I keep trying to write a blog post to express how I feel about this past month (Women’s Month in SA) but every time I log in and begin to type, I’m overwhelmed by grief. Tears prick at my eyes but what I really want to do is to go against a lifetime of pacifism and anti-gun campainging and take up arms. I want to form an army of women and men who believe in the idea of women as human, as equal and deserving of respect and autonomy. I want to deploy that army to herd up the misogynists and absent fathers and husbands who believe in their right to demand sexual and menial tasks from their wives, boards of directors of companies that practice unequal pay based on whether or not your tackle is external or in, the entire Tea Party, politicians who parade out family values as a way to keep women barefoot and pregnant and tied to a stove, the Todd Akins and Jacob Zumas of this world, the ANC Women’s League, yes you heard me, The ANC Women’s League who support without question that bloated sexist corrupt man-pig currently sitting on the Presidential throne, and subjugate them to a decade of servitude and sex on demand, or rape as civilized people call it, while simultaneously stripping them of any and all rights to autonomy over their bodies and finances. Then, maybe then, they can begin to understand the human rights women have been fighting for for centuries, because they are not women’s rights, they are human rights, the right any human being should be accorded no matter the chromosomal combination of their birth.
Er, wait a minute, Rachel, that sounds like rage, I hear you say. It’s not, it is grief, because even though I would like to do those things, I can’t. And that grieves me.