Artist and activist Kathleen Hanna is most known as the lead singer of punk bands Bikini Kill, Le Tigre, and the Julie Ruin.
Hanna’s new memoir Rebel Girl: My Life as a Feminist Punk (Ecco, May) chronicles the challenges and triumphs of her life before, during, and after navigating the male-dominated genre during the 1990s, spurring the Riot Grrrl movement and paving the way for other women artists.
American Libraries caught up with Hanna ahead of the book’s release to discuss her behind-the-scenes stories, return to touring, and love of libraries.
What do you hope is the impact of your book, and the personal stories you share in it, for women and other marginalized groups?
I actually tried not to think about what the impact would be when I was writing. But obviously I hope that different people can relate to it and see themselves in parts of my story and feel less alone.
I think that anybody who has abusive stuff in their history—a lot of times we think everybody’s family is like our family. You don’t even understand that you’re not in a good situation because you’re so used to being in a bad situation. You’ve never stepped outside of it before. That’s one of the great things about books: If you’re being isolated in order to be abused, books can take you out of that isolation and show you that people live in all different kinds of ways.
In my life when I’ve been in a really bad place, and I read a book about somebody with a completely different life than my own, it takes me out of my own situation, my own problems, and it gives me a lot of hope that there are a million different things going on in the world that I could be a part of too. You’re not stuck.
Your book reflects on the challenges and dangers you faced while trying to make it as a woman in punk. Are you encouraged by the number of vocally feminist artists or groups today?
There’s definitely more work to be done. [UK-based punk trio] Lambrini Girls is a band that I really like because their interviews are just really irreverent. They’re very feminist, but they have a really good sense of humor, which is important. The whole idea of doing everything right, being perfect—when you go out into the world and say, “I’m a feminist artist” of any kind, you’re going to get criticized way harsher than a lot of other people. Everything you do has to fall in line with some other person’s idea of what feminism means. It is kind of similar to just showing up, presenting as feminine, and being [asked questions] like, “What’s it like being a woman in a band?” and nobody from Maroon 5 or whatever has to answer questions about what it’s like being a man in a band. Then you add the feminism thing on top of it, and that’s all you ever get asked about.
I can understand why a lot of bands don’t want to label themselves in any way, because they don’t want to get boxed into that corner and never be asked about their songwriting. But the ones who do and have a sense of humor about it, I think, are really leading the way. Because if you try to meet everybody’s expectations and do everything right, you end up really not having a good time and then you have a very short career. Because you hate it.
Knowledge is power. If you take it away from kids, you’re ensuring the next generation is going to suck even worse than it sucks now.
How has it been to reunite and perform with Bikini Kill and Le Tigre in recent years, especially in the current sociopolitical climate?
It’s pretty wild. When you add COVID on top of it, people have been really separated from each other. And then we’re living in a culture that’s on the brink of civil war. It feels like people are so divided, that to have a large group of people come together and singing lyrics together, dancing together, and being joyous together—it feels like 1,000 times even more powerful than it did in the heyday of both of those bands.
You’ve spent decades counseling women who have confided in you about their own traumas or experiences facing sexism—particularly while working at a domestic violence organization, volunteering with young people, and during your shows. But you also wrote about the emotional toll it could take on you. These days, especially with touring again, how are you able to take that all in?
I set boundaries now. When I can talk to people, I do, and when I’m just not up for it, I don’t. With COVID, there’s some kind of boundary set for me. When you’re touring as the lead singer, if you get sick, that’s like 11 people who lose their jobs. So I have to be really, really careful about safety. That barrier has been put up for me, and maybe that’s a good thing because it’s reminding me that as we get more back to normal, I need to maintain healthy boundaries so that I am taking care of myself.
I’m 55, and I’m still going through a kind of the nonlinear process of healing. I really do need to prioritize myself at this point because I spent so much of my career prioritizing other people. I have a kid now, and I want to have a good next 10 years being alive. I have people I help over the phone who I met as fans, but I try to limit it.
What do you make of this current wave of book challenges and bans across the US?
It’s terrifying. Obviously, it brings back imagery of fascists or religious organizations burning books in the streets. It’s terrible. Kids should be given knowledge, and I believe kids should be given all kinds of knowledge. They should know that the world isn’t always a perfect place and hasn’t been perfect from early on, instead of waiting until they’re older to all of a sudden be like, “Hey, wars have happened, and people were once enslaved.” Knowledge is power. If you take it away from kids, you’re ensuring the next generation is going to suck even worse than it sucks now. I find the whole thing absolutely terrifying. The stuff that involves Black history is particularly frightening to me.
What role have libraries played in your life and work?
Every kid has a special relationship with the library, feeling like it’s a passport to the universe. I grew up moving from random suburb to random suburb, not knowing a lot. I found out about Lucille Ball’s life in a library and started reading biographies of female comedians I was interested in when I was very young, and Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret? [by Judy Blume]. Then there was a time period [in my 40s] where I was very ill, and I couldn’t read because of neurological problems. One of the biggest, cry-y, excited, over-the-top moments—like I was getting an award—was when I could finally read a full page of a book. As I got better, my mom took me to the library. I felt like I came back to life. It felt like a huge part of my life was given back to me.
