The things we do for a cheap laugh

[Content warning: violence against women]

When I was but a wee Mar, I used to think that old people knew a lot of sh*t. As soon as we could read, which, thanks to my mother, was way too early for human people, my mother (same one as above) would make us watch the news, and read the paper, because she thought it would make us smarter and better people. (She also made us wear watches for this same reason. All the Most Serious People wore watches and looked important. Besides, how could you take over the world if you didn't know what time it was?) And when I would watch the adults on TV running countries and having ideas, I would think "Man, they know a lot of stuff. That looks like thirsty work. Thank god they're in charge!" This admiration lasted for about nine years of life here on earth, after which I realised that old people were just as stupid as the rest of us, and we were all screwed.

That isn't to say that I don't respect age. Lots of old people know stuff (and I use 'old' here relative to my own age, so that at 9 old was oh, say 21 and above. Now, old is old-old. Proper old. I'm at that age where when someone dies at 68 I say "oh my! And so young!") and are interesting and brilliant and the best story-tellers. The other day I was sitting in a salon and an old lady started telling me some things about her life, which included the unveiling of her travel diary with an entry from 19howlong that said something resembling "Just got off the train at Scarborough where I've come to be fitted for new petticoats", along with "Did not go to Church today. That should keep them talking at least until next Sunday." The woman who sat in her seat after she left pretty much just played Candy Crush the entire time, so you can see how the old lady was the highlight of my day. But I have found that old people who are wise and interesting are so because they are wise and interesting - not because they are old. Yes, the passage of time has allowed them to accumulate more lessons and stories, but they could only have learnt those lessons in the way that they did and been able to distill and transmit this information in useful ways if they had a certain degree of self-awareness and insight to begin with.

So what am I on about? The last time I commented on something this guy had written, I actually got strange hate mail from people admonishing me to respect my elders, which I find a hilarious concept. Of course, in general interactions with friends and strangers, we should all be respectful of each other, and in particular of older people, who merit a bit more care, and patience, and kindness, I feel, than may come readily to our natural, boorish 21st century selves. But the notion that someone could be rude, or bigoted, or nasty or wholly insensitive in the expression of an idea but deserve some kind of honour because they have so far failed to die has always been a puzzle to me.

To wit: this guy again.

Last week, a woman named Carolyn Forde was beaten and killed by a man she knew while at her workplace in Bridgetown. This after the late-July murder of another woman, Denise Clarke, for which a man was held and charged, and the May killing of Brenda Taylor-Belle by her 'estranged' husband. In response, many individuals and groups, among them the National Organisation of Women (NOW), have called for legislative reform and enhanced police action to address the fact that some of these women were killed despite repeated complaints of earlier violent incidents to police, and despite having sought and received restraining orders against the offenders. Richard Hoad's take on the situation is as follows:

In the wake of recent attacks on women, National Organization of Women (NOW) president Marilyn Rice-Bowen wants to fast-track legislation mandating more timely police intervention into domestic disputes.

Sounds good. At the first report of violence, a rapid response team will rush in, cart the man off and go their way.

And that will achieve precisely what? Unless a man is locked away for life, not even a restraining order can stop him coming back to renew his mischief. Besides, it seems many women prefer to live with abuse rather than end a relationship. Won’t such women be tempted to hide their abuse in the future?

The language 'recent attacks on women' makes it seem as if gnomes are hiding in shrubberies tossing acorns at unsuspecting victims while they hang the washing. Likewise, the notion of violence against women as 'mischief' tries to neatly and playfully (!) obscure the fact that what we are talking about here is the murder of human beings. And it's unclear the point of this argument: well restraining orders don't work anyway. Men who want to kill (this, is, apparently, the 'mischief') will find a way, so better to do nothing? Further, women prefer to be beaten and killed than end a relationship, because what? Then you have to figure out who will keep the X-box and delete him from Facebook and that is sooo not worth it? The point is, guy, that by your own admission, what we have in place is insufficient to protect women, and moreover that women may be afraid to end relationships with abusive partners because they fear they will be killed. This is why we need not just more effective legislation and law enforcement practice, but supporting institutions that will protect women who make the decision to leave abusive relationships.

Then, for good measure, we get a bit of the old, not at all tired "don't get me wrong, I think hitting women is bad! I love women! Love them all up and down...bow chicka bow bow. Am I right, guys?"

I abhor the idea of a man striking a woman. To my knowledge, my father never hit any woman. Instead he taught us seven boys a simple procedure for approaching the opposite sex, to wit: gently place your hand on her knee. While making circular motions with the fingers, recite: “If you are a lady, as I take you to be, you will not laugh nor smile if I tickle you on your knee”. If she did laugh or smile, the implication was she wasn’t a lady and you could move upwards smartly.

Actually, I must have missed some other part of the instruction as I ended up getting very few girlfriends, and only one wife, compared to my brothers who got several of each.

So, from the word 'instead', I can gather that there are two ways to engage with women - beat them or screw them, the latter not necessarily with their express consent. We get a lot of this in response to the brutalization and murder of women in the Caribbean: a lot of this 'women aren't to be beaten; they're to be looked after' rhetoric that translates just as much to ownership and objectification as intimate partner violence does. What are you doing hitting her? Did you know she has a perfectly good vagina in there that you can have for your very own? We also get a lot of collective nervous laughter, like this mess of a column, reflecting the notion that this problem is, ultimately, about the man-woman thing. Crap. We're doing a shitty job of protecting half of our population? Quick! Someone tell a joke! Preferably about sex. People like jokes, they like sex. Sex jokes will save us!

The jokes haven't really worked here so far, but here comes more of the sex:

But we have to go even further back to understand what is happening here. You women have something that we need. Not “need” like a new car or a cell phone, but “need” as in food or water. Only more so.

You have the lock, we have the key. You have the carriage, we have the horse. Admittedly, some horses are a bit small for some carriages but we try our best. The bottom line is, you fulfil a need that nothing else can.

What is apparently 'happening here', according to this genius, is that women must be prepared to hand over sex in exchange for the promise of security. That is, men have a reasonable expectation of a hole to stick their dicks in when the pressures of life get them down, and if 21st century women insist on actual bodily autonomy and personhood, then they need to declare this to society, that is, if they expect not to be...murdered.

NOW needs to come clean and explain women’s new position. If marriage or a relationship no longer entitles a man to a little thing, say so. If it is your right to horn [horn = 'cheat on'; explanation mine] a man for commercial or other consideration, say so.

Women: be reasonable. All you have to do is explain to us going in that your bodies are your own and that we are not entitled to it at our whim, and we may not kill you. I say 'may', but, you know, I can't promise. The larger problem here is that the piece seeks not only to identify these apparently perfectly logical reasons why men kill women, reasons that are, of course, the fault of women, but also to narrow them down to one thing: sex. And it fails to address all the entrenched issues that allow such violence to persist.

Let me explain something to this eminent elder: mentioning in an offhanded way that 'hitting a woman is wrong' a couple times in a piece that amounts to an extended domestic violence apologia does not absolve you of responsibility. And that responsibility is to use your platform - if you are going to bother to discuss the escalating trend of intimate partner violence against and murder of women - to treat the subject with the consideration and soberness that it merits. "It's just a joke" doesn't work here simply because it isn't a joke. And the pervy uncle bit is old. It's a sheer and ineffective cover for a lazy argument that is not only offensive to women - in particular the women who have died - but to men. It presumes not only that men are irrational beasts led only by carnal urges, but worse, that you are content to remain so. And I know a lot of men for whom you do not speak. We get it: sex sex giggle. We're ready for some actual, original thought, now. Give it a shot.

Not-so-live blogging the 12th Annual AWID forum

This month, representing both my day job and WHAN, I'm off to the AWID (Association for Women’s Rights in Development) International Forum on Women’s Rights and Development in Istanbul, Turkey to present as part of a panel with other Caribbean women. This year's theme is Transforming Economic Power to Advance Women's Rights and Justice, and my segment will look at enhancing opportunities for women's economic participation, particularly in emerging and own industries. Happily, the conference also brings together some of my homies from another network of which I'm a member, The International Working Group on Gender, Macroeconomics and International Economics, which will be presenting special, toolbox sessions on gender and economics. Reunions everywhere! A reuniopalooza. I just made that up.

So a few of us are blogging the 4-day meeting. I'm sure some of the others will be live-blogging. I can make no such commitment. But I will be covering the sessions I attend, and sharing some of the emerging research and ideas, as well as linking to the other blogs. I'm excited! Are you? Yes. Yes you are.

I swear if I hear "independent ladies" one more time...

I'm out pretty often: parties, concerts, limes, general lolly-gagging in the wee hours. I've only recently embraced the notion that I do work hard (I grew up thinking that hard work had to involve hot sun, perspiration and calloused hands; anything else - even 20-hour days at a computer or in meetings with seats and coffee breaks - was a luxury and a fiasco), and so I should be able to engage in the types of entertainment that I enjoy.

When one is out as often as I am, one tends to notice certain trends in the ways people seek to entertain the masses. And though not as ire-inducing as some other trends, there is one in particular that makes me itch. Shall I present it as a question? I think I shall. Because I wouldn't mind having an answer, if any of you are amenable.

I ask you: what is up with this "independent ladies" bullshit? Were I a betting individual, I would very readily bet all my jewels and livestock that at any given party or stage show, some DJ or MC - in most cases a man - will take the mic and yell something along the lines of "Ladies if you know you independent, you got on your own clothes, you got on your own hair, your own underwear, you got your own house key, bullshit bullshit bullshit, put your hands in the air." Or worse: "Ladies if you know you independent: SCREEEEAM!"

I beg. Your pardon.

First, that last exhortation is a contradiction in terms. The fact that I (and by "I" I mean "Mar". The rest of you may scream in response if you like, although I have never understood it) may self-identify as an independent "lady" (more on that later) means that I do not scream at the say-so of some random stranger on a mic. That's not to say I will never scream in public. I scream all the time. I screamed just Saturday night when Lil Rick performed some of his old dub hits and made a delightful ass of himself on stage - as only he can do - in another one of his lessons on how not to take oneself too seriously as a performer. But I screamed or bellowed or made whatever noise I pleased in the spirit of general noise-making to show appreciation. There is something about a man telling a roomful of women to scream that makes me feel like he's trying to live out some kind of harem fantasy. Worse is when he tells the women to scream and the men to say "Blat blat blat!" So men's voices are to express aggression and gun violence and women's voices are to express either sexual climax or distress. That is lovely.

But even setting aside the general screaming commands, why the preoccupation with "independent ladies"? And what is an independent lady anyway? And who the hell is this subset of women up in the club wearing other people's underwear?

I have some theories. When I was growing up, I dare say that consumerism wasn't the beast that it is today. Yes we all wanted L.A Gear and bodysuits and whatnot, but foreign markets were not as accessible; we as non-adults had limited resources, and all that resulted in the trend of sharing clothes. I can't say whether women over the age of 25 did it, although I'm inclined to think so as they had similar market access issues, but among my friends, it was certainly done. In a time before snapping cell phone pics and immediately uploading them to Facebook so everyone could see what you wore to every event, people were less self-conscious about what their outfits said about their paycheque and status. If your friend had a hot new trend piece and wasn't wearing it that week, it was an option. But, with our matey culture, in which men's dominance is perpetuated by pitting women against each other along the lines of attractiveness, domestic skills, sexual adventurousness, clothes-sharing soon became a further point of comparison that men used. The jig was up. Now, and as consumerism began to take hold more, wearing your 'matey's' clothes was to be a source of extreme embarrassment and proof you weren't an adequate female person. After all, if you were worthwhile, if you cooked well and could make sufficient babies and fvcked like a porn star, surely you could keep a man who would buy your clothes and therefore you wouldn't have to beg and borrow.

From there, as women began to participate more in economic life and it came to be seen as perhaps not the worst thing that could happen, there came a shift from "be proud your man can buy you shit" to "be proud you can buy yourself shit" (although the former maintains its legitimacy in certain ways and contexts). This would not necessarily be a bad thing, except for the following:

1) In this scenario, women's independence or lack thereof is still being used to pit women against each other. The old divide and conquer. So those of us in the fête who are in fact not financially independent, who depend on the income of a partner because such is the division of labour ('productive' vs. reproductive), or because we may be out of a job, or for whatever reason, we should feel like shit. Because not only are women supposed to be fvckmasters and top chefs and supernannies, we are also supposed to be Bill Gates. What? You aren't all those? Leave the fête immediately!; and

2) It reinforces men's resentment of having to continue to contribute economically when they, in their perception, no longer enjoy the other markers of privilege. So some men were happy to maintain 'their' women and children when it was a guarantee that they also simultaneously got to command higher wages for similar work done by women; or be promoted more easily; or have greater access to political participation; or free reign to commodify women's bodies. But for some, we women just have to damn well choose. You want to be independent? Fine. You get to pay your own way. That's the price. And all the attention to "independent ladies" is a bit of a passive-aggressive fvck-you.

An extension of that idea is that financially independent women who remain commodities or commodified in men's eyes are a huge turn-on. It is the Holy Grail of the whole ordeal. It is the reason a man will boast of his sexual conquest of a woman and qualify it with "and I didn't spend a cent." So all those independent ladies in the fête who are still willing to scream on command? Oh man. That in itself is an orgasm. Because it means that as financially independent as you are, you still require my penis to be ultimately satisfied. You still take orders and I'm still in control.

Disclaimer time: first, there are men for whom interesting, confident women who have charted and followed their own career paths are very attractive. That is clear, and not under debate. But I don't think that sentiment is behind the whole "independent ladies, scream" shout-out in the fête. Second, yes, the whole "independent ladies" meme is not unique to men. In fact, it was made quite popular by Beyonce et al, and their treatment of it is not necessarily problem-free, but I would say it is less problematic than this particular treatment of it by men. It works infinitely better as a celebration among women than as a judgment by men.

Here is my bottom line: stop singling out women as "independent ladies" based on some bullshit basket of goods that you determine of value to women: weave and clothes and underwear. All the women in that particular show or fête are independent by virtue of the fact that they are adults with rights. And they don't need to scream at your command to make that so.

Who writes these things: the girlie secrets edition

Dear Jane Hoskyn,

Please stop talking.

Because even if you are using 'girl' correctly to mean "a female child between zero and eighteen years of age", and not adult women (for which there is a whole other word who knew?), this list is still a ridiculous mishmash of juvenile, misogynist bullshit. To wit:

1. When we get whistled at in the street, we feel uncomfortable and we’ll always tut and roll our eyes. But we’re awesomely flattered and we’d be gutted if it stopped.

No.

2. We will never grow out of our fascination with pop stars. A guy can be completely ordinary-looking, but we will fancy him if he’s in a band.

No. Not that musicians aren't particularly attractive often for reasons beyond their physical appearance, but so are plenty other people. And yes, since we aren't perpetually 12 with boy band posters next to the Pollock in the living room, we do outgrow our fascination with pop stars. We may move on to fascination with 'serious musicians', but that's something else entirely.

And let me state now that even though I've duplicated it in the interest of continuity, the 'we' here is problematic. Because she's talking about a certain type of woman, from a certain cultural background, with privilege of a certain nature and amount, so as with most of these things, 'we' really means 'my friends and I'. It's fine if that's what you mean, but if that is what you mean, you should make that clear. We've spent too long trying to highlight women's heterogeneity to have to stand for articles like this one confirming that the whole diversity thing is nonsense and we're all really just the same person.

3. We are more likely to fancy a guy if his ex-girlfriends are really pretty.

4. We can be put off a guy by finding out that his ex-girlfriends are a bit ugly.

5. When we look through your Facebook photos, we’re looking to see how pretty or ugly your ex-girlfriends are.

6. We look through your Facebook photos a lot, and we really hope that you haven’t downloaded anything that reveals who looks at them the most.

Really? Does this woman live on a Lisa Frank sticker? Of course, history of partners is important, but for reasons that go slightly deeper than just "oh em gee ur totes prettier than her!!1!1"

7. Here’s how to make us fall for you. One day, come on to us so strong that we’re a bit weirded out by it. Then totally fail to ring us. We’ll wonder what we did wrong, and we won’t be able to stop thinking about you.

This is just disturbing, especially since I'm not sure of the gamut of reactions the author intends to cover with the words 'so strong' and 'a bit weirded out'. These to my mind could include anything from a meet-the-parents too early on and a quizzical look to stalking and seeking a protective order. But the real damage here is suggesting that women secretly love abusive, manipulative behaviour.

8. The above strategy isn’t foolproof. We may just lose interest. It depends on how much we liked you in the first place.

9. We often don’t know how much we liked you in the first place. We may have to wait until you don’t phone us. If we’re disappointed, it proves that we fancy you. If we’re not, it proves that we don’t. It’s like when you toss a coin to help you make a decision.

Decisions. They hurt our brainz.

10. Stop trying to understand how our minds work. Even we don’t understand how our minds work.

In fact, we have no minds. No thoughts, no intellect. Our heads are just filled with pink cotton wool and Justin Bieber songs.

And that's in the first 10 alone, consecutively. No breaks.

Also

42. During breakouts we get up at 6am and cover our spots with concealer while you’re sleeping.

Who does this? No, really. Who?

But the gem is saved for the end, I think (emphasis mine):

53. We’re all little girls inside. You make us cry far more easily than you realise.

And here, gentlefolk, is the finale. The overt statement at the end of an entire article spent infantilizing and homogenizing all women. Of course we cry, but it's not because we're little girls. Hurt feelings, grief or whatever might cause tears are completely valid among adults. When we're hurt and cry, it's because we're hurt, not because we're children. Still, thanks for confirming the notion that women are just big crybabies who will throw a fit when you take our lollipops away. Well done, you.


[Via Liss and Emily at Shakesville]

The version of your body currently running is not bedroom compatible

My gym is running some kind of 6-week body makeover butt blast boot camp bangarang. That's not what it's really called but you get the idea. It's especially for women. It says so on the flier. Also on the flier, central to the message and in large red type, are words to the effect of:

GET A BEDROOM BODY!

Now, the gym runs these kinds of things all the time, in which they propose to bulk you up or whittle you down or generally bring you up to code in a specified time period. This is the first one I've seen geared specifically to women. And it's also the first one I've seen that seeks to gently encourage participation by reminding people women that they will have to get naked for someone's enjoyment, and for the sake of that other party, they'd better get their asses in gear. Or no man one will want to sleep with them. And then what would their lives become? Why else would you want to get in shape anyway, womanperson? For sport? For functional strength? For your own damn self? Stop speaking nonsenses!

Presumably, men don't need bedroom bodies*. Their fitness activities are in pursuit of more lofty ends. Hunting! Fighting! Watching cricket with their shirts off! And since women have to sleep with them anyway (everyone in this hetero-normative dreamscape is 'straight', ok? Just play along), there is no minimum aesthetic requirement involved for men.

Also what we've learnt so far is that a "bedroom body" is of a particular type produced in a gym or other exercise situation. Somebody should tell that to the bodies everywhere that are at this moment getting into some pretty enjoyable situations in their bedrooms, garages and crawlspaces right now, and have no intention of changing their bodies in order to continue doing so. If this describes you, you are hereby advised to cease and desist, until such time as we have certified that you possess the appropriate, bedroom-approved body.

It's true, I suppose, that "a bedroom body" could mean something more all-encompassing: it could simply mean a fit body of any size and shape that allows you to - as a friend of mine likes to put it - spin on your headtop during sex. But then, nobody's asking a man to spin on his headtop. I guess he and his non-bedroom body can just lay there.

And what annoys me most about this stupid poster - when I have to see it every single morning because it is affixed to the changing room door at my eye level - is that it does not reflect what I always thought were the philosophy and behaviours of the staff at this gym. They've always seemed very inclusive about women in sport, women gaining strength just because they feel like it. They've always seemed to have a pretty open "we can all do anything we want" mentality, inclusive of men, women, the elderly, people with disabilities, everyone. But now, because they are letting this stupid poster speak for them, I have to acknowledge that somewhere, someone in this establishment either does not get it, does not think, or does not care. And since I spend some time there, time that I otherwise enjoy, that's a bit of a downer. Still, always one who's eager (w00t!) to embrace the all too familiar "humourless" tag, here I go tomorrow morning. To ask what that mess there on the changing room door is all about.

*I asked if there was a similar poster on the inside of the men's changing room, and was told 'no' by a jolly fellow who is also a member, and who added, "darling, any man that got a body, it ready for the bedroom."

Cinderella's man seems strangely at ease

In the name of fairness and thoroughness, I must mention that the Nation newspaper ran a follow-up article to the one we discussed here last week, written by the same author. This one was much more succinct. Apparently, heterosexual men don't need as much advice on how to bag a partner as their female counterparts do. The author introduces the piece with a story he heard from a 'gorgeous lady' (I guess if she had looked like crap the story would be rendered irrelevant) of how some guy who had invited her to a movie paid for himself and bounced, leaving her to cover her own ticket. The horror. Sure this guy was rude, but only insofar as he was the one doing the inviting and didn't offer to pay, or at least didn't let her know in advance that he was planning to go splitsies.

Five instructions then follow. I'll list them for you:

Look good!
Be romantic!
Be confident!
Be flexible!
Be prepared!

Even with the couple lines of explanation that follow, these are a lot more vague and non-specific than the instructions meant for women, which included warnings like "don't bleed his pocket", "don't disrespect him" and other rules framing women's behaviour almost wholly as it relates to men. The men's instructions, on the other hand, are largely just a "be the best you" guide, a kind of self-improvement tome that comes in handy whether there's a woman around or not. Even the photos used couldn't be more telling. Last week's photo featured a woman gazing lovingly and eagerly at her man; this week's photo is of a single man: relaxed, laying back and listening to music. This thing is too easy. No doubt the writer and editors thought that publishing both pieces, even though they're both from a Christian man, was equitable and inclusive. But given the nature of this second article, excluding it altogether would have been a smarter move.

Beyond 'yawn', I've not much more to say about it, but I thought I'd give it a mention by way of follow-up.

Why can't you be more like Cinderella?

The Nation newspaper has (in this past Sunday's edition) solicited the wisdom, such as it is, of writer Chris Brodber in a feature vomitously called "Being right for Mr. Right", aimed at setting us lady folk on the right path of behaviour for bagging us a prince before we all shrivel up and die, bringing to nought our sole purpose here on this planet. I'm sorry I don't have a link to share, because really, the entire thing is worth a read. Chris seems to be of the "behave like a lady" school of thought, which, given the inclusions of the words 'behave' and 'lady', I tend to find problematic. I think 'lady' is the term men use for women who behave to their satisfaction, and it's rarely a part of my lexicon. But by no means should you take my word for it. I've quoted some of Chris's words for you below. No cut and paste here. Purely by the sweat of my brow do I bring you these little kernels of truth, nuggets of wisdom, and other metaphors featuring objects that, ironically, are associated with poo:

Many women will settle for just being a 'woman'. Here's news for you! Men need much more than just a woman. We need refined, we need elegant, gentle, confident, captivating, intelligent.

So if you thought you were going to get by on merely being a woman, Chris has news for you (!!!). You need to be more than just a lowly woman. To wit, the above qualities. Because we all know that mere women are by default unrefined, boorish, insecure and stupid. I'd like to think that Chris is just having some language and semantics problems here, but reading further leads me to think otherwise. And notice the fixation with elegance and refinement, usually read: 'women who skulk around in satin negligee, bat their eyelashes till their eyes bleed and never have much to say about anything'. I exaggerate of course, but I'm wary of men who place too much importance on being 'elegant'. No one ever asks men to be elegant. We should all treat each other and ourselves with respect, but the notion that women in particular should be all soft and conciliatory is one that has for years impeded our equal access to jobs, athletic competition, economic security and basic human rights. 'Elegant' is great, but often what it really means is 'well-behaved and nice to look at.'

And P.S. seductive is overrated. 'Ms. Right Now' usually is seeking to appear 'voluptuous', and often she's promiscuous. Remember: hot and sexy is never Cinderella.

And herein lies Chris's problem: the blonde, blue-eyed, docile, enslaved but obliging Cinderella is his model for female behaviour. Cinderella, who scurried back home and waited for some man to come and put a shoe on her foot so he could claim her as his own. God forbid she had her period that day and was retaining some water. Because that fairy tale would have had a whole different ending. Let me hit you with some knowledge, Chris, of the kind best expressed in non-Standard English: ain't nobody round here trying to be no Cinderella, ok? Cinderella had a fairy godmother and a whole side-street dumpster worth of miscellaneous vermin to fix her up, and even then, she had to sit on her Size 0 behind and wait for a man wielding a shoe. We're self-rescuing princesses around here, and we're hot and sexy. (Chris seems to think 'hot' and 'sexy' synonymous with 'whore of Babylon'.) And if meeting Mr. Right requires that we get dressed by birds to transform our perfectly acceptable selves into something that only appears more 'regal', trip over gourds and submit to random, unannounced shoe fittings, then Mr. Right can get the hell on because we've got shit doing. How about you leave your shoe and when I have some time I'll send someone to check your foot out?

And I left the best part for last. Voluptuous = promiscuous. If you have some curves, you're sleeping around. This is clearly science.

Even by the broader definition of the term, it's a judgment: a woman who seems to enjoy the sensual (I'm not so sure how a woman seems that way except by a very narrow-minded definition) is probably sleeping around. This is a hop, skip and a jump away from the 'she wanted it' rape defence. Women are allowed to be sexual beings, and to 'appear' to enjoy sex, and are even allowed to sleep with more than one man in a lifetime. True story.

A good man wants a gem. You know the saying.. "Behind every successful man is a good woman." A man needs a woman that makes him feel alive, relevant and like he has won the greatest prize. She must be capable, knowing how to suggest, 'Honey, probably we could do it this way'.

I swear to you I am not making this up. So here we are again with this 'woman behind a man' dynamic. I know the word 'behind' here means '(at) the source of', but I don't think people get that. How I really think it should read is 'Next to many successful people are partners who have worked equally hard right alongside them', which, when you consider it, isn't really earth-shattering news. The notion that the indicator of a couple's or a family's success is the success of the man is one that gives me hives. And Chris's perfect woman, like Cinderella, is some prize to be won, like a pig in a raffle. She's there to make him feel lucky.

And the writer defines 'capable', that is the capability of that woman, in terms of her man: how good is she at making suggestions to him? Someone should have told me that my man-convincing skills were the ultimate test of capability. I would have worked on that every day and twice on Sundays.

But that was just the preamble. I haven't even gotten to the actual instructions. (Yes, instructions.) Here are a few:

Don't bleed his pocket
Don't request the yacht and the anchor too. If you go out, you can offer to foot the bill sometimes. We men have antennae up for these things. A woman who is using a man may herself end up being used.

Since by nature women are gold-digging she-beasts, right out of the gates, we have to be cautioned against giving into our baser nature of 'bleeding' a man dry. Don't foot the bill because you're actually concerned with equity and independence. Do so because if you don't, his gold-digger radar will go crazy and he'll run off, leaving you alone and manless. I'm going to leave the 'end up being used' thing alone because I'm assuming that's not the old 'fair exchange, money for sex' argument. That is way too cheap even for this.

Avoid early marriage discussions.
Don't bring up marriage after the first few dates. [...] Let us guys bring up the issue. [...](Keep in mind it's not a good sign if it hasn't been mentioned after a year of dating.)

I keep resisting the urge to type LAWL all through this entry. Yes, it is a bad idea for anyone, man or woman, to come on too strong at the start of a relationship: it may smell of desperation, depending on who the two people involved are. Some people are both perfectly happy with marrying within weeks of meeting, although it's nothing I would advocate. But desperation is not, as Chris would have us believe, a uniquely female characteristic. In fact, I'd wager that of all the dangerous, glorified stalking that is depicted as comedy in films, and all the actual stalking that takes place in real life, most of the stalkers are men, and the victims women. And no, women do not have to hand over control of a significant life decision by waiting for men to bring up marriage. (What's with all the waiting, again? Oh right. Cinderella. Slipper. Got it.) And again, no, if your partner hasn't brought up marriage after a year it doesn't mean he's going to slip out in the night and never return. Some women like the surprise proposal, and that's fine. But your goals as a woman are important too. I see so many women caught in that purgatory between refusing to bring up marriage lest the man startle and scurry off, and really wanting to get on with the business of career timing and family and reproduction and these small matters. Having a vagina does not condemn you to having important decisions made for you. 'Equal partner' means something, it's not just PC gibberish.

Don't disrespect him.
Strong doesn't mean rude and crude. Strong actually is calm and collected. If you're tearing him down with outbursts and criticisms, you really aren't helping, most of all not yourself.

Or, "resist the natural urge to be a screaming, nagging banshee. Men's egos are delicate." Listen, ordinarily I would agree that no one should be disrespecting anyone in a relationship. Constant criticism is oppressive and exhausting, and the language and tone we use to communicate dissatisfaction in a relationship are key. However, I'm wary of the word 'disrespect' when used in terms of male/female relationships. It usually connotes the idea that the man is in a position that is by default to be respected, and that the woman is in a (lesser) position that is by default to be respectful. I hear it applied to all kinds of perceived slights as the reason for unacceptable behaviour, e.g. "she was talking to another man right in front of me, disrespecting me", or "she disrespecting me asking me to wear a condom, as if I got something". The masculinity we have created in the Caribbean is one where a man is, at all costs, to be shielded from any harsh word or injury to his maleness. When a man expresses dissatisfaction frankly, it is directness. When a woman does the same, she is being harsh, critical, disrespectful, emasculating. Stop the madness. It's possible that the woman you're involved with is in fact being unkind and needs to take a step back and reframe her position. And it's also possible that your vision is blocked by the large ego staring back at you, and you need to get over yourself, embrace some humility, and meet in the middle.

Brodber also mentions persistent phone calls, crowding and appearing untrustworthy as kisses of death in 'being right for Mr. Right', and he's not necessarily wrong in these, but he is wrong in presenting them as behaviour peculiar to women. The article is insulting, condescending, and frankly, tired. I find it difficult to believe that the Nation could come up with nothing more edgy or pioneering than 'how to get a man'. Haven't we been rewriting this same article for the last twenty years? And yes, there's a lot that's assumed here: the focus is on male/female heterosexual relationships whose goal is marriage, but I suspect the writer might be a reverend with traditionally Christian views, and even if he weren't, I wouldn't hold my breath expecting a major newspaper in Barbados to include anything other than cis-gendered, heteronormative perspectives. At least not without waving a big flag that says "Look at us! We're talking about the gayness!" But I do expect us to at least begin the long trek away from these narrow, unexplored representations of men, women and relationships, ones that reinforce the same harmful norms and roles we're meant to be discouraging.

Of pears and potatoes

Last week, reader GenderBender slapped me with a fish (figuratively, I mean) and demanded that I write about Caster Semenya. Even though I did end up writing a few words, at the time that she asked, I hadn't planned to cover the issue(s), because so many people already had. So I invited her to channel all her outrage here as our second in a distinguished line of guest bloggers. With a flourish and small marching band, I give you GenderBender:



When the Mongoose asked me to guest blog in this space, my first reaction was “Who me?” I’m neither a recognized blogger nor do I consider myself as having anything noteworthy to say. But that instinctual modesty was immediately replaced by the fiery, indignant “And why not me?” I’m female and enraged on behalf of another female whom I’ve never even met.The case of Caster Semenya, the South African runner who obliterated her competition to win gold in the 800metres at the World Athletic Championships in Berlin, has worried me, haunted my thoughts and upset my equilibrium. The socio-political levels upon which the issue has been pathetically mishandled by the International Amateur Athletics Association pale in comparison to the emotional and psychological impact it must have and will continue to have on the 18-year old Caster for many years to come

For those of you who have not followed the World Championships, allow me to bring you up to speed. Caster Semenya grew up in relative obscurity in the tiny, bush-ringed village of Masehlong. A sporty young woman who ran, played soccer and was a member of the wrestling team at the Nthema Secondary School, Semenya is now a first-year sports science student at Pretoria University. Nothing in her life training on dirt tracks and sharing meals with her four sisters and one brother could have prepared her for the catapulting into the international media spotlight after her gender was questioned. Yes, you read right. On July 31st at the African Junior Championships, Caster shaved a phenomenal four seconds off her 800 metre time (1:56:72 from her previous personal best of 2:00:58). That, coupled with her muscular build and alleged facial hair (I’ve seen close up pictures, she’s got no more of a moustache than the rest of us who run to the salon to have ours waxed every fortnight) led the IAAF to start a series of complicated, invasive and above all embarrassing ‘gender verification tests’. In short: she’s not a 34 DD, she’s got the arms and abs of a hard-working athlete (how strange!) and she’s suddenly running faster than her peers so naturally, she must be a dude! And while the egg continues to drip off the IAAF’s face there’s more: this decision was made public virtually on the eve of Caster’s final race in Berlin.

By its own admission, the IAAF started the testing process before Berlin but because of their complex nature (legal, physical, psychological, bio-medical), it simply ‘ran out of time’ to get conclusive results before she was due to run in the final. My issue with that is two fold: if an athlete’s winning time is drastically improved over a short and allegedly infeasible period of time, would the obvious first test not be performance enhancing drugs? And if that is the case, what does it have to do with her gender? The IAAF is using pears to justify the testing of potatoes. And it just plain stinks. Second, (again by its own admission) the Athletics Federation said it began its investigations based also on a murmur of rumour about her gender that became too loud to ignore. Ok, just so we’re clear: you’re an international sporting organization whose rules have become so strict that a second false start in any race leads to automatic disqualification, yet you start an investigation of this magnitude based on locker room gossip?

Needless to say, the roar of protest and righteous indignation from every corner of South Africa has been nothing short of deafening. The country’s Amateur Athletics body, Caster’s high school friends, her siblings and her adoring parents have also been catapulted into the media spotlight by the inept and often condescending international media, trying to get a fresh angle on a story that will surely idle in neutral until the results of the gender test are returned. At which point it will be determined if she (yes we’ve seen copies of her birth certificate but the IAAF hasn’t got the memo) will be stripped of her medal because of an unnatural level of testosterone or if she will join the inglorious band of athletes in history who have "ambiguous genitalia" (like Polish American Olympic champion Stella Walsh) or Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome [AIS] (like Indian middle distance runner Santhi Soundarajan). AIS includes the existence of a 'Y' chromosome in phenotypic females (typically only associated with a male genotype) and results in an inability to respond to androgens. This unresponsiveness leads to a physiologically female-typical body without female internal sex organs. Although the body produces testosterone, it does not react to the hormone.

But enough of the bio-babble. The point is this (and there are many): when the IAAF has finished employing overpriced public relations and marketing specialists to clean up its image after this absurd bungling (which, I might add, would surely never have happened if the athlete in question was, let’s say a Russian female shot putter, weighing in at 250 lbs), Caster Semenya must return to South Africa with a distasteful finger pointed at her and a nasty smudge of bigoted bureaucracy on her glistening gold medal. When will it end?

And don’t get me started on gender roles and how the concept of gender is performed; and how the West and its media monopolies ram what they think appropriate gender representation should be down our throats. Maybe the mongoose will invite me back to talk about that another time.