By Maren Behrensen

1) The entire “discourse” about “biological men” in the women’s boxing tournament at the Olympics came from a certain social media platform. This platform belongs to a fascist billionaire who bought it in order to conduct information warfare against people he doesn’t like, his own trans daughter among them.

2) There are no trans women competing in the 2024 Summer Olympics. None. Zero. That’s how successful the international campaign against trans inclusion in sports has been so far.

2a) Transvestigators will switch from accusing someone of being trans to accusing someone of being intersex, as if the near-complete exclusion and erasure of intersex athletes hadn’t preceded the current trans panic in sports.

2b) Some of these transvestigators may honestly believe that they are “fighting” to preserve the integrity of women’s sport. That doesn’t change the fact that if they got their way, we’d be less than one step away from requiring “appropriately feminine appearance and demeanor in women’s sports,” or some such nonsense. All anti-trans garbage will sooner or later be used against queer people and women.

3) The reason the two boxers from Algeria and Taiwan came into the focus of Terfs – apart from the transvestigator’s natural eye for spotting “biological men” – is their ad hoc disqualification from events run by the International Boxing Association (IBA) for unclear, but allegedly gender-related reasons. The IBA has no actual rules and procedures to determine eligibility to box in the women’s class. The decision to disqualify the two boxers was taken by the head dude of the IBA alone.

3a) Also, the IBA is so ridiculously corrupt that the corrupt IOC has banned them from organizing the Olympic boxing tournament and all qualifying tournaments.

3b) If you want to get upset about something related to the Olympic boxing tournament, may I suggest the fact that the scoring system is still messed up, even though the IBA no longer runs the show? So messed up that, for instance, utterly dominant Irish boxers will lose their bouts, just because they happen to have been drawn against a French boxer…

See Joint Paris 2024 Boxing Unit/IOC Statement

Maren Behrensen is an assistant professor of philosophy at the University of Twente, Netherlands. Their most recent (forthcoming) papers are on video conferencing technology and the ethics of pronoun sharing, and abuses of power and epistemic injustice in academia and the Catholic Church.

Over the past week, I’ve been riding alone from Warsaw to Gdańsk, about 350 km. I planned the trip myself with a borrowed touring bike, and sketched a route that was mostly pleasant farmland — apart from being thrown into a construction zone and finding myself on a dangerous highway on the first day. Some safety conscious patient police officers plucked me off the autoroute and deposited me at my small hotel for the night, like a child out after dark.

Other than that — and a bad saddle sore from a new seat that didn’t like a particular pair of my shorts — it was an uneventful, peaceful solo few days. The pace gave me a chance to reflect on what is really there in every slow revolution of the wheels on this kind of tour. And what it means to move your body in this kind of way. I wrote about it here:

What about you — what do you like about moving slowly?

Fieldpoppy is Cate Creede-Desmarais, who is currently in Gdańsk eating perogies.

Three weeks ago, I lost my grandma. After days of indecision, I finally hopped on a plane and frantically flew to British Columbia. By the time I got to the hospital, Grandma wasn’t able to talk much. As sharp as I knew her mind still was, her physical body was betraying her. In a room full of sons and daughters racing to meet their mother’s needs and grandchildren to aid where they could, I began to process the loss that would inevitably take place. How could I say goodbye to a woman I had too much to say to? After years of selfish childhood followed by years of exhausted parenting, I felt that I was just entering a phase of life where I could take the time and ask to hear her stories, receive her wisdom, and simply know her. How could I reconcile all the questions that would go unanswered?

With the busyness of the atmosphere, I settled for no deep words at all. I didn’t feel I had the time. I was already too late. For two hours, I helped fan away her discomfort, stroked her curly wisps of silver hair, offered pain-relieving suggestions, and overfilled cups of water. Then I said good-bye. Within five minutes of leaving the hospital to take my airport bags to her house, we got the call that she was gone.  

Now that she’s relieved of all pain and jamming with the angels, I can’t fathom wishing for her to be back here, even for our sakes. Instead, I will remember my grandma through the pieces of her life I was able to share in. She was a fiery woman who strove for holistic health in manners of physical exercise, fresh food, spiritual freedom, and strong character. So I dedicate this small reflection to her.

My grandma, Darlene.

An elderly woman sits on a bench between two planters filled with red petunias. She has curly, short, silver hair, is smiling, and is wearing a navy sleeveless outfit.

Grandma was an athlete. Baseball, fishing, and curling were notable sports she showcased her strength in, having a Provincial Championship in curling and the envy of all the boys in fishing. Her equestrian skills were second nature and pickleball had its season of passion. But my favourite sport that my grandma partook in was swimming. I loved that she got to share in a sport that was dear to my heart. I remember hearing of the lanes she and Grandpa would swim, and I would think, “Gosh, I hope I’m doing that in my seventies.”

Out of the pool, off the field, or whatever exit was made from her physical endeavours, Grandma ensured that rich, replenishing food was on the horizon for her at home. She once made a point of showing me how to peel the film off a rack of ribs. Her assumption that I would have the gumption to tackle a fresh rack at home was a testament to her insistence that good food aids in good health. She had been an owner of a health food store, an avid gardener, a master canner and jam maker, and an incredible cook. A most popular rave was of her ability to cook for a busload of people—which, when all of her kids and grandkids got together, we were about that size—and despite the size of the job, her ability allowed for all the dishes to finish simultaneously and be served hot. My skills in the kitchen are a far cry from hers, but I cherish the example she set. If I do find myself tackling a rack of ribs, I will gladly reflect on the master chef who was my grandma.

Of course, “man does not live on bread alone,” as Matthew 4:4 of the Christian Bible states. My grandma was a strong woman of faith. She didn’t shy away from conversations that challenged her faith but rather leaned into them. She held space for people to freely question and express doubt and challenge her beliefs. What I respected most about her was that if she wasn’t satisfied with her knowledge of a subject, she would keep digging. She would ask the questions to other people, to her ministers, and to her God. To be able to engage in her faith so freely remained a source of strength for her right to the end.

Grandma’s strength was so apparent that even as she was experiencing pain in the hospital, she was determined to do things her way. Always a fiercely independent, get ‘er done woman, I imagined how annoyed she must have been at the kerfuffle of people trying to anticipate her needs and advocate for her. She would roll her eyes exasperated at everyone talking over her while she was trying to get her point across, even mouthing “never mind” many times during my visit with her. Of course, near the end, she needed the help, but I could imagine her inner monologue saying something like, “Boy, if I could, I would be shooing you all away and taking matters into my own hands.”

However, her proud, independent strength was also beautifully coupled with a strong, humble character. As annoyed as she may have been by people trying to do life for her, I know she was deeply appreciative. Her love for her family, friends, and community was impenetrable. In my memory, I can see Grandma frustrated at people inserting themselves in her plans only to come back later with an apology and humble appreciation for the help she received. Could she do it all on her own? Absolutely. Did she recognize that relationship mattered? Absolutely.

If I could speak to her now, I’d wonder at her thoughts on my reflections of her. I hope you as the reader accept these words as my personal memories of her, and I hope you got to enjoy her a bit through my eyes. If you had known her personally, you would have seen how much more she truly was. A matriarch. A legacy-builder. A force. My grandma. If I inherit a quarter of her grit, I will consider it a good inheritance.

In loving memory of Darlene Clarke (1940-2024).

So last fall when I was sick with a monster (non-Covid) respiratory infection, I listened to a lot of music and podcasts. As I was flipping through Spotify’s podcast offerings, one popped out at me: Julia Louis-Dreyfus (of Seinfeld and Veep fame) hosted one called Wiser Than Me. In this series, she interviews women who are in their 70s and 80s because she wanted to delve into the wisdom of older women, and hear their stories, which are often ignored by our present society. And her first podcast was with Jane Fonda. 

Julia Interviews Jane Fonda

I have memories of the early 1980s and her workouts. I started enrolling in aerobics classes and bought those bodysuits and leggings and leg warmers (the whole nine yards!). 

Jane Fonda Workout

While these home videos were meant to fuel the costs of her political activism, they revolutionized and normalized hard exercise for women. They allowed women to own being sweaty and muscular. They allowed women to exercise at their own leisure in the home instead of going to a grimy, dusty gym from which women were largely excluded. Women could take charge of their own bodies and define strength and fitness for themselves. It was empowering. (yes, there are critiques and analyses of this idea).

I don’t know if it’s true, but I have a feeling that Jane Fonda paved the way for more inclusive gym spaces with lighter weights, machines and well-lit spaces that made women (and most men) feel safe. I, for one, remember those old university gyms with one or two Universal weight machines, some heavy free weights and a couple of exercise bikes. I got curious about gyms and weights, and starting lifting weights in 1985 (2^nd year university). I dropped the aerobics but haven’t stopped lifting weights. And I haven’t stopped challenging traditional notions of what a woman’s body ought to look like. 

So all of these memories were triggered by listening to this podcast. But another thing Jane Fonda talked about was writing a “life review”. As an actor, she thinks of life as being divided into acts. And she thinks that the human lifespan can be reasonably expected to last 90 years if one is relatively healthy (ie no chronic diseases). So Act I is 0-29, Act II is 30-59, and Act III is 60-90. She goes on to recommend that women research themselves starting at age 59 and embark on the process of writing a life review by age 60.

Well. I just turned 59! So I thought I would begin the process. I’ve downloaded a template that will get me started on thinking and writing about prominent life events, and reflecting on my memories and the impact they’ve had on my life. And I’ve actually written down a couple of things. I’m looking forward to this experience. 

Have any of you written, or considered writing, a life review? I’d love to hear of your experiences if you have.