Standing on a chair shouting

‘No, ladies...I would like you to stand on a chair and shout ‘I AM A FEMINIST’’

-Caitlin Moran in How To Be a Woman

Why I’m standing on that chair and shouting that I AM NOT.

Firstly I have a bone to pick with the word ‘feminism’.  In an age when hidden advertising executives control our minds like the matrix, the look and feel of a word can be more important than the meaning itself. Unfortunately feminism has been a victim of this; being long associated with ‘butch lesbian’ type characters and bra burning which many women find impossible to relate with.  Although this is not necessarily how I view it, I too am hung up on semantics, after all its nearest cousins are female, feminine and fem-bot, implying a gender superior approach.  I believe that this causes feminism to be inward looking and rigid and only able to shout about a problem that has diversified beyond the realms of this traditional ideology.

Feminism has seemed to have got hung up on a very limited agenda: the pay-gap, child rearing, sexual freedom and by extension the power divide.  I can barely hear myself think what with the incessant whining of feminists who believe that the female orgasm sorely neglected.  I am the first to admit I am cranky when I am left hanging but I also understand that there are bigger issues: starving children in Somalia for one.  OK, I admit that was uncalled for, but if women want something to get passionate about I suggest female genital mutilation.  This is a question of flagrant human rights abuse, that should be taken on by all self respecting human beings, and not pigeon holed to those brandishing the F word.  So there we go, we’ll all be happy campaigning for its abolition together.

In truth feminism has become restricting.  Yes, I am a woman.  Yes, I have opinions.  Yes, I am successful.  So therefore according to feminism I must join the sisterhood.  I thought feminism was meant to free women not chain them in further shackles, the binds of which cut even deeper as it is our own kind who imprison us.  I believe in choice; in all things, by all people, so I propose a new strategy.  It is true, women are still being held back.  I might even go so far as to say they are being held back by men.  But not because men believe we are incapable of equal performance, but rather because we have so long been concentrating on ourselves; we have neglected their need to reform as tantamount to our own evolution.  I again refer to Caitlin Moran who seems to be under the impression that there is no pressure on men to be a certain way (Moran, 2011).  I think that’s ridiculous.  They as boxed as we are- just very much more unwilling to admit it, so freeing them may free ourselves. 

I have heard the phrase ‘maleism’ banded about, however my previous arguments concerning Mad Men inspired cronies, rubbing their hands together behind oversized desks suggests this may not be the way forward.  Instead we need an ideology that recognises the differences and similarities between the sexes. Academia has seen a split in recent years with American Feminism and European Feminism embracing subtly different philosophies.  The American school is firmly in the women = man, anything you can do I can probably do better and I can at least do as well.  This has caused policy in the States to be formed on the assumption of this homogeneity; despite there still being a strong cultural belief that woman are in fact the home makers.  This has left women with no support when it comes to juggling all aspects of their home lives, careers and political engagement.  There simply aren’t enough hours in the day for most women to productively pursue all three without any sort of help.  The Europeans could be seen to be more cautious by recognising that men and women have differences and similarities.  Both are considered to be able to contribute in equal amounts to any given situation but not in the same ways i.e. treat me equally not as equals, and therefore flexibility is key.  Although this is closer to a world I would want to live in I still think it could go further.

The sum of all of this is that issues do not need to be fought by women for women.  Issues are no longer gender specific that ways they once were.  Historical trappings of male superiority such as engagement rings to signify ownership and forced sex within a marriage not being considered rape have all but been extinguished.  Feminists should congratulate themselves and their predecessors as these are decisive victories for society but there is a reason for the observed loss in momentum (as highlighted by the editor of Cosmopolitan magazine in an interview in the Guardian http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2012/feb/19/interview-louise-court-editor-cosmopolitan).  Maybe feminism simply has no place in this brave new world and maybe that’s OK.  

Dear Feminism

Where did we meet?  All those years ago.  I cannot remember.  It was probably in a crowded room.  I imagine our eyes met as we both reached for the last cocktail sausage.  That’s all it would have taken.  I would have sworn to be yours forever; for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.  The times I stood by your side while all around would mock you.  I defended you with every inch of myself and you protected me, protected all in your flock.  There was no room for anything else, what else did I need, we lived in a delicate balance.  But was this enough?  Have I been your loyal and faithful companion?  Have you been mine?  And this is why I’m writing.  I don’t think I know you any more.  There was a time when every contour of your being was familiar to me.  When I would ramble idly on your tranquil slopes, taking refuge in your cause but now there is a baroness where once you flourished.  Your supple boughs that shivered in gentle breezes are stern and rigid. 

You were mine because I chose you, and for you that was enough.  Now you are gluttonous.  Now you are no longer satisfied with just being mine and instead display the scalps of your conquests for all to see.  Now you demand my allegiance; hold me to ransom.  Judging my self-worth by the heady heights of your success.  You give nothing and take all.

Are you wincing under that ferocious exterior?  Will you be sad to see me go?  Am I being too cruel?  Are you merely a product of our unbounded ambition?  Is it I who has created the monster that stands before me now?  Are you the fractured mirror through which I see the world, a cowering child fought over by warring parents.  You are all, and yet nothing.  Your duplicity makes me uncomfortable; I can no longer look you in the eye and recognise the landscape you are cultivating.  I know the grass may not be greener, maybe we will be forced to do battle for those pastures new, but I will once again know what I am fighting for, and understand the weight of my own sacrifices.

And so, dear friend, this is goodbye.