One of the best things about writing a radical feminist blog which is read by about eleven people on a good day is that I can say whatever I want. Fuck it, no one’s reading. The only people who will be are other radical feminists and the occasional hate-read from radiqueer sparklefucks, and as these people are internet people, and not real people, I don’t particularly care about how these ideas are received.
This is markedly different from real life, where I am subject to censure and sanctions for speaking my mind. Where I often find myself appealing to less radical female friends or the occasional dude that “patriarchy is damaging for ALL of us” and “men are damaged too under male supremacy!” and other things that I honestly couldn’t give a third of a shit about.
Women are expected to do this Dance of Appeasement whenever they express a thought which does not revolve around men and their feelings. If we don’t, we’re mocked, attacked or just ignored. Witness the flaccid fauxminism of Emma Watson or famous idiot Lena Dunham, or any notable woman who has a feminist thought cross her mind but knows she needs to tread carefully for fear of doing a Greer or a Bindel and exposing herself to mass hatred. “I’m a feminist, but of course, I love men. I care deeply about men and how patriarchy hurts men. The concerns of men are my concerns too. I have a feminist boyfriend and I love him. In fact, his penis is inside me as I say this. Men men men men men.”
I really couldn’t give a fuck about men, couldn’t give a fuck about the Dance of Appeasement, which is really a St Vitus dance brought on by the anguish of being silenced. I don’t care about the nice men and I don’t care about making them the centre of my concerns. I don’t care about individualising my analysis of men as a class. I don’t care.
Did you know that 31% of 18-24 year old women in the UK are CSA survivors? You did? I wonder who’s doing that? Lovely, cuddly men? Men who are on the whole so nice and so hard done by within patriarchy? Men who, as a class, can’t seem to let girl children grow up without raping nearly a full third of them? Poor men! Let them in our movement, I say!
I don’t care, am past caring, am feeling increasingly lighter as I shed the burden of giving a single toss about caring about men’s feelings. I’m not interested in playing Schroedinger’s rapist with the men that I meet day to day. I don’t care that your boyfriend is a nice guy, or if your friend sometimes makes sexist jokes but he’s a okay really, or your work colleague who looked down your shirt a couple of times stood up for you in that meeting so isn’t he really a feminist, really? Deep down? No. Fuck him.
I don’t care about my bloke acquaintances’ universally worthless opinions on feminism down the pub and I don’t care about the article on feminism and Marx that they just read in the Socialist fucking Worker. I don’t care! At all! Whee!
Which is why it’s infuriating that feminism-which you may remember as the movement dedicated to the liberation of women and girls from patriarchy-is now, apparently, for everyone. And by everyone, we obviously mean men and men who think they’re women. Feminism is in fact “intersectional” and for “all genders.” Deeply moved and upset by the plight of fellow men who are no longer the centre of a conversation, it has been brought to women’s attention that patriarchy creates men who are emotionally stunted half-humans, completely out of touch with their emotions. Men’s response to noticing this is to ask feminists to centre their needs and fix this state of affairs with our own movement. Fuck you buddy. Fix it yourself. Make your own movement.
At least MRAs and meninists don’t have to throw their own groups wide for everyone and can be clear about the intended beneficiaries of their movement. Hint-it’s men. And not “men who happen to be born with vaginas” either. Actual men. Because men don’t have to do the mental gymnastics required to be gaslit into saying a vagina is actually a strangely shaped cock. They can just say “fuck you, this is ours.” Like everything else.
If the liberation of women results in an improved quality of life for men too, then that’s all for the good. But it’s secondary to the immediate aim. And in the meantime, until then, and not before, I don’t care about men. At all. You shouldn’t either! They have a whole world to do that for them already. I care about women. Precious few people do.
And now all eleven of you reading this can agree or call me names as you see fit.