If women can’t win, everyone loses. That, at least, is the conclusion of several new studies into how gender attitudes are changing. One team of academics from Wharton, looking into how men and women negotiate, observed that since Donald Trump’s election there had been a marked “increase in men acting more aggressively toward women”. In lab sessions, young men were more inclined than previously to fight young women for a small amount of money that had to be split between them – and the net result was that everyone went home poorer.This sounds like a neat modern morality tale, as do most psychological studies into sex and behaviour – at least the ones that get press attention. We tend to interpret such studies as we want to see them, which makes this sort of research only slightly more useful than reading palms or animal entrails – albeit a lot less fun, because after generations of painstaking psychological research, the one thing academics have conclusively proven is that students are endlessly willing to humiliate themselves for beer money.
Tag Archives: Women Rights
Sunday evening saw the conclusion of Big Little Lies, HBO’s wonderful seven-episode limited series that wasted no time sweeping up scores of captivated viewers. What could have been a tiresome outing—a group of affluent, caterwauling helicopter moms grappling with scandal in the ranks—proved to be a deeply felt, expertly paced puzzle that only grew more compelling with each hour-long installment. Last night, the show ended with a degree of feminist catharsis that feels uncommon in an era defined by political drudgery.
Mentre Donald Trump, e con lui i suoi fan di destra e purtroppo anche di sinistra, fantasticano su un’improbabile de-globalizzazione, spunta (o rispunta) un movimento femminista che ha tutte le caratteristiche di un movimento globale. Mentre i mezzi d’informazione mainstream capovolgono l’elezione di Trump nella sconfitta del femminismo perché il famoso tetto di vetro non è stato infranto neanche stavolta, spunta (o rispunta) un movimento femminista che mette il suddetto tetto di vetro all’ultimo posto della sua agenda, e al primo la vita. Mentre l’egemonia del capitalismo neoliberale vacilla ovunque sotto i colpi di una crisi ormai decennale, e ovunque ripropone per tutta risposta le sue ricette fallimentari senza trovare a sinistra ostacoli rilevanti e aprendo a destra vie di fuga razziste e fascistoidi, spunta (o rispunta) un movimento femminista che si riappropria della centralità femminile nella produzione e nella riproduzione sociale, ne fa una leva sovversiva e chiama tutti, donne uomini e altri generi di ogni paese e di ogni colore, a unirsi a questa spinta sovversiva. Sono i colpi d’ala che solo la politica delle donne è capace periodicamente di inventarsi, gli scarti imprevisti dall’agenda politica e giornalistica del presente che solo la politica delle donne è capace periodicamente di produrre. E che fanno dell’8 marzo di quest’anno una giornata diversa dal solito, inedita, irrituale, inaugurale.
Silence is golden, or so I was told when I was young. Later, everything changed. Silence equals death, the queer activists fighting the neglect and repression around Aids shouted in the streets. Silence is the ocean of the unsaid, the unspeakable, the repressed, the erased, the unheard. It surrounds the scattered islands made up of those allowed to speak and of what can be said and who listens.Silence occurs in many ways for many reasons; each of us has his or her own sea of unspoken words. English is full of overlapping words, but for the purposes of this essay, regard silence as what is imposed, and quiet as what is sought. The tranquillity of a quiet place, of quieting one’s own mind, of a retreat from words and bustle is acoustically the same as the silence of intimidation or repression, but psychically and politically something entirely different. What is unsaid because serenity and introspection are sought and what is not said because the threats are high or the barriers are great are as different as swimming is from drowning. Quiet is to noise as silence is to communication.
Buenos Aires — Last month, three women in a coastal Argentine town decided to sunbathe sans bikini tops. It could have been inconsequential, but a tourist complaint drew 20 police officers and six patrol cars to the beach to threaten the women with arrest unless they covered up. The episode quickly incited a national debate leading to demonstrations called “tetazos,” or “boob uprisings.” In early February, nearly 2,000 women gathered in different places around the country — topless or covered — to demand their right to bare their breasts.
The camera crew wanted a snappy answer. We were filming a short news segment on the beach in Brighton, with a frigid wind gusting around the boom mic and seagulls circling overhead, screaming for chips. I didn’t know how to reply.
The issue of strength comes up a lot these days—for me it’s one of the standard questions I’ve come to expect when people ask me about feminism. That day, however, it stung. The fact was that I’d barely made it out of the house to meet the very nice people from Swiss TV, because I’d spent the previous three hours trying and failing to get out of bed, in a pit of seasonal depression darkened by political despair, somewhere in between where the showering stage ends and the stage in which old Placebo records start to really speak to you. I didn’t have the structural integrity to be my usual snowflake self.
The Turkish government, in keeping with its established reputation as a shameless violator of human rights and decency, recently made unfavourable headlines yet again with what international media have termed a “child rape bill” that would have pardoned men convicted of statutory rape provided they marry their victims.
In these febrile times, women’s freedom and autonomy has become a bargaining chip in the poker game of public propaganda — and that goes double for brown, Muslim and migrant women. Angela Merkel should know as well as any other female politician how demeaning it is to be treated as if what you wear is more important than what you say and what you do. With the far-right on the rise across Europe, however, the German chancellor has become the latest lawmaker to call for a partial ban on the burqa and niqab.
When he raped me, he beat my name from me. When he raped me, in a dorm room at the Institution Above The Trees, he promised he would kill me.“No,” I said, after he punched me, after he knocked me to the floor, dragged me to my bed by a fistful of my hair. “No,” and he hit me again. “No,” and he tightened his hands around my throat.Three noes. A knocking. An unanswered call.No, No, No rattled in my head as he tore into me and I spilled all over, and I cried, and I wanted my momma, and I hovered on the edge of unconsciousness, little bursts of light with each blow.His body, a cannon firing into me.Three noes, one for each of us: my rapist, the Institution, and me.
She lost. We lost. Women lost. Racism, nationalism, and “economic anxiety” won. Misogyny beat feminism. Wives with pro-Trump husbands didn’t secretly pull the lever for Hillary—only 8 percent of Republican women voted for her. Pussy did not unsheathe her claws and grab back with enough fire and ferocity. Yes, the gender gap hit a historic high: 24 percent. Yes, in every demographic, more women than men voted Democratic. Yes, a narrow majority of Americans voted for the sane, competent, qualified woman for president—and in a normal country, she’d be heading to the White House. But in the United States, having the most votes doesn’t mean you win.