Women who know

I have a class on Monday nights at the Downtown Centre of the McMaster University campus, which is located at the corner of King and John, across from the John Sopinka Courthouse (which used to be the old Post Office).  My guy comes to walk me home so I look for him when I leave the building.  I couldn’t find him when I walked out so I asked one of the staff if they had seen him and she pointed across the street to the Courthouse.

My guy will talk to anyone; he has a special knack for connecting with people.  When we walk around, everyone says hi to him.  It’s really weird, sort of, how a person can make friends out of strangers.  He talks to everyone, as I said, but he uses that talent, particularly, to talk to street people, especially those with mental health challenges.  So when I saw him standing on the stairs next to a bundle of blankets, I thought, oh, he has a new friend.

He waved me over and I crossed the street to join him.  He introduced me to Dan, who was on a hunger strike for equal rights.  That’s interesting, I thought.  My guy said, listen to his story, Warmth (that’s what he calls me), so I shook his hand, introduced myself and asked him, what’s your deal?

Dan peered at me from under the brim of this baseball cap. He seemed young

Long story, short; you can see all 160 acts of abuse (as he calls them) on his blog:

His ex withheld some vital mail that caused him to fall out of the process of some sort of discrimination suit.  He wants the police to investigate, because it is against the law to tamper with someone’s mail.  They won’t.  The Attorney General doesn’t care either.  This has been going on for some time with no satisfaction to Daniel.

Apparently the issue has gotten so bad that his fiancé has been hospitalized because of the harassment (I think.  I should have read all 160 acts to the bottom – I bailed at 25….).  I’m all for a good cause, but this one seemed a little much.

The system, he says, pushes men to violence.

I’ve heard that before.  And sometimes I come close to believing it when I hear stories of women behaving badly.  And we all know that they can, behave badly, that is.  But that’s their business, I guess.  Or is it?

We women all know at least one other woman who has acted crazy in the name of “love”; who has cheated on her boyfriend or husband out of revenge; who has abused her partner with insults; who has gone out of her way to make him pay, however payment is defined.  It may be for something he did on purpose, but sometimes it’s just because of the way he is.  And she can’t accept it.

However, women can be quick to claim “victim”; we have defined it.  Women have been advocating for their beaten sisters for at least 30 years, for most of my adult life.  I was raised with this issue in the newspaper, on the news, and in the homes of my friends.  But as someone who reads stories from the past, I know that the history of domestic violence didn’t start in the 70s.

Fifty years ago, the police might very well have cautioned an abused woman that she ought to behave rather than scold the man for hitting her, never mind lay any charges.  Men didn’t get involved usually unless she was his sister, and then it was certainly a private matter, one hidden deep in the family.

This isn’t about men beating up women.  There are enough women talking about that.  Precious few men seem to care, but the women are all over this issue.

But women aren’t all over the issue of the woman who behaves badly.  No one wants to talk about her or her effect on the sisterhood.

What about those who make false accusations against men for revenge, perhaps, or some other twisted motive?  I man I know calls them “women who know”; women who know how to work the system so that it works in their favour and against the man.  A woman who knows can have a man kicked out of his house and paying child support for children that aren’t his, either biologically or legally.

Women who work in domestic violence follow a principle tenant that says:  believe the woman.  No matter what.  It comes from a long history of women not being believed.  It’s hard sometimes to do that, because somethings, sometimes, you know, you just feel, it’s not true.  And sometimes it’s not true. Sometimes the woman needs more help than she bargained for.  But she still needs help.

News – Eddie Cibrian’s Ex: “He Broke My Heart, So I Broke His Harleys” – Celebrity News – UsMagazine.com

I was in the middle of writing about just this sort of thing when I read this account online.

If he had done this to her, and then boasted about it in the press, he would have been charged.

There is no doubt that relationships are difficult to navigate, sometimes at the best of times even, but really, we all need to get over oursleves and think about the bigger picture.

Choice and what that means

I finally read this article by Sandra Tsing Loh

I Choose My Choice!

I’ve been working fulltime since September 1977.  That’s 32 years by my reckoning.  Long time.  Not all at the same place, but here and there across the country.  Mostly here.

I remember the day I realized that I would be a working woman, for it was a decision I made, not one that I fell into.  I was 12.  I used to watch the tv show, One Day at a Time.  The main character was Ann Romano, a divorced mother of two young daughters, who suddenly found herself alone after her husband left her for a younger woman.  It was a comedy, which was what caught my attention as a kid, but it appealed to my budding sense of what becoming  a women meant, and, maybe more importantly, what it meant by being a man.  It was one of my more favourite shows as a child.

What I remember thinking to myself as I watched this television show through the early 1970s, was that I could very well find myself happily married one day, but who’s to say that will last?  What if he leaves?  What will happen to me if I don’t have a job, can’t take care of myself?  I will be like Ann Romano, starting all over again.  And she wasn’t the only heroine that I saw when I looked to popular culture.  It was the beginning of skyrocketing divorce rates.  For my parent’s, it was “until death did they part” after almost 50 years together.  Television has no influence on children, eh?

Now, most of the stories that were told were success stories of women who had overcome, maybe gone to graduate school and found a new life after he left, etc, etc.  But I didn’t want to have to overcome

What is it about looking for what you get?

So, I’ve been working fulltime for 30.5 years.  I had a whole year off when my first daughter was born.  That was beautiful.  I’ve been a stay at home mother and it was fun.  Even the cleaning was easy.  Lots of time.   I read and read and read.  The other mothers were a bit off, I never felt like I fit.  Maybe because I knew I was going back to work and arranging for quality daycare was my main concern.  And I found it.  Close, convenient, my daughter loved it, and they loved her.  Children thrive in quality day care.

When my second daughter was born, 8 years later, I wasn’t so fortunate.  I went back to work after 5 months after my husband was laid off.  We ended up separating and since then it’s been work, work, work.  And good thing I can, too, because I’ve had to.

I bought Hirshmann’s book, the one that Loh refers to in her article.  My daughter picked it up from my table and took it home to read.  She’s a young professional working woman, newly married and wasn’t so taken with Hirshmann’s argument either, mainly for the same reasons as Loh.  As a social worker, she sees that not everyone enjoys the fiscal benefits of a professional job.  But she’s being working herself since she was 17, graduated from university free from debt and able to fund her own graduate education.

I’m all for choice, but choose your choice wisely.

Deloitte girl quits after sending email asking colleagues to vote on office’s most attractive men | Mail Online

Deloitte girl quits after sending email asking colleagues to vote on office’s most attractive men | Mail Online.

So -

Some women don’t get it, apparently.

‘This probably massively violates HR equal opportunities policy, but never mind! It’s all for fun and a bit of a laugh.’

The email was only intended for a small group within her office, but was quickly forwarded outside the building and within hours was being read by millions of internet users as far away as New Zealand, the USA andAustralia.

There is no privacy online.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1235129/Deloitte-girl-quits-sending-email-asking-colleagues-vote-offices-attractive-men.html#ixzz0ZPEVtncP

via Deloitte girl quits after sending email asking colleagues to vote on office’s most attractive men | Mail Online.

Michael Kimmel: Meet the Lamberts: Elizabeth and Adam Expose Sexism and Homophobia

Michael Kimmel: Meet the Lamberts: Elizabeth and Adam Expose Sexism and Homophobia.

Double standards indeed!�

There’s always a voice for supportive men in the sisterhood.

via Michael Kimmel: Meet the Lamberts: Elizabeth and Adam Expose Sexism and Homophobia.

When I grow up….

Garbage is my favourite band.  That would make Shirley Manson my favourite female artist.  However, she’s not alone.  Chrissy’s at the party, along with Pat and Patty, Joan, Janice, Annie, and the Heart sisters. Sheryl came a little later with Melissa, Alanis and Sarah.  I love the women who have rendered rock the way I like it.

But Shirl’s my girl, has been since I first heard her sing.  She fronts the band Garbage, with Butch Vig on drums, Duke Eriskson hits the riffs on guitar along with Steve Marker who also plays keyboards (talented guy!).

I think it was #1 Crush that first caught my attention, from the Romeo and Juliet soundtrack, the one with Leo DiCaprio and Claire Daines, the gangsta one.  If I was Juliet that’s the song I’d sing my Romeo.  I have Push It on my iPod and I play it when I run.  I go faster.

As I sit and compose this post, I’m playing Absolute Garbage, a compilation of their best songs, released in the summer of 2007.  I got it for Christmas that year and spent New Year’s Eve with a bottle of wine and hours and hours to play my new cd.  Yes – I was alone, but I was happy.  I remember trying to write up my own liner notes as the night wore on and the bottle ran out.  Pages and pages of ink was spilt trying to capture the right tone as I played the songs over and over, louder and louder.  But I’m not a rock critic and I know nothing about music except that I like it.  I turned to the expertise of Peter C. Murphy and what he had to say about the band on the liner notes:.

Instead of sticking to some reductivist manifesto, Garbage seemed to be inventing a set of notional criteria for a futuristic music that didn’t exist yet.

Garbage are a hybrid entity, even by rock ‘n’ roll standards.  Although they’ve filled stadiums and sold over 10 million albums, they still don’t fit, and their music speaks to others who don’t fit.

I guess that’s why I like it.

What I love about these songs is the darkness lurking just beneath the surface.  Some songs have a manic quality that mirrors the hectic pace we live in, trying to cram-jam everything we can into the space of seconds.  Other songs have a heartrending pathos – Milk, #1 Crush, You Look so Fine.

When I Grow up has the exuberance of childhood in its upbeat pop sound and hope in the future:  “When I grow up, I’ll be stable”, yeah, right.  I keep telling myself that.

What is it we get from the songs that we love? I look to music for inspiration, for a vision of a better world, as an expression of social protest and as a cry for humanity.  Some songs make me cry every time I hear them.  Some inspire me to think beyond myself.  Some I wish I wrote.

The songs written by Shirley and the boys plant woman in the 21^st century, as an agent of her own actions.  She sings of love; yearning, finding, losing, the whole gamut, but with an emotional rawness that pulls at the soul.  “It’s All Over But The Crying” is what the betrayed woman feels.

Shirley takes her sisters to task in Stupid Girl and calls it like many of us see it.  “A withering putdown” is how Murphy puts it.  “All you had you wasted.” It’s the anthem for a generation.  “Can’t believe you fake it.”  You can take that for what you want.

And of course, I’m Only Happy When it Rains say it all.

I was in Edinburgh in the summer of 1999, visiting family and doing some research.  It just happened to be the opening of the Scottish Parliament.  It wasn’t planned that way; it was serendipity.  When we arrived in the city centre from the airport, we ran into throngs of people pulsing through the streets, excited celebrants of a new era that rang in Scottish independence.  I stopped to watch the big screens set up under Edinburgh Castle as Sean Connery and his wife emerged from the opening of Parliament.  I heard the Queen was there too, but I didn’t catch a glimpse.  I was proud to be Scottish lass and I felt fortunate to be there for such an auspicious occasion.

I was travelling with my partner at the time, and we had plans to have dinner with my aunt and uncle that night.  He had some work to do before the day ended so I made my way back to the bed and breakfast to wait for his return.

I was flicking around the stations on the telly when I saw Shirley’s face on the screen.  I stopped and watched. Seeing she’s an Edinburgh lass, I wasn’t that surprised, I thought, wow – that’s too coincidental! -  but I was happy to find something that I was interested in watching while I waited for my evening to begin.  She talked about her childhood and how she came to catch this gig with Butch and the boys.  I was mesmerized.

Later, as we made our way over to my aunts flat, we found ourselves again in the crush of the crowd gathered at the base of Edinburgh Castle, this time for a free concert in the park.  There were all kinds of people, from families to punk rockers, having a blast hanging about the street.  I asked my guy, I wonder whose playing? as we pushed past the crowed, anxious not to be late for dinner.  But we didn’t stop to find out.

Dinner was fun, but my uncle by accident split a glass of red wine on me.  I was wearing a black skirt so staining wasn’t an issue, but once you’ve been covered in wine, well, it gets sticky and kinda smelly so when we passed through the crowd on our return and I wondered again, maybe we should see who’s playing, we didn’t stop to bother.  It was getting late and we had just arrived that day so we just kept on going but I had this sinking sensation that my life had become old and boring.

The next day when I went down for breakfast and saw GARBAGE in big letters on the front page of the paper, I knew they weren’t talking about the refuse left over from the celebration.  That was when I knew for sure that I was definitely getting old and boring.  And let me tell you, I’m too young for that.

Yes, I had walked right through a free Garbage concert.  That was the closest I’ve come to seeing them play, and now we all know that I didn’t.  That was the third time I lost out on an opportunity, and they haven’t toured now, in years.  Some would say they have broken up.  But I remain hopeful that one day a new cd will hit the charts and a tour will be scheduled and there will be NOTHING that will stand in my way for tickets.  In the meantime, The Trick is to Keep Breathing…

Wanna come?

Welcome to the Vixenhood…

We have all been agog this week with the events that have transpired at the Wood’s mansion in Florida.  The web has been busy with updates and playbacks of the sorry situation that yet another sad man has gotten himself into.  What was he thinking? we have all been asking each other as we analyze his predicament.  I hear the men are laughing over at TSN.  And if they are playing true to type, the late night laugh masters are making hay with Tiger’s humiliations.

Perhaps we can commiserate with his wife, surely an innocent in all this – although some would say that in marriage there is no innocence – but to have her husband’s dalliances with cocktail waitresses,a so-called publicist (just whose career is being promoted? wink, wink) and only who knows how many others, bandied about in bars and boardrooms, around water coolers and even the dinner table is not what a wife wants to have to bear.  Even the best wife.  No one, really, wants to be that martyr.

A conversation starter it surely has been.  If you’re in a relationship and you’re not talking about it, it may be because there’s some danger there.  Who wants to open that can of worms? you might be thinking.  These events provide us with an opportunity to reflect on our behaviours as a culture, for Tiger is not alone.  Let’s see, how many prominent men have subjected their families to public comment because of their wanton ways?  Eliot Spitzer, David Letterman, Mark Sanford, John Edwards….

What I have found interesting in this story is not the indiscretion of a young man too rich for his britches and full of his place in the world.  It is that even with his famous face and busy life, there were at least three women who seemed to have no problem in having an affair with a married man.  And that number has grown in the days since to nine.  If this isn’t an issue for the sisterhood, I don’t know what is.

I’m all for privacy in the bedroom.  Quite frankly, it’s none of our business who Tiger Woods gets into bed with nor what he does when he gets there.  However, the salacious nature of sexual scandal seduces us; like the pull of a magnet, and our attention gets drawn into the details and we can’t look away.

What I see is a sorry state in the sisterhood.   Or shall we say, the vixenhood.

I suppose women have been cheating with other women’s men for thousands of years.  Nothing new here.

And I suppose that the women’s movement has fought for the same rights that men have enjoyed on the grounds of equality and have advocated for women to have the freedom to live their lives fully; to take advantage of all of life’s wonderful opportunities.  But does that include another woman’s man?

The women’s movement, from its beginning, has been busy trying to find ways to get women to live with respect either independently or with a partner, or partners, for who is to judge another, really?  But honesty is the mark of an equal relationship and we should demand that be the case with our partners.  We don’t have to accept behaviour that demeans our role in the family, for in family is where women find their faith, no matter what the mater.

But this isn’t about Tiger, this is about women who should know better.

It’s not like it’s a secret rule, it’s two of the commandments.  Two.  The one about adultery and the one about your neighbour’s wife, or husband in this case.   Good thing we don’t stone people for such behaviour in our culture.  Instead, we give them millions of dollars for their story; they hire publicists to capitalize on their fame, and then wipe their mouths and say they’ve done no wrong, as a friend of mine likes to say.

The women’s’ movement has fought for women so that they don’t have to be dependent on any man.  It’s nice to have one around, they’re fun to play with, intelligent to talk to, and have those big strong muscles that the Y chromosome gives them.

But really, sisters, there’s lots out there, go get your own.

Today we remember…

It’s the 20th anniversary of the Montreal Massacre.  Do you remember where you were on that day?

I do.  I was a young mother of a daughter, aged 8.  I was about to get pregnant with another one in a few months.  But that’s another story

I remember I was in a car, listening to the news.  It unfolded slowly:  there’s been a shooting at a school in Quebec, a man with a gun went on a rampage and shot a number of students, most of them women (it was the first report, no one was sure of who had been hit).  I remember thinking, specifically, “I hope it wasn’t because they were women.”  It seemed absurd, actually, and I said it out loud.  The person I was with rolled their eyes and said something like, you always think everything has do with being a woman.

Well, for me, it does.

Too bad it was true.  So true, he confessed it in his own words, written in a hate-filled manifesto that blamed women for the trials and tribulations in his life.  He spewed his hatred at the women with each bullet in his gun.

To the rational person his reason, well, wasn’t.

Rational people across Canada mark December 6th with silence, some will march in rallies; all will recall the lives that were lost that day.  Sadly, too, we also call to mind the countless number of fallen sisters who have died at the hands of men who once claimed to love them with all their hearts.

My partner doesn’t believe that women can stop male abuse.  He says men have to do the work to stop the violence.  I’ve looked online to see what resources are provided to men who are confused with their place in life, angry at the world and looking to blame the women who love them.  I was shocked to find nothing in the way of prevention and precious little in the way of treatment.  Jail seems to be the big stick we hit them with.  There’s understanding for you, that’ll make mad men come around.

Woman abuse is the ultimate expression of misogyny, that is, the hatred of women.  How else do you understand the way that some men think they can behave?  Men who hit may say, no way, we love our women, but she…..   There is no “but”, buddy, except that there is something drastically wrong with your thinking.  And we all know the desperate condition of mental health services in this country.  Make no mistake about it, misogyny is a mental health issue.

I was involved with a women’s group a number of years ago.  It was around the time the White Ribbon Campaign was gearing up, maybe its second year.  The White Ribbon Campaign promoted male solidarity with woman abuse activists by men wearing a little white ribbon, pinned to the lapel of a jacket. Or used to, I don’t know if they do that anymore.  I haven’t seen one in a while and think I would have noticed it.  In any case, the group I was with was handing out packages of ribbon and pins for us to cut up and assemble.  I thought this was supposed to be a men’s initiative, I wondered to myself, as I packed away the little baggie in my briefcase to carry home.

I spoke my mind later as I pulled my partner (at the time) into a ribbon cutting party.  I have to say that I griped about it quite a bit.  Why am I doing this, I asked him (rhetorically, I might add, for I wasn’t really interested in the answer).  Here we are again, the women, organizing the solution to the problem.  And I guess if it’s our problem we sound find the solution, just like birth control, but it’s taking a hell of a long time to get guys to get with the program.

So when my guy says that men have to do the work to stop male violence, I stand up and cheer, clap loudly and say is anyone listening?

Sisters at Work…

I haven’t been doing much else this week except working.  The project that I’m working on is something that I haven’t done before.  I was asked to write the text and compile the evidence for an accreditation document; a job above my pay grade, for sure, but I’ve enjoyed reaching for the understanding that I’ve needed to put it all together.  It’s almost done; will be by the end of next week.

When I left work on Friday, I left a completed draft on the desk of the dean.  It was just under 400 pages, and I know there are some missing pieces.  I expect the finished document will run in the 500s.  I’ve never made anything so big.  It was an organizational feat in which I am still slightly in awe.

What else I am in awe about is the help that I received from the staff in the program in which I was working.  I don’t work in this program, I work in another area of the Faculty, but they were awesome in maintaining a cheerful, helpful and humourous atmosphere while I asked for documents and gave them more work to do than the day rightfully allows.  I could not have done it without their help.

The program administrator demonstrated a commitment to her work that was truly inspiring; students can reach her 24/7 with concerns.  She can take care of anything with a smile and a good word.  She did a huge amount of work getting together everything I asked her for.  Some things she had to create.  Her two assistants made time for my requests.  I overhead one of them say: “I’ll do anything Margaret asks me to.”  I don’t think anyone has ever said that before.  I’m going to hang onto that phrase for a long time coming; it gives me a warm feeling.

What a difference it makes, working in a pleasant environment. 

The first job I had, when I was 18, was an eye-opener, let me tell you.  I was working in the automotive sector (we won’t name names, but if you think I’ve forgotten any of them you’re mistaken) in a parts department with another woman and the manager, a guy.  This woman was about 35 and had been there for three years when I came on board as the computer operator.  I worked in a little cubicle with the mainframe (it was in the olden days) and she worked with the manager just outside my cubicle.  We were separated by a big glass window and a wooden door.

The manager decided he wanted to us to learn each other’s jobs.  That was cool with me, I thought it made sense.  She didn’t.  In her eyes I was this perky 18 year old chickie, who’s hanging out with the guys in the parts room trying to take her job, and more, as we will see.  As for what I thought of her, well, she talked about everybody in the place; I knew she was talking about me too.  It made me really self-conscious with the other women because they seemed to love her

One day, I came into work, said hi with a big smile (because I really tried to get along with her) and offered to bring her a coffee down when I went upstairs.  She said sure.  I could tell she was in one of those moods she got in, the kind that led to a full verbal assault on someone not in the room.

I was in my cubicle, playing Star Trek.  It was an early video game that I indulged in when waiting for work.  I saw her get up, walk around her desk and come toward my door.  Shit, I remember thinking….

When she came in through the door, she shut it carefully, turned to me and with her finger pointing in my face she proceeded to run up one side of me and down the other with her tongue lashing out all kinds of verbal nastiness.  I was stunned, to say the least.

It went on for some time.  I was trapped, sitting at my terminal while she stood in front of the wood door.  And she didn’t let up.  She accused me of trying to steal her boyfriend (who worked in the next shop).  What a joke I thought, as his form flashed through my mind – yuk –  did I say I was 18 and he was ancient – like 40.  Are you f—- crazy? I thought to myself.  But I just let her go on.  She was on some kind of rant.  What she didn’t know, though, was that the manager had walked into the outside office and could hear everything she was saying.  I tried not to look at him while he stood looking over at the window.  He waited for a few minutes then left.

She eventually stopped.  She told me if I ever told anybody she would punch me in the face.  Yeah, right, I thought, as I had this vision of her hauling back and hitting me.  I made noises that were non-confrontational.  I tried to defend myself, but how can you tell someone that you I think their boyfriend’s gross?  I simply said she was mistaken and I was sorry that I must have overstepped my place.  I had only the greatest respect for her relationship. 

At the end of the day, the manager came into my office.  Sly and crafty guy that he was, he began by talking nonchalantly of a project I was doing.  He then told me I had to tell him everything that happened. I tried to defer; no, I said, she’s over her mood, and in fact, she could not have been nicer to me for the rest of the day.  But he wasn’t having any of it.  I heard what she said, he told me.  Tell me everything.

So I did. And while I did, I laughed and laughed as a huge burden lifted off my shoulders. 

My mother had been trying to get me to quit this job.  She could tell that the way I was being treated by my co-worker was having an effect on me.  She heard me in the night.  And she was right.  The only thing I hated about work was having to walk on shells and compensate for this crazy lady.  I thought I was taking the higher road by trying to understand why she was such a bitch to everyone, who apparently loved her.  Loved her because they were scared of what she’d say about them.

The next day when I came into work, she asked me if I said anything to the manager as she glared me in the face.  I told her that I didn’t have to say anything and that he heard her but he asked so I told him.  And right then, the manager and his boss, the controller walked into the room, told her to pack up her things and escorted her off the property.  That stunned me even more.

Well, it turns out I wasn’t the first person she freaked out on, more like the third.  The difference this time was that it was under a different manager and he actually heard her.  He told me that she had been making mistakes for weeks and blaming them on me.  On purpose.  Can you believe that?

Welcome to the working world. 

She was one twisted sister.  I hope she found some peace with herself and security with her boyfriend.  She must be about 65 by now.  I wonder if they’re still together?

Hey! – You Guys…

I know there’s a couple of you that read this blog….

A couple of years ago, I went to a talk titled was “Is Feminism Dead?”  I remember feeling a little burning flame start to kindle when I saw the poster, sensing a post-feminist agenda on the horizon.  I dragged my guy with me, C’mon, I said.  There will be lots of men there.  Young men are more open to these ideas, I said.  You won’t be alone.

Well.  We sat at the back and watched the room fill up with women.  Women of a particular type.  Most of the women in the room were white, many with grey hair.  Some of the women were young and had that hippy-cool look happening, with funky clothes and spiky hair.  No one brought their men.  I was a little shocked and my guy felt centred out; he felt all their eyes on him.  I said that was because he was so hot.  But no, he said some glared at him.

But me?  I was kinda proud.  Here I was with the only man in the room.  I knew he was feeling uncomfortable, but we talked together and found common cause in analyzing the situation.  I have to say, I felt like I walked into a time warp.  I couldn’t believe that there were no men interested in this question.  Don’t they want to understand women better?  Apparently not.

My guy is an enlightened man, he is someone who recognizes the value of the female principle, of the value of women in the bigger picture.   He was there.  He came with me.  He was interested.  And you know why?  He was interested because I was.

When the lecturer arrived, she brought with her a couple more men; she introduced them as “friends.”  There were now 3 men and about 120 women.

The lecture was quite good.  It was delivered by Dianne Rienhart who was writing a regular column for the Hamilton Spectator at the time.  Her message resonated with what I think (and say):  that as long as there are women around the world who are suffering because they are women then there is a reason for feminism to continue.  For feminists, no matter what their stripe, are tuned to the cause of women’s human rights; they see that raising women’s rights will raise human rights.

Her second message also resonated with me, with us, actually, me and my guy.  That message was that we need men to help us.  We need men to be sitting in the seats with us, talking with us, listening to us, helping us.  My guy listens to what I have to say with interest, and we engage in intelligent conversations (or we think they’re intelligent – who really can say?).  He is engaged because I bring it up ALL the time.  Those of you who have heard me on my soapbox will testify; he pays attention because his consciousness has been raised, although he takes exception to the term.  He seems to be happy to be with a woman who is independent and educated.  The fruits of feminism have been good for him.

November is Women’s Abuse month.  These tactics – month-long awareness campaigns – give us an opportunity to focus on particular causes, sometimes to raise awareness, sometimes for celebration.  This November we are reminded by women’s groups all over the city of the basic right of women to live without fear in the place she calls home.  It’s a basic human right.

My guy and I were talking about these tactics while we were walking home from work.  He made the comment:  women’s abuse won’t stop until men stop it.  End of story.  All the awareness, all the lobbying, all the efforts by women to end violence against women is like King Lear raging against the storm.

Women’s abuse won’t stop until men stop it.  It’s that simple.

What are you guys doing about it?