Insieme

Temperature: a sunny but windy 15/59 degrees.

Eating: Just how much indignity and degradation are women supposed to stomach in this world?

Drinking: to Finland and Sweden joining NATO. Maybe we should toast Vladimir Putlerini as well, he did give us the shot in the arm by sending the Russian army to shoot, bomb, rape and pillage his neighbors. Everything changed on February 24, and that’s on him.

Listening: to something old, something new, something borrowed and something melancholy and blue…it’s the Eurovision Song Contest! Douze points to those singing in something other than English. No French this year? Dommage, but dix points to Breton being heard (a Celtic language, you know; France 3 Bretagne will provide commentary in Breton in the Grand Final on Saturday, which is awesome; and the Finnish Broadcasting Company YLE will provide Sámi-language commentary, which is brilliant).

Watching: the rise of Gilead, where functioning ovaries and a healthy uterus become property of the state; where if you have said ovaries and uterus, you will not possess bodily autonomy; where you will have the responsibilities of an adult but not the rights of one; where if you get pregnant, you will be forced to give birth; where the state owns your reproductive bits but owes you neither maternal care, paid maternity leave nor childcare; where you can’t get an abortion but neither do you get help and advice avoiding an unwanted pregnancy in the first place; where it’s back to sex for reproduction; where enjoying sex becomes impossible with having to fear an unintended and unwanted pregnancy no matter your contraception; where a child is a gift when planned but a punishment when not, punishment for having had sex for fun and pleasure, in which case you deserve said punishment in the form of a child to always remind you that you are here to breed, bitch, breed. You are a beast of burden. You are a slave. A thing. Property. And they say no one can take away your dignity, your inherent self-worth, but it sure as hell feels like there are people out there doing their level best to do just that. Dehumanize. Debase. Reduce us to an object.

Reading: that if we tolerate this, more will follow. And don’t you dare claim that’s alarmist, hysterical or paranoid talk and behavior because that would be patronizing BS and turns out the hysterical and paranoid alarmists have been right all along in their mistrustful and feverish sounding of alarms. Sharia laws by any other name are still state-sanctioned subjugation.

Writing: back and forth with friends and family, friends and family who all happen to possess ovaries and a uterus, which would categorize them as second-class citizens to be dominated and dictated to. The children growing up in these families will be treated according to what’s under their underwear: found testes, congratulations, you are free, autonomous; oh, ovaries, sorry, you are not. There are rights and then there are women’s rights, and those are negotiable and mutable, because apparently human rights don’t apply to the women and girls of this world. Can you imagine the uproar the proposal of a vasectomy for all boys would cause? That would guarantee a pregnancy- (but not STD-) free sex life, it could be reversed when you were ready and able to start a family, and it would cost a fraction of what now goes into everything having to do with contraception and maternal and child care. No? Too…invasive? You can’t regulate a human body like that? On that we agree, my friend. Mask and vaccine mandates were out of the question. Because self-determination! Bodily autonomy!! Abortion? Breed, bitches, breed.

Thinking: What do you think that does to someone’s self-worth? To how boys and young men view girls and young women? To how girls and young women see themselves? What does that teach? What kind of message does that convey? Is there not enough gender inequality as it is? Is life not difficult, demeaning, dangerous enough for women and girls as it is, on a global level, still? You want to go and add to that, after all the progress made? You want to give ammunition to the likes of Xi and Putin who love to highlight every deficiency in democracy? No, of course they offer no real alternative, but they do use every opportunity to point out that more democracy does not necessarily equal more freedom. So don’t ask for rights and don’t ask for freedom, it will only hurt. Do as you are told. Breed, bitches, breed.

Feeling: Still furious. Still determined. Still incredulous and heartbroken. Not your bitch, not your toy, you regressive, repressive hypocrites.

Unity

It's International Women's Day and I'm exchanging clinking glasses, kisses, hugs and flexed biceps emojis with friends. It's a celebration, a chance to lift and carry one another, but one laced with sisterly sorrow. The world keeps torturing women in such subtle and sadistic ways that it's hard not to take it personally. The mere knowledge of millennia of torment can be dispiriting and debilitating, as if we can feel the fates of our foremothers in our bones.

And to those now thinking "I'm sorry but it's 2021, get over it and get on with it": I'm sorry but I can't help you, I simply don't have time to educate you, get smart and then get cracking, it's an emergency and we are all on call. 2020 was a major setback for women and women's rights (women's rights!! we need a separate term for what ought to be universal and inalienable, for fuck's sake) and we will keep on sliding in 2021.

In a perfect world we present our case, a perfectly justified one, and presto, the world tips the scales and we find ourselves on an equal footing. In the real world life is a steeplechase without handicaps; men have a disproportionate, institutionalized, age-old advantage over women. It's possibly the stupidest thing humanity has ever invented and perpetuated. Gender inequality hurts women and men alike. Our lives would be easier, happier, more prosperous and peaceful were women given a fair chance. Gender equality is in everyone's best interest, economically, ethically and environmentally. Every vote, voice and act against gender equality is self-defeating and self-destructive.

And if you still don't know what I'm talking about then you've just figured out what I'm talking about: men and women share a planet but live in two different realities.

Same same but different

Temperature: a slushy 4/39 degrees

Eating: Heading out to dinner later today to meet up with my tribe of fierce fabulous fearless women. Happy International Women’s Day! ✊

Drinking: Oh I’m sure there’ll be a toast or several.

Watching: the new Moominvalley series. We need a Moomin emoji. To the Unicode Consortium, let's go!

Listening: to the X Ambassadors

Reading: How to Be a Good Creature: A Memoir in Thirteen Animals by Sy Montgomery, illustrated by Rebecca Green. This is a beautiful book on so many levels.

Thinking: Don’t judge me, exalt me, berate me or underestimate me/anyone based on my/his/her sex. What we do, think and say is what counts.

Feeling: A tad bit under the weather from the flu my son gifted me with. But thanks for waiting until carnaval was done!

Can you make this thing go faster?

Yesterday was International Day of the Girl Child. And you were expecting a lecture, weren't you, dearest denizens? You didn't get one because you know what I think. You know what to do. You know what I think you should do. I have only one thing to add to every post I've written on gender and feminism and equality: 

Gentlemen, we need you. Women can debate these issues among themselves all year/century/millennium long but that is only half the discussion, half the solution. With still too few of us in positions of power i.e. with voices that carry you need to lend us yours. Not just your benevolent thoughts and a candle lit at eight on a Tuesday but your actual words, spoken out loud, when you feel, no, when know you should say something. Call bullshit when you hear it, call out idiots when you catch them, don't expect the situation to improve only because you're not actively trying to hinder progress. 

You don't need superpowers to be a hero. You don't even need to be a hero to gain our trust, garner our respect or win our love. All you need to do is promise you'll be there when we need you. The time is now.

Hey brother

Lances at the ready, gentlemen, I'mma climbing on a high horse. Cue groans oh gawd it was such a lovely day what now? International Women's Day! Yes, I know, but I was kinda busy on Saturday, and this year's theme stands every day of the week/month/year. Equality for women is progress for all.

You gotta wonder sometimes, and gents please don't charge before I've had my say and please please don't take offense because I do not mean every man on the planet, but are men stupid or something? You really want to shoulder the burden, financial, political, enter areas of overrepresentation here, on your own? Like really really? Because women sure feel that way sometimes, that you're making life unnecessarily hard for yourselves keeping your own counsel, upholding your old boys' clubs, anti-social networks closing the door on fully capable, willing and able women, people differentiated by the fact that their breasts tend to be bigger than yours.

Considering that our breasts have nothing to do with our brains, they sure play a big and baffling part in the oddest of times and places. The same goes for other discriminating factors. Irrelevant. At least they should be. So don't go there. With your eyes, or your hands. Your thoughts? Keep them to yourselves if you're with Camp Chauvinist. And go camp somewhere else. It's 2014 for crying out loud but you wouldn't believe it reading the Everyday Sexism Project stories and suchlike.

I have one, every woman does, starring that part of the female anatomy that makes many a man stir and stare and many a woman insecure for life. This was way back when I had hardly anything to make you stare or stir, a time when I didn't know if I liked what I saw or what I would be seeing in a year or two, but there they were. Now. Picture a bus with many school girls, young and a bit older, on board. Along comes a gang of three boys, 17 to 19-year-olds, about to play a game as they make their way to the back: breast spotting. Breast spotting with running commentary.

I had plenty of time to realize what they were doing. Plenty of time to watch their faces, see those smirks, listen to their lewd remarks and laughter, hear other girls hiss and curse. Time to wish I was someone else, somewhere else. I intended to look away, pretend I saw or heard nothing, brush it off with indifference. I ended up looking the boy who stopped in front of me straight in the eye.

Big mistake. I still remember what he looked like and I still remember what he said, but I was thirteen years old and I hated them, those boys I didn't know and never saw again with the fire of a thirteen-year-old, and that makes the whole episode that much harder to forget. To them it was just a stupid game. To the girls in that bus they were just stupid period. But when the games and comments start piling up some girls really do stop listening and some girls stop talking and some girls stop believing they'll ever meet a decent guy and if they do he's probably just pretending or a recovering asshole about to relapse and who wants that, you know.

I'm not kidding, gentlemen. I kid you not, I've held a girl's hand, tried to talk her out of giving up on you, told her there are plenty of good men out there because I knew there were, just you wait and see. So for the love of all that is holy please don't make your life unnecessarily hard, okay. Don't be an insensitive jerk. It's 2014 for crying out loud meaning you're very much at risk of being on the receiving end, the punch line of a sexist joke and who wants that, but what goes around comes around, you know. Or as a former card-carrying playboy now a father of three girls put it: "Poetic justice much?" I wonder what he'll teach his daughters about men, what he'll tell them about his wild days and ways.

Many women have turned feminists, and I mean hardcore, card-carrying feminists, after breaching the gates of power or breaking through the glass ceiling only to be confronted by some card-carrying chauvinist questioning her every move and word. Many men have turned feminists, and I mean hardcore, deeply concerned feminists, upon the birth of a daughter. They look at the world through the eyes of a woman and don't always like what they see. They know what kind of boys their girls will face along the way because they've met them all, maybe even been one of the worst kind once, and there's nothing they can do about it now but be responsible, empathetic role models not just for their daughters but their sons as well.

I know men who wish women ruled the world. I know women who wish we did. Most people I know just wish we could get on with the business of living and loving without having to hide or exploit or abuse or excuse or resist or explain our own sex, or the opposite one. Making a power struggle of it is a monumental waste of time and resources and we're kind of running out of both on this planet so...truce?

Empowering your sisters benefits all you misters. There's nothing in this world we wouldn't do for you. You've capitalized on that. There's nothing in this world we can't do. Why not capitalize on that too.

All yours,

D.

All hands on deck

I know it's Friday and you're gearing up for a fun night and a funtastic weekend but it's also International Day of the Girl Child so could you do me a favor and lend me a hand in support of girls' right to quality education?

Thank you! Love you!!

Here's how:

Sign the petition

Raise your hand using Facebook

Or tweet a picture of you and/or your friends raising hands, just please make sure you add the hashtag #bcimagirl

Why should you care if some girl you don't know can't go to school or some woman you'll never meet can't work? In this economy, global, connected, skewed, screwed, can we really afford not to educate girls and employ women?

He-men and gentlemen, women are more than happy to carry their own weight, share the burden. We don't consider it your responsibility or right to act, speak or choose on our behalf so why do you? We're here to help. So let us. All of us. Each according to their talents. Can we really afford to waste a single pair of capable hands?

Let's hear it for the girls

A girl passed me by the other day, her coat open. It wasn't that warm but at least it had stopped raining, and standing in the sun you could bask in the illusion of spring warmth. She was about fifteen. She could have been seventeen. I'm not sure. So much eye shadow. Even more mascara. I remember myself at that approximate age, putting on extra years by applying too much makeup.

She was young. She was lovely. And she was stacked. Her breasts were oozing out of a v-neck top one size too small, a top that revealed more cleavage than it concealed. They were beautiful breasts, no two ways about it. They were also so prominently on display I couldn't help but notice. Or stare, just for a second or two, before I jerked my eyes back to her face. She looked quite lost in thought, not at all conscious of my ogling. Or maybe it was the confidence of youth, the one that alternates with deep uncertainty.

I had the sudden urge to stop her and ask her what she wanted to say with that chest so...out there. That she thought her breasts were beautiful? That she hoped others noticed exactly how beautiful? Or maybe that her coat was too warm for such a lovely day so she had opened it and the top was what she happened to be wearing? Does it matter? Since I've been obsessing over that sight for days now, wondering why it plagues me so, maybe it does. Since today we celebrate International Women's Day, I say it does.

A part of me wanted to compliment that girl. You got it? Flaunt it! The other part, the maternal, protective part, wanted to walk up to her and zip her up, tell her she didn't have to do that to feel good about herself, or beautiful. Because I sometimes feel that all we've accomplished is the right to take our clothes off when and where we please. And that maybe we shouldn't, you know, not everywhere and all the time, as if the only woman worth listening to and noticing and taking seriously is a half-naked one and that's no way to represent, not until we are free of misunderstandings and misrepresentations.

But the only way I know of getting there is acting as if we already were. Maybe she had arrived. It's just that she may have meant that sexy semaphore for someone in particular, or only herself, but she was flashing all the world while at it. Then again, you can't control how your messages are received and you're not responsible for the reactions they invoke. It's our responsibility to keep our hands and thoughts to ourselves, not assume what someone does is for our pleasure, that it's a mating call, anything at all besides, for example, a pair of very nice breasts. Luckily, not all men have to be reminded of that. Unfortunately, the most obstinate ogres will never get it. But we are free to set them straight. We are free. (Ladies, please exercise that freedom, even when it begs the question why are we forced into these situations time and time again in the first place.)

But never forget it wasn't always so and that for too many women in this world, it still isn't. For centuries, women's bodies have been a battleground. For cultural reasons. Religious. Historical. Socioeconomical. Political. Personal. You name it, they have had their say, even if no woman asked for their opinion. Our bodies come with baggage, baggage a girl has no concept of when she's born. As she grows, the contents of that bag are gradually revealed. In looks, comments, touches. Some welcome and well-meaning, some unwanted and unjust.

On a global scale, Western women in general and Scandinavian women in particular are men, equal in rights and responsibilities and in no danger of being arrested, jailed, tortured or killed for being women. (Not by our governments, at least.) But are we free to define what and who we are, free of the baggage, free of the interpretations and beliefs and definitions, caricatures, stereotypes, simplifications, competing with our own, a woman first, everything else we are second? Anyone else feel we are called to task for them, slapped in the face with them every time we open our mouths? Or our coats?

I don't know a single woman who hasn't been sexually harassed at some point, verbally or physically. You never forget your first one. I had just turned fourteen. He was pushing forty. I was helping out my aunt over the summer holidays. He worked in the same building, an office close to hers. It started quite innocently in the break room, hello and what you're eating or reading there. I thought nothing of it. I certainly didn't think that politely answering his questions would lead to the day when he would bluntly tell me what he had dreamed of doing to me for weeks, and if I was even a bit curious or interested, he would pay me for the privilege.

I should have gone to my aunt that very instant. Called my parents. Called his wife. Told him off. He's long dead but he lives in my head, an animal disguised as Average Joe, a predator I never talked to or glanced at again but who surfaces on occasion. I must have done something, said something, to make him say and think such things. That's how he made made me feel. That's how he made it sound. That's what he said, that I had reeled him in, become his sweet summer dream one day and word and gaze at a time. And here I thought I was merely going about my day, living and breathing, having a snack and trying to be courteous.

Of course it didn't matter what I said or did or didn't. Apparently my mere existence was a provocation. I was somehow responsible for his actions, reactions and impulses. How's that for twisted logic? That is still the logic and responsibility thrust upon women and girls day in day out all over the world. I don't know how else to fight it except to refuse it, time and time again, by being and doing what I want and saying to those who stare or snarl or snap that you don't own me and you can't talk to me like that and that you don't get to boss me around, my body and my mind and my choices are exactly that, mine and mine alone. Act and talk like you do with an unruly child who has to be told a hundred times what goes and what doesn't, a thousand times, before it starts to seep in and have some effect.

It's a tiresome task that takes guts and constant alertness when you'd rather not represent every woman or girl on the planet, when you'd rather just go about your business thinking let them shout or stare, fuck you very much, see if I care. It's a tedious task but you gotta do it, you just have to because if you don't stand up and talk back talk back talk back nothing's ever going to change and you can't stand the thought that nothing's ever going to change, for anyone, and you contributed to that, and that that animal had no right, you were just a kid, but you're all grown up now and never again. Not you. Not anyone.

I

It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
― Maya Angelou, Phenomenal Woman: Four Poems Celebrating Women

You

“What would men be without women? Scarce, sir...mighty scarce.”
― Mark Twain

We

“A feminist is anyone who recognizes the equality and full humanity of women and men.”
― Gloria Steinem

He

"This view that women are somehow inferior to men is not restricted to one religion or belief. Women are prevented from playing a full and equal role in many faiths. Nor, tragically, does its influence stop at the walls of the church, mosque, synagogue or temple. This discrimination, unjustifiably attributed to a Higher Authority, has provided a reason or excuse for the deprivation of women's equal rights across the world for centuries. At its most repugnant, the belief that women must be subjugated to the wishes of men excuses slavery, violence, forced prostitution, genital mutilation and national laws that omit rape as a crime. But it also costs many millions of girls and women control over their own bodies and lives, and continues to deny them fair access to education, health, employment and influence within their own communities.... The truth is that male religious leaders have had -- and still have -- an option to interpret holy teachings either to exalt or subjugate women. They have, for their own selfish ends, overwhelmingly chosen the latter."
― Jimmy Carter, Losing My Religion for Equality

She

“A girl should be two things: who and what she wants.”
― Coco Chanel

Wo/man

“What’s the worst possible thing you can call a woman? Don’t hold back, now. You’re probably thinking of words like slut, whore, bitch, cunt (I told you not to hold back!), skank. Okay, now, what are the worst things you can call a guy? Fag, girl, bitch, pussy. I’ve even heard the term “mangina.” Notice anything? The worst thing you can call a girl is a girl. The worst thing you can call a guy is a girl. Being a woman is the ultimate insult. Now tell me that’s not royally fucked up.”
― Jessica Valenti, Full Frontal Feminism: A Young Woman's Guide to Why Feminism Matters

Woman

“For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.”

― Virginia Woolf

Right now

[We interrupt the current state of play to bring you this message.]

There is a massacre under way. Single incidents that together spell gendercide.

A baby girl is being aborted. The child is not unwanted, only the wrong sex.

A baby girl is born but not cared for or fed. Soon, she's left for dead.

A young girl switches households. She is nine. He is forty-seven. She is his wife now. His slave. His family's slave. Of not much more value than the dirt she sweeps.

A father sells his daughter to the highest bidder. They break her in. Break her will, break her body, then sell it, the only thing she owns, except she never sees the money, only a train of faces. When she has served her purpose, she disappears.

A girl is being raped. It's a punishment. It's retribution. An act of aggression. A means to secure a wife. An attempt to dispel disease.

Yet another is buried in the sand, her head pummeled to a pulp by a hundred men, a thousand. She may or may not have done something to disgrace her family but they suspect.

A young woman lives in fear of abduction, imprisonment, torture, death, because she dared open her mouth, voice a grievance, demand change. Is today the day? Will they get her in the market, in traffic, her own doorstep, while she sleeps? Every second, in fear.

A woman breathes a sigh of relief as her husband goes off to work. With a few hours of respite to look forward to but with no money and no place to go, she decides to try to make it through another day. She makes it through four more. No more.

A woman dies at eighty-seven praying to the heavens that if she has to be born again, please let her be born a man.

A deficit of one hundred million women. More women killed and girls unborn in the last fifty years than men lost in all of the wars of the twentieth century. That deficit has repercussions, effects that in some countries spell trouble for the women who have survived, who were allowed to be born. Some really wish they never had.

Today is the 100th anniversary of International Women's Day, dearest denizens. The official theme this year: "Equal access to education, training and science and technology: Pathway to decent work for women." That is a good one, a highly commendable one. Education and economic empowerment, putting girls through school and women's vocational training can make all the difference.

You may have heard of micro loans or microfinancing. There's Women's World Banking and then there's Women's Bank, which I prefer because it's not just about money, it's about skills and rights as well. Feeling galvanized? You too can support a sister and become a shareholder.

Or, if money's too tight to mention, call your mother and/or grandmother, meet up with your sister, give your daughter your undivided attention, make a date with a girlfriend, smile at a stranger. Let them know how much you love and respect and admire them. And those chicks you really really don't... Maybe today you'll refrain from any badmouthing. Your thoughts don't hurt them, only make you miserable, don't they.

And as for those important men in your life, those who rarely raise their voice against you and who would never ever raise a hand...a kiss, a hug, a compliment wouldn't hurt anything, would it. Let's face it, sweetie darlings, as Phil Collins used to sing, it's just another day for you and me in paradise.

Now go love someone and shine on.

[This concludes today's sermon.]

What it feels like for a girl

I got into a debate over how little girls should be dressed. Gender neutral preferably, as a friend of mine wants. Her problem is that her second daughter is not the tomboy her big sister is. She is a princess in the making, loves all things pink and frilly and girlie. Her mother apologizes for her daughter's tastes. I said she really shouldn't. It makes dressing like a boy okay and being a girlie girl something to be ashamed of.

Girls can wear jeans and cut their hair short, wear shirts and boots, because it's OK to be a boy, but for a boy to look like a girl is degrading, because you think that being a girl is degrading. So says Julie in the film The Cement Garden. (Yes, it's Charlotte Gainsbourg's voice in character in that Madonna song.) In the original Ian McEwan novel, the passage equals girls dressing as boys to a promotion. It was written some thirty years ago. That was then, this is now, right?

I know mothers who have bought baby dolls to their sons to cultivate nurturing tendencies. I know fathers who have refused to do the same so their sons wouldn't develop gay tendencies. Bah, humbug, I say; nature takes its course and it won't ask us for directions. Boys will be boys, girls will be girls, up to a point and always to some extent. Why not let women be women and men be men, and I'm not rooting for any Mars-Venus division.

I'm rooting for variety and the little differences that make the battle between the sexes a win-win mock war at its best, a man look at a woman in appreciation then look again, a woman compliment a man and leave it at that. Or not. And I'm not going into a discussion about equality. We're not quite there yet, and we're not getting there unless we treat equal rights as a human rights issue. Some rules apply to everyone, and it has nothing to do with what you decide to wear to work. Or the playground.