Dear Men: I Am Not a Character in Your Story

[Content Note: Misogyny.]

It happened again. I was doing laps in the pool when I noticed a man in the lane next to me start to time his laps to mine. I was pivoting too quickly at the end of each length for him to start a conversation, so he began loudly clearing his throat, inexplicably believing that listening to him gargle phlegm would capture my attention.

When none of his passive aggressive overtures worked, and kept not working for nearly 40 minutes, he took one of the floats he had piled up at the end of his lane — these guys always carry a collection of swimming accoutrements, for maximum attention — and carefully placed it at the end of my lane. As if it might have been accidentally swept into the pool there.

Of course, since I do the breaststroke, I saw all of this happen. I saw him pick up his kickboard; discard it; pick up and examine his resistance gloves; discard them; pick up the float; glance back at me; apparently determine my goggles are opaque; set the float in my lane; then begin fussing busily with his pile of stuff — far too occupied rearranging his gear to have noticed his float slip into my lane, obviously!

I reached the target, grabbed it, and tossed it into his lane. "Your float," I said. "Oh, I'm so sorry—" he began, turning toward me, as if this ridiculous ruse had succeeded as a conversation starter. "No problem," I said curtly, then dived back under the water, to continue the thing I wanted to do for myself.

I am the hero of my own story.
I didn't want to talk to him, not even to tell him off. What I wanted was to keep doing my laps, without interruption or the throat sounds of a stranger who doesn't understand that I am not a character in his story.

It's no wonder he is under the misapprehension that I am. He was, as were we all, socialized in a culture filled with stories in which women are merely characters, tokens, plot devices, objects of desire or scorn in the stories of men.

Even in many stories that are ostensibly women's stories, like romantic comedies supposedly designed so specifically for women that they are demeaned as "chick flicks," women frequently have no purpose but to love difficult men, to fix and support and heal them, to help them realize their true potential, to marry them and have their babies.

What we never talk about is how the damsel in distress only exists to rescue her rescuer, from a life of devoid of every (straight) man's true birthright: To be gazed upon as a hero by a grateful woman.

Men are the heroes of their own stories; any woman's role is to make him feel that way. The mother who raised him from boy to man, the sister he defended from harm, the lovers he beds, the witches he vanquishes.

When a man approaches a woman like a character in his story, we know if we don't play the role of lover, we will be cast in the role of witch.

What I want is the option to not be seen as a character in any man's story at all.

I want to be viewed as my own author, my own architect, my own captain, my own governor. I want to be seen as fully human, with agency and autonomy and the right of consent.

I want men to look at me, swimming in the pool with fierce determination, stretching my arms to reach farther and extending my legs to kick harder with every stroke, my brows knitted and breath measured, and see that I am not a supporting role in anyone else's story.

I am my own hero.

And then I want them to leave me the fuck alone, because it should be evident that I neither want nor need them in this chapter of my saga.

[Related Reading: Dear Men: You Don't Own Women.]

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Hot Take

So, I guess men writing hot takes about "how to keep women happy" is still a thing? Cool.

Obviously, I'm not an expert, since I'm a woman myself and also have this zany idea that women aren't a monolith who are all made happy by the same things, but here's my hot take on How to Keep a Woman Happy:

1. Ask her what would make her happy.

2. Do it.

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Shut Up!

Feminism 101: More Helpful Hints for Dudes

[Content Note: Misogyny; emotional policing.]

So, here is a thing that I've seen happen countless times: A feminist or womanist woman, either in a fit of pique or resignation, or as a considered statement, will say that she hates men.

And a man who identifies as a feminist ally will jump in to "correct" her, by saying she doesn't really hate men, that instead what she really means is that she hates male privilege; or to lecture her about how unhelpful she's being and how it's counterproductive to feminism to say that one hates men.

Now, some women who say they hate men really don't mean that they hate them, and are using a shorthand—often with what they expect is a closed and sympathetic audience who will understand their shorthand to mean that they have been repeatedly harmed by men or don't easily trust men or are routinely disappointed by men. Or understand that they're really saying something about male privilege, not men.

But some women really do mean that they hate men.

And I understand why that feels bad, to be hated based on your identity. After all, it's that very experience that underwrites my feminism.

However, it doesn't have the same power, to be hated by a marginalized person on the basis of one's identity, when one is a member of a privileged group that has, as a whole, done enormous harm to the marginalized group to which the person expressing detestation belongs.

To draw an equivalence, such as the one implicit in protestations that man-hating women are doing the same thing misogynist men do to women, pretends the inherent power imbalance between genders doesn't exist.

The existence of that power imbalance is Feminism 101. No one can be an effective feminist ally if they refuse to acknowledge this basic truth, this most essential reality that necessitates feminism in the first place.

Sometimes, a member of a marginalized group decides they hate the privileged group, because of a lifetime of mistreatment. And frankly, it's a valid choice. Unless they're trying to do something about it, like encouraging violence against that group (and even then there are exceptions for revolution), then there's no point in telling them they're not allowed to feel that way—except, of course, to nullify their underlying reasons.

To make them the problem, instead of the vast harm that has led them to this state of contempt.

I have a mixed-power identity, meaning I am privileged in some ways and marginalized in others. And it's not like I have never seen a member of a marginalized group to which I don't belong say that they hate all members of a privileged group to which I do belong.

But I understand why it might be that someone hates me, as part of the entire privileged group of which I'm a member, because of the vile cruelty done to them over and over by people with whom I share that privileged piece of my identity. And by me, in regrettable failures.

And I am not inclined to tell them they should feel otherwise.

For a lot of reasons. Including the fact that nothing happens to me if someone decides to hate all members of a privileged group of which I'm a part, besides losing a potential relationship with that person, which they don't owe me.

To expect to be liked, or even received neutrally, by someone subjected every moment of their lives to a systemic oppression from which you benefit, even if you don't want to, is a revolting entitlement.

Not everyone is equipped with the same emotional resources, and not everyone has the same lived experiences. Some people just aren't left with enough reserves to muster the strength that affording good faith to a person likely to harm them demands.

Here is what you need to understand: I live my life absolutely reviled by men. Men who are all too eager to tell me how much they hate me, what they want to do to harm me, what misfortune and violence they wish would befall me, how I am a lesser person than they are. I have been hurt, physically and psychologically, over and over and over by men my entire life. And many, many women will report the same experience. Many women have had even worse experiences with men than I have.

It is work for me to build relationships with men. Even the men I love, and who love and respect me, require me to educate them on how not to replicate the patriarchal horseshit with which they were indoctrinated. I have yet to meet a single man who didn't harm me in some way, even if unintentionally, with misogyny.

If some women end up hating men, because they don't have the energy left not to, I understand that. If some women end up hating men, because they, too, have not known a single man in their life who didn't harm them in some way, even if unintentionally, with misogyny, I understand that.

I understand it, and I grieve it.

And if you are a man who really gives a fuck about women, and you really want to be a feminist ally, then instead of condescendingly lecturing women on how we should feel about men, and how we should do feminism, and what feminism is and is not, then when you hear a woman express that she hates men, if you simply must say something at all, you will ask her to tell you why that is, if she is so inclined, and you will try to understand, too.

You will be a man that gives her a fucking reason not to hate men.

Because I am telling you straight-up that sanctimoniously instructing women how we should feel about men is not a compelling argument for not hating them. It's just giving us one more example of a man who'd rather be a mansplaining jackass than try to understand our pain.

[Note: The theme of this post originated as a comment; my thanks to Shaker gidgetcommando for suggesting it should be turned into its own post.]

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An Observation

[Content Note: Misogyny.]

I will never stopped being amazed that, in the year of our lord Jesus Jones two thousand and fifteen, there are still adult human men who refuse to talk to me if my husband is present.

Won't answer my questions directly.

Won't look at me when they're speaking.

Won't even acknowledge my existence.

And, if these same adult human men happen to have both our contact information, even if they have been informed I am the primary contact for whatever service they are providing to us, they will absolutely refuse to call me, or text me, or email me. Not when they can call or text or email Iain.

And then they act like it's a fucking mystery when I'm a less than a perfectly, deferentially polite shrinking violet (read: bitch) when they are obliged, to their utter horror, to speak with me directly.

Once again, lads: If you treat women like shit, don't be surprised when you get in return only as good as you've given.

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Shut Up!

Feminism 101: More Helpful Hints for Dudes

[Content Note: Misogyny; harassment.]

So, here's the thing about dudes who request, politely or not so politely, education from a feminist on demand: I can tell you, from more than a decade of experience as a feminist with an internet presence, that the vast majority of dudes who seek "education" don't really want education at all.

(And, as always, this same dynamic is applicable for any privileged person demanding education of any marginalized person.)

The vast majority of dudes who ask for education on some feminist issue or other want one of two things:

1. They want to prove me wrong. Specifically, they want to play Devil's Advocate, demand scientific proof quantifying my lived experiences, debate me, audit me, argue with me, and, when all else fails, insult me. They use a request for education as cover to get me to engage with them, just in order to try to discredit me.

2. They want to prove a point about how mean feminists are. These are the dudes who understand that feminist women are tired as all fuck of being asked to educate men on demand and are well aware that they're likely to elicit contemptuous responses if they do, so they request education in bad faith, recognizable as bad faith to seasoned feminists familiar with this tactic but possibly reading as good faith to casual observers, only to provoke hostile declinations and then crow about how mean feminists are—which was, of course, the whole point of the exercise.

That second one is a no-win situation for feminists, because if we know what game they're playing, but go along with it for the benefit of people watching, these dudes will simply revert to #1. It's a lose-lose proposition for any feminist who's approached by these guys.

This happens all the time. It is vanishingly rare that a dude approaches me asking for education who actually wants an education. And please note that I, as do all feminists, learned these patterns only by engaging in good faith over and over and over, only to discover that virtually none of the men were engaging in good faith with me.

So, if you're one of the #NotAllMen! who approach feminists for an education, here is some free education for you: Understand the above described dynamic, and understand that marginalized people do not owe privileged people an education, and then go spend some time with Google and leave us the fuck alone.

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Shut Up!

Listening to Women About Red Flags, Part 2

[Content Note: Misogyny; rape culture.]

Yesterday, I wrote a Helpful Hints for Men piece about listening to women when they identify harmful men. In response, Peter Green tweeted at me (which I am sharing with his permission): "Thanks, very helpful. Will there be a sequel, what to do after you've listened to and believed her?"

So here it is.

The thing about being socialized in a patriarchy is that men are entrained to fix things and to not ask for help. Insert a history of hacky comedians' jokes about how men won't stop for directions. The reason those jokes exist is not, however, because of something innate to (cis) men, but because of patriarchal socialization.

And being socialized to fix things and to not ask for help means that lots of men (not all men, and not only men) are inclined to respond to a woman telling them about red flags by trying to "fix" the situation and to determine for themselves what that "fix" is, rather than asking for direction from the woman who has come to them for support.

So, here's what to do, and what not to do.

Don't approach the situation with the presumption that anything needs to be fixed. Or, perhaps, realize that sometimes the "fix" being sought is simply to be heard and believed.

Don't imagine yourself in the role of savior. Imagine yourself behaving as ally.

Don't be a white knight. Be an accomplice in challenging a culture of abuse.

Don't view your role as protector. View your role as supporter.

Being an effective ally, an effective accomplice, an effective supporter is utterly contingent upon understanding the needs of the person to whom you want to act as ally, accomplice, supporter.

Guessing, or simply imposing your will about what you think should happen over hers, is a terrible idea—because if all she wants is support, then meddling in some other way might actually make her feel unsupported.

It could also make her less safe.

Just as many women have learned through a lifetime of experience to identify subtle signals of potential harm, we have also learned how to intuitively assess, as much as any person is ever able, which courses of action might escalate a situation with a potentially harmful man, even when they are the very things we are told we should be doing.

And it's important to recognize that if you act in a way that escalates the situation, the blowback won't be on you; it will land on her.

Acting in the way that makes her feel safest, even if you want to do more or do things differently, is crucial, because your privilege will (likely) insulate you from retributive measures from the harmful man being identified.

Listen to her, and then listen to her more.

Ultimately, maybe listening is all she wants, in a particular situation. Maybe, in another situation, she'd like you to back her up in a report to HR. Maybe she just wants you to never leave her alone with this guy during game night; maybe she wants you to stop inviting him to game night altogether.

The best thing to do is straightforwardly ask: "What can I do to best support you?" Let her tell you. And then do that.

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Shut Up!

I Write Letters

[Content Note: Misogyny; rape culture.]

Dear Dudes:

Lots of entries in the Helpful Hints series contain recommendations about listening to women. Listening to women is really important, for a whole lot of reasons, in every context.

But today I just want to talk to you about listening to women in one specific context: When a woman is telling you, or when multiple women are telling you, that they find another man to be dangerous.

We may use a different word than "dangerous." We might use a word like "creepy." Creepy is a useful word, a word women use a lot, to shorthand a spectrum of behaviors that can range from hostility to boundaries to unwanted touching to sexual assault. "Creepy" is often a word that women use when we fear that to actually try to articulate the red flags, which might seem relatively minor to someone who has not lived a lifetime navigating a misogynist culture, will elicit responses that call us hysterical or reactionary or oversensitive. "Creepy" is a way that we convey that we can't trust a man, in a very specific way.

We might use a word like "scary," or "abusive," or "weird." Depending on how safe we feel communicating our lack of safety, we might use a word even more innocuous, like "intense."

Listen to the context in which these words are used. Think about what it means when a woman is trying to tell you something is "off" about a guy, and what it means when she doesn't, or can't, simply come right out and say, "He is demonstrating a pattern of harmful behaviors that I have learned, by necessity and through a lifetime of experience, to recognize as signaling that I am not safe around him."

And, for Maude's sake, whatever you do, don't ever respond to a woman telling you that a man is harmful, in whatever way she can find to tell you, by insisting that he seems like a good guy to you.

Don't tell her that you've never noticed any of those things. Don't tell her he seems fine. Don't tell her, or imply, that she's imagining things. Don't tell her that he's never treated you that way.

Of course he hasn't. He is a dude, and so are you.

One of the basics of feminist theory is understanding that misogynist men don't treat other men the way they treat women.

You aren't capable, by virtue of being a dude, of assessing how a harmful man treats women. Not even being an onlooker, observing how that man interacts with women, is informative in the same way being his target is.

One of the things you need to know about men who abuse women is that most of them are very adept at appearing to be "good guys" when there are other guys watching.

Which is why it's so important to listen to women. Because they have a perspective on these guys that you never will.

That is yet another thing that your privilege grants you. You have the choice to use that as a reason to audit women, or as a reason to listen to us.

Love,
Liss

[Related Reading: Different Perspectives, by Necessity; "He is a good boy."]

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Shut Up!

I Write Letters

[Content Note: Misogyny.]

Dear Dudes:

You're not entitled to women's affection.

I know that's not what the Patriarchy tells you, and I know it's definitely not what MRA and PUA and other antifeminist men's movements tell you. But the voices and narratives from those places are lying.

You are not entitled to women's affection. Nor our attention, nor our bodies.

If that makes you hate and resent women, well, here's the thing: We notice that. Women are eminently capable of detecting men who do not like women. Who think that we are objects to be owned or consumed or fucked, but not individual human beings to be liked and loved.

You are not entitled to be liked by anyone, and especially by someone whom you will never like back.

Putting us on a pedestal is just as dehumanizing as treating us like worthless garbage. And women are keenly aware that men who put us on pedestals will flip like a lightswitch at the first sign of "imperfection" (i.e. humanity) and treat us like worthless garbage.

You are not entitled to be regarded as someone who likes and respects women if you put some of us on pedestals.

It's easier to put someone on a pedestal than it is to love someone wholly, in a very human way, which means loving them warts and all. But pedestals aren't safe, not for the people balancing precariously atop them. If you want a woman to like you, try offering her a chair.

The reality is this: If you fancy yourself a "Nice Guy," but you have the bitter taste of resentment in your mouth because you still can't find a woman to date you, stop blaming that on women and feminism and a culture that supports women's independence and all the other shit you are so certain is what's preventing you from owning the beautiful woman to which you're sure you're entitled.

If you want someone to want to date you, then make yourself a person someone would want to date.

In case it's escaped you: There aren't a lot of women looking to date a seething flesh-sack of hostile contempt for women.

Try liking women. See if your fortunes don't improve.

Best regards,
Liss

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Shut Up!

I Write Letters

[Content Note: Sexual violence; rape culture.]

Dear Dudes:

By now, surely you've heard that superstar Bill Cosby has been accused of sexual assault or attempted sexual assault by around 35 women. And maybe you've also read the number of defense of Cosby which have been offered by his family, friends, and colleagues, the latest of whom to weigh in was Malcolm-Jamal Warner, who played his son on The Cosby Show for many years:

"I can't really speak on any of the allegations because obviously, I was not there. The Bill Cosby I know has been great to me and great for a lot of people," he said.

"What he's done for comedy and television has been legendary and history-making. What he's done for the black community and education has been invaluable. That's the Bill Cosby I know. I can't speak on the other stuff."

Dudes, we need to talk about this, because this response is a textbook example of What Not to Do, even though dudes do it all the time.

If you really care about sexual assault, and victims of sexual assault:

1. Don't pretend like you're not "speaking on the allegations" when you are defending the accused. This is a real tricksy bit of bullshit that I see men doing all the time: "I can't really say, but Bill is a great guy who has accomplished a lot!" You are really saying. You are taking a position. There is no neutral in rape culture. Being silent is not neutral, and talking about what a great guy an accused rapist is sure as shit isn't neutral, either.

2. Don't give life to the garbage lie that "nice guys" aren't rapists.

3. Don't offer as implicit evidence of innocence that an accused rapist was always great to you. Who fucking cares. If a man who has been accused by 35 women (or one woman) of sexual assault was always great to you, that should chill you to the bone, not serve as some sort of defense of his character. It's not evidence of his innocence; it's evidence of misogyny and deceit.

4. Don't think you can have it both ways. Either you believe women, or you want to defend your pal or your hero. And if you want to defend your pal or your hero, then you go right ahead and make that choice—but do us all the favor of not obliging us to act like you're not making that choice. If you want to defend an accused rapist, then own it. And stop trying to make it look like something else with mealy lies about not being able to "speak on the allegations."

If that feels uncomfortable to you, well, no one ever said being on the side of a rapist should feel good. But if that's the team you pick, you don't get to pretend like you're on mine.

Sincerely,
Liss

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Shut Up!

Feminism 101: Helpful Hints for Dudes, Part 10

Following is a primer for men who are genuinely interested in learning about how to be a more feminist-friendly dude. Most of the information in this piece is, as always, generally applicable in terms of being decent to the people around you, but this has been written to be most accessible for men in keeping with the objective of the series, which is responding to commonly emailed questions from privileged men (here, generally meaning straight cis men) seeking advice on how to interact with the women in their lives.

[Content Note: Misogyny; misogynist slurs.]

Here is something that has happened to me countless times in the ten years I've been blogging: I share something about my lived experience reflecting some part of my individual experience of womanhood, and a dude who I don't know and with whom I've never interacted before but who assures me he is A Feminist Ally will pop up in comments, or on Twitter, or in my email in order to "discuss" it with me.

I put "discuss" in quotes, because "discuss" often really means play devil's advocate, or demand proof, or ask for personal education, or offer a tiresome contradictory observation as though it's thoughtful and helpful.

I then respond with all the kindness I can muster in that moment. Which sometimes isn't very much. Sometimes, I just ignore them altogether, because I can't say anything I wouldn't regret.

If I ignore them, they often continue to pester me. If I continue to ignore them, then I'm a bitch. Oh, you're too good to have a conversation with me? Don't be on Twitter if you don't want to talk to people. I'm trying to learn and you won't even help me. Bitch.

If I say, politely, that I'm not going to have that conversation right now, then I'm a bitch. You don't have to be a rude bitch about it. Bitch.

If I tell them to fuck off, then I'm a bitch. GEEZ, I was ONLY SAYING. You don't have to tear my head off. Bitch.

If I engage with them, but then draw a line under it if and when I realize it's not going anywhere, despite their protestations that they are definitely totally for sure my ally, then I'm a bitch. So you won't talk to anyone who disagrees with you? Bitch.

If I point out that auditing and/or disbelieving my lived experience isn't disagreement, then I'm a bitch. BITCH.

Basically, the way this always works out is that if I do not immediately capitulate to a man whose objective is telling me that my perception of my lived experience is wrong, then I am a bitch.

And these are the men who are ostensibly engaging with me because they are feminist allies. Not even the trolls. These are the men who imagine that acting as an ally to feminist women means assuming the role of authority on our lives and diminishing our agency.

Of talking at us, rather than listening to us.

I've watched this scene play out over and over, watched men doing the same thing to other women. "Helpfully" offering an observation that they believe is truly original and trenchant, but is in actual fact condescending as fuck, and then becoming deeply aggrieved when the woman to whom it was offered fails to appreciate their insights.

Sometimes, the way we are called bitches is by clueless men acting like kicked puppies, because of our insufficient appreciation.

And I get it. I do. I get that they were full of good intentions and really care and are only trying to help and all that crap. So it stings when their Shiny New Attempt at Feminism gets dinged by the disdainful ingratitude of a feminist.

Here's the thing, dudes: You're not the first guy who has offered whatever observation it is you think feels like the best new thought ever in your head. You're probably not even the first guy today.

And I know it feels like a personal slight when a feminist woman does not take time out of her day to personally educate you on why what you said is not nearly as helpful or supportive as you think it is. But try to keep this in perspective: If I stopped what I was doing to personally educate every hapless dude who was too lazy to invest the time it takes to be an ally who doesn't say stupid clueless things, I would literally never do anything else.

In a moment when you feel that sting of indignation for our failure to be kind in the face of your unhelpful comment, don't make it about you. If you want to be a real ally, empathize with the "bitch" who doesn't have time for your nincompoopery, unintentional though it may be.

Try to imagine what it feels like to have heard the same nonsense a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times, and understand that you are not a special snowflake to us: You are part of an avalanche we are constantly trying to outrun.

Don't be hurt, and for chrissakes don't turn on us and call us bitches. We don't owe you. You're not entitled to women's time and energy and kindness. That is lesson number one in being an ally. If you're stealing energy from the person to whom your ostensibly trying to be an ally, you're failing.

Take your licks and move on and don't make the same mistake again.

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Shut Up!

On Communicating More Effectively with Women

[Content Note: Male privilege; auditing.]

Sometimes, privileged men (here, generally meaning straight cis men) email me asking advice on how to interact with the women in their lives. I get questions on everything from how to be a feminist husband to how to navigate intimacy with a survivor of sexual assault, and so I'm starting a new series that offers Helpful Hints to privileged men who genuinely want advice about how to be a more feminist-friendly dude.

I'm starting with the most basic—and often the most problematic—interaction between men and women: The Conversation. Lots of guys want to learn more about deconstructing their privilege, but are pretty awful about obtaining that information without upsetting the women with whom they're conversing.

This, then, is a very rudimentary, but also very straightforward, primer for dudes who want to communicate more effectively with female partners, friends, relatives, and colleagues during good faith conversations about feminist issues:

1. Every woman is an expert on her own life and experiences.

2. No woman speaks for all women.

3. No woman speaks for all feminists.

4. Because of the way cultural dominance/privilege works, marginalized people are, by necessity and unavoidability, more knowledgeable about the lives of privileged people than the other way around. Immersion in a culture where male is treated as the Norm (and female a deviation of that Norm), and where masculinity is treated as aspirational (and femininity as undesirable), and where men's stories are considered the Stories Worth Telling, and where manhood and mankind are so easily used as synonymous with personhood and humankind, and where everything down to the human forms on street signs reinforce the idea of maleness as default humanness, inevitably makes women de facto more conversant in male privilege than men are in female marginalization. That's the practical reality of any kind of privilege—the dominant group can exist without knowing anything about marginalized group, but the marginalized group cannot safely or effectively exist without knowing something about the privileged group and its norms and values.

5. Which is not to say that men can't become fluent, with effort. But it is important to remember that it does take effort. Even though men's and women's lives can look so similar at first glance, it is shocking how very different they can actually be. (For example.)

6. A woman with intersectional marginalizations cannot wrench herself into parts. Asking a woman to set aside her race, or disability, or sexuality, or body size, or stature, or whatever, in order to discuss a "woman's issue," is to fail to understand that one's womanhood is inextricably linked to the other aspects of one's identity.

7. It is similarly unfair to ask a woman to leave aside her personal experience and discuss feminist issues in the abstract. You are discussing the stuff of her life. Asking her to "not make it personal" is to ask her to wrench her womanhood from her personhood.

8. You are not objective on women's issues because you're not a woman. Your perception is just as subjective as hers is, but for a different reason. Either we stand to be marginalized by privilege or stand to benefit from it. That's the reality of institutional bias; it compromises us all.

9. Don't play Devil's advocate. Seriously. Just don't.

10. Listen.

[Originally posted in February 2011, and republished by request.]

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Shut Up!

I Write Letters

[Content Note: Intersectional misogyny; violence; rape culture; reproductive coercion; slurs.]

Dear Men:

You don't own women.

You don't own our bodies, and you don't own our voices, and you don't own our thoughts, and you don't own our emotions, and you don't own our lived experiences. They are not yours. They don't belong to you.

You don't own women.

I'm taking time out of my life to tell you this, to tell you that you don't own women, because there seems to be some confusion on that matter.

I'm not just talking about the men who literally buy and sell women without their consent, nor just the ghoulish specimens of humanity who keep women or girls captive in the disgusting predators' caves they call homes, nor just the domineering fathers and husbands and male guardians or partners of any disarmingly innocuous title who control women in their orbit with vicious and unyielding vigilance, nor just the men who invoke some deity or other, some ancient religious verse, to assert their dominance over womankind.

Although those men, too. They don't own women.

I'm also talking about the men who, in their everyday interactions with women, use their physical presence to intimidate us. Who touch us without our consent. Who talk over us. Who condescend to us. Who patronize us. Who silence us. Who gaslight us. Who invade our safe spaces. Who mansplain. Who make misogynist jokes. Who leverage male privilege against us. Who steal our ideas. Who take the credit for our work. Who use racism again women of color. Who use homophobia against lesbians and bisexual women. Who use transphobia against trans* women. Who use ableism against disabled women. Who use ageism against older or younger women. Who fat shame fat women. Who body police all women. Who use any axis of marginalization, any vulnerability, against women. Who won't promote women. Who won't pay women a fair wage. Who refuse to support our right to bodily autonomy. Who refuse to recognize our agency. Who deny us equality. Who audit our emotions. Who filter our lived experiences through their validity prism. Who demean us. Who contradict us. Who tell us to shut up. Who want us to disappear. Who tell us to suck their cocks and make them a sandwich and go away. Who tell us they are our allies, and then aren't. Who betray us. Who creep on us. Who avoid accountability to us. Who treat us however the fuck they want, because they can. Who abet other men treating us however they fuck they want. Who bask in the luxury of privilege to not have to give the tiniest, infinitesimal shit about the harm done to us by being treated the way we are treated by men every day of our goddamn lives, who never have to know the ache of this oppression.

Those men. They don't own women.

The men who rape us. Who harass us. Who use the rocking motion of a packed commuter train as cover for rubbing themselves on our thighs. Who masturbate in front of us. Who send us unsolicited pictures of their dicks. Who flush our birth control pills down the toilet. Who poke holes in condoms. Who trick us into bed, into marriages, with lies.

They don't own women.

The men who keep us out. Who won't vote for us. Who won't hire us. Who undermine us and say it's for any other reason than that we are women. Who accuse us of looking for things to get angry about. Who tell us we are oversensitive. Who call us hysterics. Who conflate their privilege with objectivity.

They don't own women.

The men who call us bitches. Who call us cunts. Twats. Whores. Sluts. Skanks. Slags. Slappers. Coozes. Tarts. Breeders. Slits. Gashes. Holes. Bimbos. Hookers. Hos. Tricks. Tramps. Squaws. Witches. Hags. Battle axes. Shrews. Nags. Muffdivers. Trannies. Chicks with dicks. Cows. Chickenheads. Butterfaces. Cum dumpsters.

They don't own women.

The men who don't respect our space, our boundaries, our rights, our humanity. The men who have contempt for our taking up space in the world. The men who listen, but don't hear. The men who roll their eyes at posts like this one. The men who are already formulating their protests as they are reading these very words.

They don't own women.

The men who think they are good men. The men who think that being our allies consists of saying it, but then turning on us like snarling beasts the moment we say they have made us unsafe. The men who think they have a right to tell us what it is that we need. The men who think they need to explain to us what feminism is, what womanism is, what womanhood is. The men who claim they don't even want to own women, and yet behave in ways, constantly, that indicate they believe that they do.

You men that I am describing. You don't own women.

You men who are thinking: This isn't about me. I don't do that. Even though every man—every single man—every last man I have ever known has done something, some thing, and usually lots and lots of things, that suggest he believes that he owns me, or another woman, even if just in a single moment, a fleeting moment. Because the message that you own women is powerful. But it is wrong.

You don't own women.

You don't own women.

You don't own me.

Sincerely,
Liss

[Originally posted on August 12, 2013.]

Open Wide...

Shut Up!

Feminism 101: Helpful Hints for Dudes, Part 9

Following is a primer for men who are genuinely interested in learning about how to be a more feminist-friendly dude. Most of the information in this piece is, as always, generally applicable in terms of being decent to the people around you, but this has been written to be most accessible for men in keeping with the objective of the series, which is responding to commonly emailed questions from privileged men (here, generally meaning straight cis men) seeking advice on how to interact with the women in their lives.

[Content Note: Misogyny.]

The thing about living in a patriarchal culture that privileges "traditional" masculinity and polices men who don't conform to its prescriptions is that it severely limits men's acceptable spectrum of expression. To visibly like or enjoy anything that is coded feminine is to make oneself vulnerable to potential retribution from the enforcers of the patriarchy, which might be one's own father, or brothers, or friends, or boss.

One of the ways that many straight/bi men partnered with women find to safely explore feminine-coded things that bring them pleasure is through the safety of a different-sex partnership, within the boundaries of which one can attribute, say, watching Real Housewives or attending a fancy cooking class or shopping for home interiors to the desires of one's female partner.

It can be easier for female-partnered cis men to say, "I'm just going along with this because I love her," than to admit something coded feminine is actually their own preference.

Especially since being the guy who indulges his female partner's preferences tends to get you lots of cookies from women.

And, you know, all of that is okay, when it's done out of a real need for self-preservation and following an honest conversation with your partner about this issue where her consent and understanding is sought. Most of us, at one time or another, have to be a little circumspect about ourselves to maintain our safety, to avoid physical or emotional harm, professional retribution, and/or ostracization.

But it gets messy, and harmful, when the reattribution of one's own preferences segues into a reliance on misogynist narratives. It's very easy to slide from "I watch So You Think You Can Dance with my wife because she loves it" to "I watch So You Think You Can Dance with my wife because YOU KNOW HOW WOMEN ARE." Wink wink nudge nudge. Bitches, amirite?

I'm doing this with her is one thing. I'm doing this because she's making me is quite another.

The latter invokes ancient misogynist narratives about women being nags, harpies, selfish ballbusters. They are narratives so ubiquitous and persistent that it's incredibly easy to greet some dude harassment about liking a "girl thing" by blaming one's female partner.

At that point, you're no longer just using your partner for cover. You're throwing her under the Patriarchy Express.

Ideally, if you like something that's coded feminine, you will just like it, without apology, because fuck the patriarchy. But facing a real threat of harm (and, by the way, potential embarrassment is not a real threat of harm), using your partner as cover, with her consent, is an understandable survival mechanism.

What's not understandable is blaming her. (Even and especially when she's not there.) What's not acceptable is relying on misogynist tropes, thus entrenching misogyny in some futile attempt to avoid misogynist bullying.

It's self-defeating. But, even more than that, it's a shitty way to pay back the person who makes space for you to safely be your whole you.

Don't be that guy.

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Shut Up!

I Write Letters

[Content Note: Intersectional misogyny; violence; rape culture; reproductive coercion; slurs.]

Dear Men:

You don't own women.

You don't own our bodies, and you don't own our voices, and you don't own our thoughts, and you don't own our emotions, and you don't own our lived experiences. They are not yours. They don't belong to you.

You don't own women.

I'm taking time out of my life to tell you this, to tell you that you don't own women, because there seems to be some confusion on that matter.

I'm not just talking about the men who literally buy and sell women without their consent, nor just the ghoulish specimens of humanity who keep women or girls captive in the disgusting predators' caves they call homes, nor just the domineering fathers and husbands and male guardians or partners of any disarmingly innocuous title who control women in their orbit with vicious and unyielding vigilance, nor just the men who invoke some deity or other, some ancient religious verse, to assert their dominance over womankind.

Although those men, too. They don't own women.

I'm also talking about the men who, in their everyday interactions with women, use their physical presence to intimidate us. Who touch us without our consent. Who talk over us. Who condescend to us. Who patronize us. Who silence us. Who gaslight us. Who invade our safe spaces. Who mansplain. Who make misogynist jokes. Who leverage male privilege against us. Who steal our ideas. Who take the credit for our work. Who use racism again women of color. Who use homophobia against lesbians and bisexual women. Who use transphobia against trans* women. Who use ableism against disabled women. Who use ageism against older or younger women. Who fat shame fat women. Who body police all women. Who use any axis of marginalization, any vulnerability, against women. Who won't promote women. Who won't pay women a fair wage. Who refuse to support our right to bodily autonomy. Who refuse to recognize our agency. Who deny us equality. Who audit our emotions. Who filter our lived experiences through their validity prism. Who demean us. Who contradict us. Who tell us to shut up. Who want us to disappear. Who tell us to suck their cocks and make them a sandwich and go away. Who tell us they are our allies, and then aren't. Who betray us. Who creep on us. Who avoid accountability to us. Who treat us however the fuck they want, because they can. Who abet other men treating us however they fuck they want. Who bask in the luxury of privilege to not have to give the tiniest, infinitesimal shit about the harm done to us by being treated the way we are treated by men every day of our goddamn lives, who never have to know the ache of this oppression.

Those men. They don't own women.

The men who rape us. Who harass us. Who use the rocking motion of a packed commuter train as cover for rubbing themselves on our thighs. Who masturbate in front of us. Who send us unsolicited pictures of their dicks. Who flush our birth control pills down the toilet. Who poke holes in condoms. Who trick us into bed, into marriages, with lies.

They don't own women.

The men who keep us out. Who won't vote for us. Who won't hire us. Who undermine us and say it's for any other reason than that we are women. Who accuse us of looking for things to get angry about. Who tell us we are oversensitive. Who call us hysterics. Who conflate their privilege with objectivity.

They don't own women.

The men who call us bitches. Who call us cunts. Twats. Whores. Sluts. Skanks. Slags. Slappers. Coozes. Tarts. Breeders. Slits. Gashes. Holes. Bimbos. Hookers. Hos. Tricks. Tramps. Squaws. Witches. Hags. Battle axes. Shrews. Nags. Muffdivers. Trannies. Chicks with dicks. Cows. Chickenheads. Butterfaces. Cum dumpsters.

They don't own women.

The men who don't respect our space, our boundaries, our rights, our humanity. The men who have contempt for our taking up space in the world. The men who listen, but don't hear. The men who roll their eyes at posts like this one. The men who are already formulating their protests as they are reading these very words.

They don't own women.

The men who think they are good men. The men who think that being our allies consists of saying it, but then turning on us like snarling beasts the moment we say they have made us unsafe. The men who think they have a right to tell us what it is that we need. The men who think they need to explain to us what feminism is, what womanism is, what womanhood is. The men who claim they don't even want to own women, and yet behave in ways, constantly, that indicate they believe that they do.

You men that I am describing. You don't own women.

You men who are thinking: This isn't about me. I don't do that. Even though every man—every single man—every last man I have ever known has done something, some thing, and usually lots and lots of things, that suggest he believes that he owns me, or another woman, even if just in a single moment, a fleeting moment. Because the message that you own women is powerful. But it is wrong.

You don't own women.

You don't own women.

You don't own me.

Sincerely,
Liss

Open Wide...

Shut Up!

I Am Not a Political Football

[Content Note: Privilege; misogyny; hostility to agency.]

Here is something I've written: There are the occasions that men—intellectual men, clever men, engaged men—insist on playing devil's advocate, desirous of a debate on some aspect of feminist theory or reproductive rights or some other subject generally filed under the heading: Women's Issues. These intellectual, clever, engaged men want to endlessly probe my argument for weaknesses, want to wrestle over details, want to argue just for fun—and they wonder, these intellectual, clever, engaged men, why my voice keeps raising and why my face is flushed and why, after an hour of fighting my corner, hot tears burn the corners of my eyes. Why do you have to take this stuff so personally? ask the intellectual, clever, and engaged men, who have never considered that the content of the abstract exercise that's so much fun for them is the stuff of my life.

Here is another thing I've written: It is unfair to ask a woman to leave aside her personal experience and discuss feminist issues in the abstract. You are discussing the stuff of her life. Asking her to "not make it personal" is to ask her to wrench her womanhood from her personhood. Don't play Devil's advocate. Seriously. Just don't.

There are a lot of men (and this is not just a thing that men do to women, but a thing that privileged people do to people who do not share their privilege) who do not understand what The Big Deal is with talking to women about various things that fall under the umbrella of Women's Issues, especially reproductive rights, in ways that treat politics as nothing more than a game.

This morning, after I tweeted a link to my piece on the Indiana state senate's latest attack in the war on agency, this happened:

@shakestweetz I think that sort of thing is good news, in a way, because it shows Republicans aren't very good at politics.

— Miguel Canabosis (@MiguelCanabosis) February 22, 2013

@shakestweetz Not good news, but I don't think they'll win, and by attempting this they damage themselves politically.

— Miguel Canabosis (@MiguelCanabosis) February 22, 2013

I don't want to appear to be picking on @MiguelCanabosis individually and exclusively, because this is pretty typical of a lot of exchanges I have on Twitter. It's just one example, and it just happened to be the most recent example on the day that I decided I wanted to say something about this sort of interaction.

The thing is, this shit is exhausting.

And I want to state very clearly that not all women feel the same way about this (or anything else, because we are not a monolith; also, not only women and not all women have uteri). There are some women who think of reproductive rights legislation in a strictly dispassionate, analytical, and impersonal way. There are some women who don't think about reproductive rights legislation at all.

But for those of us who do think about it, and who further think about it, either exclusively or in addition to analytically, in a passionate, intimate, and highly personal way, the quips and observations about whether the Republicans' continued attacks on our bodily autonomy, agency, and right of consent is good or bad politics is really fucking gross.

Not only does it elide the fact that conservatives have won a lot of goddamn battles, and constantly oblige reproductive rights advocates to fight and fight and fight against the onslaught of agency-denying horseshit, which is why there are currently 202 entries in Shakesville's Chipping Away at Roe label alone, but the flippancy of the "their overreach in trying to make your body state property will eventually work against them" premise is aggressively indifferent to the actual emotional toll it takes on lots of women to feel like we do not have the right of self-determination, to feel like we are not fully human, to feel like our country fucking hates us.

Being a real ally means centering the humanity of the people on whose behalf you intend to leverage your privilege, not letting your privilege insulate you from the ugly realities of the harm done by their marginalization.

If you seriously think it's a "good idea" to make millions of women feel this way, because politics is just a game to be a won, I strongly urge you to reconsider.

Open Wide...

Shut Up!

Feminism 101: Helpful Hints for Dudes, Part 8

Following is a primer for men who are genuinely interested in learning about how to be a more feminist-friendly dude. Most of the information in this piece is, as always, generally applicable in terms of being decent to the people around you, but this has been written to be most accessible for men in keeping with the objective of the series, which is responding to commonly emailed questions from privileged men (here, generally meaning straight cis men) seeking advice on how to interact with the women in their lives.

[Content Note: Misogynist tropes and slurs; intersection of misogyny and disablism.]

Here is a question I get by email (and see posed online) not infrequently: What does it take to really be a nice guy (as opposed to a Nice Guy)?

Well, it takes being nice, for a start. But it also takes making a habit of liking women.

What I Don't Mean by Liking Women: Being sexually attracted to women. Liking women monolithically and treating them as above criticism and/or putting them on a pedestal which is dehumanizing. Liking them with expectations. Liking them with ulterior motives, even if it's just the cookies men who don't hate women tend to get.

What I Do Mean by Liking Women: Regarding women generally with good faith, and not as a collection of grim stereotypes. Treating women as individuals. Respecting diversity in expressions of womanhood. Never obliging a woman to speak for all women, or treating her as an exception to her gender. Building friendships with women.

And primarily: Thinking of women as likable.

We live in a profoundly misogynist culture. Everyone is taught to hate women. Women are socialized to hate each other (and ourselves), to think of ourselves and one another as less than.

Even most feminist women have to make a habit of liking women, of rewriting that entrainment to reflexively see other women in negative terms, and replacing it with a spirit of sisterhood. A lot of women exceptionalize the women in their lives in the same way men do. My group of female friends having fun at this bar is awesome; that other group of female friends having fun at this bar is a bunch of skanks. That is the way we are all socialized to view women—their individual value determined by proximity and affiliation, rather than merit.

The point is: Even feminist women have to make a habit of liking women. So do you.

One of the most basic and insidious and intractable pieces of systemic misogyny is that women are simply unlikeable, as a rule. Difficult. Catty. Competitive. Vain. Bitches be crazy.

And the only way to break that down, and to form a new habit, is to think instead about the things you like about women you've known: Maybe it's kindness, or loyalty, or creativity, or competency, or truthfulness, or empathy, or whatever. It's taking time to explore, consciously and purposefully, what you have liked about women, what you do like about women, what makes women likable.

It's taking time to explore, consciously and purposefully, what it means that we live in a culture in which Good Guys are THE BEST! and even Bad Guys are roguishly likeable, but Good Girls are pathetic and contemptible, indicting everyone else's imperfections with their intolerable mere existence, and Bad Girls are only good for one thing. Most men are axiomatically afforded the assumption of likability; women have to earn it person by person.

It's taking time to explore, consciously and purposefully, what the difference really is between flippantly saying, "Oh, sure, I like women," and really finding women likeable. There are a lot of men who can respect women, and still cannot bring themselves to like us.

This isn't an easy subject, because it's hard to write and talk about these sorts of nuances, and because everyone except the most shamelessly vile misogynists fancy themselves a person who doesn't hate women. But there is a difference between not hating women and thinking of them as likable. I have crossed that bridge. And once you are on the other side, you realize how cavernous the space between the shores really is.

Thinking of women as likeable in a misogynist culture is truly a radical act.

Wanting to fuck women is not. Objectifying women is not. Hurting women is not. Marginalizing women is not.

But liking them is.

If you want to be a nice guy, first be a radical guy.

[Related Reading: An Observation.]

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Shut Up!

Feminism 101: Helpful Hints for Dudes, Part 7

Following is a primer for men who are genuinely interested in learning about how to be a more feminist-friendly dude. Most of the information in this piece is, as always, generally applicable in terms of being decent to the people around you, but this has been written to be most accessible for men in keeping with the objective of the series, which is responding to commonly emailed questions from privileged men (here, generally meaning straight cis men) seeking advice on how to interact with the women in their lives.

[Content Note: Violence; harassment.]

Recently, a fellow feminist blogger emailed me about the bullshit that is men entering conversations with feminists by saying things like:

"I'm going to get clobbered for saying this, but..."

or

"I'm just going to say this and then run away...."

—and then claiming that these are reasonable things to say, because it's SO SCARY to engage with feminist women.

Here's the thing: If you want to engage in good faith with feminist women, don't start from a position of implying that we are hostile (and violently so, at that).

That is not to say that you don't have a right to feel intimidated. Feeling intimidated by engaging with a person to whom you have relative privilege and/or multiple privileges, especially when you're first examining that privilege, is natural—and a good sign you've arrived at a place where you consider that person an expert on hir own experiences.

It's also not to say that expressing intimidation is always a terrible thing. But if you want to express intimidation, the best way to do that is, "I feel intimidated right now as a result of my own lack of expertise," not to imply that the problem lies with the expert.

That reflexive assumption, casually and incessantly expressed, that feminists are hostile (and violently so!) is one of the reasons I inserted the "no bad faith" clause into Shakesville's commenting policy. If someone can't approach me, or another contributor, or a fellow commenter, without the implication that feminists are violent tyrants who react vengefully to any expression of disagreement, that is not engaging with good faith. To put it politely.

As any blanket generalization about an entire group, it is dehumanizing and gross, but there's an extra layer of fuckery in eliding that feminist women have faced actual, real-life, meaningful consequences for transgressive feminist thought before feminism even had a name.

Feminist/womanist/progressive women have sometimes faced punishment in the form of violence, including rape and murder; sometimes in the form of imprisonment; sometimes in the form of ostracization from family and/or community; sometimes in the form of lack of professional opportunities; sometimes in the form of harassment at or termination from work; sometimes in combinations thereof, and that is hardly a comprehensive list.

This isn't a Thing of the Past. This isn't a Thing That Happens in Those Countries. This is a thing that happens even to the most privileged feminist women, who identify as feminist and lead public lives as feminists, whether they are writing about reproductive rights, video games, race, literature, cooking, war, knitting, rape culture, or anything and everything in between.

There is a risk and there is a cost.

Even to a feminist woman who goes to her RPG group and asks them to stop using "rape" to mean anything but a sexual assault, there is a risk and there is a cost. Even in the best-case scenario, where everyone immediately says, "Oh gee, we're so sorry, Friend, and thank you for pointing that out!" and no one ever ever never ever keeps in the back of their minds that Friend is oversensitive and polices language and she is such a drag and political correctness blah blah, there is the emotional cost of having to ask in the first place, and the wondering, always wondering, if she's been forever labeled as The Hysteric.

A man entering into a feminist blog thread to leave a comment is not equivalent. Particularly if he's leaving a contrary comment, as most comments preceded by "I'm probably going to get hammered for this, but..." are, the entire rest of the culture has his back.

It is this lack of perspective, this pretense that it is feminists who are so aggressively intolerant of dissension that they are prone to react with actual violence to anti-feminist ideas, while anti-feminists are the tormented minority constantly in danger of undeserved retribution, that makes such salvos truly abhorrent.

The fear of being punished for an idea is really projection—a deliberate misrepresentation in precise opposite of what men and woman face, which effectively masks the truth of our world.

If you want to engage feminist women in good faith, you must start by respecting the realities of their lives.

And you must understand that approaching a feminist with the implication she will physically harm you does not invite a kind response. So don't be surprised if you fail to get one.

[Related Reading: Teaspoon vs. Dumptruck.]

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Shut Up!

Feminism 101: Helpful Hints for Dudes, Part 6

Following is a primer for men who are genuinely interested in learning about how to be a more feminist-friendly dude. Most of the information in this piece is, as always, generally applicable in terms of being decent to the people around you, but this has been written to be most accessible for men in keeping with the objective of the series, which is responding to commonly emailed questions from privileged men (here, generally meaning straight cis men) seeking advice on how to interact with the women in their lives.

In the wake of the Elevator Incident, and throughout all the ensuing discussion, and in many of the emails I received in response to my post, there ran a thread of desperate concern, tinged with the usual belligerent exasperation, about how (straight) men are ever supposed to figure out how to interact with women in a way that won't be regarded as rude, sexist, and/or creepy.

Many people who have weighed in at various feminist, atheist, skeptic, and/or scientific blogs have taken up the challenge of addressing those concerns, with recommendations on how to approach women, guidelines for conferences, and prescriptions for social or institutional change. I'm not inclined to replicate those efforts.

I will, however, take a moment to answer a question that I feel was being asked implicitly in many of these discussions, and was asked explicitly of me by a male emailer, writing to me to express his frustrations on this subject: "What is it exactly that you want men to do?"

I want men to be nice to women.

Here, I will not insert any caveats about how what I really want is for all people to be nice to each other, or that I acknowledge that there are men who are nice to women, or women who are not nice to men, or whatever acquiescence would allegedly inoculate me against the accusation that I am a shrill, horrible cunt. The demands of chronic obfuscators have nothing to do with the question that was asked of me, which I intend to answer without indulging tangents and distractions.

The question that was asked of me is this: What is it exactly that you want men to do?

More precisely, I was asked what it is that I want (straight) men to do, so that they might avoid being charged with rudeness, misogyny, or creepiness. Implicit in the question is the charge that there is no answer, the assertion that there is no way that (straight) men can publicly interact with women in a way that will not be negatively construed.

Especially by women who are hysterical. Women who are psychos. Women who are over-reactionary. Women who are man-haters. Women who think all men are perverts. Women who are looking for things to get mad about. Feminists.

But, of course, there is an answer. Men can be nice to women.

There are, surely, people who will read that and snort derisively and feel compelled to make arguments about how "nice" is a relative term and is thus meaningless, in terms of trying to help a man know how to interact with a woman.

And, just as surely, people like myself, who are not invested in the idea that (straight) men can't possibly know how to interact with women without a high risk of offending them, will call bullshit in retort.

You see, one thing I have observed over and over (and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over, and over some more) during my thirty-seven years on this rock, is that there are men who treat women like people, and men who treat women like not-men.

Men who treat women like people—that is to say, in the same way they treat other men—generally tend to have no problem being nice to women. They are pleasant in their interactions with women; they are respectful during their interactions with women; they hold friendly and engaging and fun and challenging and sometimes contentious conversations with women; if they are straight men, they acknowledge appropriate boundaries in terms of romantic behavior (i.e. they don't treat a work environment like it's a singles bar just because a female person is in it); they don't ogle or grope women; they regard women as their equals, and are capable of acknowledging women's different experiences from their own without using that as the basis for treating women like a different species.

Men who treat women like people treat them as individual people, who are deserving of their decency unless and until an individual woman gives them a reason to be guarded, or avoidant, or angry, or whatever—in which case, those feelings are directed at the individual woman who piqued their ire, not at "women."

They are, in short, nice.

On the other hand, there are men who treat women like not-men. Women are regarded as a separate class of human altogether (or, in some cases, non-human), a monolithic variation which exists not in complement to men, but in service to them. Men who treat women like not-men, if they are straight, view women as the sex class, and ergo do not draw any delineation between spheres of work and play, but view a woman in a professional space as an interloper, whose purpose as a sexual object and potential sex partner supersedes her role as a working person in her chosen vocation.

Men who treat women like not-men have problems viewing women just as co-workers, as bosses, as friends, as teachers, as equals, because they see them as humans with a (sex/reproductive) service role, which is not how they see other men.

And because they see women as fundamentally different from men, they imagine that there must be a whole set of unique rules to interacting with women. They cannot conceive that there is, simply, a set of rules to engage all other humans politely and respectfully and productively—and that the boundary between "man" and "woman" is not nearly as important as the boundary between, say, "work" and "speed-dating event."

(Which is not to say it's inherently awful or wrong to meet someone at work. There is a difference—and a not remotely difficult to discern difference, at that—between happening to meet someone at work in whom you become romantically interested, and treating the women who share your place of employment as a captive audience for your random sexual overtures.)

Men who treat women like not-men are incapable of acknowledging women's different experiences from their own without using that as the basis for treating women like a different species. They use any woman's failure to please as a strike against the entirety of womankind, and they annihilate the individuality of a woman beneath the crushing weight of their own biases about women, and then accuse women of being all the same.

They treat a woman's personhood and her womanhood as mutually exclusive constructs, while treating manhood and personhood as synonymous, and then they wonder how it is that women can complain of different treatment, of lesser treatment.

They are, in short, not nice.

There's nothing decent or kind about treating women as though they are alien beings whose primary use is in service to your needs. Unless, of course, a woman is not attractive to you, in which case she has no use at all.

It isn't just terrible men who treat women this way. It's lots and lots and lots of men, who consider themselves to be decent and kind, and who are hardly considered monsters by the women who know them. I'm sure the man who asked me what it is, exactly, I'd like men to do is not an awful fellow. He's probably just a guy who's been told his whole life that it's okay to treat women differently and never questioned if maybe that wasn't actually the best thing to do, if you really do fancy yourself an egalitarian sort of bloke.

And thus is my advice to him, and to all the men who are wondering what it is they're supposed to do to make us bitches happy: Be nice.

If you really think about it, and if you're really honest with yourself, you know what that means.

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Feminism 101: Helpful Hints for Dudes, Part 5

Following is a primer for men who are genuinely interested in learning about how to be a more feminist-friendly dude. Most of the information in this piece is, as always, generally applicable in terms of being decent to the people around you, but this has been written to be most accessible for men in keeping with the objective of the series, which is responding to commonly emailed questions from privileged men (here, generally meaning straight cis men) seeking advice on how to interact with the women in their lives.

[Trigger warning for misogyny; sexual violence; silencing.]

After Part One in this series ran, which recommended against playing Devil's Advocate, I received a number of emails from men who couldn't understand what the harm was in playing Devil's Advocate on feminist issues with women they care about, even if it upsets those women. Because, hey, shouldn't feminists be willing to have those fights?

I figured I should write a piece about how obliging women to play along with misogynist games can be incredibly alienating and, ultimately, a grave breach of trust, but I've already written one.

So, as part of this series, here's a re-run of "The Terrible Bargain We Have Regretfully Struck," which was originally posted in August 2009.

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Despite feminists' reputation, and contra my own individual reputation cultivated over almost seven years of public opinion-making, I am not a man-hater.

If I played by misogynists' rules, specifically the one that dictates it only takes one woman doing one Mean or Duplicitous or Disrespectful or Unlawful or otherwise Bad Thing to justify hatred of all women, I would have plenty of justification for hating men, if I were inclined to do that sort of thing.

Most of my threatening hate mail comes from men. The most unrelentingly trouble-making trolls have always been men. I've been cat-called and cow-called from moving vehicles countless times, and subjected to other forms of street harassment, and sexually harassed at work, always by men. I have been sexually assaulted—if one includes rape, attempted rape, unsolicited touching of breasts, buttocks, and/or genitals, nonconsensual frottage on public transportation, and flashing—by dozens of people during my lifetime, some known to me, some strangers, all men.

But I don't hate men, because I play by different rules. In fact, there are men in this world whom I love quite a lot.

There are also individual men in this world I would say I probably hate, or something close, men who I hold in unfathomable contempt, but it is not because they are men.

No, I don't hate men.

It would, however, be fair to say that I don't easily trust them.

My mistrust is not, as one might expect, primarily a result of the violent acts done on my body, nor the vicious humiliations done to my dignity. It is, instead, born of the multitude of mundane betrayals that mark my every relationship with a man—the casual rape joke, the use of a female slur, the careless demonization of the feminine in everyday conversation, the accusations of overreaction, the eyerolling and exasperated sighs in response to polite requests to please not use misogynist epithets in my presence or to please use non-gendered language ("humankind").

There are the insidious assumptions guiding our interactions—the supposition that I will regard being exceptionalized as a compliment ("you're not like those other women"), and the presumption that I am an ally against certain kinds of women. Surely, we're all in agreement that Britney Spears is a dirty slut who deserves nothing but a steady stream of misogynist vitriol whenever her name is mentioned, right? Always the subtle pressure to abandon my principles to trash this woman or that woman, as if I'll never twig to the reality that there's always a justification for unleashing the misogyny, for hating a woman in ways reserved only for women. I am exhorted to join in the cruel revelry, and when I refuse, suddenly the target is on my back. And so it goes.

There are the jokes about women, about wives, about mothers, about raising daughters, about female bosses. They are told in my presence by men who are meant to care about me, just to get a rise out of me, as though I am meant to find funny a reminder of my second-class status. I am meant to ignore that this is a bullying tactic, that the men telling these jokes derive their amusement specifically from knowing they upset me, piss me off, hurt me. They tell them and I can laugh, and they can thus feel superior, or I can not laugh, and they can thus feel superior. Heads they win, tails I lose. I am used as a prop in an ongoing game of patriarchal posturing, and then I am meant to believe it is true when some of the men who enjoy this sport, in which I am their pawn, tell me, "I love you." I love you, my daughter. I love you, my niece. I love you, my friend. I am meant to trust these words.

There are the occasions that men—intellectual men, clever men, engaged men—insist on playing devil's advocate, desirous of a debate on some aspect of feminist theory or reproductive rights or some other subject generally filed under the heading: Women's Issues. These intellectual, clever, engaged men want to endlessly probe my argument for weaknesses, want to wrestle over details, want to argue just for fun—and they wonder, these intellectual, clever, engaged men, why my voice keeps raising and why my face is flushed and why, after an hour of fighting my corner, hot tears burn the corners of my eyes. Why do you have to take this stuff so personally? ask the intellectual, clever, and engaged men, who have never considered that the content of the abstract exercise that's so much fun for them is the stuff of my life.

There is the perplexity at my fury that my life experience is not considered more relevant than the opinionated pronouncements of men who make a pastime of informal observation, like womanhood is an exotic locale which provides magnificent fodder for the amateur ethnographer. And there is the haughty dismissal of my assertion that being on the outside looking in doesn't make one more objective; it merely provides a different perspective.

There are the persistent, tiresome pronouncements of similitude between men's and women's experiences, the belligerent insistence that handsome men are objectified by women, too! that women pinch men's butts sometimes, too! that men are expected to look a certain way at work, too! that women rape, too! and other equivalencies that conveniently and stupidly ignore institutional inequities that mean X rarely equals Y. And there are the long-suffering groans that meet any attempt to contextualize sexism and refute the idea that such indignities, though grim they all may be, are not necessarily equally oppressive.

There are the stereotypes—oh, the abundant stereotypes!—about women, not me, of course, but other women, those women with their bad driving and their relentless shopping habits and their PMS and their disgusting vanity and their inability to stop talking and their disinterest in Important Things and their trying to trap men and their getting pregnant on purpose and their false rape accusations and their being bitches sluts whores cunts… And I am expected to nod in agreement, and I am nudged and admonished to agree. I am expected to say these things are not true of me, but are true of women (am I seceding from the union?); I am expected to put my stamp of token approval on the stereotypes. Yes, it's true. Between you and me, it's all true. That's what is wanted from me. Abdication of my principles and pride, in service to a patriarchal system that will only use my collusion to further subjugate me. This is a thing that is asked of me by men who purport to care for me.

There is the unwillingness to listen, a ferociously stubborn not getting it on so many things, so many important things. And the obdurate refusal to believe, to internalize, that my outrage is not manufactured and my injure not make-believe—an inflexible rejection of the possibility that my pain is authentic, in favor of the consolatory belief that I am angry because I'm a feminist (rather than the truth: that I'm a feminist because I'm angry).

And there is the denial about engaging in misogyny, even when it's evident, even when it's pointed out gently, softly, indulgently, carefully, with goodwill and the presumption that it was not intentional. There is the firm, fixed, unyielding denial—because it is better and easier to imply that I'm stupid or crazy, that I have imagined being insulted by someone about whom I care (just for the fun of it!), than it is to just admit a bloody mistake. Rather I am implied to be a hysteric than to say, simply, I'm sorry.

Not every man does all of these things, or even most of them, and certainly not all the time. But it only takes one, randomly and occasionally, exploding in a shower of cartoon stars like an unexpected punch in the nose, to send me staggering sideways, wondering what just happened.

Well. I certainly didn't see that coming…

These things, they are not the habits of deliberately, connivingly cruel men. They are, in fact, the habits of the men in this world I love quite a lot.

All of whom have given me reason to mistrust them, to use my distrust as a self-protection mechanism, as an essential tool to get through every day, because I never know when I might next get knocked off-kilter with something that puts me in the position, once again, of choosing between my dignity and the serenity of our relationship.

Swallow shit, or ruin the entire afternoon?

It can come out of nowhere, and usually does. Which leaves me mistrustful by both necessity and design. Not fearful; just resigned—and on my guard. More vulnerability than that allows for the possibility of wounds that do not heal. Wounds to our relationship, the sort of irreparable damage that leaves one unable to look in the eye someone that you loved once upon a time.

This, then, is the terrible bargain we have regretfully struck: Men are allowed the easy comfort of their unexamined privilege, but my regard will always be shot through with a steely, anxious bolt of caution.

A shitty bargain all around, really. But there it is.

There are men who will read this post and think, huffily, dismissively, that a person of color could write a post very much like this one about white people, about me. That's absolutely right. So could a lesbian, a gay man, a bisexual, an asexual. So could a trans or intersex person (which hardly makes a comprehensive list). I'm okay with that. I don't feel hated. I feel mistrusted—and I understand it; I respect it. It means, for me, I must be vigilant, must make myself trustworthy. Every day.

I hope those men will hear me when I say, again, I do not hate you. I mistrust you. You can tell yourselves that's a problem with me, some inherent flaw, some evidence that I am fucked up and broken and weird; you can choose to believe that the women in your lives are nothing like me.

Or you can be vigilant, can make yourselves trustworthy. Every day.

Just in case they're more like me than you think.

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Feminism 101: Helpful Hints for Dudes, Part 4

Following is a primer for men who are interested in learning more about how to be an effective ally in rape prevention. Most of the information in this piece is, as always, generally applicable, but this has been addressed to men in keeping with the objective of the series.

[Trigger warning for rape culture.]

Anyone, anywhere, of any age, any gender, has the absolute right to do anything, be anyplace, with anyone, walk down any street, any time of day or night, in any style of dress or state of undress, in any capacity, and not be raped.

If you feel inclined to protest or qualify that statement, you're engaging in rape apology.

Everyone has the absolute right to not be raped, irrespective of the circumstances. Even if they're doing something dangerous. Even if they're doing something illegal. Even if they've hurt another person themselves. Even if rape was a known possible consequence of their actions.

If you can't agree that everyone, and anyone, has the absolute right not to be raped, without qualifying it, without comparing a woman's exposed flesh to unprotected valuables, without wondering about the details of specific rapes, without auditing victims' choices, without asking if a victim was "looking to get laid," without insisting that you worry agreement with such a universal statement will make women careless (as if only women get raped; as if women's vigilance is effective rape prevention), without proposing hypotheticals, without playing devil's advocate, without feeling obliged to try to find some exception to that rule, you can't be an effective ally in the fight against sexual violence.

Everyone has the absolute right to not be raped.

To suggest otherwise is to suggest that a rape survivor, or some rape survivors, have some direct and personal* responsibility for their own trauma.

The direct and personal* responsibility for rape lies exclusively with rapists.

If you feel obliged to try to find some exception to that rule, you can't be an effective ally.

At least not to survivors.

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* As opposed to the role we all have the capacity to play, and necessarily will if we don't examine our socialization, in perpetuating the rape culture.

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