Superfeminist directs her razor sharp intellect, and her x-ray vision to stopping the partriarchy's latest scheme. But will she be admitted to the U.N.? Will she escape the clutches of the Patriot Act? And what will she do with all those weapons of mass destruction?...

Saddam/Sex/Superfeminist; Or, Fixing Iraq

Marleen S. Barr

As far as antiwar protests go, this one was hot. . . . Actors from Canada to Lebanon, Cambodia to Israel and in each of the 50 states staged readings of the ancient Greek antiwar play "Lysistrata." The Lysistrata Project, billed as a worldwide theatrical peace event, was the inspiration of two New York actors. The two, Kathryn Blume and Sharron Bower, came up with the idea in January and it spread like sexy gossip. They had 1,024 groups in 59 countries signed on to stage the readings on March 3 as a "protest against a pre-emptive war on Iraq" . . . ."We are not advocating the use of that tactic at all except, we always joke, if your husband's name is George or Saddam," said Ms. Bower.

--Debra West, "No Sex As Antiwar Protest? What Sex?," New York Times, March 9,2003

Professor Claire Kentowitz, a feminist science fiction expert who teaches at Metropolis' SUNY Gramercy Park, was spending Saturday morning on the phone with her department head. They were having a heated discussion about comma placement in the tenure guidelines document. She hung up, switched on the television, and saw plumes of white smoke etched against the blue Texas sky. Since Claire had recently flown over the area, fond memories were intermingled with shock. She recoiled when she heard that Columbia had exploded -- and she was justifiably guilt ridden.

Claire was devastated because she had not been present to avert the disaster. If only she had been patrolling the country's southern tier instead of engaging in inane departmental politics. But even super heroes have to make a living. Because Superfeminist did not want to live alone in her arctic Fortress of Solitude, in order to pay the rent for her eastside Metropolis apartment, she assumed the secret identity of the anything but mild mannered science fiction critic Claire Kentowitz. She consoled herself with the thought that even a super powered being from Krypton could not be everywhere at once. Having no knowledge of the impending Columbia explosion, she could not situate herself in the exact location which would afford her the opportunity to fly the shuttle safely to Earth.

Her failure to save the Columbia astronauts gave Claire new resolve in relation to assuaging the conflict between the Bush administration and Saddam Hussein. She donned her Superfeminist costume and stood on her terrace ready to fly, faster than the human eye can see, uptown to the United Nations. Having second thoughts, she merely jumped down immediately below to East Twenty Seventh Street. Because flying burned so few calories and Claire was a middle-aged zaftig-prone woman who had to appear in public in a skin tight outfit, she walked to her destination. People smiled and waved as she made her way up First Avenue and entered the United Nations visitors' entrance.

"Hello Superfeminist," said the security guard. "Please show your i.d. card, raise your cape for inspection, empty your pockets, and walk through the metal detector."

"This is ludicrous. First of all, my Superfeminist suit does not have pockets. You know exactly who I am. And, if I wanted to terrorize the U. N., I certainly would not enter through the front entrance. I have a secret identity; I know from exactly how irksome these so called protective procedures have become for ordinary Metropolis denizens."

"I can make no exception to the rules."

Realizing she was beaten, Claire complied, straightened her cape, and headed for Kofi Annan's office.

"Mr. Secretary General, I am disconcerted because I was unable to avert the Columbia disaster. This failure has shown me that I must take decisive action in regard to Iraq. As everyone is aware, I have a secret identity and, under that identity's auspices, I am an American citizen. I am seeking your assistance because I want to be sure to proceed in a lawful manner. Since the Logan Act forbids private American citizens from negotiating with foreign countries, would you appoint me as a United Nations special envoy charged with addressing Sadam Hussein?"

Annan complied with Claire's request. She made arrangements with CBS to have her discussion with Saddam televised on Sixty Minutes II. She then asked her department secretary to cancel her classes -- and she flew to Iraq.

Although Saddam was uncomfortable speaking with a feminist super hero, he granted Claire an audience. He knew that he had no choice; Superfeminist was the most powerful force on Earth. Claire approached Saddam and his interpreters. The CBS cameras rolled. Millions of people watched Claire state her demands.

"President Bush insists upon regime change. I am asking for something with which you will find it more easy to comply."

"And what would that be?" asked Saddam.

"Name change."

"What?"

"Name change. I want you to change the name 'Iraq' to 'Stan.' People in your geographical area will hardly notice. 'Stan' is a politically correct name for your country; there are many 'Stans' in your neighborhood: Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, etc. Americans will be loathe to go to war against Stan and kill Stans."

"With all due respect, Ms. Superfeminist -- and because I want to show respect, I am specifically calling you Ms. Superfeminist -- I can discern neither the sense nor the rationale of your proposal."

"I'm Dr. Superfeminist. But, be that as it may, let me offer my simple explanation. The American ear hears 'Stan' as being short for Stanley, a nice rather wimpy guy living next door who, for example, might own a kosher delicatessen. President Bush would sound silly proclaiming that Stan is a threat. When ordered to shoot the Stans, American soldiers would think of their fathers. I have a Ph.D. in English; I know about the impact of language. Go with me on this. I can use my x-ray vision to monitor your efforts to destroy your weapons of mass destruction. If you disarm, you can remain in power. War will be averted."

"Fine. I agree to comply and to institute name change -- and all the Stans will continue to vote for me."

"Now that that is settled, I have a few remarks I wish to direct to Iraqi and American women." Claire directly faced the camera.

"I wish to remind you of the Greek play Lysistrata in which women refuse to have sex with men who go to war. Fiction can become reality. I am, after all, a very real feminist super hero. If the man in your life is engaging in any activity relating to war, tell him that he cannot have sex with you until he desists. Enough of phallocratic verbal games and deals. Women can take matters into their own hands and stop war according to woman-centered terms. Now that I have cancelled war for the immediate moment and laid the ground work for preventing it in the future, my business in Stan is completed. It was nice to meet you President Hussein. Thank you for your time and attention. I wish you and your fellow Stans well."

Claire flew to Washington and entered the Oval Office.

"Hello George. Hello Ari."

"Oy, its superfeminist," said Ari Fleisher.

"Ari, please excuse us," George requested. "So, Superfeminist, what can I do for you?"

"I take it that you heard the interview with Saddam I conducted in Stan."

"Sure. I heard it."

"Then you know that Saddam will comply with your request to destroy his weapons and I will guarantee that he adheres to his word. Hence, there is no reason for you to wage war."

"I do not have to ask your permission to wage war. I have made up my mind to proceed. Nothing will stop me. I want to avenge my father. I want more oil. I want to establish unequivocally that American democracy will pervade this planet. I am directed by God. You, Superfeminist, are not god."

"But I am more powerful than you -- and the entire American military. America is a super power; I have super powers."

"Super powers will get you nowhere. If you act against my wishes, I will declare you a traitorous enemy combatant and incarcerate you in accordance with the Patriot Act. If you reveal your secret identity to claim American citizenship, you will no longer be able to act effectively. You are an illegal alien. I will deport you back to that planet Cryptic."

"That's Krypton -- no relation to Kyrgyzstan. You can't deport me. Krypton exploded."

"Whatever. Consider your powers nullified. If you defy me and use them, you will be acting outside the law." Claire squinted to make absolutely sure that heat vision beams did not emanate from her eyes. She hardly noticed that someone had entered the Oval Office.

"George, enough is enough. I listened to what Superfeminist said on Sixty Minutes II and I absolutely agree with her. I pride myself on being a good mother. If you go through with this war children will be your main victims. I'm putting my foot down, George. If you fire so much as one missile you can sleep on your Oval Office sofa -- and not with me. The protest signs say 'no blood for oil.' I'm saying war equals no sex for you. You will have to turn to an intern."

"Please be reasonable, Laura," George pleaded.

"It is you who must be reasonable. You turned a deaf ear to the worldwide protests. Either listen to me or face the consequences."

"I surrender," said George.

Claire bid adieu to the Bushes and flew back to Metropolis. Immediately upon arrival in her apartment, she phoned her department head. "Listen Stan. I do not concur with your opinion about the commas. Remove all the offending commas from the tenure guidelines document. And don't you dare give that brilliant feminist assistant professor a hard time. If you do, you can consider our relationship at an end. Perusing Metropolis Magazine singles ads will be your primary sexual outlet."

"You win, Claire," said Stan.

"Good. I knew I would."

Claire hung up, put on her glasses, and peeled off her Superfeminist suit. Welcoming the prospect of a quiet evening at home preparing classes, she began to read Lysistrata.