It all started like every other classic tale usually starts. With the lead protagonist on the back of a ride-on lawn mower, listening to Fleetwood Mac. You know. That old trope.
Now, I have a decently sized property out in the countryside where I live, or I should say, where my wonderful in-laws do. Last August was the driest summer that I can remember in my lifetime.
It was hot and sticky with weekly fire-bans, and it hadn’t rained for over a month.
As a result of barely getting any rain, the grass had shrivelled and peeled back in many areas, revealing the uneven turf beneath. The tractor had no padding against the bumps, and dips that it plowed across.
It was a rough ride. There wasn’t an inch of body fat I had on me that wasn’t jiggling and I was forced to realize that I had jowls.
I was wearing shorts and a bikini top while all of this was happening, and since I already knew who the next casualties were, I threw on the sweater I’d brought with me and zipped myself up. We live quite a ways outside of city limits, but not far out enough to excuse the sight of boobs popping out of swimsuits like Mexican jumping beans.
I mean…not even I wanted to see that.
Do you ever do this thing where you laugh at something simply because you can picture someone else’s reaction to it? Usually someone you’re close enough with to know what makes them smile, what scares them or what pisses them off.
I found myself doing that…but instead of picturing a person that I knew, I found myself picturing people I wish I didn’t know.
The North American, Third-Wave feminist.
I pictured a small legion of these angry little creatures swarming my tractor and forming an aggressive support group, informing me that my decision to stash my breasts was a result of some body-shaming PTSD brought about by the Patriarchy. That I must take my sweater back off, or else risk undoing a century’s worth of female empowerment.
I had a laugh at the thought.
Could you just imagine a universe where a group of people hid behind dumpsters or artificial shrubbery in lobby rooms…creeping around and eavesdropping for things they can take offense to so they can make a huge scene-
Oh. Wait.
I laugh at funny things, I laugh at unfunny things, and sometimes I laugh at sad things. I find myself laughing more and more at the latter it seems, as time progresses.
Sometimes I imagine myself hopping into a DeLorean, and travelling back in time, Marty McFly style. Back to my ‘super rebellious’ teenage years, to be specific, that consisted of heavy eyeliner, ripped panty hose and smuggling NOFX CD’s into my room, when I was supposed to be listening to Christian contemporary.
I think of myself travelling back to a time where 14 year old me could not fathom the existence of an ugly, duplicitous face beneath the mask of the deliciously, nonconformist counter-culture that I had so adored.
It was a slow burn. A long, drawn-out death if there ever was one.
Or at least, that was how it seemed to me as I watched the crowd that I fantasized as bold, unique, Guy Fawkes mask-wearing revolutionaries devolve into mindless cry-bullies.
Now, don’t read me wrong. I don’t consider myself a right-winger…and I sure as hell don’t align with the left. The only way I could ever give myself a concrete identity, is if South Park somehow became an established political persuasion.
To paraphrase, I do my very best to stay as centred as possible.
I am, however, finding this balance increasingly hard to maintain in such an imbalanced society.
I have to stop myself from rabbit-trailing too much, as I have the tendency to be scatter-brained.
There is no way I could begin to perform such a tedious autopsy on the death of so many things that I hold dear, such as:
Free speech, Anti-censorship, Diversity of opinion, Intellectual discourse of opposing viewpoints, Individual justice …just to name a few.
There are countless reasons for the draining of the Free World’s life blood, and countless people behind those reasons. I could never hope to cover them all in one article. So I’ll just stick with one.
A glittering example of how a once courageous and desperately needed movement has managed to make itself useless.
Spoilers out. I’m talking about feminism.
First wave feminism is obviously exempt from this.
I’m not a total ingrate and yes, despite the title of this piece, I am still a woman.
I hold nothing but the highest regard for the original suffragettes. I owe them a great deal.
The rights that we have in the Western World today because of the bravery of these social innovators are to be cherished.
But then of course, riding on the coat tails of a once great campaign is its low quality sequel. Tired, poorly written and starring characters who make you realize that Jar-Jar Binks might not have been so bad after all.
Let’s set up some perimeters before we try and unclog this toilet. I am referring specifically to Western third-wave feminists.
You know who I’m talking about, even if you don’t want to admit that you do.
They’re not hard to miss, language policing on university campuses…
Fashionably pairing Birkenstocks with toplessness before taking to the streets in a courageous stand against male subjugation…
Spreading awareness in popular media about real global scourges like period shaming. (Just as a footnote, I cannot wait until fart-shaming becomes an actual thing. But thank goodness our society hasn’t reached such a level of oppression that we need to start a dialogue about that yet.)
These fakes, unlike their predecessors, are not warriors for equality. Their breed of bastardized feminism runs on self-victimization, mass-presumption, and antagonism. Equality be damned, they won’t stop until they have total dominion…and then some.
It’s a crude, despotic offshoot of the borderline Machiavellian empire of identity politics. Which has become less funny and more frightening with each passing day, as these frothing harpies are being allowed to muddy the waters of due process, in order to nurture their victim status.
Now, I would never deny the existence of true female victims.
Your neighbour down the street who is routinely battered by her drunken partner.
The woman on the headlines who was assaulted in an alleyway.
The college freshman who was coerced into sex after her drink had been tampered with.
The examples, even if they are a bit cliche, are but a few of the many ways women can and have become targets of heinous atrocities.
There are women who have been violated, humiliated and abused by depraved and evil monsters. They need to be upheld and defended, like any other human being who has been harmed by a criminal.
Notice, criminal.
Criminal.
A word that, to my knowledge, is not synonymous with ‘male’ or the ever-elusive patriarchy.
In Western civilization, criminals are punished. Today especially, the consequences of sexual assault, for example have reached a dire level of severity, and rightfully so.
Are there cases of justice miscarriages where a criminal who has abused a woman evades consequences? Certainly.
But to take these instances of corruption and claim that this is the rule of the Western World and not the exception is completely inane.
Yet these particular strain of feminists enjoy routinely vilifying all men. And what’s worse…they can never give a straight answer when asked exactly why men are to blame. It’s like watching a Creationist and an Evolutionist being thrown in a room together to back up their theories, with the Creationist yelling, ‘God!’ and the Evolutionist yelling ‘Yeah? Well, Science!’ and leaving it at that.
Broad answers with vague wording have never been conducive to problem solving.
In fact, the beverage of choice for these third-wavers and Social Justice turds is usually a cocktail of willful ambiguity and crippling emotion.
It’s hard enough to have an intelligent conversation with groundless generalizations. It’s even harder when said conversation is either shouted, sworn or relayed to you on your laptop screen in ALL CAPS.
These brush-stroke arguments create an environment where actual victims are undermined, and truly dangerous offenders are lumped into the same category as catcalling construction workers and man-spreaders.
This makes the radical American feminist something to be both laughed at and feared in turns.
On the topic of victimization, I don’t think anyone with a basic education would deny that there are parts of our world that are still ruled by gross inequality.
Where the misplaced modern feminist siren call of male oppression would ring clear and true.
I often wonder why these passionate women’s advocates usually have no desire to find useful employment in places like these.
I’m not even half as well traveled as I wish to be someday, but I’ve been to enough places where I’ve seen it first hand.
Places where women are bartered like property into marriages they did not choose. Places where women are ostracized as whores or even punished if they don’t have certain parts of their bodies covered at all times.
Places where if a man commits a crime, he has the legal right to send his wife to jail in his stead.
I once spent an afternoon playing with a daycare of beautiful children in South America who would return at the end of the day to the prison that they were forced to call home. Why? Because there is a day once a year where male prisoners are allowed access to female prisoners, uninhibited to do what they will.
So. That will mean that a majority of these women will not only be raped, but in many cases, impregnated by their rapists. Since there are essentially no child-care systems in place, these women are forced to raise their children in prison.
Both mother and child incarcerated for crimes that are overlooked because they are considered sub-human.
Let’s not even get into genital mutilation and honour killings.
Let’s you know…just overlook all of the parts of our world that are still bleeding so that we can focus our attentions on more important things.
Like slut walks and knitting pussy hats.
To all the bloodthirsty ‘human rights crusaders’ who are most likely not reading this…We, in the Western world live under a banner of complete freedom.
This is something that you loathe hearing, because it reminds you that your anger is disproportionate to the actual liberties that you hold.
No one is going around trying to get your evening menstrual blood art class shut down. No one is going to silence you. That’s not how things work in the free world that you despise so much.
The only thing that is oppressing you are viewpoints that are not your own, and I know that there’s nothing more terrifying to people like you.
But regardless, here are some of mine. It’s more advice. Take it, leave it or be triggered by it. Your choice.
Stop doing shit that’s going to get you slot #5 on an SJW cringe compilation.
Learn how to debate without throwing a tantrum when someone disagrees with you.
Being loud doesn’t make you smart.
Independence does not involve depending on all men to fix every problem that you blame them for.
Start considering your individual identity, as opposed to your group identity. Stop sacrificing your ability to think for yourself at the altar of the mob.
Focus on building your own character and integrity, not subscribing to a hive mentality.
You’re a person before you’re a woman.
Learn the Oxford definition of equality.
Practice the Oxford definition of equality
Criminals are not men. Abusers are not men. Criminals are criminals and abusers are abusers.
Get out of your comfort zone. Stop fighting easy causes with no stakes.
Stop embarrassing your foremothers.
Seek out individual cases of real abused women or go to places in the world where women are not equal and channel your rage there.
Then again, I suppose if you’re already doing these things you wouldn’t be a feminist.
Ah well.
Now back to the kitchen with you.
ADHDForTheEveryman 