“This is the first time I have ever felt really respected by adults.” Alex’s statement felt like a punch in the chest as we hiked down the hill to the amphitheater where they were about to perform a song for parents, friends and the other campers at Girls Rock Santa Barbara Amplify Sleepaway Camp. It was the end of the week, when the campers were challenged one final time to perform the music that they worked so hard on since they had arrived seven days earlier. Alex hadn’t ever played an instrument before arriving in the mountains of Ojai for camp.
But Alex wasn’t just talking about the encouragement, positivity and love they had received for writing a song for the first time. They were reflecting, with some bittersweet feelings, on the way we had respected their gender presentation, they way we hadn’t forced them to go by “she” or refer to them as a “girl” when it didn’t feel like the right word. They were remembering how we had let them tell us what they wanted to create at camp, both musically and personally.
My band that week had written a song about some pretty big themes. They told me they wanted to write a song about navigating identity, responding to a world that didn’t always feel welcoming, trying to exist without letting others tell them who they had to be. I was just there to facilitate the creative process; they wrote all of their own lyrics and musical parts. When one camper expressed difficulty writing lyrics in English, the other campers encouraged her to write and sing in Cantonese. Their lyrics reflected struggling in their bodies, pushing back against gender roles, and expressing their anger. Nothing made me prouder than when they screamed in unison at the end of their song.
I’m twenty, not twelve, but I think Rock Camp changed my life more than it did for any camper. I decided I wanted to do activism when I was a freshman in college. I figured I would do grassroots campaigns, help volunteer, maybe someday start a nonprofit. I wanted to fight racism, sexism, homophobia, ableism, and transphobia. I was confident in my ability to fight the good fight forever. But by the time my junior year of college was over, I felt lost and anxious. There were no clear answers anymore to what I wanted. I had been working in an organization for two years trying to end rape culture, had spoken with countless survivors of gendered violence, had been one of countless others going head to head with the UC school system’s racist and misogynistic policies regarding sexual assault. I had immersed myself in an “activist community,” in which everyone I talked to was working against oppression. And I was exhausted at the ripe age of twenty.
Although there had been countless moments of joy and validation in these spaces there was also a toxicity to “progressive spaces.” In-fighting, accusations of disingenuity, secret alliances, politicality over kindness, and constant character attacks became a normalized part of my identity as an activist. It was second nature to throw people who disagreed with me under the bus. I found myself using the term “bitch” more often. The radical self love that had started me on my journey in social change movements had been replaced with a sharp cynicism; my activism was functioning from a place of distrust and anger.
My mental health suffered from the strain of being this person that I thought was better for the world. My anxiety disorder took more and more of my time, often stealing entire days that would leave me exhausted and scared. Any conversation about the topics that had once inspired so much passion in me now made me flinch. I avoided anything in which I would have to engage politically. In my attempt to be the world’s best person and activist, I had created spaces where my main form of communication was attack, so eventually I withdrew entirely rather than spend more precious energy. I convinced myself that the only way to change the world was to become a person who I didn’t even particularly like.
When I applied for Girls Rock, I was applying for a music teaching position. I wasn’t looking for empowerment or allyship, I was looking for a job in a field I was familiar with. The Girls Rock program and campers reintroduced me to activism through compassion. The first day of camp required the campers and the staff to practice thoughtfulness. Campers were taught to ask each other their preferred gender pronouns, to learn each other’s names, to ask each other’s thoughts and opinions and to really think about what everyone said. They were told that camp would be a place that they would be treated with respect, empathy, and kindness. I watched campers eyes widen with excitement when they were asked what names and pronouns they preferred. In my vocals class, they looked at me with disbelief when I told them that there was no such thing as a bad singer. Throughout camp they reminded each other without any prompting that every voice has a different talent, and deserved to be heard.
Working with teenagers allowed the staff to practice the forgiveness we had never given our peers or ourselves in the outside world. When campers inevitably used language that was harmful or oppressive, we used a new, invented camp language to discuss it. We supported “being a croissant” to different ideas and identities, meaning that we welcomed differences with open arms, in the shape of a crescent. When someone hurt someone else’s feelings out of ignorance rather than maliciousness, we suggested the hurt camper first “assume the best” about the person who had made the mistake, and then “communicate their needs,” letting the person know what they had done wrong and how they could correct this problem in the future. It was an overwhelmingly effective tactic. We watched kids as young as eleven navigate conversations about intersectional issues and resolve to be more committed to awareness of other’s identities.
Our bands consisted of kids from radically different backgrounds, from wealthy suburbanites to kids from the foster system who could not be there without Girls Rock’s dedication to a robust scholarship program that awards 50% (check source) of the campers financial help. Girls Rock actively seeks diversity by making their programs available to everyone, and supports the 50% of their campers that are women of color. The kids absorbed the atmosphere of acceptance in their bands. Every camper was a necessary part of the band, no matter how proficient their instrument skills were. The drummers were the band’s backbone, the bassists their heartbeat, the guitarists their body, the keyboardists their life, the vocalists their voice. Every idea was considered, and every thought was respected.
“Can I play a drum fill there?” Yes.
“Can I scream the chorus?” Yes.
“Can I do a more challenging bassline? Even if I’m not that good at it?” Yes.
“Can I tell jokes before we start the song?” Absolutely.
The only restraints on their imagination was that they had to be thoughtful and kind. Of course, this led to some songs with no rhythm, others accidentally changed keys in the middle, and some of the lyrics were confusing and not understandable. All of it was beautiful. Any frustration I had with a consistently incorrect drum pattern vanished instantly when my drummer finished the song and triumphantly wiped her sweaty forehead and yelled “I’M DRUMMING! I’M A DRUMMER!” while whacking her sticks against the snare as loudly as she could. Later, another camper echoed my drummer, telling me that “it feels good to be loud.” For girls to feel free enough to make noise is truly revolutionary.
Girls Rock Camp was (and is) a place where femininity was never shamed. Staff members screen printed shirts that proudly proclaimed “#CRY CITY,” taking pride in the way so many of us chose to deal with the overwhelming amount of feelings that demanded to be felt at rock camp. Compliments and thank-yous were loud and proud on the shout-out wall that plastered the hallways to the dorms where the campers slept. Comments like “I’m jealous of how pretty you are” were outnumbered 30 to 1 to notes that read “you are so kind and strong,” “you are such a good guitar player,” “thank you for listening to me,” and “you make me feel so good about myself” written in orange scented markers.
During the second week of camp I was doing the “lights out” rounds when I opened a door to find at least twelve campers squeezed into a tight circle on one of the dorm rooms. I was used to finding girls who had snuck their guitars for more practice into their beds, and bunkmates having dance parties, but this was an anomaly.
“HEY. This is NOT what is supposed to be going on at 10:30 at night,” I started, trying not to laugh at their startled faces.
“Kelty, we are having a really important conversation. We are sharing our experiences and opening up about stuff we haven’t really ever talked about before, and it is kindof intense.” I noticed a couple campers looked like they had been crying, but they were all smiling, holding hands, some had arms draped over each other’s shoulders.
“We need you to be a croissant to the idea of us staying up ten more minutes so that everyone has a chance to share, please.” What could I say? Ten minutes later I heard them bidding each other goodnight and returning to their rooms.
When young girls and gender-nonconforming kids are given a chance to be trusted, to be listened to and respected, they surprise you with how much incredible empathy and love they share with each other. The staff of women and gender non-conforming people at Girls Rock created a new world for campers where they could, in the words of a camper, “be honest and no one will judge you.” Rock camp did that for me too, though. Rock camp reminded me of how much love is in my heart, and how kindness and love for your community is more powerful than you think it is. At the end of the week, the campers learned about allyship, and how they can take Girls Rock into the outside world with them. We sent them, and ourselves, back into the world with the seeds of real social change in their hands. I hope they plant them with love, they way they taught me to.
But Alex wasn’t just talking about the encouragement, positivity and love they had received for writing a song for the first time. They were reflecting, with some bittersweet feelings, on the way we had respected their gender presentation, they way we hadn’t forced them to go by “she” or refer to them as a “girl” when it didn’t feel like the right word. They were remembering how we had let them tell us what they wanted to create at camp, both musically and personally.
My band that week had written a song about some pretty big themes. They told me they wanted to write a song about navigating identity, responding to a world that didn’t always feel welcoming, trying to exist without letting others tell them who they had to be. I was just there to facilitate the creative process; they wrote all of their own lyrics and musical parts. When one camper expressed difficulty writing lyrics in English, the other campers encouraged her to write and sing in Cantonese. Their lyrics reflected struggling in their bodies, pushing back against gender roles, and expressing their anger. Nothing made me prouder than when they screamed in unison at the end of their song.
I’m twenty, not twelve, but I think Rock Camp changed my life more than it did for any camper. I decided I wanted to do activism when I was a freshman in college. I figured I would do grassroots campaigns, help volunteer, maybe someday start a nonprofit. I wanted to fight racism, sexism, homophobia, ableism, and transphobia. I was confident in my ability to fight the good fight forever. But by the time my junior year of college was over, I felt lost and anxious. There were no clear answers anymore to what I wanted. I had been working in an organization for two years trying to end rape culture, had spoken with countless survivors of gendered violence, had been one of countless others going head to head with the UC school system’s racist and misogynistic policies regarding sexual assault. I had immersed myself in an “activist community,” in which everyone I talked to was working against oppression. And I was exhausted at the ripe age of twenty.
Although there had been countless moments of joy and validation in these spaces there was also a toxicity to “progressive spaces.” In-fighting, accusations of disingenuity, secret alliances, politicality over kindness, and constant character attacks became a normalized part of my identity as an activist. It was second nature to throw people who disagreed with me under the bus. I found myself using the term “bitch” more often. The radical self love that had started me on my journey in social change movements had been replaced with a sharp cynicism; my activism was functioning from a place of distrust and anger.
My mental health suffered from the strain of being this person that I thought was better for the world. My anxiety disorder took more and more of my time, often stealing entire days that would leave me exhausted and scared. Any conversation about the topics that had once inspired so much passion in me now made me flinch. I avoided anything in which I would have to engage politically. In my attempt to be the world’s best person and activist, I had created spaces where my main form of communication was attack, so eventually I withdrew entirely rather than spend more precious energy. I convinced myself that the only way to change the world was to become a person who I didn’t even particularly like.
When I applied for Girls Rock, I was applying for a music teaching position. I wasn’t looking for empowerment or allyship, I was looking for a job in a field I was familiar with. The Girls Rock program and campers reintroduced me to activism through compassion. The first day of camp required the campers and the staff to practice thoughtfulness. Campers were taught to ask each other their preferred gender pronouns, to learn each other’s names, to ask each other’s thoughts and opinions and to really think about what everyone said. They were told that camp would be a place that they would be treated with respect, empathy, and kindness. I watched campers eyes widen with excitement when they were asked what names and pronouns they preferred. In my vocals class, they looked at me with disbelief when I told them that there was no such thing as a bad singer. Throughout camp they reminded each other without any prompting that every voice has a different talent, and deserved to be heard.
Working with teenagers allowed the staff to practice the forgiveness we had never given our peers or ourselves in the outside world. When campers inevitably used language that was harmful or oppressive, we used a new, invented camp language to discuss it. We supported “being a croissant” to different ideas and identities, meaning that we welcomed differences with open arms, in the shape of a crescent. When someone hurt someone else’s feelings out of ignorance rather than maliciousness, we suggested the hurt camper first “assume the best” about the person who had made the mistake, and then “communicate their needs,” letting the person know what they had done wrong and how they could correct this problem in the future. It was an overwhelmingly effective tactic. We watched kids as young as eleven navigate conversations about intersectional issues and resolve to be more committed to awareness of other’s identities.
Our bands consisted of kids from radically different backgrounds, from wealthy suburbanites to kids from the foster system who could not be there without Girls Rock’s dedication to a robust scholarship program that awards 50% (check source) of the campers financial help. Girls Rock actively seeks diversity by making their programs available to everyone, and supports the 50% of their campers that are women of color. The kids absorbed the atmosphere of acceptance in their bands. Every camper was a necessary part of the band, no matter how proficient their instrument skills were. The drummers were the band’s backbone, the bassists their heartbeat, the guitarists their body, the keyboardists their life, the vocalists their voice. Every idea was considered, and every thought was respected.
“Can I play a drum fill there?” Yes.
“Can I scream the chorus?” Yes.
“Can I do a more challenging bassline? Even if I’m not that good at it?” Yes.
“Can I tell jokes before we start the song?” Absolutely.
The only restraints on their imagination was that they had to be thoughtful and kind. Of course, this led to some songs with no rhythm, others accidentally changed keys in the middle, and some of the lyrics were confusing and not understandable. All of it was beautiful. Any frustration I had with a consistently incorrect drum pattern vanished instantly when my drummer finished the song and triumphantly wiped her sweaty forehead and yelled “I’M DRUMMING! I’M A DRUMMER!” while whacking her sticks against the snare as loudly as she could. Later, another camper echoed my drummer, telling me that “it feels good to be loud.” For girls to feel free enough to make noise is truly revolutionary.
Girls Rock Camp was (and is) a place where femininity was never shamed. Staff members screen printed shirts that proudly proclaimed “#CRY CITY,” taking pride in the way so many of us chose to deal with the overwhelming amount of feelings that demanded to be felt at rock camp. Compliments and thank-yous were loud and proud on the shout-out wall that plastered the hallways to the dorms where the campers slept. Comments like “I’m jealous of how pretty you are” were outnumbered 30 to 1 to notes that read “you are so kind and strong,” “you are such a good guitar player,” “thank you for listening to me,” and “you make me feel so good about myself” written in orange scented markers.
During the second week of camp I was doing the “lights out” rounds when I opened a door to find at least twelve campers squeezed into a tight circle on one of the dorm rooms. I was used to finding girls who had snuck their guitars for more practice into their beds, and bunkmates having dance parties, but this was an anomaly.
“HEY. This is NOT what is supposed to be going on at 10:30 at night,” I started, trying not to laugh at their startled faces.
“Kelty, we are having a really important conversation. We are sharing our experiences and opening up about stuff we haven’t really ever talked about before, and it is kindof intense.” I noticed a couple campers looked like they had been crying, but they were all smiling, holding hands, some had arms draped over each other’s shoulders.
“We need you to be a croissant to the idea of us staying up ten more minutes so that everyone has a chance to share, please.” What could I say? Ten minutes later I heard them bidding each other goodnight and returning to their rooms.
When young girls and gender-nonconforming kids are given a chance to be trusted, to be listened to and respected, they surprise you with how much incredible empathy and love they share with each other. The staff of women and gender non-conforming people at Girls Rock created a new world for campers where they could, in the words of a camper, “be honest and no one will judge you.” Rock camp did that for me too, though. Rock camp reminded me of how much love is in my heart, and how kindness and love for your community is more powerful than you think it is. At the end of the week, the campers learned about allyship, and how they can take Girls Rock into the outside world with them. We sent them, and ourselves, back into the world with the seeds of real social change in their hands. I hope they plant them with love, they way they taught me to.