This post, The Personal is NOT Political, will sear a hole in your monitor. Here’s a sample but I encourage you to read the whole thing:
And how enormously stupid are we to have bought the lie that only “I” am a woman. That only “I” have the authentic experience and the true understanding of what it actually means to be a woman. Because I was raped; because I was passed over for a job promotion; because I’m a lesbian; because my father abandoned the family; because I couldn’t go to college; because I’m a single mother; because I’m black, or asian, or from the third world; because I’m a success in a man’s world; because I had a sex change operation; because I am a mother; because I had an abortion. Only “I” define womanhood and feminism and right thinking. Well, me and all my friends in my pretty little corner.
Why is the statement “The personal is political” a lie? Because of what the word personal means. It means our bodies and our beds. Pregnancy, breasts, motherhood, weight, ugliness, sex, sex, sex, and more sex, rape, abortion, birth control, marriage, weddings, wives, ex-wives, dumped wives, pornography. It puts the bit of womanhood between our teeth and sets us on an endless loop around the bedroom bridle path where the yellow wallpaper is just as mesmerizing but the presence of a few sister horses beside us makes us feel less lonely. The personal is political is a lie because it limits the scope of politics to a world comprised of stirrups and orgasms.
No thanks. Not until we spit the bit out of our mouths and take up our rightful identities as PERSONS will we see a woman in the White House. Not until we leave our god-forsaken beds back in our bedrooms where they belong and put our never-ending FEELINGS in a big black box with the inscription “ONLY OPEN IN TIME OF GREAT NEED” marked in deep gold lettering on the lid and store that private box on a shelf in our private closets of personal experience will we be anything more than the pathetic bunch of losers that men want us to believe we are.
The world’s greatest SWINDLE sent us to our bedrooms to look at ourselves naked in the mirror FOREVER and tricked us into thinking that our only importance to the world is what we think and how we feel about the image looking back at us.
Get with the program, ladies. If you want to have power in this world, if you don’t want the Jon Favreaus of this world acting like an adolescent male hooligan while he pens Barack Obama’s speeches,
you are going to have to do like Lady MacBeth and unsex yourself, conjure the evil spirits and fill yourself with dire cruelty. You need to harden your heart and practice cold blooded pragmatism. You need to let the jabs and criticism roll off of you and learn how to run interference for each other instead of collaborating with the enemy. And they ARE the enemy. Not men per se, because there are a lot of women in on this, but the political system that has been created by men and custom.
This holiday season, go to that gender segregated party in your suburb, walk into the kitchen where the guys are all clustered around the keg of Sam Adams and express an opinion. Hang out with the ladies in the family room who are talking about their menstrual cycles and their labor stories and say something completely unrelated, like, “Do you ever expect to see a woman president in your lifetime?”
Shake it up, baby. It’s time.