I am angry, so angry. I am tired. I am so tired. I am disappointed, so very disappointed by what I see around me every day. My partner Fredrik once said to me “It’s as if you are carrying the world on your shoulders,” and all I could reply was “Well somebody’s got to try.” “They’re strong shoulders,” he said, but I know that they are not strong enough. I remember reading a post by another radical feminist blogger – I believe it was Amananta though I can’t find the post – saying she felt like she was trying to empty the ocean with a spoon. I know how she felt.
Over the last week the rich world seems to have exploded into grief over the death of a certain young actor. It was sad that a little girl was without her father, for sure. But I just felt myself getting angrier and angrier. Why? Why is the untimely death of a rich white man so important? People die all the time, the unnoticed, the unimportant, the people who won’t sell newspapers. More deaths occur every year as a result of violence against women than as a result of war. Where is the anger, the disbelief, the huge media coverage? Where is the fucking OUTRAGE?
Feminists are often asked why we seem so angry. The only response to this is, “Why aren’t you angry?” If you aren’t angry, you are not paying attention. I am paying attention and I am angry, so angry. Recently in an argument about reproductive rights I was accused of ‘taking these things too personally’. Of course I take them personally. These women are my sisters. Every woman who dies at the hands of a man, every woman who is raped, every woman who is denied her basic right to humanity, they are my sisters. They are me. I take it personally because until all women are free, none of us are.
When Fredrik and I were talking a while ago and I mentioned the above; that more people die through men’s violence against women than war, he said “It’s a war in itself, isn’t it?” He’s right. This is not just patriarchy, this is a war on women. The instigators of this war will not be happy until all women are subjugated, until none of us are angry. They will not be happy until they win, and they will not feel they have won until we stop fighting back.
And it’s getting so hard to keep fighting. When I read the writings of my sisters, when I speak with my sisters, when I see the plight of my sisters, I feel like I am being squashed, inch by inch. I feel the weight of the war we are fighting, and it just seems so impossible. We were talking about Amananta’s spoon analogy and he asked what was the point? Why try to empty the ocean with a spoon? I felt his despair. It is so difficult, even with sisters on either side of me. We sit next to each other in solidarity, but there are always people coming along and trying to take our spoons, to rub the sand into our eyes, to hurt us and beat us and even kill us, all because we had the audacity to even try.
Sometimes I feel so desolate that I just want to give up. And sometimes I think… we just need more fucking spoons.
Men are killing. Men are throwing and raping and beating. Real men, people’s fathers and sons and brothers, are KILLING. Women are dying. Women are being thrown and raped and beaten. Real women, people’s mothers and daughters and sisters, are DYING. My sisters. My sisters. Our Sisters. They are dying, and what is being done? Nothing is being done, because we are not important. In the male-dominated world, we are unimportant simply because we were born women.
My sisters… I want to cry. Yes I fucking take it personally. Every few minutes a woman is dying or being raped or beaten for no other reason than having been born female. And every one of those women is my sister, and I weep. The world does not weep for those women, it says they must somehow deserve what is happening to them. To the world, women’s plight lies on women’s shoulders. Sometimes I feel like I am the only person crying for my sisters, like I’m the only person with a damn spoon. I know I’m not. I know you are out there, sisters with spoons, and that you weep too.
We are outraged by the lack of outrage. We are retaliating in the war on women. We are angry because we have the right to be angry, because we are paying attention. We are taking it personally because we know if we don’t, nobody will. We are seething because we know that no woman is free until every woman is free.
We are ANGRY… and we are building bigger spoons.