A blog on politics, society and life as viewed from somewhere in orbit between the precariat and the event horizon.
Here’s one I fired off to the almighty editor a couple of months ago…
“Owing to technical reasons (and kleptomania), it’s been a while since I’ve broken out the vinyl. But finally, with a new album release by Adelaide’s Raven Black Night this year, on Metal Blade Records no less, I’ve been motivated to get off my rear end, grab a replacement turntable, and put needle-to-track once again.”
You can read the whole article in Rabelais #8 (2013) over here…
~ Bruce
Dear Nick Champion,
I’m writing as a member of your electorate concerned with the attitude of our new Federal Government; its attitude towards climate change in particular, and towards science in general.
Specifically, both the axing of the Climate Commission and the dissection of the science portfolio, signal at an early stage, this new Federal Government’s capacity to treat scientific research and education as expendable casualties of culture war. The composition of Tony Abbott’s cabinet further reinforces this view, with extreme ideologues gaining quite a few choice positions.
That this has occurred shouldn’t surprise anyone. Rather, it’s a reminder to be vigilant. People may have suspected that the election of an Abbott government would see a return to culture war, but the fact that so soon into its first term, with no prior announcement, and with zero debate of the merits, drastic action has already been taken, allows such suspicions to now be treated as confirmed.
Ulterior motives, not grounded in research or scientific consultation, and not subject to due scrutiny, are clearly the guiding lights of The Abbott Government when it comes to science. From where I’m standing, when it comes to science, Tony Abbott has assembled a Cabinet of No Credibility.
There is little doubt we will see talking points from the Australian Right’s cottage industry of gadflies and pseudo-intellectuals elevated to the status of principles-to-be-acted-upon, while also with little doubt, there will be little room made for these talking points to be debated or properly subjected to scientific inquiry. The senate will surely have its hands full.
Not that I want to insult players of the role-playing game Dungeons and Dragons, I think your observation about the credibility of the assembly of extremists in Canberra in 2011 is likely to hold true for our new Federal Government; they will treat discussion of science as a fantastic game.
Subsequently, I have enclosed a twenty-sided dice in the hope that you are able to gift it to our new government in protest. Perhaps it could help them roll-up some better policies. I hope this is not too much of an imposture.
Yours sincerely
Bruce Everett
Addendum (1st October, 2013): The twenty-sided dice is used in, and an icon for, fantasy games like Dungeons and Dragons.
For those of you who don’t know, Karen Stollznow, sceptic, public speaker and author, revealed her account of how sexual harassment was dealt with in a recent Scientific American blog post. You can read that here.
Subsequent to this publication, multiple outlets are now naming the alleged sexual harasser/stalker, as the relatively high profile sceptic, Ben Radford. As I’m not privy to the details or evidence, I’ll not speculate on his guilt, but I suspect more details are going to come out in the wash at some point.
The employer, also not named in Karen Stollznow’s post, has since been named as the Center for Inquiry (CFI). CFI has now responded to all of this in typically boilerplate language. You can read their response in full, here.
For a moment ignoring the names, that have been named thus far, the personal politics, and the potential culpability of individuals in this matter, this is a strange document that borders on the meaningless. It’s almost a deepity in PR long-form.
“As a general rule, CFI does not discuss personnel matters in public. We refrain from discussing these matters in public not only out of consideration for our staff, but also because experience has shown that this is the best way to encourage people to come forward with complaints.”
In general yes, this is a good strategy. Especially before due process has worked its way through (something Karen Stollznow complied with).
But CFI is responding to a specific case here, and in this case Karen Stollznow has opted to go public owing to the alleged inadequacy of CFI’s process, and after the process has completed at that. Keeping things private in this context, is meaningless; CFI can’t keep it private because it’s already public, and it’s what CFI does under the veil of privacy that is in question.
People with potential complains seeing this case unfold, aren’t going to be worried about CFI’s ability to keep things in-house. Indeed, Stollznow, and about every other critic of CFI’s management, positively speak to CFI’s ability to maintain the hush.
Further, who’s decision is it, ultimately, to keep things quiet, or go public, if something has gone wrong? That’s not the organisation’s call, and unless we see court action deciding to the contrary, it was Karen Stollznow’s right to bring this to light.
What does CFI think people with complaints about harassment are more likely to be worried about – that CFI will go public with their information, if the issue is already public, or that CFI will decide of its own accord, without regard to the wishes of the person making the complaint, what level of openness is appropriate?
Yes, there are legal concerns about going public, for all parties, but in it’s release, CFI doesn’t cite this as a justification. CFI claims it doesn’t want to deter future complaints.
CFI’s response reduces the serious matter of privacy, from a human relations concern, to the level of marketing pablum.
And then things proceed to where the wheels really begin to fall off…
“However, we would like to make it clear that any suggestion that CFI has been less than diligent in addressing harassment complaints is mistaken. During the administration of current president and CEO, Ronald A. Lindsay, that is since July 2008, CFI has investigated all complaints that have been made to management, and, where necessary, has taken appropriate corrective action. “
On the face of it, this looks like a good thing, right? Investigating every case? Good-o.
“Neither allegations nor denials determine the actions CFI takes. The results of the investigation determine the actions taken by CFI. If CFI has employed an outside investigator, we go with the investigator’s findings; we do not substitute our suspicions. If the investigator found, for example, that a sexual assault occurred, we would accept that finding; likewise, if the investigator found that no sexual assault occurred, we would accept that finding.”
If you’ve read the whole release, you’ll notice that the remainder is mostly rhetoric in this vein, talking about rumor and gossip, while ironically not even vaguely citing any examples of rumor and gossip – CFI is gossiping about alleged gossip. While I’m not commenting on Ben Radford’s guilt, I wouldn’t dismiss Karen Stollznow’s concerns as “gossip”.
That aside, and to the point I want to make – CFI defers to investigators, in deciding the facts. It’s fair to say, that seeing as CFI acknowledged that sexual harassment did indeed occur, there are at least some facts between CFI and Karen Stollznow that are uncontested.
Furthermore, it’s the allegedly lax penalties for sexual harassment that were met out by CFI that Karen Stollznow disputes in her article. Are we to believe that CFI outsources it’s values as well, such that independent investigators also decide upon penalties, in addition to the facts of the case?
No. This is Ron Lindsay’s job, and the accusation is that he failed to appreciate the implications of the facts, such that remedial action was inadequate.
Raising the matter of independent investigators is an irrelevant act of self-promotion that (by design?) distracts people from the substance of Karen Stollznow’s concerns.
I’m not entirely sure that distracting attention from the substance of complaints, and dismissing them as gossip, is going to make people more comfortable with the prospect of making complaints to CFI. But if you’re not actually facing this prospect, and you can’t tease the implications out of the boilerplate language, then I guess CFI’s release would look nice and fuzzy.
I’m wondering how long they can manage to keep treating this matter like a PR issue, and making fatuous statements about privacy, instead of realizing that transparency about the process is the solution.
~ Bruce
A video has done the rounds more than once (which I first witnessed courtesy of two friends who’ll go unnamed), showing the fear, rage, cognitive dissonance and self-pity that’s commonly on display around certain parts of the Internet.
But I’m a Nice Guy – Scott Benson
I’m not entirely sure why I like returning to this short clip, but I do know it’s not just because I don’t like misogyny, nor just because I’ve been exposed to some of the examples referred to in the animation. I love Benson’s visual style, which the retro audio matches perfectly. Though for those not familiar with the subjects raised, it probably comes across as more surreal than it actually is (or conversely, not more surreal – the behaviour being criticised is pretty same surreal in its real-world incarnations). I’ll give you a few pointers on the references in the video…
***
The phenomena of the “Nice Guy” (capital “N” and “G”), is one where a guy holds the attitude that being nice to women, is universal currency paid in advance for certain services – usually sexual. When a woman holds out on sex, supposedly the guy is being exploited through an inherent disadvantage in sexual power. In reality, it’s often the case that the guy doesn’t have the social skills to talk to women about sex, which she may otherwise actually be willing to consent to, or that the attitude of sexual entitlement permeates their advances, thus making them too repulsive to fuck. In any case, these guys aren’t actually nice. The “Friend Zone”, is that place in some heterosexual dating scenarios prior to sex, where nothing moves forward on account of fears of intimacy, or the realisation by one party (usually the woman) that the other isn’t the kind of person they’d like to fuck. In a healthy world, this is either something a couple work together to overcome, or it’s cause for people to part from romantic engagements as friends. For the puerile man-child though, this is something women condemn men to, causing pain, and robbing guys of the fruits of their investment (see “Nice Guy” above). The “Red Pill”… Perhaps you’ve seen The Matrix movie… If you haven’t, think Dan Brown paranoia meets sci-fi “maybe we’re just brains in vats!” In The Matrix, Neo if offered a red or blue pill. If he takes the blue pill, he will return to his illusory world to live a mundane life, unaware of the conspiracy that lies behind… well, everything. If he takes the red pill however, he will see past the lies and become aware of how the world and indeed reality, is manipulated by a secret conspiracy. Naturally, Neo takes the red pill. In the world of Internet Men’s Rights “Activism”, “The Red Pill” is what you metaphorically take to see how the matriarchy is behind everything – conspiring to rob men of their self-respect, jobs, status, and entitlement to sex. And perhaps also rob them of their sperm. There’s a Reddit community called “The Red Pill”, which among other things, informs us that women not wanting to be raped are like girls having tantrums for a ponies. I think I’ll opt for the blue pill. Other, less obscure references are “RAPE HAHAHA!”, which pertains to various debates surrounding the use of references to rape in comedy and online culture, while “Give me what’s mine” is an obvious reference to some men’s sense of lost entitlement… *** If you’re healthy, and not some self-loathing individual who needs a therapist more than they need an online community (I mean this in all seriousness – see a GP if this is you), then in light of the above, the other references in the video should make sense. I’ll not go on. Please do enjoy the video. Frequently if possible. Scott Benson has done a nice job. ~ Bruce Update: Now it’s a T-Shirt, with 25% of the profits going to Planned Parenthood in the US.
Imagine you’re a part of an Internet clique, and some individual has called you a “bully”. Leave the substantive details of your past arguments, and even the particulars of your accuser’s case, to one side.
Just a little reflection shows there’s a way of demonstrating that you’re only engaging in a bit of ‘rough and tumble’ style political banter. A way that won’t be falsified.
You have to retort of course, in the first instance, that it is indeed banter you’re engaging in. Yet not to the extent that you’re merely pretending the gadfly; you’ll want to maintain that there’s a substantive critique underneath your ’bullying’ (not that you need to articulate it clearly).
“Rough and tumble”; “rhetorical flair”; “panache”; “pugilism’” and so on – the point is to illustrate that what’s being misinterpreted as “bullying” is in fact normal, at least in your circles, and preferably at large in public discourse. This shouldn’t be too hard (easy gambit!), given that it is in fact reasonable to expect some degree of emoting, satire, ridicule and questioning of character in any contentious matter of public debate.
Remember – you aren’t beyond the pale, or out of the norm, it’s that your accuser has unrealistic expectations. This is easy enough to state, and easy enough to follow through upon.
If the allegations against you don’t acknowledge your clique, it’s likely that they will be implicated, at least by inference. It’s safe to assume such a wide ranging smear even if it hasn’t been stated – it is after all, an example of high character to defend your friends’ honour.
Try this on for size…
‘You’re trying to marginalise our perspective from the public square by using false accusations!’
It also helps to counter-accuse your opponent of autocracy, of being like Pol Pot, and of whatever else gets the job done. Admittedly, this can sometimes be overdone – the job at this point is to position yourself as an open minded freedom fighter. You’re taking a stand for your people.
The full extent of your recriminations come later.
If all has gone well, by this point you’ve established that your people are being accused as well, if that wasn’t already clear. Now, it follows that if what they’re being accused of were true, then surely you wouldn’t want them to do it to you.
This is where you mock your opponent’s false-martyrdom by placing yourself in the role of potential victim.
‘Hey, my lot argue like this all the time. When someone makes a joke at my expense, I just ignore it and laugh, and then we all know that the joke’s finished. I don’t go and whine and make accusations about ‘bullying’ like you do. You need to ignore it and get thick skin like me.’
You need to follow through on claims like this by presenting a gambit with a largely pre-determined outcome – perhaps you could hold a contest for the best insult to your person, from one of your friends. Perhaps you can think of something similar.
When you’ve decided upon your gambit, be sure to trot out a self-deprecating example or two of ‘rough and tumble’ banter, showing just how light-hearted and open-minded you really are…
‘Maybe I’ll draw an MS-Paint picture of myself; it’ll have me being decapitated, with someone sticking a stainless steel cactus up my bum. Ha!’
Even if in fact you have thin skin, concerns you’ll suddenly be set upon by your friends are ill-founded. Banter sends the agreed upon signal; when you laugh, the joke’s over, so that’s the end – no more. With an act of self-deprecation, you give the signal to your clique to stop before the gambit has even begun.
Of course, nobody can prove this signalling, which means it can’t be counted against you. It’s not like there’s a formal code book of in-group social cues for your enemies to refer to.
In the absence of such proof, your display of an invitation to experience said “bullying” first-hand, shows not only that you consider it normal, but that you’re a role model, and a figure of political stamina. (This despite the fact that very few people, if any, are going to take you up on your offer.)
Moreover, you’ve shown that the spectre of supposed “bullying” does not in fact inhibit you from exercising your right to free expression. Now if that doesn’t show that the accusation levelled against you is fatuous, nothing will.
After you’ve exonerated yourself, all that remains is to capitalise on the gambit – to expose your accuser of being a tyrant and a fraud. Recriminations should abound.
‘Professional victim!’; ‘Anti-free-expression!’; ‘Political correctness gone mad!’; ‘Thingy-Nazi-Stasi’ or any number of other epithets and charges are in order, the doubling-down on any prior references to totalitarianism being a given. All that is left to do is bask in the appreciation of your fellow members of the oppressed, which likely involves the freedom fighting subscribers to YouTube and Reddit – the most oppressed of the oppressed.
~ Bruce
Over much of the past two years in political circles, a slew of polemics have been argued, over the online harassment directed at women. Even the list of more recent incidents spawning these debates is expansive; the harassment of feminist gaming critic Anita Sarkeesian; the viral video of Prime Minister Julia Gillard criticising Tony Abbott’s relationship with misogyny; the multiple waves online of chauvinist vitriol directed at amongst others, New Statesman columnist, Laurie Penny, and so it goes.
A heavy reliance on the Internet for communication leaves atheist and free-thought communities, especially in the US, potentially wide open to abusive interaction, whatever the disposition of their constituencies. One could go into great detail discussing the event that saw the crystallisation of the phenomena in secular circles online; “ElevatorGate” in 2011. However, I’ll try to be brief.
In 2011, atheist, sceptic and feminist blogger, Rebecca Watson, in the middle of a YouTube video post, pointed out that it wasn’t a good move for guys to introduce themselves at 4am, in an elevator, asking a woman to “…come to my hotel room for coffee?” Initially, this mild comment prompted a series of alleged and mostly unrelated grievances to be aired by Watson’s detractors.
Then Prof. Richard Dawkins entered the fray with his now infamous “Dear Muslima” commentary, sarcastically deriding Rebecca Watson’s supposed lack of perspective; Muslim women were being treated like dirt the world over, while Watson complained about guys in elevators. Imagine it as Dawkins’ take on “First World Problems”; very dry, at least a little truculent, and with a hint of unstated grievances.
What followed was an escalation in online abuse; “she’s too ugly to rape”; “I hope she gets raped so she knows what real abuse is”; “if I’m ever in an elevator with her, I’ll cop a feel”; “…Rebeccunt Twatson…”. And of course, there have been the ever-present images depicting feats Laurie Penny would likely describe as “sphincter stretchingly implausible”. This torrent of vitriol rapidly engulfed other targets, all while maintaining the same intensity of malice and irrationality.
Possibly the most sinister act amongst all of this, was an incident endured by Amy Roth in 2012.
“The Slymepit”, an Internet cesspool of vex and loathing, dedicated to attacking Rebecca Watson and fellow travellers, was to temporarily play host to the publication of Amy Roth’s home address. Despite an allegedly public source for such personal information, you have to ask; what was the implied, suggested use for Roth’s home address, being posted at such a forum?
The individual posting Amy Roth’s home address, one Justin Vacula, coupled this act to a claim of “censorship” at Roth’s instigation, on account of her filing of a Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) claim on a particular photo of hers, and only the photo, to be withdrawn from a post of his authoring. As of writing, Vacula’s description of the exchange, published at the Southern Poverty Law Centre listed hate site, A Voice For Men, fails to accurately describe all the relevant details (i.e. that the article was not in fact, “censored”).
But aside from the obvious, what has any of this got to do with Richard Dawkins?
To simply state that abuse has followed Dawkins’ “Dear Muslima” comments, ergo Dawkins’ responsibility, would be an instance of the post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy so loved by reactionaries. As far as I can ascertain, Dawkins has offered neither tacit, nor explicit endorsement of the mentioned abuse. Rather, from “ElevatorGate” onwards, it seems often to be a case of overzealous Dawkins fans appointing trolling duties to themselves.
Still, at a time when men are increasingly being called upon to decry misogyny, sexism and online abuse, Dawkins’ continuing silence on a phenomena situated so close to him seems difficult to defend. This silence, coupled with the abuse, and coupled with the behaviour of a number of enablers, at least to my addled mind, seems only to serve the wrecking of communities, intentionally or not.
In response to the outbreak of online abuse, and a series of incidents at events, a number of free-thought organisations in the US have made steps to implement harassment policies. It’s been no secret that Dawkins’ sentiments oppose these moves for mostly unarticulated reasons. Maybe it’s a case of bonobo ethology romantically adapted to Homo sapiens, or perhaps more likely, it’s that Dawkins objects on the grounds of identity politics.
However, such policies aren’t a reflection on the behaviour of the broader godless constituency – they prescribe courses of action for when things go wrong, as happens from time to time in all human communities. The existence of a harassment policy no more defames a community, than laws against murder condemn a society as being particularly murderous.
Last year I covered the Global Atheist Convention for Ophelia Benson’s Butterflies and Wheels, although at the time I left something out of my coverage; an incident where my eyes were flecked with the spittle (and possibly the mild ale) of an atheist academic, who ranted amongst other things, that he’d always oppose bullies.
Said academic, a self-confessed Dawkins fan, despite his supposed anti-bullying advocacy, has thus far failed to call the harassment of Rebecca Watson, Amy Roth and others for what it is. Yet what he has managed to decry are concerns over a campaign to fund Justin Vacula’s presence at this month’s “Women in Secularism 2”, held by The Centre For Inquiry in Washington D.C..
My spittle-spraying former acquaintance isn’t alone amongst intelligent, academic, Dawkins fans in adopting this double standard. Weirdly, there’s an attitude even amongst a small set of atheist academics, that somehow they’re doing Dawkins a favour. It’s as if they harbour fantasies that fame and book sales will rain down upon them, if only they enable Watson’s harassers.
It’s not like Dawkins hasn’t been pressed for more substantive contributions to this debate, or even with questions about his mere awareness of the existence of the torrents of abuse. I’ve sources who’ve done as much, with little success in the way of obtaining answers, and Dawkins has publicly squelched such lines of inquiry, such as during a Q&A session at the University of Miami in September of 2011.
I was able to discuss these concerns with Dr. R. Elisabeth Cornwell, Executive Director of the US branch of the Richard Dawkins Foundation for Reason and Science. She was aware of the mentioned instances of harassment, expressing displeasure and dismay.
I raised the issue of serious chatter arising out of a polarised climate amongst organisers, that suggested that Dawkins was using his influence to have Rebecca Watson barred from events. Dr. Cornwell assured me this wasn’t the case.
Whichever way one decides to interpret these contrary claims, one thing is indisputable – there‘s a lack of trust within secular circles, born of online harassment during the past few years. This conflict is ostensibly being driven by an unknown number of self-appointed zealots, and their enablers, acting in Dawkins’ honour.
Whatever Dawkins’ intellectual or personal differences with Rebecca Watson et al., it wouldn’t undermine him to explicitly state that he doesn’t welcome the online abuse of his opponents. Dawkins may retort that this is in fact obvious, however this wouldn’t seem to hold for those who need to hear the message the most – a number of his more enthusiastic fans.
~ Bruce
(Photo Source: Marty Stone).
Not that I could forget, save perhaps by blow to the head, I’m almost forced to remember on account of it being raised in conversation, or by being near-touched upon tangentially; one early morning after hitting the booze during a trip to Melbourne.
Oh, it was going to be great. The night started out with my being called (perhaps erroneously) a “writer”, and I seemed to be able to endure the standard rate at which alcohol was being imbibed. In fact, I didn’t even feel drunk by the time another (it would later be revealed) was having a spew.
I felt the first itch of an urge to write just as the friend I was staying with was set upon by a young lady. A young lady who’d informed us that she’d “just finished school”. Which is to say she was old enough to drink, and what-not, only it made me feel a bit old.
My friend and I had been discussing Maurice Merleau-Ponty (as being the only redeemable phenomenologist), folk-theories of aesthetics, and shit, all day. I was primed to write, and the late-night action seemed to light a fuse.
Soon after, my friend and his newly graduated accomplice, ducked out for a bit of what-not, back at the place where I’d been sleeping. I went on drinking in order to give them a little more time alone, plus extra drinking for extra time, in case it was needed. It’s always good to increase your margin of error in these matters.
Anyway, perhaps I was at least a little drunk.
Eventually, thanks to a friend, I got back to the house, sneaking in and locking the door behind me, in the dark then tip-toeing over creaking floorboards, towards my mattress on the lounge-room floor, dropping my pants, and crawling in. My mate, still awake, in turn tiptoed to the lounge room to make sure I was who I was, which I was, so all was good.
Then everyone more or less committed to nodding off.
Some time later, it occurred to me that I couldn’t sleep. I’d had a good night on the piss, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about writing – people had got me all excited about it; “writer”, “Maurice Merleau-Ponty”, “shit”. Four thirty in the morning is usually a good time for this kind of inspiration.
I got it into my silly head (which is why I entertain the suggestion of my own drunkenness), that it would be like “that Hitchens anecdote” – the one where he drinks his pals under the table, only for them to wake up to find him finishing another essay. It was going to be like that.
Then there was movement…
A foot stepped down on the corner of my mattress and I opened my eyes to make out part of a black silhouette hovering above in the darkness. Footsteps tracked the side of my improvised bedding, stumbling into the kitchen, the silhouette gaining only enough outline to identify the owner; the young lady who’d come home with my friend earlier in the night.
I told myself that as soon as she’d finished I-didn’t-want-to-know-what in the bathroom, and made it back to bed, I’d get up and start writing. Sure… It was going to be like that.
After a wrong turn into the pantry, the silhouette stumbled back across the edge of my mattress, thankfully managing not to step on my balls or face in the process. I was about to emerge from my failed slumber and head for my laptop when it happened.
I still had my eyes closed, hands pinned beneath my head, when somehow a pair of arms interlocked with mine, and a face nuzzled between my shoulder and jaw. Teeth grinded – her teeth – which to my mind, instantly conjured imagery of The Walking Dead – her mouth only millimetres from my neck, gnashing.
I could have screamed I guess, but that doesn’t come naturally to me. Maybe it should.
No, what I tried to do, with some success, was to slowly untangle myself from her arms, crawling further down along my bed, as she lay “above” me at a one-eighty degree angle. After about an hour of this manoeuvring, I was finally free to get up and get away. But…
I needed a little breather before I got up. I closed my eyes, only to re-open them to the first rays of morning’s light. I looked “up” to see legs cycling as if she was dreaming the Tour de France, before noticing that in fact, she was naked. What if during my escape, she woke up to find me standing over her like that?
Shitballs…
Slowly, I searched from my mattress-fortress for my mobile phone amidst my travel baggage. I’d SMS my friend in his bedroom, and maybe give him a ring to wake him up. I needed to be rescued out of this situation.
The search for my phone lead me at last to the insides of a Woolworths plastic bag, which crunched and crackled with each tentative movement. This took some time to do stealthily, yet eventually, I was to discover the bag did not in fact contain anything other than unwashed underwear…
I closed my eyes in disappointment only to open them right as the bag was lifted away by Miss Naked, who stood briefly above my head. Swiftly, she placed the bag to one side, and then slid down under the sheets next to me – it was all I could do to roll aside, making sure my arms weren’t pinned again.
I should mention, that in recounting these details later in the day, it was at this point in the story that I was informed she was likely covered in copious amounts of cum. So there she was – pressing against my back, the pair of us forming some kind of salty shortbread cream biscuit. Yuck!
It’s on precisely this kind of occasion (perhaps I’m wrong – I haven’t had many more), that you adopt a certain kind of scepticism towards the eagerness of women, despite what they may say or initiate of their own accord, to do kinky things with your sperm; pearl necklaces, jizzing across the small of the back, swallowing, etc. I feel as if my experience involved some degree of unconscious retribution.
Please feel free to shudder – your sympathy will make me feel less lonely.
There I was, wondering what it would look like to be found in this position, at this stage my desire for essay writing having shriveled to resemble the level of interest displayed by the average, sub-zero, ninety-year-old penis. I had to escape.
About another hour was spent, wiggling, re-positioning, and lifting myself away from my unwanted bed-partner. This may seem an inordinate amount of time to spend on such a task, but one has to consider the constraints upon one’s stealth presented by empty spirit bottles, atop Ikea bookshelves, atop flexible floorboards.
The last few inches was the easiest, my visitor turning over to roll me out in a single, fluid motion, my hands and feet landing on the small gap between bed and bookshelf. Slowly I crawled towards the lounge room door, grabbing my pants and wallet on the way – I was free!
After quickly pulling on my strides and popping on shoes, I made my way to my mate’s bedroom and quietly knocked on the door.
“Whaaa..t?”
Squeezing my head and shoulders into the room, I told him he was missing something. His eyebrows furrowed, in a substitute shrug, so I pointed at the other side of his bed, where, lifting his bed-sheets, he would discover a certain absence before rolling his eyes and crashing his head back down in frustration.
At last, a course of action would be decided upon; my friend would go back to sleep, while I went out to get some early breakfast before sneaking back in to crash on the lounge. He’d take care of any awkwardness should it arise.
All in all, the rest of the morning didn’t pan out too awkwardly, although I’m not entirely sure Miss Naked remembered who she’d fucked that night. I didn’t get a word of my essay down.
Still, it all could have gone a lot worse, escalating beyond all buggery with recriminations all round. I’ll settle for my losses and call it a cautionary tale.
~ Bruce
At much the same time, but aside from the whole fallout following the ‘ElevatorGate’ non-controversy, has been a curious little phenomena I’ve seen over the past few years on the Australian blogosphere/Twitterverse. It’s not something I’m going to generalise to the wider population – it’s more a case of who’s been saying it that makes it interesting.
It’s too far out to name names – to dredge up something say three years old, for what at best would be a shit-storm, but I’ll provide a few biographical details when and where it’s relevant.
***
The phenomena; “…stupid feminists…”.
Taken at face value, logically, the phrase refers to feminists-who-are-stupid. You could, if this was as far as you wanted to go, write this off as another reference to stupid people among the whole range of walks of life; stupid lefties; stupid right-wingers; stupid arts students; stupid accountants; stupid brick layers and so on.
You could be forgiven for simply concluding that as a concession, the phrase implies the existence of feminists who aren’t stupid – I mean, why point out that a given feminist is, or a group are, stupid, if they’re all stupid?
I’d be lying if I said I thought every feminist I’d ever encountered was a genius, or honest, or sane. In fact, I find some of what I’ve come across that’s been passed off as serious, worthy of harsh parody. Luce Irigaray’s drivel about E=mc2 being gendered (‘Sujet de la science, sujet sexué?’, 1987), and fluid dynamics being underprivileged on account of being feminine (‘The “mechanics” of fluids’, 1985), come to mind as being particularly bankrupt.
(I was once told, by someone trying to advance a particularly weird epistemological argument, that intellectual clarity was masculine because clear delineations resemble the sheer outline of an erect penis. This was served up to me, in all seriousness, as academically sound feminism.)
It’s not just amongst academic feminism – Laurie Penny, in line with a series of other criticisms by feminist authors, lambasts the recent writing of popular feminist Naomi Wolf for being particularly silly. I’m inclined to sympathise.
My subjective impression though, is that most of the feminists I’ve encountered are on average, smarter than average, truthful in as far as human nature allows, and perfectly sane. Ditto for the feminist literature I’ve read (I tend to find authors like Laurie Penny quite reasonable).
This is, I repeat, a subjective impression; I don’t have a statistically sound survey of feminist thought, and neither do the people using the mentioned phrase, “…stupid feminists”.
***
Now back to the curious phrase…
Again, we could take the logic at face value, and it would at least be a charitable way of taking it out of context. But context matters.
During the last three years, in addition to the repetition of the phrase, I’ve witnessed a relatively high-profile Australian “Skeptic” swear off the night’s QandA on the ABC, on account of having had to have put up with too many “stupid feminists” at university. Incidentally, it was one of Leslie Cannold’s appearances on QandA that night, that got the fellow all riled up.
I’d liked to have asked two questions at the time, questions I think it’s worth revisiting now, albeit with less heat.
What proportion of “stupid feminists” at university warrants being considered intolerable, such that a reasonable person would avoid future contact where possible?
And…
What exactly was the fellow’s objection to Leslie Cannold, and his familiarity with “stupid feminists”, such that he could dismiss her in advance? (Put another way – “how is his data predictive?”)
Answering the former, if you were being charitable, you could suggest was due to a generally low tolerance to stupidity – he’s just sensitive.
But the “Skeptic” in question engages with creationists on a semi-regular basis, all without affording them relief from a single drop of his vitriol. Even if you assume he’s right about “stupid feminists”, why can’t he engage with his feminist opponents equally?
A low tolerance to stupidity clearly isn’t the answer.
As for the second question… an honest “Skeptic” should be able to point out the error in attributing such significance to subjective impressions. Surely as a “Skeptic”, he’d seek an opportunity to be proven wrong?
Bloviation and a beard does not a rationalist make.
***
Leslie Cannold seems to have a knack for bringing this out in some of the guys. This is especially the case Twitter, and it’s a kind of response that’s always another disincentive to using the technology.
I can recall in 2010, one chap who will also go unnamed, placing scare-quotes around “ethicist” and going on to call Cannold a “cunt” (as a supposedly more apt job description). This apparently in response to this article at Crikey.
At no point did he actually address the substance of the article. Rather he simply treated the conclusion as if it was self-evidently wrong, and proceeded to engage in sanctimony.
“So what?” you may ask. It’s Twitter after all!
I’ll tell you what.
The guy in question was (and I think still is) a respected tech-writer, who’s been published at the ABC, and has in fact had more articles published at Crikey than Cannold. He’s also often re-tweeted by a clique of journos from the ABC – a crowd he is in with in the material world.
He’s not exactly a nobody. (He’s also not an ethicist.)
And back on topic, he does seem to float in the same wonkish circles I’m reading this “stupid feminists” meme in. Albeit, with a little more standing than most.
While I haven’t seen him deploy the phrase himself, instances of it do seem to be captured in his orbit like space junk around a suitably massive object.
There’s something to be said about a sub-culture where a semi-prominent journalist can slag off like this at another media figure, without much in the way of a response. This is the culture I’m seeing the phrase deployed in.
***
“…Stupid feminists…” has been doing the rounds of wonk circles for a while now; “Stupid feminist…” doesn’t understand X. “Stupid feminist…” called me a misogynist just for criticising her ideas. “Stupid feminist…” etc.
No, the phrase itself, in isolation, doesn’t logically connote a sexist generalism, but there’s always something iffy about the context. It’s never just a criticism of a feminist’s argument, if you’re also calling them stupid.
And it seems a rarity that anyone wants to discuss the points of contention at length, in essay form, or even as a blog post – even if they’re willing to call someone else stupid on account of their disagreement.
You know who else doesn’t understand the points of contention? People who can’t articulate the points of contention, that’s who.
Sure, there’s the complexity-stifling aspect of Twitter. It’s never a good forum for a detailed discussion. But these wonks having trouble with “stupid feminists” often either contribute to popular blogs, or have the option of articulating themselves via the established media.
They express their vex so strongly. Surely if it’s all that important, they could go to the lengths to spell it out in detail?
“X accuses people of misogyny with as much discretion as people throwing rice at weddings.”
We’ve all heard the story about the boy who cried wolf. Nobody’s going to balk at someone crying “Naomi Wolf” if it’s a fair cop, save perhaps the occasional, random troll.
I find some people’s actions in all of this, to be at odds with their expressed or apparent motives.
~ Bruce
Contra this time last year, I can sleep quite well, actually. Thanks for asking. Too well, in fact.
An appointment with the doctor has it that the source of a persistent narcolescence is likely something other than my medication. Apparently my SSRI of choice doesn’t do that.
To test the hypothesis, my dosage is being dropped by half.
Gym has been suspended, and then given the green light, owning to the need for an opinion on an umbilical hernia I likely first obtained when body surfing across Gawler Place. It was either that or a taxi would have ground me into road pizza. I’ll take the hernia, thanks.
As it turns out, it’s not so serious, and it would have been better (with the benefit of hindsight) had I stayed at gym. Gym helps with my depression. It also makes me sleepy.
Now I’ve been away from the blogosphere quite a bit this year, but don’t you think that means I’ve been doing nothing.
In my spare time, when not twiddling my thumbs, I’ve been trying to organise the drafting of a harassment policy for the Humanist Society of South Australia (HSSA). We’re going to do this democratically, or not at all, so that takes a little more time, work, and patience than if we were to opt the route of executive power. I like to think that discussion both makes for a better policy, and keeps the membership aware of why the policy is there.
In dribs and drabs of I’ve-got-to-get-it-finished-soon (although it really leads into an event in May), I’ve been working on an article I started in December of last year. Suffice to say, the fact checking, verification and investigation took longer than I thought, and I now know a bunch of stuff related both tangentially and directly to the subject, than I ever knew before.
Some of it I wish I didn’t. Some of it agitates my clinical depression.
I’m forced to ask myself; which is more depressing, the knowledge that a problem exists, or inaction on said problem? Because if inaction is more depressing, then being depressed into inaction is going to cause feedback.
Problem; Inaction; Depression; Inaction; More depression; More inaction.
It’d be a lie to say that I’ve been inactive, generally, but by fuck (which is sacred around here), I can’t half feel the blanket pressing down on me.
Which I guess is an improvement over the last twenty years. The blanket always did press down on me to some extent, only for the most part, I wasn’t aware of it. I guess the meds have been doing their work.
I guess the crux of it is that the blanket doesn’t give me room for a good swing and hit. The alternative is struggling?
I’ll labour on. I mean, you do that when you’re depressed anyway, as best you can. The trick though, is to find the things that motivate you, which contrary to the cliché, are not necessarily the things you love.
Burning moral outrage doesn’t burn in me like it used to, which has had the twin effect of helping me see things clearer, and investigate further instead of getting my jocks in a twist. But a little more impulsiveness along these lines would at least help me get my volume of writing up.
Of course, I don’t burn out, either, being as I am at the moment.
I can’t even act out anger for the rhetoric of the rant anymore. Or at least, not for an extended period.
Poetry, or at least poetic prose is starting to flow more freely, and with humanistic intents. One of the themes emerging the HSSA has been religion’s monopoly on hope, and it seems to me that a godless literary tradition could offer competition.
Short of the suspended critical thinking of some of the transhumanists, the selfishness (and self-serving readings) of the Randroids, or the totalitarianism of some of the worst of the 20th century’s godless dogmas, that is. A literary tradition that speaks to what good humans can do, without getting all bleary-eyed about it.
The thing is, human folly notwithstanding, there’s still reason for hope without recourse to divine intervention, or secular fictions. Denmark does it pretty well, and largely without recourse to deities.
I have selfish reasons for wanting to see these hopes recognised in my own time, and my own circle, if only to motivate me through my own depression. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t this side to it.
That being said, I’d like to think that this would be a good way to get out there, if not quite swinging. I’d like to think that it’d be a good way to help others, and to fulfil an ethos of contribution.
But more on that, hopefully soon enough.
I have things planned and in the works. We’ll touch base again, and hopefully (I’m not ashamed to use the word) I’ll have a little more to show for my efforts.
~ Bruce
Charlie: rusted out, four-wheel-drive, shit-bucket. Conveyor of cray pots.
I remember the late nights on Flinders highway driving home, air from the engine warming bare feet through a rusted cabin. Sand and shell grit falling away from toes and hems as they dried out.
Charlie was my first drive. Off-road. It helped that I didn’t have a road to keep on, nor that I had to dodge any trees. Charlie made short work of whatever got in the way as long as I kept him in first gear.
Mind you, the prickle bush could swipe back, so it paid to keep the windows shut – an advantage not afforded by the tractor I once got up on two wheels.
I never knew where Charlie went. One day he was there, and the next, Dad brought home a white Ford ute, V8, cassette stereo, broken antenna and all.
Charlie probably deserved to go out with a bang, and Dad was fond of blowing things up at the time.
~ Bruce
Circling The Abyss 