It’s possible that the only thing that united us as women was Hillary’s candidacy and now that it’s over we’ll all retreat back into our own individual worlds, back into our own little echo chambers in which everyone thinks exactly like we do, in which the context is reassuring and the messages soothing and compliant with whichever ideology each of us happens to be swayed by.
But as you beat your retreat back into whichever pretty comfort zone suits your personal taste, remember that what herded you into that corner in the first place is the horrible lie that the personal is political.
Are you a Jesus loving, red-blooded capitalist gal? Does the ascension of urban, black political power brokers give you the willies? Super — your assigned corner is at Michelle Malkin, Hot Air, or No Quarter. Don’t come out until you hear the whistle of secularist, marxist-socialist homosexuals whose only goal is to overthrow the United States and turn us all into jabbering, starving monkeys. In November the folks in charge of your corner will send you out to fight the War on Christmas. In May you’ll be called upon to be enraged about political correctness in universities, and in October they’ll tell you to give them money to beat back lesbians and gays who have the AUDACITY to believe that the US Constitution belongs to them too.
Are you a radical lesbian atheist? Excellent — get over to I Blame the Patriarchy, Femisex, or Shakesville and stay there until a woman candidate who aligns closely enough with your solipsistic view of how the world SHOULD be somehow breaks free of the consensus enforcing pack and runs for national office. When you are shocked again by how misogynistic the real world is and you try to do something about it, holding your nose again for a few short months to align with women who came out from their own isolated corners, corners with pictures of Jesus and Alan Greenspan or Ronald Reagan and Philip Berg on their walls, you will find, yet again, that IT IS TOO LATE.
Look around you. The world is full of women. Women who have sex with men every damn day. Women who have sex with women twice every damn day. Women who pray to Jesus and women who draw Hitler mustaches on pictures of Jesus. Women who ride motorcycles and women who drive minivans. Women who hate being fat and women who know that fat is a political weapon; women who read fashion magazines and women who throw fake blood on women who wear fur.
The average person is a woman. The average voter is a woman. The average worker is a woman. The average person in church is a woman. The average person organizing a protest against pedophile priests is a woman. The average person in college is a woman. The average person on a jury is a woman. The average person sitting down to take the law school admittance test tomorrow is a woman. The average person terrified about the future is a woman. The average person drinking herself to sleep tonight is a woman. The average person contemplating suicide is a woman. The average person watching her dreams die is a woman.
And how enormously stupid are we to have bought the lie that only “I” am a woman. That only “I” have the authentic experience and the true understanding of what it actually means to be a woman. Because I was raped; because I was passed over for a job promotion; because I’m a lesbian; because my father abandoned the family; because I couldn’t go to college; because I’m a single mother; because I’m black, or asian, or from the third world; because I’m a success in a man’s world; because I had a sex change operation; because I am a mother; because I had an abortion. Only “I” define womanhood and feminism and right thinking. Well, me and all my friends in my pretty little corner.
Why is the statement “The personal is political” a lie? Because of what the word personal means. It means our bodies and our beds. Pregnancy, breasts, motherhood, weight, ugliness, sex, sex, sex, and more sex, rape, abortion, birth control, marriage, weddings, wives, ex-wives, dumped wives, pornography. It puts the bit of womanhood between our teeth and sets us on an endless loop around the bedroom bridle path where the yellow wallpaper is just as mesmerizing but the presence of a few sister horses beside us makes us feel less lonely. The personal is political is a lie because it limits the scope of politics to a world comprised of stirrups and orgasms.
No thanks. Not until we spit the bit out of our mouths and take up our rightful identities as PERSONS will we see a woman in the White House. Not until we leave our god-forsaken beds back in our bedrooms where they belong and put our never-ending FEELINGS in a big black box with the inscription “ONLY OPEN IN TIME OF GREAT NEED” marked in deep gold lettering on the lid and store that private box on a shelf in our private closets of personal experience will we be anything more than the pathetic bunch of losers that men want us to believe we are.
The world’s greatest SWINDLE sent us to our bedrooms to look at ourselves naked in the mirror FOREVER and tricked us into thinking that our only importance to the world is what we think and how we feel about the image looking back at us.