In the 1970s I was a radical feminist. My roots were nurtured in the Anti-war movement. My theory came from women like Kate Millet, Shulamith Firestone, Ti-Grace Atkinson, The Furies and Red Stockings. I read things like Notes From the Second Year.
I took classes at the women’s Building, ate at women’s restaurants, listened to women’s music, patronized women’s bookstores. Wore militant feminist and in your face dyke t-shirts, a black leather jacket and double Venus pendant.
I wasn’t one of those sweet accommodating feminists eager to make my way up the corporate ladder. Feminism wasn’t about equal pay in a corporate gig, it was about smashing the patriarchy.
I went to lesbian feminist retreats in Northern California and sat around the fire nude with my sisters calling down the moon and listening to the sound of the hills of Mendocino.
I wore a knife on my hip and studied the martial arts.
I read Mary Daly before I was told I shouldn’t.
My analysis of the word games run by both Transgender Inc and the TG Borg comes from radical feminism.
I have had a transvestite Men’s Rights Advocate come here this evening and try to pick a fight. When I haven’t permitted him to bring his phalliocentric male aggression here he has proceeded to trash me on his own blog, which is his right.
Just as it is my right to refuse him a space on my blog to either bully or cajole.
Arguing with with transvestite men’s rights advocates is both annoying and a waste of time. I will not let him bully me in my space even if he chooses to slander me in his own forum.
Men expect to be able to dominate, have the last word.
Men expect women to care about them, give them a nipple from cradle to grave and kiss their asses after wiping them. Oh and we are supposed to adopt a sweet pose and gentle flattering voice as we do so.
Fuck that shit. I’m not some nice simpering man pleaser. I do not give a damned if some transvestite men’s rights advocate likes me or not.
I learned from radical feminism that letting men bully me and getting sucked into fighting with them on their own terms is the pits.
Better to refuse to have anything to do with them. Better to deny them the space they expect as a result of their male privilege. Better to let them know that their male privilege buys nothing from me as I am not for sale, and I do not owe them the fucking time of day unless I feel like giving it.
So Mr. Men’s Rights Advocate slink on off to your local Transgender Support Group where you can piss and moan about how a WBT Radical Feminist was rude and mean to you.