The shame I used to feel; one year on

It’s always good practice to stop and take stock of our surroundings. Almost a year ago, I wrote a piece to remind myself and others of why we still need feminism. It was called ‘The shame we feel as women’ and detailed the ways in which we are controlled by the patriarchy that ensure we cannot break free. Patriarchy is focused on our physical appearance and anything other than a well fed able bodied cis gendered male is open to scrutiny and our value is judged accordingly on how much we please teh menz. Being a feminist; and an angry one at that too, I’ve stopped decorating myself the way I did in my 20s. This means less make up, fashion apathy and a whole lot less hair (on my head I mean). I don’t look that much different, a little curvier perhaps but that’s what happens when you stop starving yourself so you fit in. My eyebrows aren’t so arched and my body hair matches my bonce. I have saved a FORTUNE on bleach and razor blades. And this season’s colours. I am happier as a result but maybe less pleasing on the male eye.  An old acquaintance unwittingly put it in into context for me; after congratulating me on my feminist efforts, he asked where I stood on the whole “feminism vs. femininity” issue.

I took this mean he didn’t fancy me anymore and breathed a tiny sigh of relief. But what he was doing was in fact insulting me. As if they are mutually exclusive; there are two camps of women in the world, those that like being hounded and harassed and those that unpretty themselves to avoid being hounded and harassed. That’s the way patriarchy’s brain functions.

Grooming, especially body hair removal, is time consuming and expensive. I stopped plucking, waxing and bleaching because it was actually physically painful and damaging my skin and I suddenly realised I wasn’t doing it for myself but patriarchy. I had an ex that was obsessed with tweezers and would make his skin bleed in an attempt to tame his mono-brow but his obsession did not end with his own body hair, he was constantly on at me too, quite often without my explicit consent. Being with him made me feel dirty and somehow excessively hirsute; I am astonished that my self-esteem was low enough to allow this kind of behaviour. But then, I was probably about 15 the first time I was shamed for having body hair. For almost half of my life, I put myself through an ordeal trying to battle with something that naturally occurs on all humans, sprouting to protect us and signify sexual maturity. No wonder they want rid.

The other significant and healthy realisation I had was that I was not born to fit the missing piece of some man. All of society is centred on the belief that you are somehow incomplete until you find the love of your life and create babies. Never is this more apparent than in your late 20s. One by one your peers fall into line and it is you that is somehow tainted for not doing the same. Don’t get me wrong, I TRIED, but I wasn’t ever happy to settle for anything less than equality, honesty and respect. I know what those things feel like and I don’t think hetero-normative relationships within a patriarchy provide the right conditions. Male privilege infects even our closest allies.

They’re quite happy for you to do all the washing and the hoovering but cooking’s fine, cos it’s a fun activity and “all the best chefs are men”. They’ll continue to shout over you in a group discussion and defeated, you’ll sink back. Many more of them will suddenly feel victim to reverse sexism as if equality was achieved just a second ago and already the wimminz are on top. Does one of the lives in a relationship mean more than the other? Who gets to choose the life plan? Women’s bodies are trying to get pregnant, that’s what some of our bodies are designed to do yet so many are switched off to this basic of functions and instead blame the person carrying the womb for tricking the sperm provider into maliciously impregnating her. Why do men freak out when you mention your cycle? And there is nothing a misogynist man dislikes more than a woman who speaks to other women. They call it gossip and being nosy but much like all the other rules in our world, this is a patriarchal notion that leaves women isolated and paranoid. We should all talk to each other more. If we did, there’d be a whole lot more truth in the world. With transparency, we might put an end to abuse.

As a result of my awakening, I have lost what I thought were a few good friends. I can no longer abide a racist/sexist/..ist etc. comrade irrespective of the many years we spent huddled together. It no longer suits me to turn a blind eye or pretend words were never said. I am the sum total of all my experiences and the company I keep reflects that. My life is enriched by the people I see, it’s not as draining as it once was and it’s not so much of a struggle to be accepted for who I am, not the image I thought I had to present. I am even more disconnected from society than I was previously and whilst this is good for me, looking in at the rest of the world has sent me to new levels of despair.

We are still fighting for liberation. The basic rights we had begun to take for granted seem flimsy and constantly under threat. The stand-off against four no-choicers a coupla Sundays ago was surreal. Taking a picture of them was ‘aggressive’ and they weren’t happy. I don’t remember feeling particularly overjoyed either. Intimidated, yes. What could these four, rosy cheeked men tell me that I hadn’t already heard before? As it turned out, not a lot and very soon after, two of them withdrew. It wasn’t a productive day in that nothing was achieved; it was more a battle of wills in broad daylight.

This shit shoulda ended in the 70s! And you know why it didn’t? Cos second wavers were too busy looking after themselves! Feminism is for all self-identifying women right?

How many women is that?

It’s an army.

I’ve had my rows with the feminists that came before me and I’ll continue to row down the kyriarchy with them for a long time to come. But when it comes to smashing the patriarchy, I am an ally. I didn’t have a family; I didn’t stand a chance with my education. The colour of my skin has always raised questions. But I am still a woman and I have privileges many others don’t.

I’m doing Feminism for every single person oppressed by patriarchal shame.

And so should you.

All Coppers Are Suspicious

#TrustYourInstincts say Metropolitan Police without a modicum of self-awareness. They want us to trust our instincts to help them clamp down on troublesome individuals who might be involved in terrorist-y activities. I might be wrong but Britain’s a funny old racist at the best of times. Britain instinctively blames the weakest whenever it’s in a spot of bother, whether it’s all them braaaahn people taking all the jobs or the sick and disabled after an easy ride, I wouldn’t trust Britain’s instincts to boil an egg without a timer.

My instincts tell me not to trust an authority with as much coercive power as the police. My instincts are somewhat better informed than your average Josephine in that I’ve worked closely with the police and know how it feels to stumble into a copshop canteen minus the blue uniform. As a child I would instinctively reach for the phone and dial 999 whenever I felt the people around me couldn’t do anything. We had the emergency services visit us at school, as small children you are frequently reminded of what to do if you feel unsafe. But working with the police initiated a shift in my instincts. I instinctively knew the bits of information I had to keep from them. Emotions mainly, they couldn’t understand how a woman beaten by her partner could still be in love with him. I would instinctively withhold such information because I knew they would judge my client differently. They wouldn’t be as prepared to go the extra mile or as I like to think of it, the bare minimum of human decency. I instinctively distrust an IPCC investigation because let’s see, it’s hardly independent. I instinctively distrust a shootout between the police and a member of the public; after Jean Charles De Menezes this is hardly surprising.

I’ve been thinking about and discussing the role of the police a lot recently, especially in my work and in my role as a woman working for women. There were many success stories and without the cooperation of the police, these would have been impossible. Thanks to organisations coordinating the joint efforts of agencies, there are more systems in place to make all accountable. But they don’t police inappropriate interaction between agencies, especially when there is an unspoken belief in keeping the other ‘sweet’. Despite this I spent a long time advocating for the police with people who believe them all to be bastards. “But what about all the clients they’ve helped?” and “What about the time I got burgled?” I even wanted to be a copper once upon a time, in the vain hope that I could be the bridge between the brown people in my community and the white people in power. And yeah, they did these things, they helped get some of my clients into safe houses, they were sympathetic during a rape exam, there was a feeling of solidarity whenever a prolific perpetrator went down. But it’s only recently dawned on me what I would need to do in order deserve cooperation. And the reaction I would get if I ever dared complain about inappropriate conduct.

There was a lot of flirting and I was banned from saying I was a feminist working for a feminist organisation. One copper would tell me he wouldn’t employ because at age 27 I was only liable to get pregnant. Also, it was really funny that I used the turn of phrase “kettle of fish” cos it was a really British thing to say (what the fuck am I if not British?) Another would always refer to me as madam but not in the hierarchical copper way but more like a sleazy you’re-a-female-and-one-that-thinks-she’s-a-princess-therefore-I’m-gonna-make-a-point kind of a way. At another one of my agencies, the DS used to call me up for a chat every coupla days and sometimes turn up unannounced at the safe house just so he could give me a lift to the station (5 minutes down the road). Despite all this, I was convinced the police were a force of good. I just wasn’t radicalised enough yet, I guess.

That all changed during the counter demo against the EDL in Walthamstow. “Who protects the Nazis?!” “The police protect the Nazis!” That chant will stay with me forever. I had a bruise on my arm where I was grabbed and pushed along for unfurling a banner. What the fuck kind of threat am I? Their instincts tell them to use aggression against me, 5ft1 and 55kg. But the skinhead, swastika tattooed coked up meatheads of the EDL got themselves an escorted tour of a town they have no business being in. A particularly scary cop in a blue cap threatened to do me for using the word “fricking”. That’s a word I use when I don’t want to swear. His instincts were to arrest me. What was the justification there?

I have an instinct that the police maintain the patriarchy. Every time they issue a press release and use language to describe a child victim of statutory rape as having had sex with a perpetrator, they are reinforcing patriarchy and its use of women’s bodies. I have an instinct that the police only see black and white and none of the bits in between and that black is usually troublesome whereas white is to be believed. My spidey sense is on high alert when perpetrating police types are routinely acquitted of crimes they have committed but then sacked for gross misconduct because a member of the public was in fact killed, or given appallingly inadequate sentences for using their immense powers to pervert the course of justice. Ryan Coleman Farrow being case in point.

What do your instincts tell you about the Alfie Meadows trial? Does anyone remember what actually happened to him?

Instincts are dangerous, they are biased.

Instincts are personal and they are bigoted.

And so are the police.

Let The Sun go down

Anyone with an ounce of decency is rightfully disgusted by the latest ‘splash’ on the cover of The Sun, shamelessly presenting a victim of domestic homicide as a piece of meat to be ogled at by the paper’s unashamed readership. What kind of country do we live in where we devour the dramatized last moments of a woman’s life as though she were an actress on a soap and not a real life victim of a murder perpetrated by the person she was most intimate with? One Billion of us rose yesterday and she met her end, on Valentine’s Day where it seems many of us lost our sense of moral right and thought it ok to ‘joke’ about it being a bit of a bad surprise. What a sudden and vital moment to be reminded of why we were rising in the first place? Caitlin Moran (nnnngghh) also reminded of us of we have taken feminism to the next level. She was one of the ‘jokers’ and even her apology seemed to be a bit of a gag. She felt sympathy for the perpetrator and that’s why she malfunctioned. Where’s the sympathy for Reeva Steenkamp, Caitlin? And her family?

The tabloid press is truly vile. The Mirror refers to previous incidents between the couple as incidents of a ‘domestic nature’ which is 1970s speak for domestic violence. All the papers are saying the same. It seems he may be a prolific perpetrator of violence against women but rather than take a stand against this atrocity, they sensationalise it and degrade the actual course of events. Journalists might argue that they were not able to take down the exact nature of the incident and instead are relying on press releases from the police or courts; if this is the case then we have to put pressure on the these authorities too. But what if the police say some of what is printed in the papers is not true? The Mirror also writes South African Plod are very surprised by the burglar speculation, telling reporters “These allegations are not from us”. There is a very sinister picture emerging and not the Slasher movie The Sun are trying to peddle.

I signed the Page Three petition and I’m no longer afraid to admit it. I didn’t read the blurb, I reacted to a little piece of patriarchy and I put my name to it. I didn’t think too much about it. I’ve always hated page 3, for its representation of women yes but also because it is in The Sun and I hate all of the content and the people who read it. That’s why I signed the Page Three petition because I hoped that the boobs were, so to speak, holding up the readership. I don’t have an issue with boobs, I want more boobs everywhere. In babies mouths initially, we’ve still got a lot of work to do, but in the world and with about the same frequency that men take their shirts off.

If Murdoch is listening to you, you’re doing something wrong.

If we ‘re going to make our world safe, we’ve got to get rid of these papers. We’ve got to make a stand against this vile arm of patriarchy and cut it off dead the way we did with the News of the World. Milly Dowler was dead. They didn’t care. They just wanted to make money off the misery they pump out there into our communities. Reeva was also tragically and brutally murdered and they’re doing the same again. It can’t be one rule for the NOTW and another for this other parasite, The Sun. We have to target the advertisers, even if they once said The Sun was safe from a similar fate. Why is it safe? Because it is “a corporate matter”? What does that mean? Associating yourself with a toxic brand has consequences, you can’t separate the two.

The Sun is not a family paper. It is a racist, sexist piece of patriarchal trash and it harms people. It exists to breed hate and hostility between people, it is the fan that keeps the shit flying, the spoon that stirs the shit once the fan’s clogged. It is depraved. And dangerous. And the world would be infinitely better without it.

Here are some examples of tweets you could be sending (just copy/paste). Compose your own as RT’ing is not as effective.

Hi @sainsburys Pls withdraw support for The Sun unless you are happy with them sexually objectifying a murder victim #BoycottTheSun

Oh @O2 will you be standing by The Sun despite their horrendous objectification of #ReevaSteenkamp on today’s front cover? #BoycottTheSun 

Hey @MorrisonsOffers I don’t believe you could be happy advertising with TheSun in light of their front cover today. Are you? #BoycottTheSun 

Hi @asda Do you think it’s for Th Sun to objectify murder victim #ReevaSteenkamp? If you don’t, please withdraw advertising #BoycottTheSun 

Hi @UKTesco Pls reconsider ads with The Sun unless you are ok with sexual objectification of murdered women #BoycottTheSun

We did it once, we can do it again.

To Dorries, from Sam

Reblogged from Dear Nadine Dorries:

Hi Nadine,

So I thought I was pregnant a few years ago, had all the symptoms like, but the test kept coming out negative. I spent a small fortune on them because they are bloody expensive but I had to know why I was feeling so sick, irritable, tender and bloated. I went to my GP who just said I was a woman and didn’t drink enough water but after I’d firmly indicated I wasn’t moving until he at least tested me for a urine infection, he replied bitterly that after all he was just the doctor and what would he know.

Read more… 763 more words

Stay out of my uterus, capisce?

An open letter

There was a blog here but I’ve been told to remove it.

The Atheist Delusion

I was 5 years old the first time I entered a mosque. As with every other situation in my young life, I wasn’t given a choice or informed about this new experience, I was simply led to this new building and I did what I was told to do. I learnt Arabic and Urdu, I wore a burqa and I memorised the last 30 surahs of the Quran. I didn’t exactly pray 5 times I day but my early years were spent in preparation for this. Even when I was asleep I would dream that one day I would do a pilgrimage to Mecca and all would become clear, I was somehow chosen and enlightened and my faith would get me through this, my living nightmare, because God knew and only He could make it go away.

My grandparents were staunch Muslims, or at least their definition of it. When I think about some of the cautionary tales told to me as a kid and how hungrily I lapped them up, I am amazed at myself that I am now a ‘non-believer’. Hellfire was a common feature. For the first decade of my life, I believed I had an angel on each shoulder, documenting all deeds good and evil. I was told we had to cover our hair was because otherwise Satan would urinate on it. I was told I couldn’t cut my hair because our religion forbade it. There were a million and one reasons to control every aspect of my life and I guess this is why I rebelled.

One of the first things to occur to me was the number of non-believers destined for Hell. I couldn’t understand why God, all knowing and omnipresent would condemn a large portion of his creation to destruction, in this way. What a waste of His time.  And if they merely existed to serve as reminder to us, the Chosen Ones, of how we must not stray, well, how is that even fair? Born to die for our sins. That’s just weird isn’t it? And the worse my life got, the more my innocence was chipped away, the less afraid I was to challenge God and seek answers. If it was God that created me then He created this desire for the truth and I didn’t believe God to be so tempestuous as to admonish me for needing to know. Anyway I was angry, he’d made me a girl and apparently girls weren’t worth a helluva lot.

I left my faith at the door of the last mosque I would ever attend. Aged just 10 I’d had enough of the Imam and his inappropriate use of my body. I was glad to be free. I would endure weeks of hurtful comments and physical abuse because I’d rejected my teaching, my family were none too happy about this. I was expected to memorise the whole of the Quran and bring praise on my family but I’d done the opposite. But I didn’t care. I was beyond all of it.

As an early teen, I’d sneer at the Muslim boys. I’d happily feed the little racists group about how I was more in control of my life as an atheist (though it was many more years before I would actually feel this way). That period of my life reminds me of Richard Dawkins. Smug, free, privileged, hurtful, bullying. I had this new found feeling of superiority, I’d cracked the God code and I was gonna laugh at everyone too stupid to figure out the truth. Except, I was a kid and I grew out of that phase. I met more people and realised the world was too big a place with too many different shades of everything to just conveniently slap one label on them all. I met Muslims I actually liked! And get this, Catholics! And all the other religions and ways of life. Because people, all the people on this lonely planet, are full of good and bad. Being atheist doesn’t give you a get out of jail free card, like somehow you can’t be hateful and controlling because it’s righteous hate and control, check yourself and your privilege and take it down a notch or ten.

Muslims slaughter their animals by slitting their throats? That’s common practice in non halal UK abattoirs. Yes, the animal is stunned first but stunning isn’t always accurate and are you telling me those animals don’t know they’re going to die? (Watch the series Kill it, Cook it, Eat it). And how dare one person killing and eating an animal tell another person their method is not to their liking? They’re all killing and eating animals, why is one worse than the other? Is it so convenient to tell half a truth to a sycophantic audience? It’s downright dangerous and he knows this.

I don’t like Richard Dawkins because he is just as bad as the fundos with their beards. He is in a position of great power and he uses this to control. How dare he try and define trauma for victims of sexual abuse? I’ve never heard a single survivor use the word ‘icky’ to describe a sexual violation. They haven’t just trodden in dog poo; they have been physically/sexually harmed. He is the voice of patriarchy and patriarchy is white and middle aged.

I don’t want him to speak for me.

Calling all allies

So last year I made a load of new friends. Having worked in women’s services for a number of years, I was a little jaded in 2010; hierarchy was alive and well among those who should know better. I was told to hush up about the dirty f word and misogos ruled my life; at work and in my home. But 2012 opened up a world I was overjoyed to discover. People that just got it, I didn’t need to explain. Men and women, of all the colours and perfect political persuasions. Bliss. It should be as easy as that. We should be able to take for granted what a person’s bio says about the person themselves in real life. Sadly, I am still learning that a book is not to be judged by its cover.

With the rise of Intersectional Feminism and the ensuing battle between those in control and those fighting oppression, we have weeded out the ‘allies’ who want equality only for themselves and others like them. You can’t be a feminist ally if you have a self-serving opinion on women’s bodily autonomy, or in fact have ideas on what makes a feminist woman and what does not. You cannot be an ally if you claim reverse sexism. And you are most certainly not an ally if you feel your opinion is the most educated and therefore most relevant to the discussion. Bully for you and your privilege. In the past year, ‘allies’ have been aggressive, dismissive, controlling and deceitful. They wait till you’re drunk and make sexual advances. People either behave in this way or they don’t. We don’t make anyone do anything, decent people always walk away. Decent people stop and listen.

Allies always think to check themselves because they acknowledge they don’t know everything. Allies wait to hear what everyone has to say before they offer an opinion. They are there to buoy our spirits and concentrate efforts where needed. They don’t take over. They don’t roll their eyes or use language that suggests you are inferior. Allies are reinforcements and we never need to explain this to them.

We can take them or leave them. They are not what motivate us. We allow allies into our circle because they uphold equality above all else. They understand the privileges being male affords them and do not take offence if they are not included. They understand why we need women only spaces. Again, I cannot stress enough; an ally does not need an explanation. They know we are not answerable to them.

Mansplainers call themselves feminists. FAKE FEMINIST KLAXON << DO NOT listen to these men. They agree with everything you say for about the first 20 minutes. Then they tell you you’re doing it wrong. They’ll have an opinion about your comrades and it’s never complimentary. Mansplainers differ from other men in that they have done some reading and they know all the right words. They might have a vested sexual interest in you and nod and mumble in all the right places. But sooner or later the mansplainer’s mask slips; he’s been itching to put you straight for months. When this happens, we will listen. And we will believe you. They are everywhere and we know this.

Go forth fem comrades and make judgments on who will stand with us come The Revolution. Allies are easier to spot now than ever.

Fem Bloc is recruiting allies but they will be subjected to group approval.

Allies will be happy to comply.