Choosing between misogyny and feminism: A practical guide

I’ve written this post partly as a response to the recent behaviour of Rupert Read, the philosopher and Green MP who decided to be a half-hearted feminist for a bit then backed out once he realised that – surprise, surprise – feminists get loads of shit and said shit is, like, dead upsetting and stuff. It’s set me thinking on just how beneficial unacknowledged misogyny is to both men and women, and how so many people like to think they’re against the sexism but don’t link this to what would actually happen to them if they made a stand against the status quo. This is because people don’t really think about sexism very much, not even philosophers, but well, there you go. These are my thoughts on it and I don’t care whether you like them or not

Here are some things which will not happen if you speak out on behalf of women as a class: you will not get loads of people listening to your carefully worded, nuanced thoughts and saying “hmm, interesting, let me think about this some more”; you will not get people who disagree with you saying “sure, I think that’s one angle, but perhaps we could discuss it a little more?”; you will not get hordes of women eager to express their support and gratitude in public; you will not find people making connections between the problems you’ve highlighted and the surface-level examples of sexism they’ve noticed elsewhere.

If you expected any of these things to happen, then really you shouldn’t have spoken out in the first place. This is because such things would only happen if the class-based discrimination you are describing didn’t actually exist. If you have failed to consider this rather obvious point, assuming instead that since we’re all “basically in support of equality” it would therefore be fine for you to broadcast your important and valuable thoughts with impunity, then you still don’t get what “being oppressed as a class” actually means. Continue reading

Feminists might be women, but they’re not actually your mum

Today The Sun did not include a pair of naked tits on Page 3. There are some who might say that this is a victory for No More Page 3, who’ve campaigned tirelessly against the shitty objectification of women in one small area of the press. And yet there are others who will ask, thoughtfully, “what about all the other pages? They’re pretty crap too”.

Similarly, in 2013 the Bank of England agreed to put Jane Austen on its new ten pound note. There are some who’ll say that Caroline Criado-Perez’s campaigning made an important point about the value of women as culturally and historically significant people. But then again others will say “what about women who don’t have ten pound notes?” (conveniently failing to distinguish between symbolic representation and literal distribution, but w/evs, it sounds good).

Small victories, right? There’s nothing so controversial as a small victory for feminism. They’re good, sort of, but then why did feminists bother doing this and not that? In fact, why didn’t the lazy fuckers do both? And why didn’t they sort out ALL social justice gripes while they were at it?

Now obviously, if the aim of feminism is to liberate all women, this cannot be done without the removal of all forms of oppression. As Billy Bragg’s version of The Internationale puts it, “freedom is merely privilege extended unless enjoyed by one and all”. That makes perfect sense and anyone who disagrees would have to be a total tosser. The trouble is, when it comes to expectations of who will do the actual work involved in achieving the aforementioned freedom, we are not on even ground. It just so happens that there is one group whose very oppression is founded on the belief that they are “naturally” more caring, more compassionate and meant to give their time to others without complaint. This is group is “women” and this is a problem.

Look, Lefty Male Socialism! Today I supported a friend trying to access an abortion, did some volunteering at the women’s refuge, met up with that cousin who’s in the middle of leaving a violent relationship, carefully avoided the man who’s been harassing me at work, launched a new petition, popped in on your elderly mum, fed the kids, did the laundry and even found time to clean the windows!”

*looks up from copy of Revolution* “That’s great, Feminism, but you missed a bit — look, right over there. I’d use a bit more elbow grease if I were you, oh, and make me a sandwich while you’re at it.”

“Um … Perhaps you could help a bit?”

“Sorry, gotta read my Brand, and then spend an hour on Twitter denouncing a couple of your lot. Make it cheese and pickle.”

“But I ….”

“Also, I have some Serious Philosophical Misgivings about the abortion thing. Next time you’re asked to do something like that, vacuum the living room instead.”

Because of course, feminism is about women, and what are women for if not to be cleaning up after everyone else all the fucking time? Indeed, of all social justice movements, feminism has become the only one that’s expected to sort out all the others while also sticking a broom up its arse and sweeping the floor as it goes along.

Since a woman’s work is never done, the easiest option is to never even start. Don’t launch campaigns; don’t throw your lot in with anything in particular; never, ever fight for anything unless it is The Most Important Thing. The more you do, the more people will point out what you haven’t done and the more they’ll demand of you in future. You will not be allowed to complain because that would be privileged and entitled. You are expected to have a never-ending supply of time, patience, compassion, energy and selflessness. You are, basically, Mummy to a load of whining, ungrateful teenagers who want to put the world to rights but don’t understand why you can’t do it for them, just after you’ve washed their pants and lent them a tenner for going into town.

So it’s no good dealing with Page 3 when we haven’t dealt with all the other pages, you say? Well, it’s a good job you’re onto that one. What’s that? The other pages aren’t important enough to campaign over? Well, good to know you’re doing something more important. What’s that? You’re not because sniping at women is a full-time occupation? Why not take a break and spend some time actually supporting others rather than making more and more demands. Feminists might be women but they’re not literally your mum.

Oh, and make your own bloody sandwich.

Contemporary feminism needs a broader definition of “woman”

What is a woman, anyway? This question has been asked time and again, and still we don’t have a definitive answer. Why would that be? I have a theory: because under a system – patriarchy – which is invested in dehumanising females, the obvious response – “a female human” – would give the game away. Conscious of their own humanity, women might get uppity and stop letting men objectify their bodies, exploit their labour and generally piss about being violent. This would never do. Hence “woman”, unlike “man”, has to be really, really hard to define (so hard that you need a super-clever brain – the kind of brain that shares a body with a penis – to get it just right).

Mount Holyoke’s cancellation of its yearly production of The Vagina Monologues has given rise to a great deal of pseudo-philosophical babble regarding “reductive” and “exclusive” definitions of womanhood. According to a student spokesperson:

At its core, the show offers an extremely narrow perspective on what it means to be a woman. Gender is a wide and varied experience, one that cannot simply be reduced to biological or anatomical distinctions, and many of us who have participated in the show have grown increasingly uncomfortable presenting material that is inherently reductionist and exclusive.

Oh dear! According to Jezebel this is all part of an “ugly battle” regarding “the expansion of the definition of ‘woman’ on college campuses”. Clearly, women are not walking vaginas (they are, as previously stated, human beings). But it seems to me that all the current “let’s make womanhood more inclusive” statements are rather missing the point. Continue reading

On lady staplers and feminine weakness

Today I found out that a special “light touch stapler” is being marketed as “easy for ladies to use”. I for one am relieved to hear this. I am sick and tired of asking male colleagues to staple together my documents for me (right after I’ve made them forge my signature due to the fact that my office refuses to stock pens that are suitable for my delicate lady hands).

Of course, even with light touch staplers, the world is still a rough, tough place for a weak, fragile woman. Office stationery is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to things that are too hard to handle. Take doors, for instance. We can’t open doors to save our lives. What’s more, the evils of feminism have left men unsure whether to help us with this or not, leaving us standing helplessly outside rooms until we’ve forgotten why we wanted to enter them in the first place. Then there’s driving (despite all evidence to the contrary, we’re crap at it) and holding positions of authority (hormones – which only women have, apparently – always get in the way). And as for politics – until they make a cutesy, mini Houses of Parliament, ideally one that looks more like the Happlyland Fairlyand Bluebell Boot, we’re all just going to feel alienated. It’s not that male politicians remain braying, misogynistic boors who talk over women; it’s the fact that the seat of government is not pink (and the doors are too heavy, and the stationery just too male).

Thankfully there are some things women are physically and emotionally strong enough to take on, which is just as well since otherwise we’d be really bloody useless. Take caring work, for instance. Delicate ladies who cannot lift a pen unless it is “designed to fit comfortably in a woman’s hand” turn out to be just fine at wiping shit-covered toddler arses and lifting sick, elderly relatives twice their weight. It’s funny, isn’t it? Women – those fragrant little flowers – end up doing the vast majority of unpaid caring work: fetching and carrying, cleaning up blood and vomit, doing all that emotional heavy lifting that men just aren’t equipped to do. We even give birth to the next generation (ideally not by being “too posh to push”; let’s face it, staplers are hard but pushing a human being out of your vagina? Piece of piss).

Of course, a cynic might say that the whole weak woman construct is there to create the illusion that men are caring and providing for women when in fact it’s the other way round; we’re the ones providing the physical and emotional resources that enable men to faff around earning money, kicking footballs, killing each other and whatnot. Obviously that’s a crude way of putting it. I prefer to take a more nuanced line, which is that: yes, we women are clearly crap at staples and pens and power (the important things). It’s just as well we have our magic unpaid carer strengths to compensate. Sorry, men, that we can’t be more useful than that.

Look, men, I’m being reasonable

Recently several women have been making unreasonable and irrational statements regarding rapist footballer Ched Evans. Things such as  “I find the idea of this convicted rapist returning to professional football […] sickening” and “Ched Evans doesn’t know what rape is”. This has upset a lot of reasonable and rational men who wish for order to be restored. They are not angry at Ched Evans; why should anyone else be?

I wish to reassure these men that #notallwomen are as irrational as it currently appears. This is all just a minor blip. On a daily basis we’re eminently reasonable and compliant. Here are just a few examples of how: Continue reading

How sad is sad enough?

How sad is sad enough? How thin is thin enough? How lonely is lonely enough? These are apparently important questions if you want to have a voice.

Today I found myself reading the Daily Mail (I was visiting my parents, so please don’t judge me). Two articles caught my eye: one on a woman whose pregnancy had apparently cured her anorexia (“I knew for the sake of our little one I would have to finally put it all behind me”), another by a female journalist who describes herself as unable to stop starving (“however unbalanced my own diet may be, I can’t imagine ever not living as a functioning anorexic”). I haven’t linked to either of these, not least because they include calorie counts, lowest weights and photographs of emaciated states. If I were still struggling with an eating disorder, I’d find such details triggering. Even without a diagnosed ED I feel bad enough. Continue reading