What happened?
The feminist movement peaked in my middle teens; I remember reading The Second Sex when I was fifteen or so. When I was eighteen, Brownmiller came out with her classic work, Against Our Will, which had a famous, and very controversial statement, coming to you here through Wikipedia:
Brownmiller argues that rape had been hitherto defined by men rather than women, and that men use, and all men benefit from the use of, rape as a means of perpetuating male dominance by keeping all women in a state of fear.
As a gay man, it seemed pretty hard, that phrase “all men benefit from the use of,” but reading the book several times helped get it clear. Her point, if I remember it correctly, is that all women live in a state of fear, of some degree of intensity; it’s part of the warp and weft of our society. And that fear is used, consciously or not, to men’s advantage.
It was an invigorating time, a time of political correctness that I miss, in a sense. Women burning bras? Well, that was women taking back their bodies; no, I’m not gonna be uncomfortable to please you. Women boycotting beauty contests? Hey, has any guy ever stood up in a scanty thong and paraded his ass around a stage for the world to see? Oh, and then get asked how they would solve world hunger?
So for a few years women said to men, “it’s fifty / fifty, buddy; you clean the bathroom, I’ll clean the kitchen….”
Then, all of a sudden I began to hear the first chinks, “I’m not a feminist,” women would say, “but I do believe in equal rights for women.”
This message was puzzling. I had no problem with being a feminist—I considered myself one, although whether that was possible was argued among radical theorists. But if they wanted me, I was willing to be in their trenches.
Then it appeared men were subtly pushing back, and women were retreating. About that time, I moved to Puerto Rico; my finger was off the cultural pulse of the United States. But I can tell you that—always with exceptions—women in Puerto Rico were not faring well. My first reaction, seeing them going to work, was, “hunh? Who goes to a party at 9AM?” Wearing three-inch stiletto heels for eight hours a day seemed a little over the top.
They were especially not doing very well, because many, many of them were working eight hours a day, picking up the kids from Mamita, grabbing “food” at KFC, studying with the kids until nine PM, doing a load of wash, organizing clothes and food for the next day, and falling into bed, for six hours sleep. They did this for five days; Saturday they cleaned the house.
Nor, I’m sorry to say—and again with exceptions—was the average Puerto Rican guy much use. Look, my father and mother had this deal going: he would go out and deal with the world; she would stay put and deal with the house and kids. They modified it, tweaked it, but he was always there, and holding up his share of the bargain. Puerto Rican men tend to marry at age 18, and then drift off by age 23.
So all of this was in my mind when I saw a clip on CNN about revenge porn. Right, I live in a different age—I know that—so I had to check it out: what was revenge porn?
You’re a young woman, you’ve had some wine, you’re back home, undressing with your boyfriend, who takes—perhaps with your permission, perhaps not—a photo of you, appearing not as you usually present yourself to the world. But that’s OK because you trust him, and he would never do anything to harm you, and…
Three years later, you break up. And what does the guy do? Goes on to a website and posts your picture, with your name, last name, and telephone number.
It can get worse. That gray-haired lady you call “Mother?” She gets an email with the heading, “your daughter is a slut.” The boss gets one, too. Oh, forget the boss—you don’t have one because this cyber criminal has put the photos over your Facebook page and guess what? Every recruiter is checking Facebook. So no job for you!
You were stupid, of course. You should never have allowed him to take the picture. Your passwords—of course you shouldn’t have shared them. You were also young, and he weighed 200 pounds, you weighed 110. So that bottle of wine hit you harder.
And as a victim pointed out, statements like the ones above—however true—are just victim-blaming, the equivalent of “what were you wearing at the time of the attack?”
Much of this happened to a woman, Holly Jacobs, who has spent four years trying to get her photos taken off websites, who has taken her aggressor to court in a civil suit, and who has started a website called endrevengeporn.com. She has also started a petition, which I’ve just signed, to make this form of harassment a crime. Here’s the link: http://www.endrevengeporn.com/petition.html
Maybe it’s time to go back to Brownmiller, regain some of that militant fervor, restart the work of raising boys, not future predators.
It may also be time to hear male voices speaking up and claiming, as the TED speaker below does, that “women’s issues” are also men’s issues. Molly Jacobs presumably has a father—is he unaffected by this “women’s issue?” Is he gonna snigger when someone calls a woman a “slut?” Wink, when someone puts a hand on a woman’s rump?
Maybe it’s time to be responsible, guys.
