Hi, and welcome to my new blog. It has been some time since I’ve splattered my opinions all over the Internet for the benefit (or in spite) of strangers, but here I am, bravely charging back into the land of anger, anonymity, and never ending slagging-off that is the blogosphere.
As the title suggests, I am a Radical Feminist (this title was thrust upon me, more on that later) and as the “scum” indicates, I am the scary kind of radical feminist. The kind that doesn’t prioritise male feelings over anything. The kind that believes that there is such a thing as male and female. The kind that lives in dark crevices and feasts on the souls of children. That last part is just a rumour, though.
While I’m on the topic, it’s worth explaining a little about how I came to acquire such a label. Like most radical feminists, I entered into the world of social justice happily and with no knowledge of the devastating divide that exists therein. After chewing through my mother’s collection of “soft” feminist literature- Naomi Wolf, a bit of Greer and the like- I grew into an opinionated teenager with a furious passion for not shaving her armpits and no particular understanding of why I didn’t (don’t worry, this is not a lament about why it is an empowering feminist choice to shave one’s body hair and love penis). Much like the similarly divisive topics of pornography and sexual expression, I had never given “gender” much thought. I was forced to, however, when I came across a collection of hateful blog posts decrying a small radical feminist conference. After doing a little more research, I found that the reason this conference was condemned was because the organisers had specified that it was female-only. Not knowing why on earth feminists would viciously attack a female-only safe space, I publicly questioned this, and was thus informed that I was “radscum”, a “TERF”, then also somehow a white supremacist neo-nazi with a fetish for murdering transgendered people. Luckily for me however, I was treated more kindly than the organisers of the conference, who received enough death threats to warrant moving the conference out of the public space it was booked in. And so I discovered this new term “radical feminism” and was left wondering what on earth was so radical about a bit of good old fashioned vagina positivity, as well as feeling a bit crotchety.
After a poorly thought out attempt at posting about feminism on Tumblr, I’ve taken a little time out to develop my ideas a little and to become immersed in the sisterly culture of radical feminism. In doing so, I’ve attracted the ire of a colourful array of male transgenders, sex industry lobbyists, disgruntled middle-aged men, political parties, minor activist groups, outspoken solo activists, professional MMA fighters, gym owners, cyber stalkers, and basically everyone a radical feminist wouldn’t want at her birthday party. One of the aforementioned bestowed upon me the illustrious title of “the most vocally violent terf … in Melbourne”.
Now this is the important bit.
All women who have publicly stated their support for females receive such threats and intimidation from those who want us to be quiet. Young women are literally in fear of their lives and feel the need to hide their views in the interests of their own safety. This is unacceptable. This is a tried and true method used by oppressors to pacify those seeking liberation. I want to see a revolutionary feminist movement supported by the Left. I want women to feel safe and wanted in progressive politics. In my view, we haven’t come far since the heyday of the Second Wave, rather, postmodernism is very quickly shoving us back. Women deserve to be vocal. Women need to be loud. Neoliberal ne’er-do-wells with a penchant for disrupting political movements needn’t have the power that they do. Women’s power is in our words, because if we aren’t able to speak, we aren’t able to drown out the voices of the powerful.
In the words of one of my greatest Sheroes Angela Davis: “We have to talk about liberating minds as well as liberating society”.