A vindication of the rights of women to have a drink, a rant and be safe to do so (a short extension on Mary Wollstonecraft)

Just the other day, I was reading a tweet by a prominent Australian feminist asking, where are the changes since the #metoo movement? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised that there aren’t any.  Women have been saying this shit for years. #metoo was another request for women to not be listened to, yet again. To put their history, experiences and traumas out in the public sphere, where, yet again, people ignored them, disbelieved them and even abused them. All women know this shit happens. 100% of the women I know have been sexually harassed. A scarily large number of them have been abused and assaulted. This is no revelation.

And so, it is again, no revelation, that yet another woman has been assaulted and killed by a man. The surprising thing about it was that it was by a stranger in a public place. This morning I discovered that Ambulance Victoria attends a domestic violence incident every 7 minutes. Every 7 minutes. Even if I round down to allow for the approximately 2% of domestic violence victims who are men and assume there is only 1 victim per call out, that’s 8 women and/or children getting urgent medical treatment as a result of domestic violence per hour. 192 per day. 1344 per week. In Victoria alone. Need I continue? Imagine the cases where the woman was unable to call for treatment. Or she was too afraid to. Embarrassed to. Or because the abuse did not cause serious physical injuries. This time. Or she didn’t feel it was worth bothering emergency services yet again. She’s survived before, she’ll survive this time. Until the time she doesn’t. If you aren’t nearly crying at the thought of it, you must be yet another person who is not really listening.

I’m not even talking about those rates of sexual harassment, which is so insidious that women just expect it. Or assault by strangers. Or even casual acquaintances or dates. They happen. It’s preposterous that they happen, but the numbers of violence by close family members are shocking enough. Who needs more stats than that to want to do something about it?

Because this is no revelation to women, and particularly to women working with domestic violence, it is also no surprise to read Jenna Price calling for something more to be done. Something more than words. https://www.smh.com.au/opinion/for-eurydices-sake-we-need-to-do-more-than-go-to-vigils-20180618-h11i5k.html  And of course, more needs to be done. But am I alone in feeling well, how the fuck can women be expected to do more? Is it just me feeling bloody exhausted from speaking up about this shit all the time? Women are the majority of people speaking out and working in these fields. What can we do to really change something so entrenched in or society that no one acknowledges it even when it results in male behaviour that occurs in such volumes, is spoken about so much, shapes the lives and behaviour of women around the world and people still deny exists? Can we fuck off with the liberal individualist approach and admit this is not a few rogue individuals? Because if it was, well, they really get around.

Women more patient then me today (like Jenna above, and Clementine Ford here: https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/life-and-relationships/the-not-all-men-excuse-is-absurd-20180618-p4zm94.html) have included constructive lists of things that could lead to change. Eventually. Things that seem like basic things that have overlooked the world so far. And maybe that’s where I just become pissed off at the world. Should we have to educate our government? Grown men? How can we educate our young people when the adults of the world behave as they do?

Don’t tell me we have no need for feminism. Don’t tell me I’m a man hater. Don’t tell me I’m reading too much into the cold harsh reality. Don’t tell me #notallmen. Try “I’m horrified that this happens, I’m so sorry to hear about your experiences, I don’t want to passively participate in this, what can I do to change it?”. Look. Listen. Feel. Get in touch with the cold hard reality, even though it is confronting. Think and act. Maybe you’ll have a bit more energy for the fight than I have today.

What am I left doing about it? I’ve opened a bottle of red called the Stubborn Patriarch (thanks Alison!). It seemed appropriate. I put on some feminist punk and let off some steam on the internet. Tomorrow, as every other day, I will continue to live as I always do, challenging ideas, assumptions and behaviours inherent in a patriarchal society. Sighing for the gazillionth time that I still have to stand up and speak out about this shit. But in the meanwhile, tonight I am enjoying a drink, a rant and agreeing with Oh Bondage, Up Yours. And unlike many women in the world, I am safe to do so.