That 10% Moment
Feminism. It seems to be an incredibly inflammatory word. It can be met with a sense of celebration and warmth, or with an eye roll and an argument depending on the audience and circumstance. I have some wonderful friends who are empowered feminists, and not all of them are women, because they don’t need to be.
They firmly believe that it is a fight for equality, an ongoing movement towards making the world safer and fairer, and shattering the glass ceilings and the ‘boys clubs’ that continue to attempt to drown us.
On the other hand, one of my best friends holds an anti-feminism standpoint. As much as I wish I could tell you he is not a white, straight, educated, cisgendered male, he is. Sorry. We also argue about it at least once a fortnight. The problem is not that he doesn’t like women, he actually does, he treats them with respect, he would step in if he saw someone being assaulted and he is a kind human. The problem is that he selectively reads the news and Facebook, and he can’t get past what he reads. I’ll give you an example.
Last week he showed me an article, the headline was something along the lines of ‘Feminist attacks male on public transport’. He then continued to explain that the woman had thrown a chemical on a man’s crouch on public transport for no reason, and that is why he will never believe in feminism. Safe to say that last part didn’t go down well. My response can be summed up to ‘that’s not feminism, babe. It’s assault’, delivered in a highly patronising tone. I also may have launched into the history of burning women at the stake as well, but let’s not jump down that rabbit hole right now.
Ideally, the topic of this blog post should really be about Christine Blasey Ford. About her courage, her poise, about the disgraceful treatment of her by Donald Trump in THAT rally speech, and I suppose, about Brett Kavanaugh. That being said, I don’t know about you, but at this stage there is not enough energy to borrow from tomorrow to process it and break it down. Can anyone see if Leslie Knope is free?
Essentially, the purpose of this post is to ask two questions. Why is feminism a dirty word, and what does it mean to you? We all know the basics and the main public players in the fight, where it gets difficult is trying to explain it calmly to those people like my friend who are frightened by the headlines.
Side note: Sarcastically stating ‘feeling unsafe on public transport? How revolutionary’ while clutching my throat like a metaphorical pearl necklace, possibly doesn’t ever help my argument.
Speaking of sarcasm, someone who dances along that line of that and calm, solid argument, is Rose McGowan. If you haven’t listened to her interview on ‘RuPaul’s what’s the Tee’, I recommend it. She makes the point that not everyone has to jump on board at your station. Not everyone has to already be at the same place. The important thing is that they are learning and open to learn. Even if it’s just by 10%
They’re coming to get you, Barbara
Something I’m learning at the moment? That I need to learn how to practice what I preach. I believe that a human does not owe another a reason for not wanting to continue a conversation if they are uncomfortable. I never practice it. An example? Remember all those times that someone who automatically makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on edge (not for a good reason), comes and stands a little too close, and starts asking questions? The ones that emit a negative energy. The ones that when you say no, they turn around and lose it. Yeah, those ones.
I have always had a rule not to accept drinks at a bar from anyone I don’t know, I don’t believe in bar equity. Although, this doesn’t mean that I don’t run into some utterly terrifying people at bars and start inching backwards as they are inching forwards, hoping that a friend comes over and ends the conversation for me. I used to always think I did this because it was the ‘nice’ thing to do, but it isn’t. It’s because I don’t want them to hurt me.
When I was 17, a friend I was out with was glassed and hospitalised, When I was 18, I was held at knife point at work and locked in a cage. I then had a less than kind partner. All of this history runs through my head each time I am stuck in an uncomfortable situation.
It also runs through my head when I am walking at dusk or night, when I am by myself and can’t remember if I locked the front door (which is ridiculous since I live 20-something floors up), when I am running with earphones in, parked at traffic lights, the list goes on. After this, I then usually get flashes of The Night of The Living Dead, which I always mis-quote as ‘They’re coming for you, Barbara’.
What makes it worse is the fact that I have always lived in safe neighbourhoods, have always been cautious, have always been safe when at my family home and learnt self-defence. I have no idea how those who weren’t as lucky cope with it, and if you’re reading you’re a thousand times braver than I am. I celebrate you!
So, I implore you, talk dirty to me - what does Feminism mean to you? Comment below, email us, write it in your journal. Channel your inner Juliet and declare it from a balcony or just whisper it to yourself in the tiny hours of morning. Humanely attach it to a carrier pigeon and send it across the ocean or just come and tell us in person at our next meet up. We are an intersectional group, anyone and everyone is welcome, you just have to believe in equality.