I guess there comes a point in every feminist’s career when being a feminist just ruins it for her and today, I have reached that point. I want to drive up to the capitol and kick in the shins every person who is walking around all “Oh, don’t risk yourself, Lynn.” “Oh, this accussation will harm Lynn more than it will harm Williams.” “Oh, boo hoo hoo.” I literally cannot abide by this nonsense any more.
And then I read shit like this and I think, once I’ve hobbled assholes with my kicks of justice, I’m going to light a match and let that motherfucker burn to the ground.
See, I have lost whatever it is that lets you read
You no longer hear stories like the one about the House member back in the 1990s who got a staffer drunk and parked on a lonely road. While she was throwing up out the window, he ran the electric window up, trapping her under the chin. Then he pulled up her skirt and had sex with her. He’s gone, as is the legislator whose colleagues exited a club one night to discover he had a naked intern spread-eagled on the hood of his Cadillac. These stories may have been embellished over the years; no charges were ever filed or investigations launched.
and think “Ooo, how scandalous.” I read that and I want to throw up myself, because I cannot read that and imagine myself in the position of the men. Maybe this is a failure of imagination on my part, but I just can’t. I don’t read those anecdotes and think, “Well, who can blame them for taking an opportunity like that?” or “Oh, maybe they had good intentions.”
I think of those “opportunities.” If the woman barfing out the car window is a real woman, I wonder if she’s okay. I wonder if an intern felt she could tell a legislator no. And I hope she was fucking him because it made her feel powerful to have a powerful man want her. I hope she wasn’t mortified or afraid when all his friends showed up.
But, mostly, I hope these are made-up stories.
But… and there’s always a but… with that, isn’t there? But even if they are made up stories, what purpose does it serve that they’re spread around, still? Are the women who hear them supposed to feel slightly afraid, like “Well, things like that could still happen.”? Are the women who hear them supposed to feel grateful? “Oh, sure, honey, I got drunk and grabbed your ass, but did you hear about the guy who had my job who had his way with women in your position?” I mean, is it supposed to reinforced the notion that men are dangerous and only women who are willing to put ourselves in harm’s way should venture out among them? That women shouldn’t really be at the Capitol? What?
I mean, no offense to Cagle. He’s a fine writer and he’s probably making a good point. But I can’t bring myself to give a shit if people who would do shit like that can have secret files made on them and then have those files used to blackmail them. Who cares? If you don’t want someone to find out about the evil shit you do, don’t do it. If you don’t want to be blackmailed, don’t be blackmailable. I mean, one of these examples is a criminal act. That dude should be in jail. If he can’t go to the police to complain about being blackmailed because it would reveal him as an evil rapist, oh, how terribly sad for him.