Sad the Commonwealth Games are over?
Don’t be. You can always tune in to the Oppression Olympics! Who will be first to jump to the moral high ground? Who will make an outraged response in under-10 seconds?
And who will later admit to being under the influence of drugs?
Welcome to the world of competitive feminism, where no one is worthy of a prize.
It’s enough to make me want to hand in my card.
Here’s a snapshot of this week’s hysteria, brought to you by social media:
*How can you be concerned about [insert women’s issue here] when there are children dying in Gaza?!
*Why would you call out slut shaming when the guy is clearly a bogan? This is class warfare!
*What are you doing supporting surrogacy and daring to call yourself a feminist?
And, from the previous week…
*Jacqui Lambie said something sexist. WHERE ARE ALL THE FEMINISTS?
(This tweet came a full five minutes after the story broke.)
Makes me feel like having a Bex and a quiet lie down. And no, I’m not yearning for the days of mother’s little helper…
I love the fourth wave of feminism, but I hate the incessant bickering.
Of course, the violence in Gaza, closure of women’s refuges, and plight of poor little Gammy are bigger problems than whether we should shave our legs, wear makeup, or buy our babies.
These are #firstworldproblems
But writing about the ‘soft’ feminist issues doesn’t diminish the importance of the ‘hard’ ones.
Surely there’s enough space on old and new media to discuss ALL of them? How dare any self-styled Zeus sit in judgement?
As Suzanne Moore writes, about Lena Dunham, sporting a Bad Feminist badge, “Women policing each other’s feminism can be depressing”.
“Most of us are not Malala or Madonna. We muddle through. We change our minds. We take days off from feminism and that’s okay. So let’s not waste (our time) on judging other women for not being good enough,” she said.
You know what? I’ve said stuff I’m bloody proud of, like my Women of Letters missive to Dear Mr. Sexist; I’ve also said stuff I’m kinda ashamed of, like my Fairfax column which appeared to imply all men are paedophiles.
It’s all part of the rough and tumble of gender politics.
I, too, have been guilty of commenting on other women commenting on other women commenting on other women’s issues.
But, frankly, pop is eating itself.
So, I’m pulling out of the race due to injury.
I can’t bear the heightened heart palpitations when I see a tweet FULL OF CAPITAL LETTERS; and the grey hairs that grow at the black and white certainty of the commentariat.
(“WHAT ABOUT THE GENDERCIDE IN INDIA!” I hear someone scream. Yes, I know, there are more SERIOUS ISSUES in the developing world. That’s why I travelled to India to do a series of documentaries, columns and radio broadcasts on the subject.)
Maybe I’m just over the bullshit. Maybe I’m just over the hypocrisy.
Maybe I’m just over my hypocrisy at making a living out of this bullshit.
There are so many opinions; so much polarisation. And yet, so little change.
It’s… well… exhausting.
As my Gen Y friends say, “Whatevs”.
(“Don’t disparage Gen Y! That’s AGEIST!” I hear someone scream over the whine of the kettle.)
Unlike the Commonwealth Games, there are no winners in the Oppression Olympics: only ‘good’ feminists, ‘bad’ feminists, and zero tolerance for human frailty.
*Tracey Spicer has been a professional ranter for almost a decade. The strain is starting to show…