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.

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.

Why I’m STILL A Feminist (and evermore proud)

It’s freakishly daunting when your close male friends plead with you to think of all men as rapists. You laugh nervously, a little unsure of what to say, and somewhat annoyed that they’d fuel your natural paranoia. Most men don’t rape, I like to think, but the few that do; control all women. To hear that most men are in fact capable of rape and have thought of it is unfathomable, right? I insisted it couldn’t be true, I was too horrified to accept it. But then, in the debacle that was the Assange defence, politicians and media types tripping over themselves in a bid to redefine rape, in a man’s world, it all became glaringly obvious; my male friends were right. The world was in a frenzy because there was a serious risk that the definition of rape as victims see it would raise serious questions over their own sexual histories. No means no. It doesn’t sometimes mean yes. It doesn’t matter if you fall asleep having just had sex, waking up to find someone inside you is a violation. The person penetrating you whilst you slumber has not registered enthusiastic consent. They have selfishly chosen to tend to their own desires; your body is merely a receptacle. Now, because we are programmed to believe we are receivers and our bodies are there for pleasure, many of us believe this behaviour to be NORMAL and wrongly think that this is not rape. NON CONSENSUAL SEX is rape.

Being followed on the high street is a violation too. Wolf whistles, cat calls, honking horns…  Daily reminders that menz are all around you, and you exist for their viewing pleasure. Nice tits. Fit arse. “Keep it up”. I’d have a go on your missus (this actually happened). Once, I was sat on a bus into work. A slimeball sidled up and sat next to me and proceeded to rub his leg against mine. Believing it to be a mistake, I moved my leg away but he just spread his legs further and continued to invade my space. Livid, I shot up and bellowed at him to move out of my way. “You fucking princess,” he spat. I had the audacity to call him up on his violation of my body and personal space. Fellow passengers looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust, as if I’d just phlegmed up my breakfast. I was shaken but proud of myself. Maybe he’ll think twice the next time he picks on a seemingly short Asian girl (I’m 30 for the record).

It’s all fair and well interviewing a few privileged white women (or token black women with blonde hair) and coming to the conclusion that feminism is outdated or repugnant even, but here’s what I  (an ex Muslim, British Asian woman of Pakistani/Kashmiri descent on a below average income, very much below average height) think. Feminism is thriving and it’s about to explode. Patriarchy is rubbing his hands with glee  right now, he’s got his best puppets in government so he’s feeling comfortable expressing himself, happily contorting reality to fit his own sexual needs. This makes Feminism very angry. He’s stomping down on independent women; shrinking down the job market, ensuring that women cannot stand on their own two feet. Independent mothers are the scourge of Broken Britain so he makes them pay and leaves them underfed and unable to break away from violent partners. I predict a riot; feminists of the world are uniting as we speak. Heck, I’ve made some wonderful friends these past few weeks.

Whenever I see an article condemning feminism, I don’t think “oh no, I think I’m the only one”, I think “ha, the bastards are really shitting themselves” and give myself a big pat on the back and a chocolate éclair. Patriarchy is the 2 year old that believes he is the centre of your world and you do everything for him. He thinks he can hurt your cause by denigrating it.

Instead, he comes across as a two year old saying ‘shit’ repeatedly just so he can get your attention.

We need to talk..

Listen up feminist comrades; we’re going to do something radical. I have been thinking about this for a while and have wondered how we can make it happen. Turns out it’s quite simple; we just need to start listening to ourselves. And talk to each other. In doing so, we’ll take a massive leap for feminism, and for each other. We will learn to trust our gut instincts and we’ll have a safe activist space; over the phone, via a text or DM.

I haven’t been an activisting feminist for very long. Active my whole life but not really involved. Coming together on Twitter with feminists from all over the world has been empowering and has made the struggle more real, but objectives a thousand times more achievable. It’s public and that makes it feel safe; we can trust each other through our shared experiences. There is no place to hide on a public forum, you are what you preach.  But what if all is not what it seems?

Fems, we have to be aware that misogynists/predators/perpetrators are everywhere. They will invade our activist spaces and make us feel unsafe. Perpetrators do not present themselves as such from the off. They will endear themselves to you, support your cause, retweet every little thing you say.. They’ll show a united front with people you respect; by association you believe them to be a feminist ally. But what if they suddenly touch you without your consent? How would you feel if you were incessantly bombarded with calls, texts, emails and tweets? As women, we are programmed to believe we are somehow to blame for inappropriate behaviour if we so much as offer a predatory manz a rollie. But we can’t shake off THAT feeling. There’s a threat. It hasn’t found its voice yet but we’ve all been there before. It’s because we are women and we are at risk of being violated; at any time, by anyone. We need to listen to that feeling more, understand it, give it a name and call it out. But we don’t. Is it because we fear we won’t be believed? For my part, the last time I felt someone wasn’t being truthful, I questioned my own mental health. As a survivor, was I being overly sensitive? I didn’t want to say anything in case I prematurely jumped the gun. But, these thoughts were in fact adversely affecting my mental health by denying my gut instinct and not listening to my very real concerns. I had silenced myself.

Eventually I did speak to someone about it. And it turned out I wasn’t the only one. I was left feeling as though I should have said something sooner. But in feeling this way, I was victimising myself. It was not my fault that this person was hounding me. I may have giggled along to his jokes, I may have even flirted with him a little but this did not give him the right to impose himself on me. I reasoned that he had spoonie issues and as such, deserved my understanding. I didn’t feel able to express myself because of how he might be feeling but this was detrimental to my own mental health.

Perps/predators have a way of blending into the background. We reason that if they were a problem, we’d soon find out about it. If they happen to share friends with us, we are less likely to question their motives. But what if the connections you appear to have are an illusion? Online friendships/associations are easy to fake (as I have recently discovered). Someone starts following you on Twitter and they seem to share the same friends. They get involved in all your discussions, your friends engage them, everything seems above board. But then, when you begin to investigate the character, it transpires that nobody knows who they are. We’d all made the assumption that he was so and so’s friend. To discover he was as strange to them as he was to me felt like a violation.

I would like to suggest a solution to prevent this sort of thing from happening again. As a result of this incident, I felt unable to attend #Oct20 for fears around my safety. Safe activists’ spaces for women seem non-existent. We need more communication and a system where we can notify each other of any concerns we might have. A feminist mailing list, if you will. Somewhere we can discuss our concerns, regarding misogynists/perpetrators/predators regardless of their associations. We must pledge to hear out concerns, even if we do not see the risks ourselves. We must bear in mind that perpetrators are often charming, sociable characters and just because we have not personally seen anything yet, does not mean it did not happen. Support and discussion is a good enough place to start.

What are your thoughts?

A Woman’s World 2012

“What were you doing when the Olympics were here, grandma?”

What will I tell them? It is possible that I will say; I vehemently refused to be part of an event that actively encouraged division of the human race and placed insurmountable pressure on a few select individuals who were only as important as the medal they snatched from the claws of their sworn patriotic enemies and that my actions were confirmed to be the only plausible reaction to a persistent offender of misogyny, highlighting wherever possible how they’d ‘let the women’ do things like that man sport, boxing. Yes children, can you believe, in the 21^st Century, the great Britons were obsessed with how the women actually performed exceptionally well on the world stage yet it still didn’t stop them from commenting on their beautiful smiles? I wished that Tom Daley would smile, just to see whether they’d comment on his but in my heart, I already knew… Men don’t smile…

What does a fat female Olympian look like? As a Snatch weight lifting competitor, you’d need to be a little on the heavier side for balance and strength, core stability and strong legs to support the weight of an average teenaged male. From a squatting position, one is required to lift the barbell to chest height and in one smooth action extend overhead and hold. Size 0 need not apply. Male weightlifters are barrel shaped and sturdy, females are just fat.

But Jessica Ennis, y’know, pretty, feminine Jessica, she’s fat too. Sporting a 6 pack most men would die for, Jessica is not rakishly thin. She treads the tightrope many of her compatriots have succumbed to, wanting to be taken seriously as an athlete in her own right whilst allowing the gutter press to photograph her applying her girly makeup. It gives her a ‘boost in confidence’, to run in a full face. Well, it’s one thing being called fat but ugly? It doesn’t bear thinking about. The pressures she and her teammates are under to conform to the disgusting standards set to us by the Western press are unachievable. They are, in fact, dangerous. The gruelling schedules they are subjected to, the many hours of training they have to put in; if they do not eat well, they will burn out. But since when did patriarchy care about the illnesses it has invented to control women?

“Obama applauds Saudi women Olympians.” A massive step forward for feminism..!

STOP. Stop holding the East up as an example of how shoddy brown women’s rights are when I’m still opening my free English newspaper up to the words “The sisterhood knows how to celebrate a win. When it comes to girls scoring goals and women winning gold, the female athletes at London 2012 have no shame in showing each other the love. Here’s the best of the girl-on-girl action.” Lesbians. That’s what I’m thinking now. And so are you.

“I did not watch any of the nudge-nudge girls’ volleyball.” And there you have it. Bruce Anderson, Tory rent-a-gob actually manages to get himself published on the Conservative Home Blog (why I am so surprised at this, I don’t understand) saying what he and many other Tories – no doubt – really think about women. “It sounds a charming digression from the more serious events (how dare you dude?). But girls’ boxing: no. That sounds indecent. In the nineteenth century, we prevented females from working as coal-miners. That was an advance in civilisation. Now, we are allowing female boxers. That is regression. The whole notion is deeply squalid. Above all, it is nothing to do with feminism. Feminism insists that women should have the right to stand alongside men in scrutinising the farthest frontiers of the universe, the tiniest sub-atomic particles. Feminists should demand equality of opportunity in the arts, in commerce, in law, in politics. Not in the boxing-ring, lest they lose contact with femininity. Any girl who feels uncontrollable pugnacious impulses need not despair. She could always try to emulate Margaret Thatcher.” (Bet they laughed at her behind her back).

When will men stop defining feminism, femininity and stop referring to themselves as we and us as females?

..Possibly when they stop seeing us a threat.

The crux of the matter is that patriarchy bullies women into submission. It cannot let us believe that we are valid and worthy of international praise based on our skills and abilities. Patriarchy is fixated with the way we look; it has made it so that our popularity is heavily dependent on how attractive we are to men. If there are physically strong women giving out a righteous message of solidarity and independence, it messes with their power and control structure. They are scared. And despite my anti Olympics stance, this makes me very happy. The Olympics haven’t shown us how far we women have come; it’s shown us how utterly afraid patriarchy is.

Well done Team Woman. We’re winning.

*Bruce Anderson also believes in child abuse and violence against women (just google him and ‘torture’).

Monotheism and the War on Women

“..Your desire shall be for your husband and he shall rule over you” Genesis 3:16

The Church of England is procrastinating whether women deserve equal promotion to senior clergy, initially proposing legislation that would mean “it would have enshrined in law the very prejudices against which supporters of female bishops have battled so long. It would, they say, create a two-tier system in which not only female bishops, but men who ordained women or who had themselves been ordained by women, would be considered second-rate.” Meanwhile in Afghanistan, Taliban tribesmen are using ‘Sharia’ law to execute women ‘accused’ of adultery. Religions the world over proclaim peace and equality whilst consistently using their beliefs to promote power and control of women.

As someone who was indoctrinated into an Abrahamic faith from a very young age, I have my issues with religion and whether it can ever be considered supportive of the feminist cause. God is masculine. His first human was male. His first female wasn’t designed exclusively of her own flesh and bone; she was created from one of man’s ribs. In another tradition, Eve is described as being the second wife of Adam. Lilith was God’s first female creation, an equal; she refused to ‘sleep or serve under him’ and was banished for knowing her own mind. This version of events is not in any of the holy books. When God is a man (and a blond blue eyed one, at that) and all the prophets, disciples and saints (more or less) are also men, as a woman you face one of two choices. Accept that man is wiser; pure and blessed, and revere him as the creator and administrator of the life force OR open your eyes, revel in your ability to create fullstop and accept you might have been a little duped by the men holding the pens who, 2-3000 years ago orchestrated the abomination that is the subjugation of women through ‘original sin’.

Several thousands of years of being so tempting to poor, pure man that he cannot control his own impulses and only because he is so gullible and naïve; when confronted with an apple, he cannot control the urge to take a bite. Eve might have presented the apple but she didn’t force Adam to eat it. How old is Adam? Small children and perpetrators of abuse often bemoan “they made me do it!” And apparently God, the highly strung sleep deprived parent took Adam’s word for it and grounded Eve! Loving and understanding and forgiving God gave Eve pain. What should be a joyful miracle of creation marred forever more by Eve’s seductive ways. Obviously I don’t really believe this. Evacuating a fully formed human out of your body takes a lot of effort and is going to be extremely painful. Not punishment but rather basic human physiology.

Allegorically, the Old Testament is anti-feminist. It describes to men the punishment they face if they are swayed by feminine wiles. Did Eve nag Adam into taking a bite? Eve is beguiled by the snake, all slithery and penis like. He tempts her and she tempts him. And then because they know it all, God banishes them from Heaven. Desire is bad. Temptation is bad. It’s all woman’s fault.

Without desire and temptation, one is pure and worthy of God’s affection. Except God made each and every one of us horny! Yet men from all over the world don’t seem to want to own their desires. It’s easier to blame the witches and wenches. What is the value of female life when the honour between two warriors of Allah is at stake?

Is this why religious institutions openly defend their rights to exclude their female believers from more involved roles? There is a belief that they will tempt the holy men of the clergy into debauchery by being so pervasive and goddamn sexy?

We recoil in horror and our politicians condemn the slaughter of a woman whose country they want to pillage for all their natural resources. We’re more ‘civilised’ here in the West, we exclude and eliminate women through proper bureaucratic channels. The centuries old witch trials of burning free thinking women at the stake are a distant memory for many.

If we are all equal in God’s eyes, why can’t they prove it?

I never write dreams or nightmares.. I write my own reality

“I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best.”

There’s something about Frida Kahlo that touched my soul from the first time I laid eyes on her work. Her honest self-depiction, mono-brow and all, thrilled me and saddened me too. I was thrilled to see a brown woman with such a distinction in the world of modern art, adorned in splendiferous colourful materials, her hair drawn tightly off her determined face. She certainly wasn’t a shy girl but a beautiful woman, bold and proud of her sex. And more than a little bit ‘ethnic’. She wasn’t worried about silly things like facial hair.

But I felt sad for the woman Frida, and felt a parallel with my own life. Like Frida, I had problems with the parts that make you a woman. Two operations for a humongous ovarian cyst left me considerably shaken and uncertain as to whether I would ever become a mother. It hurts more than you expect it to. You set the standard pretty high in your head but it surpasses that.

The hardships she suffered were of no consequence to her work, if anything, they made her art more accessible to women. Shocking, yes, but then isn’t that life? Madonna purchased Frida’s painting entitled ‘My Birth’, a fan of Kahlo; she has many of her other paintings. It is this one in particular though, that her ex husband Guy Ritchie is said to be ‘creeped out’ by. Admittedly the sheet over her mother’s head can be interpreted as somewhat sinister but Frida painted this to mark the passing of her late mother. She commented in her diary that she gave birth to herself.

Childbirth is pretty gruesome but also amazingly beautiful and magically overwhelming. What can seem hopeless in one moment suddenly becomes a miracle. It’s real. It is what it is. It’s how Guy Ritchie’s children were born too.

During her drawn out period of convalescence Frida started painted having given up on a career in medicine. Of all her artwork, 55 pieces are self-portraits. I feel an affinity with her here too. In ‘The Broken Column’ she expresses her confinement and pain, a picture that could best describe my own predicament. Having recently had a 2^nd operation to fix a faulty disc in my back, I have been limited in what I can do. My movement is quite restricted, I have been told to never attempt to touch my toes ever again. But I am able to type. A lot of my writing is what I have experienced for myself, whether personally or professionally. It is, for me, a never-ending story. Frida expresses some of that in her work.

Frida Kahlo inspires me to keep going, whatever the obstacles. She is thought provoking and emotionally charged. She is vital. And also, very vulnerable. But you only see her vulnerability through her eyes.

For her first solo exhibition in Mexico, she was too unwell to travel and had been advised to stay at home and recuperate. With dogged determinedness, she shunned the doctor’s words and arranged to be transported to the opening, her bed followed behind in a truck. I don’t idolise many people, or connect with the famous or even infamous but I have to say, she sets a shining example to women and feminists everywhere. She was way ahead of her time. She painted things people were too afraid to discuss. She had opinions, raw emotions. She did not care about what they thought of her life and her loves. She was strong and compassionate, assertive yet very feminine.

“…one of history’s grand divas…a tequila-slamming, dirty joke-telling smoker, bi-sexual that hobbled about her bohemian barrio in lavish indigenous dress and threw festive dinner parties for the likes of Leon Trotsky, poet Pablo Neruda, Nelson Rockefeller, and her on-again, off-again husband, muralist Diego Rivera.“

I wish Frida had lived a little later. It would have been a resplendent honour to have her as my fantasy dinner guest. I wouldn’t need to invite anyone else.

It’s Not Sacrifice, It’s Compromise

Boy meets girl. Girl likes boy. Boy and girl love everything about each other, “it’s like we’re soulmates”. They shack up and he says “don’t ever change”. It’s cos he loves everything about her, he says. Girl feels smug and happy to have found her other half. Now life can really begin.

Life is one big honeymoon. Boy can’t do enough to spoil his favourite girl and girl is overjoyed he feels this way. It’s early days but he/she is the one. She is looking forward to meeting his friends. They’re a nice bunch, most are married and they all seem to get along. Except.. Whenever there’s a big night out, the wives always stay at home. Boy says to girl “sshh, don’t tell any of the WAGS, they wouldn’t like it if they knew you were coming.” Girl feels privileged but also a little bit wrong. “But why can’t they come?” Well.. “Cos they’re a bunch of lushes and I do not want to talk about children when we’ve had a few. Anyway, you’re different, Pixie.” Girl thinks this has not cleared the matter for her. Boy also has two children from a previous relationship. Why would he not want to talk about his children?

“It’s funny,” he carries on, “I still have all my friends from uni, we even moved to the same area to be together afterwards, but the other day, I asked Kay who the bridesmaid in her wedding pics was,” rolls his eyes, licks the cigarette paper “it was someone she hasn’t spoken to in 15 years. I mean, this person was a bridesmaid at her wedding! I’ve asked the other girls too, none of them are in touch with their old friends anymore”. Girl didn’t have to think very hard before she responded, “they’re mothers now. They don’t have the choice”. Boy goes all soft focus, the cogs ticking away in his head.. “I never thought of it like that before,” he says.

“No, you just thought they weren’t very nice people!”

Women go through their first physical and mental transformation as young girls. Sure, boys go through puberty too, they change physically to become bigger and stronger. In comparison, they evolve rather than transform. For a girl, once she begins her period and physically begins to resemble a woman, she is no longer the same person. There are certain expectations of her. She is on course to fulfilling her biological destiny and if, for whatever reason, she decides it is not for her; society will frown upon and call her barren. Or butch. Just plainly, unnatural. Men, on the other hand can leave it as long as they like. For some, becoming a father means they’ll have to do some overtime and working as hard as they do, it’s only fair they rally the boys and blow off some steam come the weekend.

“You said you’d be in this weekend”, girl says dejectedly. Boy flares his nostrils and avoids looking her in the eyes.

“What is this? I thought you were happy with me spending time with the boys?”

Girl thinks hard of what to say next, she wouldn’t want to be accused of being a nag.

“I just thought we could spend some time together.” He starts pacing, pretending to look for his keys. He doesn’t like this creeping feeling of neediness. What is it with women?

“Look, I told you in the beginning, this is the way I live my life. I told you I wouldn’t change, but YOU have.” Girl feels guilty but also angry. She’d dreamed of one day finding the one. They would spend every second together because she thought that was what it would be like to be in love. Boy was almost 35; surely he’d had enough of the boys by now?

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll find something else to do.” Boy sulkily brushes past her and gathers his things together.

”Go where you like but don’t hang out with that tosser I don’t like and don’t wear that dress you bought yesterday, it makes you look like a tart.” Girl sinks a bit deeper.

When two people come together, they do because of the love they feel for each other. Most people have an idea of what they want from a relationship, most people want commitment and to be part of a unit. Relationships have a natural progression. When most women become mothers, they will never be the same again. They can never go back to the time just before they got pregnant. This is also true of women who do not carry full term. Something fundamental changes in their perspective on life, be it the combination of hormones and stress or a spiritual awakening and connection with creation, life is not just about having fun. It is about nurturing and selflessness. She is no longer number 1, she is 1 of 2. Old university mates will never be forgotten, bridesmaids are etched in our hearts but the screaming, pooping, and feeding is current and constant.

How involved the father is, is entirely down to how committed he is. There are fathers who bathe their children, mop the sick up, read them a story and put them to bed. They enjoy their children’s company and don’t call it babysitting. But there are many others who become violent when mothers are at their most vulnerable. “She made me do it with her whinging, moaning, nagging, trouble-making”. Pregnancy is not a walk in the park! Expect tears.

“I’m still the same person I’ve always been. I’ll never change.”

More fool you.

Man Says You’re Doing It Wrong

There is something scarily hilarious about men telling women how to do feminism. For centuries, they have dictated how we live and interact, making the important decisions because our delicate female brains couldn’t possibly handle them. They have dressed us how they’d like us, from burqas in the east to miniskirts and stilettos in the west, most of what we wear is catered to the local man’s tastes. They have managed to convince some women in the world that the only way to prevent sexual attack is to become indistinguishable from the next woman; save only for their eyes, which must not be enhanced in any way, make up is strictly forbidden. If the veil slips a little, Mohammed Bloggs can whip you in broad daylight and some will even be subjected to a virginity test. If her vagina is so sacred, why are strange people touching it without her express consent?

We live in a society where most people cannot believe that their friend is capable of domestic abuse. In my work as a DV worker, I came across a variety of perps, from all walks of life. Yes, there were alcoholics and drug abusers, prolific perpetrators, but then there were also senior psychiatric nurses, housing officers, famous musicians and comedians and sexual deviants with day jobs in Parliament. The world idolises misogynists, from Hunter S Thompson and Bret Easton Ellis to Roman Polanski and Woody Allen, privilege buys them immunity from laws we fought hard for to protect womankind. Their anger and vitriol against women makes them interesting to men who feel the same way. We live in a man’s world and what he says goes. “Oh but he’s so talented and so witty.” Like Frankie Boyle? Why do people laugh at depravity? What is funny about a disabled child trying to rape his mother?

Ellis told the Guardian “If you’re writing about a misogynist, does that then make a book misogynist? I don’t think I’m a misogynist. But even if I was, so what? So you’re a misogynist – so what? So you’re a homophobe, or a racist – so what? Does that make your art less interesting? I don’t think so. Call me a misogynist. I think basically most men are misogynistic. And it is what it is.”

Hm. So it doesn’t matter that it is damaging to women, just that people should find it interesting. Who cares if a few women get hacked or young girls get sodomised and then denied justice because Switzerland is happy about harbouring child rapists? Polanski pleaded guilty to ‘having sex with a 13 year old’, he served 42 days of his sentence but scarpered before they could hold him any longer. Rape apologists think of him as poor Polanski, some explain away his raping of a minor as a delayed reaction to the murder of his pregnant wife. Having experienced unwanted and illegal male attention aged 10, 15 and then between 17 and 21, I can’t say it has inspired me to sexually assault the male of the species.

They tell us our brand of feminism won’t work. “Feminism and bitterness do not make good bedfellows”. Being the most optimistic person I know, I can’t say I am bitter about life. About misogyny, yes. If there was a reduction in misogyny, this would also affect the level of bitterness I feel. I was called bitter for calling a perp, a perp. If a man ever thumps someone, whatever their justification, he is a perp. If he refuses to clean or pesters for money/sex, he is a perp. If he plays women against each other “just be grateful, you’re the one who won me!” He is a perp. If he sleeps around and denies it as though butter wouldn’t melt, he is a perp. If he calls you a slag, a slut, a whore, a cunt, he is a perp. If he refuses to have himself tested for sexually transmitted diseases, he is a perp. If he encourages you to take drugs, he is a perp. If he ever says “but I would never hit a woman”, you can be pretty sure he probably has. If he keeps company with wife beaters and womanisers, he is a perp. By condoning such behaviour, he is in agreement that sometimes it is justified. Violence against women is never ok. Decent men will always walk away.

They feel it’s their place to educate you, true misogynists really believe in their superiority.

“How do you ever expect to learn anything? Just a thought.”

Erm, I’m a reader? I study the world news on a daily basis. I keep my ear to the ground for local news. My 30 years of life feels like twice that amount, a lot has happened in a very short space of time, for me. But apparently what I really need is for a man to teach me the real truth. I imagine the average man believes me to be a Birkenstock wearing lesbian wanting to smash all men instead of patriarchy. “I just hope you get passed your hatred of men one day.”

I will never stop hating dominating, perpetrating, raping, sliming, sleazing, lying, womanising miscreants EVER.

If I were a man, I would not have strange men clamouring to educate me. If I were a man, I’d be accused of being a lily livered pussy, whipped by man-haters.com into letting men down by acknowledging the abuse and injustice women must face.

Controlling men control women, but they also control men too.

Oppressive White Men

‘Why are you dressed like that? So you’re born over here. Why not take our identity? Why not take our ways? When was the last time you came out in a mini skirt and a low cut top?’

Yes, big burly white man on Make Bradford British, I will wear a mini skirt and low top, and then when I get raped, you can tell me I was asking for it.

I usually avoid watching anything with Asian people in it because I usually end up screaming at the television. Telly has a knack of seeking out the stereotype and whilst some people will acknowledge this, middle England read them like the Daily Mail. Insomnia is one of those gifts I’ve come to accept, where you can catch up on all the stuff you really didn’t need to know. It’s not like you have much of a choice, everyone else has gone to bed.

So I found myself watching Channel 4s latest “Shock! Brown people in Britain” series. It follows a group of people living in the notoriously overrun by brownies area of Bradford. Or Bradistan as it is affectionately termed. This was a coupla weeks ago but I have not been able to shake off the image of the white man barking down to the Asian girl in a headscarf.

I lolled. I’ve been told I smile when I’m talking about the worst stuff. My lol wasn’t one of joy, he certainly wasn’t making funnies. Big white man was telling small Asian girl that she was not welcome if she was going to cover up. Yes dear, strip so we can see whether you’re worth having a go on. And then, he rubbed her leg. Being a woman, if some strange, frankly disgusting man touched me without my consent, I could have him for assault. Yet, whilst I watched in horror, the Asian girl pushed his hand away, clearly mortified but did not say anything. And nobody else did either.

I would like to share my disgust. How dare he? How dare any man tell any woman what to wear?

They make it about race so we forget the misogyny.