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Fifty years ago this week, Betty Friedan published The Feminine Mystique, widely hailed as the foundation stone of second wave feminism. One hundred years ago the British Suffragette movement was at its radical peak, and June of this year will see the centenary of the martyrdom of Emily Davison at the Epsom Derby.  Such things are always arbitrary, but this seems a reasonable moment to join Ellie-Mae O’Hagan in celebrating feminism’s angrier flanks.

I’m really not much of a fan of Friedan’s tome and had some issues with Ellie’s article, but the core of her argument is a good one. “To put it bluntly,” she wrote, “a new feminism should not be afraid to piss people off.”

If a political movement for change is not pissing people off somewhere, it isn’t worth a wet fart. That said, just pissing someone off is never enough. To be effective, political activism needs to somehow threaten or disturb the very structures and mechanisms of society, and those are always fiercely guarded. Ellie-Mae O’Hagan, better known as an anti-capitalist and tax justice activist than as a feminist, perhaps gets this more readily than most. It is certainly difficult to even look at the cover of the new Sexy Feminist book with anything but derision or nausea. Whatever one’s feelings towards Caitlin Moran, it is hard to deny that if she really represented a threat to the established patriarchal order, she probably wouldn’t have become rich and famous through the largesse of Rupert Murdoch.

Moran and the Sexy Feminists are the latest incarnations of the feminism of personal transformation, a safely corralled, individualistic philosophy of self-fulfilment. There is nothing wrong with that, it is genuinely a good thing if people can be made to feel better about themselves, or simply entertained and amused, by gaining a stronger appreciation of how their gender has impacted upon their lives. Ironically perhaps, The Feminine Mystique could be described in the same way, albeit with fewer jokes and vajazzling tips. The historical importance of Friedan’s book is that the story didn’t end on the final page, but continued into the political realm with the creation of the National Organization of Women, the Women’s Strike for Equality and the National Women’s Political Caucus, all of which had a profound and lasting change on the world. The Feminine Mystique didn’t just make readers angry enough to want to change their lifestyles, but to change the very foundations of society.

By coincidence, the Good Men Project this week published an impassioned defence of angry feminism by Anne Theriault which raises a similar point. This section in particular captures my feelings perfectly:

“…anger can be a good way, sometimes the only way, to fuel change. Anger at injustice is often the spark that ignites political and social movements, and anger can keep you fighting the good fight even when all your other resources feel used up”

You may recall a certain article by Suzanne Moore which was republished recently and became notorious for the wrong reason, but that too covered the same ground. Although probably due more to a moving spotlight than a shifting agenda, angry feminism is right back in vogue.

There is an important difference, however, between the angry feminism of the 1960s and its descendant. Back then there were few statutory protections for women and discrimination was all but omnipresent, Women had few reproductive options and abortion rights, virtually no legal protection from spousal abuse and sexual violence or harassment and sexual choices were tightly constrained by custom and even criminal law. Those issues and many others presented tangible, specific battles for social justice to be fought and won.

The transition from second to third wave feminism is usually pinned to changing perceptions of gender and sexual identities in the era of academic postmodernism, but I don’t think it is coincidental that the ideological shift happened at almost exactly the same time as a practical, political shift in the goals of feminism. The criminalisation of rape within marriage in England in 1991 marked the removal of the final significant structural flagstone of patriarchy in British law. Since then, it seems to me, feminism has fought on three separate fronts. The first has been to protect some of those hard-won rights from reactionary backlash, as necessary. The second has been to challenge various forms of the sex industry and sexualised media. This has proved particularly difficult for feminism, not least because it pitted the rights of women to live free from the (supposed or alleged) harms of prostitution and pornography against the rights of other women to make a living from their own bodies as they choose, or create and enjoy erotic pleasures of their own choice.

But the final battle for feminism is the biggest and toughest of all. It is the battle to change individual attitudes, beliefs and behaviours.  The articles by O’Hagan, Theriault and Moore provide between them a long list of reasons for women to be angry: the continued prevalence of sexual and domestic violence, rape apologism, widespread sexism and misogyny, gender stereotyping and discrimination, all common in numerous manifestations in our own societies and around the world. It is striking, however, that they proposed not a single legal or structural demand between them.

In her piece on The Feminist Mystique for the New York Times, Stephanie Coontz asked why, after decades of progress, women’s strides towards equality in the US have halted or even reversed. Rather reductively, I think, she attributes it broadly to a failure of workplace culture and rights to keep pace with modern attitudes and lifestyles. Coontz fails to notice that in the UK, where the workplace rights she applauds remain stronger, we are seeing the precise same effects.

Changing a law that allows an employer to appoint a less qualified man over a more qualified woman is easy. Changing an attitude that leads an employer to perceive a man to be more qualified, or indeed an attitude that leads a woman to believe she is less deserving of a promotion or a pay rise than a man, is much, much harder. It doesn’t an Act of Parliament to change this – it takes a social shift over generations.

Progress is happening. This week the British media are consumed with the allegations of sexual harassment against senior Liberal Democrat Lord Rennard. It is notable that this scandal centres on questions of who in the party may have turned a blind eye to sexually predatory behaviour or covered it up. There is no suggestion from anywhere that his behaviour should or could have been considered acceptable or reasonable. Just a generation ago (indeed perhaps at the time it was alleged to have happened) such behaviour was broadly unremarkable in politics or anywhere else.  The national mood has changed.

I understand that feminists are angry about sexism, misogyny, discrimination and violence against women, indeed they should be, and I share their anger. I understand that many men (and women) are angry about society’s tolerance of violence against men and boys, the marginalisation and othering of male victims of domestic and sexual violence, discrimination against fathers in family courts and the social perception that men’s health and wellbeing, even men’s lives, are of incidental importance. I share that anger too.

Anger is not incompatible with compassion and empathy, it is often the product of them. Indeed, unless it is tempered with compassion and empathy, anger can easily be misdirected into fascism and hatred. When I despair of debates on gender (which is often) it is usually because those involved, on either or both sides, have found their anger but lost their compassion. That is a dangerous mix.

The reasons and the need for anger go way beyond issues of gender. Take a look at the world, or even your own little corner of it, take in the panoramic vista of injustice, inequality, abuse, violence and exploitation, and if you’re not angry then you’re not paying attention. We should all be angry with those who abuse, who assault, who exploit. Those who abuse, assault and exploit on an industrial scale should reap anger on an industrial scale.

Anger has changed the world before, for both better and worse and it doubtless will do so again. We should all be proud of our anger. It is our responsibility to ensure we use it well.

So Rupert Murdoch has hinted on Twitter that he may be rethinking his 40 year mission to deliver a daily couple of nipples to the breakfast tables of the nation.

In a reaction on Comment is Free, Rhiannon Lucy Cossett argued that nudity is not the principal problem with Page 3. “The presence of a few designer labels in the crucial areas makes little difference if the poisonous attitude remains the same,” she wrote. I broadly agree. My general take on the issue is that The Sun is a paper which peddles the exploitation, vilification and undisguised hatred of, well, just about everyone. The focus on Page 3 seems to me to miss the broader point, but more precisely, my problem with the tradition is not the nudity, but the way that it uses women as decoration, implying that a woman’s most significant role in the news media is to provide eye candy for a predominantly male market. Related to that, my main problem with the campaign against Page 3 is that by focusing on the nakedness, it veers rather close to an anti-nudity, even anti-sexuality narrative. It seems to say that exploitation is just fine, so long as you keep the boobs covered up.

While I generally agreed with Rhiannon’s main point, there was one paragraph in the article that betrays a profoundly mistaken view of what Page 3 is and does, and how it is viewed by men. It’s an extreme example of an argument that is often made by feminists within this debate.

I remember, as a teenager, how awful it was to be sitting next to a man on the bus leering at Page 3. I remember the embarrassment, the discomfort, at the lascivious drool coming from his chops, and the physical revulsion at his presumed erection from looking at a girl pretty much the same as me

…it’s about the sense of entitlement, the presupposition that an entire page of a national newspaper should be given over to the sexual gratification of men

Of course one can never underestimate the diversity of human personality and sexual behaviour, and I need no convincing that women experience the most rank sexual harassment and intimidation on public transport. I will take it on trust that at some point(s) in her life Rhiannon really did find herself sitting next to some freak who was “leering at Page 3” with “lascivious drool coming from his chops” in such a way that she presumed he had an erection from all the “sexual gratification” on display. I do, however, strongly reject the implication that this is how men typically view Page 3.

Straight men generally find pretty young women attractive. They are drawn towards them. Pretty young women with clothes on are attractive, and pretty young women with fewer clothes on are even more attractive. Boobs are nice to look at. I don’t think I’m sticking my neck out too far in making that assertion.

Murdoch started putting semi-naked women in his newspapers back in 1970 to attract buyers, in exactly the same way that car show exhibitors drape models over the bonnets of their cars. He figured that if men are attracted to women with their tops on, they would be even more attracted to women with their tops off. And he was probably largely correct about that.

However attraction is not the same thing as sexual arousal. If images in The Sun or any other paper were genuinely sexually arousing they would actually lose readers. Murdoch has always wanted The Sun to be something that families could have lying around the breakfast table. That’s why the classic Page 3 look has always been strangely sexless and innocent, all happy cheerful smiles rather than the sultry, seductive pouts of pornography, even softcore porn.

Here is a fundamental truth about men: we hate getting erections at inappropriate moments. It is embarrassing and (literally) uncomfortable. The greatest horror is to get an erection at work or when surrounded by your mates. Men (and teenage boys in particular) develop all kinds of squirming techniques and tactics to try to disguise them. If we thought reading the Sun was likely to produce spontaneous erections at inopportune moments, we wouldn’t buy it, or we would but would keep it hidden under the mattress with the porn mags.

I suspect one of the reasons why Murdoch is now considering covering up the nipples on Page 3 is because he realises that they’re not actually that important a part of the equation. He started using them 40 years ago because he thought he could get away with it and it might add to sales. He now knows he could take them away and it wouldn’t really make any difference, because the nipples really aren’t what it is all about.  The likelihood is that Murdoch can grant campaigners their victory, get some good PR, and continue to use women in the same exploitative, sexist, decorative way he always has.

There is a tendency among some feminists to assume the worst of male sexuality. I understand where that has come from, but it can lead debates on topics such as sexualisation, porn and objectification to be conducted rather at cross purposes, and to generate a lot more heat than light. I don’t doubt for a moment that when a woman (especially a very young women) sees a man looking at The Sun, and specifically Page 3, she might be made genuinely uncomfortable by it. She may genuinely believe that the man is awash with lust, drooling with sexual gratification and sheltering a raging boner underneath his newspaper. I would suggest that unless the man has just escaped from decades in a monastery or is about 12 years old, this is almost certainly not the case. Much more probably he is thinking something like “she’s cute, nice tits, what a ridiculous speech bubble they’ve given her. Wonder if United will win tonight.

Perhaps there was a time when Page 3 was still sufficiently new, daring and shocking to produce a frisson of genuine sexual excitement, but those days had passed long before even I hit puberty  – a long, long time ago. When I was 13, round about 1980, we boys were on a perpetual hunt for sexual stimulation of any kind. Copies of Mayfair and Penthouse would be dealt and shared like valuable contraband. Even then Page 3 would barely register. It was what you might wank to if you couldn’t get hold of your mum’s Kay’s Catalogue lingerie section.

This wouldn’t matter too much were it not for one nagging concern. I can’t help thinking that the reason many women suppose that Page 3 is the salient tip of a huge iceberg of slavering male sexual desire is because so many other women have told them that Page 3  is the salient tip of a huge iceberg of slavering male sexual desire. Perhaps it is time to turn the page on that particular myth.

I have no wish to undermine or resist feminist campaigns against Page 3, on the contrary I think it we’d have a slightly better society without it. On the other hand, I’d prefer if we could have that debate and that campaign without the need to further demonize male sexuality. Whatever Page 3 might be about, it is really not about sex.

The London Review of Books blog has taken note of the forthcoming anniversary reissue of The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath. In particular, they have noticed the cover – which appears to have been designed by the team responsible for Sophie Kinsella’s Sex & Shopping oeuvre. It really couldn’t be more inappropriate, disrespectful or, sorry but I have to say it, bloody hilarious. here it is alongside its more famous predecessor.

belljars

Once I’d stopped chuckling, I set to wondering whether it might be possible to design a book cover for a vintage feminist classic that would be even more crass, tasteless and wrong?

Well it turned out I couldn’t. But I gave it a good go. Can you do any better?

Second Sex

Gender Trouble

Intercourse

fatisafemiistissue

SCUM

It seems a long time ago now, but last summer there was another angry debate within feminism relating to the topic of trans women within the movement. A conference was booked for Conway Hall in London called Radfem2012, and the event was restricted to “women born women and living as women” and which was to include the notoriously anti-trans radical feminist Sheila Jeffreys. After a furious row, the venue agreed that the conditions breached their own Equality policies and cancelled the booking.

I was reminded of this when reading the most fascinating and profound comment on the Moore/Burchill saga I’ve seen yet, by Rupert Read on the Talking Philosophy blog. Read is the only writer I’ve seen this week (of course I may have missed some) to discuss the theoretical issues between some schools of feminism and trans women. I don’t agree with a lot of it, but that is by the by. What came out of his blog is that there are genuine (though arguable) reasons why some feminists might be reluctant to fully accept trans women, especially when it comes to women-only spaces and events.

I’m not going to get into that theoretical debate – it is not really my fight. But I am interested in one particular difference between the row over Radfem2012 and this week’s events. The former was about a practical, real world issue of access and participation – who was and was not permitted to attend a conference and why? This week has been different. While it brought up all sorts of related issues, such as violence against trans people and social persecution, at heart the debate has been intangible, almost esoteric. It ultimately comes down to one specific question – who chooses and controls the language with which we talk to and about trans people? The argument wasn’t about freedom to occupy women-only spaces. It wasn’t about whether trans women were being allowed to identify as women. It certainly wasn’t about whether they were allowed to identify as feminists. The only real argument was about the assumed right of Moore and Burchill to use words and language that was considered offensive by trans people and their allies.

Moore believed/believes she has the right to choose whichever terms and words she likes to refer to trans people, and to place them in a broader narrative as a stereotype or a punchline. She was told, initially politely and then less so, that her language was considered offensive and oppressive by trans people. Her response to that was to up the ante, to become more offensive and oppressive in her choice of words to make her point.

Burchill picked it up from there and went nuclear.

The impression I get is that Moore and Burchill, by virtue of being cisgendered women and feminists, considered that they have control over the narrative used to talk about trans people. This is where points about privilege become crucial to the debate. Who gets to control the language?

My own belief is that yes, women have the right to discuss, debate and decide who is a woman – is it down to biology, psychology, identity or some combination? Feminists must have the right to discuss and debate the place of trans women within their movement (and of course there is an obvious paradox there, whether the debate includes trans women to begin with.) But I also think trans people have the right to assert what language is acceptable or offensive to describe their experience and existence.

Just as women are perfectly entitled to say they don’t want to be called ladies, girls or bitches, trans people are perfectly entitled to say that they don’t want to be called transsexuals, trannies or dicks in chicks’ clothing. Someone who ignores that and expects to get away with it without challenge or criticism is, I think, abusing their privilege and power.

The upper classes do not get to decide whether the word “pleb” is offensive or not. The rest of us do. White people do not get to decide whether words like “nigger” or “Paki” are offensive or not in any given context.  The first step towards liberty and autonomy for any individual or group is defining and describing our own experience – it is the first and best way of owning our existence.

In just one of the many awful articles printed by establishment journalists this week attempting to defend Moore and Burchill with a false flag of free speech,  Tom Peck concluded by quoting Stephen Fry on the freedom to give offence. ‘I am offended by that’. Well so fucking what?  It is true that “I am offended by that” is not a trump card or a guillotine for a debate. We are all free to cause offence and to accept the consequences, which is that those we wilfully offend might hate us for it and offend us back. What we are not free to do is reply “well, you shouldn’t be offended by that.” That is never our call. The free speech that allows one person to call another tranny, yid or poof is the precise same free speech that allows the offended party to call you a fucking bigot. If you offend thousands of people at once, don’t complain if thousands of people call you a fucking bigot in return.

I wrote the other day about privilege and power. There can be no greater expression of privilege than believing one can act without consequence. It is the privilege of a misogynist in a patriarchy, the privilege of a racist in a racist society, the privilege of the homophobe in a homophobic society and the privilege of the transphobe in a transphobic society. What I have found most revealing, and most depressing about this week’s events, is how many influential journalists are still willing to defend the right to abuse, insult and offend trans people when they would never, ever say similar about overt racism or homophobia, and when it is often the precise same people who complain loudest about misogynistic language when it occurs.

What this tells us I think is that while we have gone a long way in recognizing racism, sexism and homophobia for what they are, and making some notable (though still early) steps towards their elimination, huge swathes of our liberal media establishment remain at best broadly indifferent and at worst actively hostile to the rights of trans people. That is a deeply depressing realisation.

It’s the second time in a few days that I’ve had to open a blog like this, but I will leave it to (many, many) others to explain why Julie Burchill’s Observer column today is so offensive and hurtful to trans people. Just to be clear on where I stand, I think it is the most vile, hate-filled, bigoted rant I have ever read in either Guardian or Observer. It is as if she made a simple list of all the most offensive things one could say about trans people and wove them into a clumsy cowpat of prose. But the trans community are more than capable of speaking for themselves on that, so I would like to focus on something else.

Of the issues raised by Suzanne Moore’s Twitter meltdown last week, one that has I think been overlooked is the privilege of the commentariat. I touched on this last week, but events since have added whole new layers of significance. One of the odder remarks in Moore’s Guardian piece was when she criticised the feminist jargon of intersectionality, saying

“Intersectionality is good in theory, though in practice, it means that no one can speak for anyone else.”

In Burchill’s piece, she (presumably quite deliberately) begins by describing a lunch with Moore where they ate lobster and drank Bollinger champagne, before quickly reminding us that both women (along with Julie Bindel) are from working class backgrounds.

“She, the other JB and I are part of the minority of women of working-class origin to make it in what used to be called Fleet Street and I think this partly contributes to the stand-off with the trannies. (I know that’s a wrong word, but having recently discovered that their lot describe born women as ‘Cis’ – sounds like syph, cyst, cistern; all nasty stuff – they’re lucky I’m not calling them shemales. Or shims.) We know that everything we have we got for ourselves. We have no family money, no safety net. And we are damned if we are going to be accused of being privileged by a bunch of bed-wetters in bad wigs.”

Leaving aside the transphobic hate-speech, I think this is a fascinating glimpse into what Burchill (and presumably her friends) believe is meant by both class and privilege. She is saying class is something one is born into and that it is immutable. She believes the precise same of gender, conveniently enough. In recalling the lobster and champagne story, Burchill was, I think, explicitly telling us that she was born working class, and whatever expensive meals she might have eaten, she will die working class. By implication, if you’re born a man or a woman, you will stay that way whether you like it or not.

I think privilege is a useful concept in understanding ourselves in relation to the world, how we perceive and interpret people and situations around us. I do not doubt that the ways in which Burchill, Moore and Bindel see the world are heavily informed by their upbringing as working class women. However to really understand the world in relation to ourselves (which is not quite the same thing) we need to look not at privilege, but at power. It is not privilege which controls people, constrains people, oppresses people and discriminates against people, but power. A straight white male may have privileges, but he does not necessarily have power (although for obvious reasons they often coincide). Your boss has power, political and religious leaders have power, your abusive partner has power, and their power is not necessarily lessened by their ethnicity, gender or sexuality. A working class entrepreneur turned billionaire corporate boss may not have been born into privilege, but it would be ridiculous to say that he (or theoretically she) does not have immense power. When Julie Burchill says she is not privileged it is no less ridiculous then when Lord Alan Sugar says much the same.

Whether they have attained their position through talent and hard work or old school ties and nepotism, star newspaper columnists wield enormous power. They can not only help to shape news agendas and public discourse. They have the power to brighten the day or ruin the week of millions of readers. More specifically, they can choose to wield that power to incite or (more commonly) validate the hatred and bigotry of others, which can have a direct influence on the safety and quality of life of their targets.

It’s almost got lost amid the nonsense, but the at heart of this dispute over the past six days has been the allegation that there is a “powerful lobby” of trans activists who control the debate, stifle freedom of speech and bully opponents into silence. Quite obviously, if the lobby were that powerful neither Burchill’s article nor Moore’s before it would ever have been published and the types of horrors uncovered by the #TransDocFail hashtag would be history.

To the best of my knowledge, trans activists have no powerful allies in the establishment or politics. They have no financial backing to speak of. They have little influence over cultural norms and discourse, or the setting of the political and social agenda. Just about the only weapon they have at their disposal is anger. The anger directed by (some) activists towards Moore, Burchill and Bindel comes from a position of virtual powerlessness. Sure, the outbursts of a few dozen angry activists can ruin a newspaper columnist’s day, perhaps make them feel picked upon and sorry for themselves and earn the tut-tutting sympathy of their friends. The anger of a newspaper columnist, on the other hand, can poison the air for millions.

While I acknowledge and unequivocally condemn nasty trolling, bigoted hatred and needless personal abuse, I have never had much sympathy for journalists at any level who complain about the negative feedback and genuine anger they encounter online. I’m not just talking about the Three Sisters of transphobic feminism here, Robert Fisk was talking just as much nonsense the other day and similar issues come up whenever powerful journalists discuss civility in discourse. It is as if they want all politics to be conducted by the rules of a debate at the Oxford Union, which is entirely alien to a large proportion of the population and always has been. There is hypocrisy in it too – I rarely see complaints about the compliments, fawning praise and adulation that also come with interactive media. It’s not just that the negative is the price to be paid for the positive, it is that it is an essential counterbalance.

Few things make us humans more angry than someone co-opting our voices, speaking for us without our blessing or consent. Anger is the weapon of the weak against the strong, the powerless against the powerful. That doesn’t always make it correct or justified (BNP, EDL or Hizb Ut Tahrir activists are angrier than anyone) but it makes it explicable. People get angry with journalists, and columnists in particular, because of our power, not our privilege. The irony, if you haven’t noticed, is that if we go back a week to the first article by Suzanne Moore that kicked this off, she made almost the precise same point. Forgive me for ending on a cliché, but they do say to be careful what you wish for.

“to be told that I hate transgender people feels a little … irrelevant.”

Suzanne Moore, Guardian, January 9th 2012

Whatever Suzanne Moore might have been wrong about this week, she’s right about one thing – the issues she has brought to the boil  are not new. To anyone who was politically active on the left in the 1980s, they will have been strikingly familiar.

I’ll leave it to (doubtless many, many) others to explain why Moore has caused so much offence and hurt to trans people this week, but to set out my stall and for the benefit of anyone out the loop, my perception of the chain of events were as follows: She published an essay at the New Statesman which made a passing remark to women having bodies “like Brazilian transsexuals.” A few people complained to her about derogatory language on Twitter, some not entirely politely. Moore became angry and defensive, launching into a tirade of sneering and vicious comments against and about trans people, then attempted to explain and justify herself in her showpiece Guardian column the next day.

I have a rather tortured ideological relationship with the concept of privilege, but I would never dispute I am exceptionally privileged in one specific way: I have somehow wangled myself some very minor platforms in the news media. I have a megaphone that is unavailable to all but a handful of people on the planet. That still rather puzzles and frightens me. My megaphone is really very, very small (insert own punchline here) but I can understand why people get upset when I say something they don’t like. Unless you are a proud bigot, there are few things more painful than being accused of some kind of bigotry – racism, sexism, homophobia or whatever it might be. Not only is it deeply hurtful to be accused of being what you despise, is it also often a finger-trap of a debate, where the harder you try to wrest yourself free the tighter you become entwined.

If you are accused of contributing to the oppression of others, it is entirely understandable that you want to deny the charge, defend yourself and argue back. Whether you are in the right or wrong is not the point, few decent people want to be thought a racist, a sexist or a homophobe.  But while disputing that you may be contributing to the oppression of others is one thing, denying that the oppression exists at all is far more harmful. Acknowledging that you might even be contributing to the oppression but maintaining that it doesn’t matter, that it feels a little… irrelevant, is I think worst of all.

It had all begun much earlier, but when I was being blooded in politics; in the aftermath of the miner’s strike, the heyday of the GLC, with various factions fighting tooth and nail within and outwith the Labour party, we were still hearing those precise same statements from prominent voices in the left leadership and media. As gay people attempted to fight discrimination and assert their rights, they were used as punchlines and told that their concerns felt a little… irrelevant. When black and Asian people would point out examples of racism within the movements their concerns were considered  a little… irrelevant.  When feminists brought gender issues to the table, they were told that people’s genitals are less interesting than the breakdown of the social contract. They were lectured about divide and rule. They were told their anger should be saved for the Tory government. We have come full circle.

Those crotchety old voices of the British left were wrong. If it is ever possible to build a united opposition, it will only be though acknowledging, challenging and fighting injustice and oppression of all sorts, without creating a hierarchy in which the valorous struggle of the few is sacrificed to short term pragmatism of the agenda-setting, privileged elite.

I’d been planning to let the issue of the Nice Guys of OK Cupid blog on Tumblr slide. It is pretty depressing from every perspective. I’d squabbled and grumbled about it on Twitter with a few people, and then thankfully the Christmas break pushed it out of my mind.

If it passed you by, the Tumblr scours the dating/social networking site OK Cupid for profiles of men and then posts their pictures (without permission) alongside selected quotes. The typical entry shows a less than attractive guy with a few quotes from his profile proclaiming himself a ‘nice guy’ who is fed up of being ‘friendzoned’ and then a ‘wrong’ answer from the set profile questionnaires such as “Should women feel an obligation to shave their legs? Yes.”

Some of them are unquestionably far worse. They talk about ‘sluts’ and ‘bitches’ or they say women should sometimes be obliged to have sex with them, and a few are downright rapey. Many, however, are not. In between the horrors are a lot like these (verbatim and in toto):

I’m a nice guy 😮

I SPEND A LOT OF TIME THINKING ABOUT:  If I will find a relationship via this iPhone App or if every girl is just a friend or demands a Prince Charming rather than the knight I am / why I get into a girl’s friendzone so easily.”

Or

Remember that boy in high school who helped give relationship advice to girls he really liked that were taken? Every time he tries to solve an issue that the girl had, he succeeds, but not with the girl. That boy was me. I was always in the friend zone. The “nice guy.”

These are not rank misogynists and wannabe rapists, they’re not even showing any particular sense of privilege or entitlement. On the contrary, many of the entries come across as more self-pitying, bitter or pathetic than those above. Those are not attractive qualities, but they are sadly common among people who are  at an extremely low ebb emotionally, or struggling with depression. I think it is not only immoral, but potentially dangerous to place them in the 21st Century equivalent of the medieval stocks to be mocked, abused and humiliated.  The blog struck me less as a blow against privilege, and more as ugly bullying of people who already feel like losers.

I was happy to leave it at that. But then one of my Twitter duellists, the prominent male feminist Hugo Schwyzer, asked if he could quote my tweets in a piece he was writing. Rather than find myself hoisted on a 140 character petard, I emailed him with a couple of comments outlining my concerns

Hugo’s piece has just gone up on Jezebel. In the section quoting me, he says:

“Without entirely dismissing Fogg’s concern that some young men’s rage or despair could be worsened as a result of NGOKC, there’s a lot more to the site than mockery. What’s on offer isn’t just an opportunity to snort derisively at the socially awkward; it’s a chance to talk about the very real problem of male sexual entitlement.”

The first thing to say is that after saying he is not entirely dismissing my concerns, he never once returns to them in any way, which looks pretty much like dismissal to me. Next, I note how Hugo says what’s on offer “isn’t just an opportunity to snort derisively at the socially awkward” – my emphasis because he isn’t denying that the site is, at least in part, precisely that. However because Hugo wants to have a chat about male sexual entitlement, he is quite prepared to accept this bullying as a means to an end, and write off the victims as collateral damage. I can only try to imagine how these men must feel, what the psychological consequences might be for a dejected, lonely young man with minimal self-esteem who suddenly finds himself subjected to public ridicule by millions and branded a douche, a misogynist and a creep by association. But take it on the chin guys, because Hugo wants to talk about stuff.

I should say at this point that I’m not one of the world’s countless Hugo-haters. Although we have many profound political disagreements, we have an amicable relationship online. That said, he does have some habits in his writing that drive me up the wall and half way across the ceiling. Foremost among them is his belief that he knows exactly what all men are thinking and their primal motivations, even if he’s never met them and knows nothing about them. Rather than accepting that the men featured in the Tumblr might be socially and personally diverse and psychologically complex, either individually and as group, Hugo has them all pegged. Borrowing a line from Laurie Penny in the New Statesman (in a much more nuanced but still problematic piece), he writes:

 The great unifying theme of the curated profiles is indignation. These are young men who were told that if they were nice, then, as Laurie Penny puts it, they feel that women “must be obliged to have sex with them.”

Raised to believe in a perverse social/sexual contract that promised access to women’s bodies in exchange for rote expressions of kindness, these boys have at least begun to learn that there is no Magic Sex Fairy.

While only a small percentage of these guys may be prone to imminent violence, virtually all of them insist, in one way or another, that women owe them.

Besides the near-universal sense that they’ve been unjustly defrauded, the great commonality among these Nice Guys is their contempt for women’s non-sexual friendship.

Their anger, in other words, is that their own deception didn’t work as they had hoped. It’s a monumental overask to expect women to be gentle with the egos of men who only feigned friendship in order to get laid.

I fully accept that may well be some men featured on NGOOKC who meet those descriptions perfectly. I strongly suspect there are many who do not. I cannot be sure that there are some genuinely “nice”, gentle, loving, humble men on there whose only problems are lack of confidence, self-esteem and chronic loneliness, because I haven’t met any of them. But nor, I presume, have the people behind the Tumblr, nor have the endless thousands of online surfers who have gleefully shared their humiliation on social media, and nor has Hugo Schwyzer.

My sense is that this doesn’t matter to them, because what is being mocked here is not the individuals, it is the archetype. The political target is The Nice Guy ™ who represents a certain strain of male privilege and entitlement, and the extent to which any of the specific targets match the profile, the extent to which they deserve to be personally humiliated is irrelevant to Hugo and the site’s creators and fans.

I happen to agree that the archetype deserves mockery and vilification, but that is beside the point. Archetypes don’t have to pluck up the courage to join a dating site and then go through the awkward steps of creating a clumsy profile. People do. Archetypes don’t cry themselves to sleep into their pillows. People do. Archetypes don’t suffer if their fragile self-esteem is kicked into the dirt and trampled on. People do. Archetypes don’t self-harm and drink or drug themselves into numb oblivion. People do.

The Internet is awash with nastiness of all sorts. It can be legitimate and proportionate to name and shame misogynists, rape apologists and hatemongers of all sorts. Indeed it is necessary. It can also be legitimate and proportionate to name and shame cruel bullies and their apologists, and no less necessary.