Who else is tiered of a “feminism” that doesn’t address the oppressors (men), and which ignores female oppression in favor of securing the recognition of “gender(s)” in our collective consciousness and symbolic order?
Pretty much… Thanks Lauri Penny, but NO THANKS. Feminism doesn’t need you after all… It was hard even figuring our if her rambling essay had a point.
Now to assume that if you are against pornography you’re against sex, is to assume that anyone who criticizes McDonald’s is anti-eating. People who criticize McDonald’s are against the destruction of the environment, against the assault on healthy foods, and against child obesity. They are against an industrial product. They are not against eating. So why can’t they see that it is the same thing when it comes to pornography and sex?"
Funny you should ask! I’ll let you in on my origin story if you like?
Well, once upon a time I was your average, man-loving, non-opinionated, quiet, submissive, totally sexually available young woman. I loved the dudes. I can’t tell you how much I worshipped those blokes. I couldn’t even open a jar back then. Ah, the memories. I shied from the colour blue. I refused to step into a room that contained power tools. Football frightened me into week long seclusions. Don’t get me started on the horror beer brought on.
And then, one night, I left my window open. It was hot, y’know? I probably shouldn’t have done it.
But in flew the Misandry Fairy. She was magnificent. As she fluttered into my room she left a trail of glittering misogynist tears that sparkled like diamonds. She wore blood red especially smeary lipstick, the type that scares guys and makes them afraid of kissing you, to ward them off. She had beautifully hairy legs, hairy arms, and wore high waisted shorts (which we all know is the 2014 trend men hate). It wasn’t 2014 at the time, you understand, but she’s a fairy so I assume she looked into the future to find inspiration for her particular misandric look. She was also a lesbian. Because we all know how those lesbians hate men, right?
"Claudia," she said to me. "It’s time to face your destiny. Inside of you is a burning misandric rage unlike anything the world has ever seen. When you wake up tomorrow, I want you opening jars left right and centre. Open so many jars that the men get jealous. Open so many jars that you and everyone around you are in danger of drowning in the contents. Keep on opening them. No matter what. Never give up."
I was so shocked that I did not answer. It was the middle of the night and I was unaccustomed to being visited by such wise and noble beings.
Before she left, she turned around in the air, her fluttering rainbow wings shining in the moonlight, and whispered: “Also, you’re queer. The Coming Out fairy was busy so I took his shift. Have a nice day.”
The next morning I awoke and began to carry out my purpose. From that day on, men have trembled to see me. Occasionally they whimper “don’t let her near any jars for the love of God”, but most of the time they merely scatter as I enter any vicinity I please.
I owe her everything. Without her, I would not be the woman I am today.
This story is 100% true. You can quote me on it and everything. Never let anyone tell you fairies don’t exist. They do. And they’re raging misandrists.
Too many of us have had the displeasure of walking into a space for the first time, and getting blank or hostile glances as our welcome—and it usually goes downhill from there. We tear each other apart in so many varied ways in our social spaces, along so many lines of hurt already inscribed into our bodies by white supremacy, heteronormativity, patriarchy, ableism, settler colonialism, classism, overdetermined identity politics, and a long lineage of other violences. It’s frequently assumed that the tag “social space” (or radical bookstore, collective café, bike co-op, and so on) has already done the work for us, as if we are already those perfect actors in our perfectly alternative places.
The conundrum of remaking ourselves as we attempt to remake society appears to stymie us here so much faster than in places with greater vestiges of communal lifeways. It also erects an extra-high hurdle for US social struggles and movements: can we rise above the learned behaviors inculcated by the mythical origin story and its related American dream of the lone individual making it against all odds, pulling themselves up by their own bootstraps, as entrepreneurial pioneer? Can we surmount the way we tend to instrumentalize each other, “valuing” other people as mere things in relation to our cost-benefit analysis and accountability ledger sheet of strategic organizing and movement needs—relations that have been naturalized in us, made subtle and almost invisible, by capitalism? It’s too easy to blame the police or state repression alone for why our projects, much less movements, fail. They fail us, and we fail them.
That everyone stepped up to that challenge—fiercely yet kindly chose not to retreat — was not because the organizers handpicked a remarkable group of people. It was because the culture that we are capable of creating together within our spaces does matter to who we are all able to become, and thus what kinds of caring communities we are capable of starting to practice and, I trust, more frequently constitute. Neither is Carla or the summit organizing collective remarkable. What distinguished them was their perspective on how one might achieve a society without hierarchy, but with freedom, dignity, democracy, and love. They aspired toward goodness, generalized and determined by those facing each other in person, instead of a predetermined set of what anarchists (or any political actors) are for and especially against. Or to put it another way, the summit for me became a way of enacting social goodness as dual power.
I know that I haven’t done justice by a long stretch to describing “organizing social spaces as if social relations matter.” The one and only way to do so is to try it out for yourself in person. You’ll know when it’s working because you’ll feel it, like many of us did in the miraculously grand spaces of Occupy and other uprisings. So let’s all get going to boldly, imaginatively, sometimes with success and oftentimes with failure, give it a friendly new go in our favorite real-life spots of everyday anarchism.
The crowdfunding site allows users to raise money to ban abortion, but won’t allow women to raise money to get one.
Fuck them, for real. Nobody with half a conscience should be using them anymore, not after this, not after their Darren Wilson bullshit.
Do not use GoFundMe.
When we ask [men] if they would like to be treated like the women in porn, they say ‘of course not, but that does not mean that those girls don’t, just because YOU wouldn’t like these things to be done to your body doesn’t mean that THEY do not like it’. Because ‘those girls’ are so different then us, than regular human beings…
The fact is that women have been brainwashed to think that enduring pain is an integral part of their duty of performing femininity. Women harm their feet to walk in high heels. Women voluntarily submit themselves to painful surgeries to have bigger breasts. They go through painful waxing procedures. Women are good women when they overcome their pain with a smile.
And now, thanks to porn, girls are seeking advice on the internet about how to give deepthroated blowjobs without puking and how to make anal sex less painful. Men are never expected to do such things."
comment by MissFit on Porn Part 11: The Difference Between Huffing Dong and Flipping Burgers
"men in porn are paid to orgasm, while women are paid to suffer"