My father is a Feminist Capitalist; my mother a Feminist Socialist. Brought together by the swinging sixties and the hippie flower power my father and mother were poles apart. They had one thing in common though; rallying Women’s Liberation Movement. But that is as far as their similitude stretches.
Needless to say each one of their offspring was pre destined to being a Feminist stroke something or another regardless of their gender. Maybe that is because the men in my family were outnumbered. To every one XY chromosome holder, there were three XX chromosome holders lurking around. Cynicism aside though, the struggles faced by the female form is still palpable. The men in my family like to alleviate some of those struggles in their own little idiosyncratic way.
Take my father for example; he is constantly challenging societal norms and ideologies that a women is nothing but a rotten tomato if she is to hit twenty five years of age and isn’t under the guardianship of a husband. Aside from the fact that this is a poor metaphor because tomatoes don’t last that long (or do they); in the spirit of feminism and the capitalist ethic, my father is of the opinion that everyone should do their bit in a capitalist society. Women shouldn’t be regarded as a second class citizen, they should be free to conduct trade (amongst other things) as and when they see fit.
Ripe or rotten tomato we may be, telling my father one would like to get married is equivalent to committing the cardinal sin. There is a long list of achievements a female has to tick off before she can even think of introducing a gentleman caller to my father. Let’s face it those divorce statistics are not very appetising.
There are a lot of upheavals to overcome. A glass ceiling to break, a FTSE 100 to conquer, gender based violence to abolish, equality to attain, oppression to overcome alongside a whole host of other barriers. According to one statistic “if the skills and qualifications of women who are currently out of work in the UK were fully utilised, the UK could deliver economic benefits of £15 to £21 billion pounds per year – more than double the value of all our annual exports to China”. Now that is a statistic for my father to revel in.
Of course, there is a downside to having fellow males appropriating the female struggle. Don’t expect any help from the men in my family simply because you are of the female form. Whenever I attempt to use that card it backfires on me. Such are the times when I instruct my brother to take the rubbish out, why? Because in certain parts of the world women aren’t allowed to step a foot outside so this is my way of standing in feminist solidarity with my fellow comrades. Needless to say he refuses to do so why? Because I need to step up to the equality game and be appreciative of privileges bestowed upon me as a young woman living in a first world culture and take out the rubbish myself, even if it is 2:00am.
Nor should I expect to be chauffeured to and fro when I can’t be bothered to utilise my bus pass and hop on public transport. Instead I am told by the male figures in my family (and females alike) that I should use that as a motivation to get my license and get my own car. Why… because some of us have to live with the burden of being chauffeured around and never getting the chance to exercise our inalienable right to frolic with the wheels of a vehicle.
Oh the dysphoria!
Ermm on a more trivial note I wonder if car insurance is cheaper for women on the basis that we are better drivers; even if I can’t attest to that myself, just yet!