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I just needed to share this with you, gentle readers. My humble experiences on other feminists blogs reminds me that women discussing women’s issues is a clairion call that rouses the dudes who either don’t have a clue what’s going on, or by the rights invested in their ‘peen, decide to tell women what the issue is, and even, if they issue is actually an issue at all. It happens on even the most basic of issues that should be obvious if not blinkered by privilege and good ole fashioned ignorance.
Here it is.
The title of the post is “Men Taking up too much space”. No relevant text, just the picture and a link to the tumblr that has more images of dudes being dudes. It brings up a valid point:
that in the public sphere men get to define their own space and women do not.
Let’s sample the comments on this seemingly straightforward post.
I disapprove of this website. It’s pretty mean-spirited to post pictures of people on a public forum for the permanent record for what amounts to (at most) a very minor infraction. Moreover, I can’t tell how empty these trains are. There are a couple of pictures in which it is clear that the dude is crowding out other people — the one linked above for example. But most of them that’s just not even close to obvious, and from what I can tell, a lot of the trains look fairly empty. So why shouldn’t people — men or women — spread out a little? Some of the picture also seem to me to be more anti-fat person too.
Really? We’re going to nit-pick privacy issues and state strong disapprobation with the entire website! The use of public space is a phenomena and not all pictures are going to be black and white clear cut examples. Hyperskepticism rears its ugly head once again, funny how it only comes along when male privilege(NSFW link warning) is challenged.
More on the sacred right of privacy for dudes:
“It’s not hard to blur out the faces of the photographs. It’s in fact really easy. The organizers of this site have opted to not do this.”
“I have to concur that this was an unreasonable decision on the part of the person or persons who operate that website. Even if it weren’t true that, as Matt points out, the website includes many marginal and/or ambiguous cases”
“Why couldn’t they blur the faces? Terrible judgment involved here, of the kind that inherently tends to overshadow the point they were trying to make (which is a shame).”
Translation: How dare you violate the privacy of men?! We are talking about people here and their privacy. What about the poor menz!!11!11!!
I arch my eyebrow at the bleating of this inconsequential minor infraction and then look back up to the link to a search using the key terms “upskirt” and “voyeur” and behold the hundreds of sites offering thousands of pictures of women who unlike the clothed men in the tumblr photos, are often naked or in states of undress, unconsenting and unaware.
But non blurred faces of these dudes “overshadows the point”. *sigh* What isn’t overshadowed is the societal conditioning that Men are the default standard human beings and women are the sex class and most pointedly do not share the same status as men.
It gets better, or really, worse as the comments go on. We’ll file this next section under privileged clueless dudes that have important things to say:
“2) When men do encroach, as in the OP photo, people have to say something. It irritates me to covertly sneer at someone over the distance of the Internet in lieu of confronting them face to face.”
“And I’m not making any assumptions about “equal basis”, whatever that means, or socialization.”
“I’m talking about how we change bad conduct. It’s not by being self-righteous and cowardly over the Internet.”
“Definitely. But the mean-spiritedness and humiliation tactics are misplaced, especially in a world with much bigger issues for gender equality than space-hoggers on public transit. It trivializes women’s issues; it’s so petty I couldn’t take it seriously.”
Oh the sheer ignorance on display. It is so amazing to watch the clueless ramble on about how things are and if only women did this. Make careful notes good readers at the privilege-blind wanking going here that conveniently ignores social norms, power gradients and gender socialization in society. If your space is enroached on, then just tell the person off. Easy as pie. What is your problem here???
*headesking them forever (thanks Syrbal)* – Dudes will come up with all sorts of shite to mansplain away the concerns of women.
But enough indulgence. If you have any spoons left over and feel like taking a run at educating dudes on the internet, join the fun over at Feminist Philosophers.. :)
Hey d00dz, do you realize all the shit that you don’t ever have to put up with. I bet you don’t. Blair has a helpful story for you.
“This is about speaking up, creepers, and what good men don’t always see. Names have been changed.
Some time ago, I was having lunch with a group of friends—four men, one woman, and me. I’ve known most of the group for five or six years. We were talking about shared past experiences when one of the men mentioned that he missed Larry. “Gotta like a man who can make a good cup of coffee,” he said.
“No, I don’t,” I blurted out, and described how that man knew precisely where the lines of “inappropriate” behavior were drawn, and had spent the last couple of years nudging those lines whenever he came across a woman he considered “available.” I mentioned he’d been called out for failing to heed polite turn-downs, that he got offended when the turn-down became less polite. I mentioned how women who weren’t even the focus of his attention breathed a sigh of relief when he left the room.
None of the men discounted my experience or my descriptions. But every one of them said they hadn’t seen or noticed anything like that. I do want to be clear that their responses were not in the spirit, tone, or words of dismissal. Instead, they were genuinely puzzled that their observations had missed something they assumed would be obvious. One said he felt bad he hadn’t realized what was going on.
So I pushed the issue.
Without explaining what I was going to do, I got up and stood behind one of the men. I put my hands on his shoulders, then stretched my fingers as far down his chest as possible while still seeming to give a platonic shoulder rub.* I pulled him back against my chest, digging my fingers in when he resisted. That action alone let him know I acknowledged he didn’t want me to be pulling on and touching him, and I didn’t care.
“You look so tense,” I said in a nice, soft voice. Not sexy, not husky, but more intimate than standard conversation. Not intimate enough to be “inappropriate,” though. “You just let me give you a rub and I’ll make you feel better. I can tell you need that.”
Then, while he sa[t] immobile with surprise, I leaned past him to pick up his coffee cup, keeping my chest close to his face and my other hand firmly on his shoulder. To the others, it likely looked as if I was just resting my hand there. That man, though, could feel the pressure I exerted to keep him pressed close to me. He would have had to make an obvious, rude-looking push to get away. “I’ll get you some more coffee, too. You just let me take care of that.”
I gave the man a sweet smile in answer to his shocked stare, then returned to my seat, put my napkin back on my lap, and said, “That’s what Larry does.”
The man I’d touched totally understood in that moment. He’d experienced how it felt—even at the hands of a friend—to have your personal boundaries violated and your “polite” signals of resistance ignored. The other men had that slack expression that comes when surprising facts suddenly jolt long-held assumptions. “Creepy” was uttered, as was “awful” and “scary.
Their words held a tone of… almost fear? As if they were suddenly running through all sorts of past interactions in search of similar behaviors, and finding some.
Now they are able to see it.
*The “long-fingered” shoulder rub is a common tactic used by creepers who want to look like they’re being so tender and nurturing while actually making the woman fear he’s going to grab a breast at any moment.”
Pro-Tip – Your experience is not everyone’s experience. Repeat until that sinks in.
I’m looking for the transcript (found it)because sometimes the applause drowns out the speaker. In any case, this is a command performance and emphasizes a few important points about discourse in our society in general and feminism in particular.
I remember how the park, outside of parked cars, was frozen with quiet and darkness, when your anger shot through the night.
“Why do you call yourself a feminist? You guys are equal. And as a man, I am always expected to be a man, to make the first move. If anything, it is harder for me; you get all of the good stuff and none of the bad.”
With your brows furrowed with concern, with the capacity of my inferior mind, and your eyes grasp my shoulders, pushing me down as if to add to the gravity of your words.
“Do you understand where I am coming from now?”
I sat there small, draped in a label that was then too big for me. Struggling in the creases that were smothering the pieces of ideals taped together to form my skeleton. Feminist fell over my frame like an old baggy shirt. Suddenly embarrassing, the tag started to itch.
All of the good stuff and none of the bad. Women like Orwell’s pigs squealing to be more equal than others, while you’re pressured to be a man in relationships. The dilemma of having to choose who you spend your most intimate moments with. So while I sympathize with your burden of boyhood bravery, it’s hard to be the problem of a cloud’s troubled position of [working the ward] water while you’re the parched flower waiting for the rain to come only to be bother by the thunderous booms of ingratitude.
This is when you tell me not to get hysterical.
Hysterical, the word invented as a diagnosis to given to women showing inappropriate emotion, like anger. Supplemented with a daily dose of the question”Are you on your period?” As if an internal chemical explosion is the only thing that warrants my passionate opinion. But I am not suppose to talk about it. So I’m still trying to figure out why the hell I am to hide the fact that I bleed.
You illegitimatize the cries of my sisters. You try to deny me of my history. Give me hysterectomy that misdirects me dissect the women from this.
You know what? I am done with the futility of civility. I feel like cussing you out.
I would call you a pussy but that would mine. Cunt is the same predicament because it’s your dick I meant to insult. Can’t call you a slut, bitch, or whore because those are reserved for the ladies. I’d call you a son of a bitch but that would just insult the women you came from. The male equivalent of a bitch — bastard — is calling your mother a whore. Douche-bag, one of the dirtiest descriptions, just depicts the drippings of a woman. How about motherfucker? Throw in a feminine connotation to make it extra horrifying. Or a universal fuck you punctuated by erecting a phallic middle finger, in order to provide you with a visual representation of how I want you to be fucked… like a woman. Use sexual politics as the ultimate degradation.
But I don’t say any of this. I sit in silence because it has been hard to be a word in edgewise over your alpha male gorilla chest pounds. King Cock atop dangling buildings squeezing me in your leathery grip dangling me over the edge asking me why the hell I don’t enjoy the view. Oblivious to the fact I can’t even talk to you without choking on the language designed to remind me of my place. And anything I throw at you as an insult simply boomerangs back and burns my own tongue and threatens to drowned me in these thick veiled fabric of sexist dialect. But I will continue to rip these assaults apart, tearing these baggy rags and tying them tight and proud across my body, filling to the limit the fabric will allow until they fit my feminine form.
Reflecting back on your furrowed brow, I ask, “Do you understand where I am coming from now?”
bleatmop
Mystro
The Arbourist
Dead Wild Roses 
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