been working for my friend Sandra, are being developed all the time. But that’s not enough. Nor is grilling chicken on a pink George Foreman grill or making a cake with a pink Kitchenaid mixer. We must insist that our government do something about the toxicity of our environment. We must insist that corporations do more than just write checks and take advantage of the advertising opportunity of pink October. We must ask hard questions, open our wallets, and, sure, we might as well go ahead and put on our running shoes — whatever it takes to keep the women around us healthy, strong and alive.
Ayelet Waldman is the author of "Love and Other Impossible Pursuits," "Daughter's Keeper" and of the Mommy-Track mystery series. She lives in Berkeley, Calif., with her husband, Michael Chabon, and their four children.
More Ayelet Waldman.
Why wait for October for breast cancer awareness? There couldn’t be a more perfect moment for director Lea Pool’s new documentary “Pink Ribbons Inc.” — a searing, passionate and deeply human examination of the warping of a cause.
It’s been a shaky year for the pink. In January, the Susan J. Komen Foundation, the undisputed center of the breast cancer universe in its be-ribboned, Schiaparelli-hued incarnation, made the spectacular misstep of attempting to withdraw funding for breast cancer screenings at Planned Parenthood. Though the howls of public outrage forced the foundation to back off – and prompted the resignation of its vice president for public policy, Karen Handel — the debacle was just the latest and most grotesque move from an organization ostensibly devoted to women’s health. There was the ill-advised, high-profile partnership with Kentucky Fried Chicken, a name not exactly synonymous with good health. There was a saturation of merchandising, including a perfume of questionable toxicity. No wonder registrations for this year’s Race for the Cure are down, as Komen continues to be dogged by questions about its integrity.
Now comes another blow to what author Barbara Ehrenreich (who has written with fabulous brio about her own experiences in the trenches) shudderingly calls “breast cancer culture.” Based on Samantha King’s book “Pink Ribbons Inc.: Breast Cancer and the Politics of Philanthropy,” the new documentary manages to be devastatingly persuasive about the futility of buying, say, an auto manufacturer’s “Warriors in Pink” gear as a gesture toward stamping out disease, while remaining profoundly sensitive to the good intentions of someone who might. Pool’s cool juxtapositions are incredibly convincing — in the way she presents the spirited, moving testimonials of pink-clad women running and walking at various events for “the cure” right beside the glib hucksters at the Fuze Tea and Yoplait event booths, oblivious to the piles of garbage rising in their wake.
Interspersed throughout, there are interviews with everyone who’s anyone in breast cancer. There’s Ehrenreich, who blisteringly attacks the “sentimentality” of cutesy breast cancer campaigns by saying, “I’m not six years old.” There’s Dr. Susan Love, who questions why, with billions of dollars going toward “the cure,” we’re still using “slash, burn and poison” treatments and spending next to nothing on investigating the causes of the disease. There’s Susan J. Komen CEO and founder Nancy Brinker, who ominously says, “There’s not enough pink” saturating our culture. And, hauntingly, there are the members of an Austin, Texas, support group for women with Stage 4 cancer, who describe the exhausting pressure of having a disease with such an upbeat, “Yes we can!” identity. “You’re the angel of death,” says one. “You’re the elephant in the room.” Put together, the film makes an exasperating, infuriating argument for why we must, as Susan Love says, “learn to ask questions and not just raise money and hand it over.”
Reducing breast cancer – a complex disease with different manifestations – into a single entity for which there could be a single, magic bullet “cure” may sell T-shirts and mammogram machines. But it doesn’t begin to address the insidiously complicated nature of cancer or why it strikes women in the first place. Yet there’s money to be made in the notion of a “cure” – a slippery word you will be hard pressed to find anyone in the world of cancer treatment ever using. But “Race for the No Evidence of Disease” just doesn’t have the same easy ring to it. Nor does the expensive, unsexy environmental and social change required to identify and eliminate the roots of cancer.
There was once a time, in the distant past, when breast cancer was not a cheerful lipstick shade. It was not warm or soft or fuzzy. It was not an opportunity for gratuitous ogling wrapped up in the guise of “saving the boobies.” And it sure as hell wasn’t the best thing to happen to consumerism since Christmas. But as the film makes clear, while the disease itself remains as vicious and harrowing as ever, the response to it has evolved. And what began as activism about a serious women’s health issue has morphed into an excuse to go shopping.
As “Pink Ribbons, Inc.” author Samantha King tells Salon, “People now understand disease through the lens of consumption. I talk to people who can’t really think of doing good work outside of selling or buying stuff. That’s not their experience. They haven’t been exposed to alternatives.” She goes on to explain, “Thirty years ago, it would have been unfathomable that breast cancer could generate this much support and attention and corporate funding. There was a lot of feminist awareness in the ’80s around breast cancer and women’s health. And some very smart people caught on to that and appropriated it and turned it into a marketable product.”
As the film tidily illuminates, ever since the Reagan era of corporate philanthropy, “cause marketing” has become a massive growth industry. With women representing 80 percent of consumer dollars spent, wrapping one’s products and services in the guise of taking care of the ladies is just “business as usual.” If that business includes breast cancer drug manufacturers who also happen to be in the business of pesticides and pink-ribboned cosmetics that contain unregulated chemicals like formaldehyde, well, what’s the problem? And if there’s a grand gesture to be made in bathing the Empire State Building in bright pink light or littering Times Square with pink ticker tape, who cares if that has squat to do with the frightening reality of illness?
One of the most revealing moments of the film comes when an upbeat marcher for the cure declares her reason for being there. “You feel helpless and you want to do something,” she explains. But what if that something is worse than nothing? What if it’s doing more to line a CEO’s pocket than to assure that fewer women will suffer and die from this monster? What if, instead, it’s subjecting women with cancer to what Ehrenreich calls “the horrible tyranny of cheerfulness”?
As King tells Salon, “Raising money doesn’t automatically equate change. In fact, the way that this particular fundraising phenomenon works is to reinforce the status quo. It funds the same kinds of research that ask the same kinds of questions instead of research that might look into prevention or reduce the incidence rate.” But she understands the insidious appeal of pink. “People are really busy,” she says, “and this stuff is fun and makes you feel nice. But that kind of solidarity and community is fleeting, and it doesn’t sustain a political movement. I hope this film changes the conversation around what it really means to do good.”
It was perhaps inevitable. But it speaks volumes nonetheless. On Tuesday morning, the Susan G. Komen Foundation announced that its vice president for public policy, Karen Handel, was resigning.
It was the latest very public – and very bitter – turn in a story that has thrown the traditionally esteemed Komen foundation for one hell of a loop. Just one week ago, Planned Parenthood announced that Komen was halting its funding for the organization’s breast cancer screenings. The move, the Komen foundation insisted, was about “the charity’s newly adopted criteria barring grants to organizations that are under investigation by local, state or federal authorities” – itself a dubious smear on a respected women’s health organization. But it didn’t take long for critics to note that Handel, who was hired just last year, had run for governor of Georgia on a platform of conspicuously anti-Planned Parenthood rhetoric. In 2010, she declared “I do not support the mission of Planned Parenthood,” and that she “strongly supports” laws prohibiting “the use of taxpayer funds for abortions or abortion-related services.” A lady like that in the driver’s seat of your organization just as you’re distancing yourself from Planned Parenthood looks like a whole more than a coincidence.
With a relentless social media nightmare and a surge of high-profile promises of financial support for Planned Parenthood on its hands, the Komen foundation had, by Friday, backed off, apologizing “to the American public for recent decisions” and vowing to “continue to fund existing grants, including those of Planned Parenthood.” Yet the shadow of its anti-Planned Parenthood bigwig loomed large, especially for an organization that insists it has no political agenda. So as a new campaign for Komen to oust Handel was picking up steam across Twitter and Facebook on Tuesday, she stepped down.
Her departure doesn’t appear to be that of a woman cowed by the events of the recent past. She says she has declined any severance package, and in her resignation letter, she says she is “deeply disappointed by the gross mischaracterizations of the strategy, its rationale, and my involvement in it” and that “neither the decision nor the changes themselves were based on anyone’s political beliefs or ideology.” Indeed, Handel could not possibly have gone rogue on this one and implemented the disastrous decision about Planned Parenthood all by her lonesome. But in a Huffington Post story Sunday, Laura Bassett reported that a Komen insider told her “Karen Handel was the prime instigator of this effort, and she herself personally came up with investigation criteria. She said, ‘If we just say it’s about investigations, we can defund Planned Parenthood and no one can blame us for being political.’”
For now, the matter seems at an end. A representative for Planned Parenthood referred Salon this Tuesday morning to the organization’s statement from last Friday and told us, “We have no plans to say anything further.” But in this crucial election year, the Komen mess and the departure of Handel send a powerful message — that when you screw around with screenings and services to women who might otherwise not afford them, it does not go unnoticed. You say it’s not political? It’s about women’s health and women’s bodies. It’s political as hell. And it will be in November.
Members of Planned Parenthood, NARAL Pro-Choice America and more than 20 other organizations hold a "Stand Up for Women's Health" rally in Washington (Credit: Joshua Roberts / Reuters)
The startling intensity that we saw this week in response to Susan G. Komen for the Cure’s decision to pull its grants from Planned Parenthood — an intensity that prompted the Komen foundation to reverse its decision today — may be the best thing that’s happened to the conversation about reproductive rights in this country for decades. It certainly should be.
Practically since Roe v. Wade was decided in 1973, reproductive rights activists have been left to play stilted defense against ideological opponents who grabbed the language of morality, life, love and family as their own, always deploying it with reference to the fetus. The rhetoric around reproductive rights, which has more recently begun to creep into arguments over contraception, has become suffocating in its emotional self-righteousness, but too muscular, too ubiquitous to effectively combat.
But the overreach by the Komen foundation, while surely intended to strike yet another blow on the side of antiabortion activism, succeeded instead in waking a powerful constituency — armed with precisely the language and emotional heft they’ve been lacking for too long.
That this week’s blow against Planned Parenthood came not directly from John Boehner’s House of Representatives – which, ever since taking power a year ago promising to focus on jobs, has manfully focused on the single task of attacking women’s reproductive rights – but instead from a popular, officially nonpartisan organization dedicated wholly to women’s healthcare somehow brought this argument into the open.
The response to Komen was surely so tinderbox explosive because it had been building with every politically theatrical investigation launched by Cliff Stearns and every grisly abortion scene enacted on the House floor by U.S. Rep. Chris Smith. But it was not just Washington wonkery, and was not ginned up or amplified by professional political cranks. It was the reflexive kick of a shin hit just below the knee, and the visceral anger spilled everywhere, from a Planned Parenthood Saved Me tumblr and onto Facebook, where people posted images of Komen’s pink ribbon cut in half. It poured from bank accounts, including that of New York Mayor and former Republican Michael Bloomberg.
It came from often dispassionate media figures like Andrea Mitchell, was tweeted by novelists like Judy Blume, Terry McMillan and William Gibson, actors Ellen Barkin and Martha Plimpton, politicos like Donna Brazile, Reps. Gwen Moore and Jackie Speiers, former Speaker Nancy Pelosi and from 22 senators including Frank Lautenberg, Al Franken and Kirsten Gillibrand, who signed a letter urging Komen to reverse its decision. It came from callers to radio programs, announcing their intentions to drop out of Komen races, and from the American Association of University Women, which canceled a scheduled service event with Komen. In the three days after Komen’s announcement of its Planned Parenthood break, Planned Parenthood received more than $3 million in donations, said PPFA president Cecile Richards in a press call on Friday.
More than that, though: The starkly observable attack against something as crucial and basic as breast exams for poor women, as well as the fact that so many divergent voices were pulled into it, meant that the conversation was not about partisan politics; it was about women. For the first time in what feels like forever, passion and fury were being loudly, proudly given in a full-throated voice, on behalf of women – women as moral actors; women as citizens with rights, health, bodies, freedoms; women as people with families and economic concerns.
Taken together, these factors mark this as a watershed moment in the contemporary conversation about reproductive rights. This is a story in which we see the possibility of a turned tide, a new way to gauge how the public actually feels about women’s rights and health, and a new way to talk about it, as well. Because what we saw this week was big. It was mass. It was emotional. This was so different from the various polls activists on both sides of the abortion question are always throwing around, polls that depend so much on how a question is asked; polls that offer far less clarity than head-banging confusion about where America stands on the issue of reproductive heath. This was not a poll. This was America announcing that it cared about women’s health, and more specifically, that it cared about Planned Parenthood.
In many ways, the activism that forced Komen to backtrack was ignited by Boehner’s House Republicans a year ago, when they voted to cut off all funding to Planned Parenthood because it provides abortion services. This despite the fact that since 1976’s Hyde Amendment, no federal money has been able to be used to provide abortion services. The organization Republicans want to squash provides more than 800,000 women a year with breast exams, more than 4 million Americans with testing and treatment for sexually transmitted diseases, and 2.5 million people with contraception, which prevents unintended pregnancy and thus abortion. But playing to what they must imagine is overriding public sentiment, Republicans have worked tirelessly to lodge the image of Planned Parenthood as an abortion factory deep in the American imagination.
A year ago, some of the anger at this strategy began to bubble over. In response to Smith’s description of a second trimester abortion, read on the House floor, Democratic U.S. Rep. Jackie Speier went to the House well and described her own painful second trimester abortion. “For you to stand on this floor and suggest that somehow this is a procedure that is either welcomed or done cavalierly or done without any thought, is preposterous,” Speier said, directing her comments at Smith. “Planned Parenthood has a right to operate. Planned Parenthood has a right to provide services for family planning. Planned Parenthood has a right to offer abortions. The last time I checked, abortions were legal in this country … I would suggest to you that it would serve us all very well if we moved on with this process and started focusing on creating jobs for the Americans who desperately want them.”
It was around this time that a viral “Thank You Planned Parenthood” meme cropped up online. With participants noting the instances in which they had relied on PPFA for birth control, breast exams, gynelogical care, and yes, abortions. Twitter, Facebook and blogs began to be dotted with “I stand with Planned Parenthood” emblems. Comedian Lizz Winstead kicked off a tour called “Planned Parenthood, I am here for you.”
But this recent wave of defense of Planned Parenthood has remained broad, ambient. The politics of the congressional witch hunt have been so labyrinthine, so convoluted, that it has been difficult to know how to effectively harness an angry response. When, last fall, Rep. Cliff Stearns launched an investigation into PPFA’s bookkeeping, the move was so needless, such a trumped-up piece of political stagecraft (since PPFA does receive federal funds, it must scrupulously account for every dime it spends, no special investigation required) that it was hard to even know how to make sense of it, let alone respond. This week, a caller to WNYC’s “Brian Lehrer Show” professed her belief that the Stearns investigation centered on whether Planned Parenthood was performing late-term abortions.
The demonization of Planned Parenthood should have awakened the country to the radicalism of the right, and how far it has pushed the political conversation. It’s been hard to measure the degree of the radicalism, so slowly and unceasingly has it crept across our consciousness and the political discourse. But it’s important to remember how mainstream Planned Parenthood used to be. It was the respectable, even Republican, advocate for women’s health, including reproductive services; the leaders of the National Abortion Rights Action League were the activist agitators. Sen. Prescott Bush, the father of President George H.W. Bush, served as treasurer of Planned Parenthood’s first national fundraising campaign. Richard Nixon signed the family planning legislation in 1970 that authorized its federal funding.
As a congressman, George Bush and his wife, Barbara, were reliable friends of the organization. Barry Goldwater’s wife, Betty, was a founding member of Arizona Planned Parenthood; President Gerald Ford’s wife, Betty, was a high-profile supporter of the group. More recently, Ann Romney, wife of the 2012 GOP presidential front-runner, donated $150 to Planned Parenthood in 1994. And when a Romney relative died of a botched abortion in 1963, the family asked that memorial donations go to Planned Parenthood.
But what happened this week was a clarifying moment. Right-wing extremism, coming this time not from the partisan mill but from a mainstream women’s organization, was put in a direct and unflattering spotlight. Suddenly, so much was clear, and finally, the response was unified and thunderous. Right-wing overreach — and the backlash it inspired — feels a lot like the way other radical GOP power grabs in the last year have galvanized the public to fight back. Attacks on collective bargaining, public workers and unions by Republican governors in Wisconsin, Ohio and Indiana have produced mass mobilization in those states, the likes of which we haven’t seen in decades. Public workers – cops, firefighters, nurses, teachers, paramedics, sanitation workers – once were the proud backbone of the middle class. Now they find themselves derided by the GOP as the new welfare queens who are taking more than their fair share. Ohio voters repealed a law that abolished collective bargaining in November, and pro-union organizers in Wisconsin have forced a recall election for Gov. Scott Walker.
Efforts to restrict voting rights are likewise waking up the citizenry; Maine repealed a law that banned same-day voting and registration in November, and Ohio blocked a voter photo ID bill. Even on the issue of reproductive rights, a draconian “personhood” amendment to the state constitution failed to pass in Mississippi, one of the reddest of the red states. Overreach by the right has re-inspired movements – unions, voting rights, women’s rights — that have too long been dormant and too easily dismissed by their ideological opponents as outside the mainstream of American values, when in fact, they used to represent the most American of values.
For defenders of Planned Parenthood, and more broadly for reproductive rights activists, this moment of repositioning is a valuable one. Until now, it has proven very difficult for advocates to resuscitate their side with language anywhere near as powerful as that used by antiabortion forces. Instead they have relied too heavily on the fungible, limp, endlessly open-ended language of “choice.” (Even among “pro-choice” advocates, the “I choose my choice!” joke from “Sex and the City” has become a ubiquitous critique.)
But what happened this week was powerful. It was mass. It was direct. It was emotional. And it restores women as the moral center of this conversation — which is where they belong.
Rebecca Traister writes for Salon. She is the author of "Big Girls Don't Cry: The Election that Changed Everything for American Women" (Free Press). Follow @rtraister on Twitter.
More Rebecca Traister.
A very serious anti-bullying message from Kathryn Jean Lopez
Poor Kathryn Jean Lopez, the National Review Online’s resident delicate flower, anti-feminist traditional Catholic, and enemy of all homosexualists and abortionists. She was so delighted when Susan G. Komen for the Cure announced that it would no longer be sending grant money to Planned Parenthood to fund breast cancer screenings and mammogram referrals, because it meant that her side had “won” a battle in the war against women’s health providers that perform abortions and provide contraception.
She was so excited, in fact, that she forgot that the decision was NOT ABOUT ABORTION WHATEVER GAVE YOU THAT IDEA. Later she posted that hilarious YouTube video of Komen CEO Nancy Brinker explaining that the Planned Parenthood decision was not in any way political, no sir. (At least one commenter noted the disconnect: “Really curious what K-Lo thinks Komen is actually doing here. When the news broke, she seemed pleased and pointed out right-to-lifers had been trying to force Komen to shuck PP. But she also believes Komen’s [ridiculous] assertion that the decision has nothing to do with politics and was just a big coincidence? Hunh?”)
After a great deal of public outcry, Komen reversed itself and said Planned Parenthood would be eligible for future grants.
This, obviously, was very sad news for K-Lo. She seemed stunned at first, but then decided that Komen was the victim of bullying.
The years-long campaign by antiabortion groups to lobby Komen to cease sending money to Planned Parenthood — the campaign Lopez cited in her initial post crowing about that campaign’s victory — was just regular political speech, but the widespread outcry over the decision was, obviously, bullying. (Or, as Daniel Foster put it, “gangsterism.” Foster only approves of reasonable and polite “speech,” which is to say, writing checks.)
Lopez, like many conservatives whose baffling interpretation of common liberal concepts leads them to find “hypocrisies” where none exist (Michelle Obama ate a french fry!!!!), darkly mutters about “that anti-bullying campaign,” because accusing a massive charitable foundation of playing politics with its supposed mission is patently the same thing as humiliating vulnerable young people until they become suicidal.
(Bullying, for Lopez’s future reference, is not just “people being mean to you,” but more accurately lengthy campaigns of abuse carried out against people who are or feel unable to defend themselves. Just ask the students of Anoka-Hennepin public schools if you’re still confused.)
Alex Pareene writes about politics for Salon and is the author of "The Rude Guide to Mitt." Email him at apareene@salon.com and follow him on Twitter @pareene
More Alex Pareene.
Within minutes on that Tuesday bombshell, the tale had become not just a news story but a social media explosion, with a flurry of responses pouring out across Facebook, Twitter and Komen’s own message boards – overwhelmingly disapproving of Komen for the Cure’s severing of its ties to Planned Parenthood. And in the process, it became an object lesson in how to handle a crisis, how to make it worse, and then how to fix it.
Planned Parenthood is, by now, well versed in how to handle outside attacks and negative publicity. Along the way, the organization has become pretty smooth at it. From the moment that first message about Komen appeared, Planned Parenthood remained relentless in keeping momentum going on the story, posting links to news coverage, retweeting supportive messages, and repeatedly reminding people how to donate to the cause across all of its social media platforms.
Komen, in contrast, could hardly have seemed more spectacularly blundering in all of it. As one commenter posted, “the last thing as unpopular on Facebook as this Komen thing was Michael Jackson’s death.” Not only did the organization clearly not even consider sending out its own preemptive, damage-controlling message, it waited more than a full day before responding to the outcry at all. And when it did, oof. In a tense, frozen-faced message on YouTube, its founder and CEO, Nancy Brinker, talked about moving forward with “new strategies” and declared, “We will never bow to political pressure … The scurrilous accusations being hurled at this organization are profoundly hurtful … and a dangerous distraction.” She never mentioned Planned Parenthood once. Deanna Zandt, consultant and author of “Share This! How You Will Change the World With Social Networking,” told Salon Friday, “I’m going to start using that video in my workshops as an example of what not to do.”
Komen for the Cure is not in the same business as Planned Parenthood – and it doesn’t need to be. But had Komen truly wished to give the appearance of being apolitical, Nancy Brinker might have acknowledged the story in a less obviously gutless way in her message. Surely Brinker could have taken a moment to say something along the lines of, “We’ve had to make some changes that we feel will be of more direct service to low-income women, but we’re proud of our years of association with Planned Parenthood, and support our colleagues in their ongoing efforts for the cause of women’s health.”
Komen’s Twitter feed had been similarly testy of late, with updates that “Our Board approved new grants standards to improve direct services to women” and “Our supporters know that no other #breastcancer organization serves women at the size and scope that Susan G. Komen for the Cure does.”
Why does it matter? Because while Komen was cautiously portioning out terse, defensive responses that smacked of “You should all be grateful for how much we do for you people,” Planned Parenthood and its supporters had been not just expressing their indignation but harnessing it, in ways that will both make you weep and make you laugh. Social media is all about connection. That’s why Planned Parenthood not only posted a letter from a supporter; it made it the organization’s newest petition. “When you go after Planned Parenthood and the people they serve,” it reads in part, “you go after ME.” Direct, personal and powerful.
That’s why Deanna Zandt decided, when people were talking about pulling their money from Komen — “What do you do if you don’t have money to pull?” — to create Planned Parenthood Saved Me with the message to “Pinkwash THIS.” In no time, the Tumblr was flooded with heart-stopping tales of cancer detection, healthcare services, lives saved, all doled out with, significantly, “dignity.” And that’s also why, in the last few days, your Facebook page has likely become a torrent of brilliant eCards and cartoons, and why the Komen Web page was hacked in such a subtly funny manner. You want to get your message across? You want to maintain your credibility with your constituents? Hammer and keep hammering at the heartstrings and the funny bones. And hammer some more.
One could argue that the uppity, snark-lobbing types who tweet their rage and create blogs aren’t the kind of people who can hit Komen where it hurts – in donations. But the backlash was so strong and so sustained that it didn’t take long to ripple right out there to America’s wallets. Planned Parenthood swiftly saw a stunning boom in donations – including a fat promise of up to $250,000 from New York’s billionaire Mayor Mike Bloomberg.
So then what happened? A stunning reversal. On Friday morning, Komen issued the statement that “We will continue to fund existing grants, including those of Planned Parenthood, and preserve their eligibility to apply for future grants, while maintaining the ability of our affiliates to make funding decisions that meet the needs of their communities.” It’s not exactly a rousing endorsement of PP, nor will it likely deflect scrutiny from its future maneuverings, but it’s amazing nonetheless. Amazing that it happened at all, and even more amazing because in the statement on Twitter, Komen even added that “We want to apologize for recent decisions that cast doubt upon our commitment to our mission of saving women’s lives.” Clear. Direct. Human, even. The world sent a message. And Komen learned from it.
UPDATE: Looks like Komen is still getting the hang of these things – oddly enough, they’ve already made Nancy Brinker’s original YouTube response on the matter “private.” The better to act like it never happened?
A still from "Pink Ribbons, Inc." 
Karen Handel (Credit: AP/John Bazemore) 
Members of Planned Parenthood, NARAL Pro-Choice America and more than 20 other organizations hold a "Stand Up for Women's Health" rally in Washington (Credit: Joshua Roberts / Reuters) 
A very serious anti-bullying message from Kathryn Jean Lopez 
Nancy Brinker, founding chair of Susan G. Komen for the Cure (Credit: AP/Salon) 
