It’s Me if You Want but it’s Not What I Want
“Must be difficult” she said to me “navigating these waters and being a feminist”. I was surprised by the force of my recoil. “I’m not a feminist. That’s just.. wrong.
It’s not that I don’t agree with the major feminist goal of allowing women to contribute to the song of humanity. I do! Vociferously. The Patriarchy is just another system of unjust control. I’m going to spend a long time with my rhetorical battle hammer chiseling away at it.
To claim the mantle of feminist, though, means more than being in agreement with the broad goals of feminism. It means claiming identity with with the female struggle. I can’t do that. I’m male. I’m straight. I’m Cis. I’m white. Yeah, I’ve had problems a time or two, but my family has so much money that we can just buy all the shrinks we need to fix most of them. Me a Feminist? No.
No: I’m the fucking patriarchy. No matter how much I might wish it otherwise. No matter how much I fight against gendered limitations, no matter how much I’ve yelled at hiring managers many levels senior to me to get some fucking women in here, and why is it so damned white anyway?, I’m still the person the system is designed to protect.
To swoop down from my social pedestal and snatch a title forged by Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and worn proudly by Gloria Steinem and Amanda Marcotte… that’s so wrong it’s obscenity.
I’m just going to be over here, being a Small-”d” democrat, marching at the side of the ladies doing the real work.
“But if you want to call me an ally”, I said after a pause “that’s a title I’d wear with some pride.
