Fighting Words (a story from Fighting Words)

She was so tired of it.  They all were.  Every day, as they walked from one classroom to the next, or to the cafeteria, or to the gym, “Hey, ho!”  “Gonna do me?”  “C’mere, I got somethin’ for you!” 

Then from school to the bus stop.  “Y’all jus’ bitches, you know that, right?” “She’s a slut!” “No, she’s a slut!” Laughter.  Always laughter.

And as they wandered through the mall.  “Hey, look, a bunch of cunts!” “Yo, slag, c’mere!” This last, with a British accent.

Of course, they’d all tried to respond in kind.  Problem was, there was no ‘in kind’.  ‘Asshole’, ‘dick’, and ‘prick’ just meant idiot.  ‘Stud’ was a compliment.  There was no word—

Then one Saturday afternoon, when she and her friends were standing in line to see a movie, one of the older boys they knew called out to a guy, “Oh, look at the little puss-in-boots!”  The guy was a young man, actually, not someone from their school.  And he completely lost it.

Someone called 9-1-1.  Everyone got it on their cell phones.  Mall security managed to stop the fight and hold onto the two of them until the police arrived.  Shortly after, the paramedics wheeled them both away, and they read all about it in the following weeks. 

There had been a number of nasty punches, resulting in one very broken nose and one seriously bruised kidney.

The boy charged the young man with assault.

The young man responded with the ‘fighting words’ defence. 

And won.

They looked up from their smartphones.  He won?  The same eureka-moment flickered on each of their faces.  They started googling, as they settled into more comfortable positions in Teague’s room.

Women had tried suing men for defamation.  After all, surely relentless sexual insult ’causes injury and damage to the woman’s character’.

“It fucking dismisses her character,” Teague muttered when they start read the definition.  

“Maybe the courts didn’t see it as making false statements,” Sophe suggested as she continued to read the rest of the definition.

Teague and Em stared at her.  Fuck.  She could be right.

“It also says,” Sophe read aloud, “‘The statement must have been made with reckless disregard for the truth, meaning the person questioned the truthfulness but said it anyway.'”

“Right,” Teague said with disgust.  “How often do men question the truthfulness of anything they say?”

Em nodded.

“They’ve been bullshitting so long,” she added, “they believe their own bullshit.”

“But,” Em pointed out, reading, “damages include ‘pain and suffering’, which covers ‘personal emotional reactions such as shame, humiliation, and anxiety’.”  She looked at them. 

Yeah. 

“And,” she continued, “‘being ostracized from a social group’.”

That certainly applies,” Teague said, angrily.  “Every time a woman is called a cow or a cunt, she’s ostracized from humanity.”

“So,” Em said thoughtfully, “wouldn’t sexual insult be cause for a class action suit?”

“You’d think so,” Sophe murmured, tapping away, “but the charge seems to stick only when lost income is at issue.  Figures.”  She looked up at them.  “Money.  Business.  The world.”

In any case, they discovered that defamation was considered damaging only when the statement was public; one-to-one didn’t count.

“Maybe it’s just as well,” Sophe said, leaning back, “because do we really want to limit freedom of speech?  I mean, remember that article we read in class?  ‘Freedom to Offend’?  The way to deal with something you don’t agree with is to make a counterargument.”

“But when they call us sluts, they’re not making an argument,” Em pointed out.  “So there’s no—

“True, but—”

“And remember Stoltenberg’s comment,” Teague added.  “Exceptions to freedom of speech exist because some speech causes harm that cannot be redressed or undone by more speech.  That’s why defamation is illegal.”

They turned back to their phones. 

Women had also sought remedy on the basis of ‘intentional infliction of emotional distress’.

“Also called ‘outrage’,” Sophe announced happily, looking at her screen. “‘This cause of action may be available for cases that involve just words or in cases that involve both words and acts’,” she continued with optimism, then deflated: “‘In order to be actionable, the defendant’s conduct must be extreme, meaning that it exceeds all bounds of decent behavior.'”

She sighed and leaned back.

“And that’s the problem,” she said.  “This sort of thing has become normalized.”

“Yeah.  Wonder how that happened,” Teague said bitterly.

Because they knew the answer.  The internet had made porn easily available, and therefore (therefore?) widely viewed.  And it had become, almost all of it, so completely degrading: women were invariably presented as subservient, doing, willingly or not, whatever disgusting thing the men wanted them to do.  And apparently boys, and even men, were unable to distinguish reality from fantasy: they came to believe that women actually existed to please men, sexually; they came to believe that they were entitled to women’s bodies.  And so boys, and even men, routinely reached out and touched women’s bodies.  Grabbed women’s bodies.  Not only their behinds, but also their breasts.  Thus routinely proclaiming that girls, and women, were sexually available to them.  Hey ho.

“Hang on,” Em had a thought.  “Schools already have rules about bullying … ”  She started tapping at her phone again.

Sophe nodded and joined the effort.  “Here we go.  ‘Bullying can be defined as repetitive, aggressive conduct growing out of an advantage in power and a desire to control.  Said conduct can include the repeated infliction of verbal abuse such as the use of derogatory remarks, insults, and epithets.'”

“Perfect,” Teague said.

“‘While the techniques of bullies vary,'” Sophe continued, “‘their object almost always is to gain control over the victim by engendering shame, anguish, fear, and/or humiliation.'”

“Our entire sexist society bullies,” Teague said.  “It’s designed to enable bullying.  By men.  Of women.

Em nodded.

Sophe continued.  “‘Most victims of bullying experience guilt, shame, fear, embarrassment, and diminished self-worth.  These effects can lead to anxiety disorders, depression, and insomnia.  The targets have an increased risk of suicide and other forms of self-harm.'”

They looked at each other.  Anorexia.  Cutting.  Two girls killed themselves last term.

Not to mention the self-fulfillment prophecy.  Call a girl a whore often enough …

They found dozens of articles in law journals about bullying.  But not one presented a gendered analysis of the phenomenon.  Not one specifically addressed males bullying females.

And bullying in itself was not a crime.

Go figure.

“Why can’t we just charge them with hate speech?” Em asked, then turned back to her phone.

“‘A hate crime'” Em read, “‘is a criminal offence committed against a person or property that is based solely upon the victim’s race, religion, nationality, ethnic origin, sexual orientation, or disability.'”

There was a moment of silence.  Then Sophe pointed at the elephant in the room.  “Sex isn’t on the list.”

“How can that be?” Em was aghast.  She looked it up again.  And again. 

Five definitions later, she echoed Sophe.  “Sex isn’t on the list.”

“Which explains why Reddit banned GenderCritical as hate speech,” Teague grimaced, “but continues to allow AntiFeminists and StruggleFucking.  Previously called RapingWomen,” she added with a grimace.

“Wait,” Em was catching up, “how was GenderCritical hate speech?  Gender isn’t on the list either.”

They looked at each other.  Blankly.

“So,” Teague concluded a long moment later, coming full circle, back to their starting point, “‘fighting words’ it is.”

Em nodded.  “If ‘puss-in-boots’ is considered an instance of ‘fighting words’, surely ‘cunt’, ‘slut’, ‘ho’—”

“Not necessarily,” Sophe interrupted. 

“What?  Why?” Em asked.

“They’ll consider the context.  For a man to be called a woman is more insulting than for a woman to be called a cunt.”

Sophe was right.  And they both knew it.

“A lot of men genuinely believe that,” Teague added anyway.

“So a judge might decide that calling a woman a cunt is … okay,” Em said, with disbelief, “because it’s just … “

“Fact.”  Teague’s voice was hard.  “Women are sexual.  They are to be fucked.  They are to be incubators.  End of story.”

Geezus.  How the hell did they get here?

“Even ‘girls’ is used as an insult,” Sophie said.  “And ‘ladies’.  When they say it … The way they say it.  You know what I mean.”

They did.  Bottom line, it was insulting just to be called female.  What do you do when what you are is an insult?

“Regardless,” Em said, “it’s a defence, right? ‘Fighting words’?  So we have to be hit first?”  She wasn’t keen on that part.

Sophe started tapping again.  “‘Fighting words alone are not considered assault,'” she read, “‘but may be folded into an assault charge,'” she emphasized the word, “if accompanied by threatening acts, for example, raised fists—'”

“A grabbed crotch?” Teague suggested.

“What about a smirk?” Em asked.  “A facial expression is an act, right?”

Sophe sighed again.  “That would probably be hard to prove.”  And she wasn’t sure what ‘folded into’ meant, exactly.

“Wait a minute,” Teague said, “I thought I saw … Here it is.  ‘Fighting words are words intentionally directed toward another person which are so venomous and full of malice as to incite him/her to immediately retaliate physically.  … The offensive language is such that the person temporarily loses control of their actions.'”

“And that’s exactly why women are at a disadvantage,” Sophe said with frustration, leaning back again.  “We’re more mature than they are.  We have greater self-control.”

Em nodded.

“Which is truly ironic,” she added, “given the laws against contraception and abortion, which deny us self-control …”

“Well, we’ll just have to change,” Teague announced.  “The critical factor isn’t the retaliation per se, it’s that the resulting fight is a breach of peace.”  She’d continued reading.  “We just have to make a fuss.  We have to breach the peace.”

“And,” Sophe was thinking it through, “we just have to do it often enough to convince the courts that it may happen.”

“Exactly.”  Teague consulted her phone again.  “‘Provocative words may be justification for an assault, provided the person uttering the words understood or should have understood that physical retaliation would be attempted. The words must be ‘fighting’ words.'”

“And,” Sophe was getting on board, “since the court uses the reasonable person standard …”

“What difference does that make?” Em asked.  “I mean, it’s not always reasonable to retaliate—”

“Because the ‘reasonable person’ in courts of law has always been assumed to be the ‘reasonable man‘.”

“Ah.”  A reasonable man would retaliate.

“That’s interesting,” Teague said.  “Maybe we’ve been unreasonable not to retaliate.  By ignoring it all these years, we’ve been doormats.  We’ve let them insult us.”

“And so stayed alive,” Em protested.  “Atwood.”

Yeah.  Men are afraid women will laugh at them.  Women are afraid men will kill them.

“Hang on,” Sophe said, backing up.  “Isn’t it the case that if escape is possible, assault isn’t justified?”  She started tapping away again.  Teague and Em, as well.

“Here it is,” Em said.  “‘According to the Castle Doctrine, victims threatened with physical aggression are required to retreat if they can safely do so, before responding with force.  If the victim were to respond with physical force when she could safely retreat, she would be charged with a crime concomitant with the amount of force used and the harm done to the aggressor.'”

“Oh, sure, in that case they identify the person as ‘she’!” Teague said with disgust.

“But it’s everywhere now,” Em said, thinking about retreat.  “Where are we supposed to go?”

Teague agreed.  “Some days I feel like I’m spending all my time trying to avoid these assholes.”

“Wait,” Sophe said, still reading.  “It’s changed.  The Castle Doctrine has given way to the Stand Your Ground Doctrine.  ‘In the last ten years, most states have extended the Castle doctrine to both public and private places.  In these jurisdictions, everywhere a person stands is his or her castle.  That is, most states have jettisoned the duty to retreat.'” She looked up at them, a smile creeping onto her face, then continued.

“‘The major justification for Stand Your Ground laws is summarized most succinctly by the Supreme Court of New Jersey in State v. Abbott’, which says ‘The law should not denounce conduct as criminal when it accords with the behavior of reasonable men'”—she grinned at Teague—”‘The manly thing is to hold one’s ground, and hence society should not demand what smacks of cowardice. It is obvious that the interests to be protected by stand your ground laws are dignity and pride.'”

Sophe looked up to see both Em and Teague smiling, then finished the paragraph.  “‘So, if pride is a protectable interest … why should the law not protect other emotional and psychological interests …?'”

“Yes!” Teague almost shouted.  “Why shouldn’t we be able to defend our dignity and pride and everything else required for our emotional and psychological well-being?  Especially since defending one’s physical well-being is allowed!”

“Wait—” Sophe sounded discouraged again.  “‘Although the law is currently without protections for those who use physical force in defense of their emotional and psychological well-being,'” she glanced up, then resumed, “‘jurisprudence’—that’s the lawyers and judges—’has always vindicated the idea of physical force when certain non-physical interests of the victim are at stake.'”

“Aha!” Teague raised her fist.

They organized it on social media.  On one of the ‘by invitation only’ sites.

“I don’t know,” ChatCat posted.  “I’ve never hit anyone in my life.”

“I’ll do it,” NotYrPrincess posted.  She was a boxer.

“Me too,” HockeyStick posted.

“Keep in mind that we don’t have to really fight,” Teague posted.  “We just have to retaliate in a way that causes a fuss.  The point, if we understand it correctly, is that the insult disturbs the peace or whatever.”

“And if you don’t feel comfortable with the physical part of it,” Sophe added, “that’s okay.  You can be one of the people at the edge getting it all on your phone.  We need people to post the incidents online.”

“We also need someone to call 9-1-1,” Em chipped in.  “You can be that person.”  She was going to be that person.

“And we need people who can write about it,” Sophe said.  “So everyone who blogs, tweets, spins …”

“We have to be prepared,” Ruby49 cautioned.  “The backlash will be vicious.”

“Agreed.  Hell hath no fury like a man one-upped by a woman.”  Sportster described an incident wherein she was playing basketball in a mixed league.  She’d set up such a perfect pick, the guy ran right into her.  Hadn’t seen it coming at all.  He was understandably embarrassed.  But so embarrassed, so humiliated, by a woman, that he actually came at her and proceeded to plow her right off the court.  No foul was called.  Duh.  She withdrew from the league. 

“And that’s how they do it,” ButListen remarked. “They don’t even have to pass any laws, to keep us offside ….”

“Yeah,” Sportster replied, “but it wasn’t fun anymore.  As it was, the guys hardly ever passed the ball to me.” 

“A metaphor if there ever was one,” said ButListen.  And everyone heard the sigh.

The first reported incident was textbook perfect.  If there’d been a textbook about this sort of thing.

“Hey ho!”

She glanced at her friend to make sure she was recording it.

“What did you call me?”

“A ho!” he laughed.

She started to walk toward him.  Three other young women walked with her.

“Take it back!”  one of them said. 

“No!” he laughed again.

So she shoved him.  So hard, he fell down.

Then, as predicted, all hell broke loose.  His rage!

Someone called 9-1-1.  The young man’s broken nose was tended to.  The young woman’s black eye was tended to.  They were both wheeled away for various x-rays.

And they were both charged with disorderly conduct and assault. 

The young woman’s lawyer argued that ‘fighting words’ had been uttered.  Six different videos proved it.

Within an hour, said videos had been posted.  Everywhere.

Accompanied by commentary that placed the blame, the responsibility, clearly on the young man.  None of this ‘A woman was raped’ shit.  No, it was ‘A man, with malicious intent, provoked an assault, with complete disregard for women’s moral right to be free of sexualized insult …’

Even so, the young woman lost the case.

But the idea spread like wildfire. 

Early on, someone suggested organizing ‘Take Back the Day’ marches, reminiscent of the ‘Take Back the Night’ marches of the ’70s.  Someone else suggested that ‘Take Back the Public Space’was more accurate.  But it was ‘Take It Back!’ that caught on. 

“But we don’t want them to say it in the first place,” Sophe had lamented.

No matter.  ‘Take It Back!’ got its own hashtag.

Social media exploded with videos and reports …  ‘Men triggered five fights today …’   Then ten.  Then twenty.

It was hard, though.  Women had to overcome a lifetime of ‘Don’t hit,’  ‘Don’t hurt’…

“And that’s how they’ve kept us subordinate all these centuries,” ButListen posted. 

And so the women who’d already broken through helped the others.

“Aim for their knees,” JustDoIt7 posted.  “Once a man’s down, their upper body strength isn’t as much an advantage!”

“Men have a weak spot,” FightFire posted, “front and center, that we have not taken advantage of.  It’s time.  Surely, it’s time.”

Schools had to hire extra security personnel.  They’d already had to hire guards to oversee metal detectors at the entrances because so many young men came to school with weapons.  Now they had to have personnel walk the halls all day.

Malls had to do the same.  They too had already put guards at the entrances to watch for ‘trouble-makers’. Now they had to have circulating guards.

Every day, the police lay more and more charges.  Breach of the peace, disorderly conduct, causing a disturbance … and, always, assault. 

Apparently, men couldn’t help themselves.  They kept up the insults, and once they were shoved, they could not just walk away.  Let alone take it back.  As requested.  Said request seemed, universally, to elicit a ‘Fuck you!’  Which didn’t help matters.

When was society going to get fed up with their young men?  (‘Young’ as in ‘under forty’.  That seemed to be the age at which misogyny—  Well, no, it didn’t disappear, it never disappeared, it just …  went underground.  Still.)  When would they be shamed for their immaturity? 

“I get it,” a prominent black man posted.  “I’ve been called a nigger my whole life.”

“Thank god for the SNCC, right?” a prominent black woman responded. 

“You know it, sister!”  He attached a smiley face.

“You do realize,” the prominent black woman then posted, “that Stokely Carmichael said the only position for women in the SNCC was prone?  Stokely Carmichael, the civil rights leader?  What does that tell you?”

Apparently the prominent black man had logged out.  No doubt, he had something important to attend to.

“I get it,” a prominent gay man posted.  “I’ve been called a faggot more times than I can count.”

“All in one day?” a woman asked. 

“And when it happens,” another woman asked, “do they reach out and grab your penis when they say it?”

Apparently he too had logged out.

And, as predicted, the men upped their game.  First, by outnumbering the women.  No insult was made unless there were ten of them present.  They were used to acting as a gang. 

Women responded in kind.  No retaliation was made unless there were twenty present.

“No fair!”  The beaten men cried.

“No fair?” One blogger responded.  “But gang rape—gang rape—that’s fair?”

Then the men made sure they were armed.  Baseball bats were too obvious, knives and guns could be discovered, and would most definitely lead to more serious charges, so they started putting palm-sized stones in their pockets. 

Women responded in kind.  And discovered it was relatively easy to swing a purse full of marbles.

Even so, fearing cracked skulls, those who already had pepper spray started using it.

Men started wearing face shields.  And using acid.

And then, in a long-awaited landmark case, a judge was convinced that the young man before him should have expected retaliation.  He should have known that a scuffle (yes, ‘a scuffle’) would ensue when he called the young woman in question ‘a fucking cunt’.

The young woman in question won her case. 

Sexual insults were considered fighting words.  No question now.

And then, much to women’s surprise, and delight, several of the lawyers who had been involved in pushing the ‘fighting words’ defence, pushed for sex to be added to hate speech legislation.  Pushed to make the insults themselves an offence.

They succeeded.

Sexual insults were considered hate speech.  No expectation of retaliation required.

And then, surprisingly, wonderfully, years later, when men no longer routinely called women sluts and hos, when they no longer heard other men routinely call women sluts and hos, they just … stopped thinking of them in that way.

But not after many, too many, young women had died from their injuries.  They were appropriately remembered as martyrs to the cause.  One headline that made mainstream news said it all: “Young woman dies defending our humanity”.

“Don’t Have Children” by Kate Manne

https://katemanne.substack.com/p/dont-have-children

Check out Feminist Works on Substack

https://feministworks.substack.com/archive

https://feministworks.substack.com/archive

I’ve just discovered this and already I’ve read several EXCELLENT articles …

https://virginiaweaver.substack.com/p/women-do-not-owe-you-your-manhood

https://sorayachemaly.substack.com/p/29-from-the-world-cup-to-the-senate

https://feminists.substack.com/p/who-elected-the-algorithm

https://badwoman.substack.com/p/the-myth-of-men-as-simple-creatures

Man or Bear … and still clueless

So I recently posted this on a local Facebook page: “I’m looking for a woman with carpentry skills and tools to build a sound-absorbing enclosure for a generator. Please leave a message.”*

Three men and three women replied.

Two of the men made light of my preference for a woman (“I could be a woman depending on the hourly rate” and “Can I identify as a woman?”); the third asked why I specified that it be a woman.

Two of the three women considered the possibility that perhaps I had been injured by a man in the past and so was uncomfortable having one on my property/in my house (“Perhaps she has a reason for not feeling comfortable around a male. You don’t know her situation” and “No need to judge for someone wanting a specific gender, you don’t know her story!”; the third replied to the first man’s response with “That isn’t even funny.”

I was reminded of the general response to the ‘Would you rather meet a bear or a man in the forest?’ question, specifically the overwhelming cluelessness of men as to why most women chose the bear.

Over the past few decades, with great difficulty and at great risk, we have brought ‘domestic violence’ (basically, men hitting, punching, beating up the women they married) out into the open.  We’ve brought rape out into the open.  We’ve brought megabrothels and pornography out into the open.  How is it that the fact that (very many, but not all) men hurt women still, still, remains almost completely off (most) men’s radar?  And the fact that, therefore, all women fear (pretty much all) men?  (Because, as Sloan tells Don in that excellent episode of Newsroom, ‘No, you can’t always tell.’)

Is it that men don’t think that hurting women is problematic?  Because hurting is okay?  And, or, because women aren’t really full-fledged people?  They’re just walking wombs to bear their kids or just legs with holes for fucking?  (And not, oh, I don’t know, doctors and judges and architects and mathematicians and biologists and anthropologists and politicians and—oh, wait: maybe all of the women these men know [because they’re in the trades?] are just mothers and cunts.  Dudes, ya gotta get out more.)

___

*I’ve had 50 years experience working with both men and women, and I’ve read the literature on sexism for the same length of time.  My personal experience is that women are far more apt to take me seriously, listening to what I say and request; women are far less likely to be condescending and ‘mansplain’; women are more reliable, actually responding to a phone call or email; women clean up after themselves; women do not ‘hit on me’.  The literature indicates that this is not by a long shot just my experience and, furthermore, it suggests that women have to be twice as good to get half as far.  So, in short, I’d rather hire a woman than a man any day for anything.

How We Survived

How We Survived (a story from Fighting Words)

You’re wondering how it happened.  How did we survive?  How did our population suddenly plummet from six billion to half that.  Enabling our natural resources to recover and, eventually, support us.  All of us.

In 2020, all of the indicators pointed to our imminent extinction.  We had to reduce our greenhouse gases by 50% before 2030 in order to have just a hope in hell of avoiding what would otherwise become inevitable in 2050, eventual human extinction.  And in 2020, we were nowhere near being on target.  The U.S. continued to deny that there was a problem; Canada continued to allow the production of greenhouse gases just for fun (via snowmobile, PWC, and ATV use; in fact, the government had gone so far as to designate 121,000 kilometres of crown and private land specifically for snowmobile use).

And so there continued to be—and every year, more—devastating droughts, forest fires, heat waves, floods, superstorms, and pandemics, as well as all the rage that typically accompanied such events—riots, assaults, mass shootings …

In the middle of all this, single mothers just … gave up.  They’d had enough.  Enough part-time, temporary, casual work for which they earned half of what men would have earned.  (No, what am I saying?  Men would never be offered, would never have to accept, part-time, temporary, or casual work.  Not if they had kids to support.)  Enough of no pension, no benefits.  So no affordable medical care.  Enough of looking after other people’s kids as well as their own, but needing to do so in order to feed their own.  Because no affordable daycare.

They’d had enough of fighting for child support every fucking month. They’d had enough of the men, the absent fathers, still calling the shots.  For example, preventing them from moving back to where they could get the help of their extended family, because said family was in a different state or a different country and they, the men, wouldn’t therefore be able to see their kids as often, as easily.  (Suddenly that mattered.)

They’d had enough of living in a culture that “values work that contributes to the destruction and exploitation of life over and above work which nurtures life,” to quote Abigail Bray.  And Marilyn Waring.  And how many other women who had been ignored.

They’d had enough of being considered, treated like, damaged goods and sluts. 

Why were they single, you might ask.  Their husbands, the kids’ fathers, had abandoned them, saying they just weren’t cut out to be fathers.

Or they’d left their husbands, the kids’ fathers, after years of abuse, psychological and physical, that hadn’t started until the first pregnancy.

Why were they mothers, you might ask.  Their husbands had refused to use a condom.  They’d said they’d pull out, but didn’t.  Usually, they just raped them.  It was their right, after all.  (The consequences, apparently not their responsibility.)

So the next time their kids were with their fathers for the weekend, they just … disappeared.

You might think it would tear them apart.  Well, they were already torn apart.

Yes, their daughters would likely be raped.  That would’ve happened anyway.  Eventually.  The famous ‘one in four’ had crept to ‘one in three’ as men got angrier and angrier with the world at large.

Yes, their sons would be raised to be misogynistic psychopaths.  That too would’ve happened anyway.   The porn culture enabled by the internet had turned most men into misogynistic psychopaths.  Which was no surprise, if they’d been watching women being humiliated and hurt, and apparently liking it, since they were eight.  Which was the case now for most males.

And then it wasn’t just the single mothers.  Married women started divorcing their husbands and insisting that said husbands, their kids’ fathers, assume full-time custody.

“I’ll take them every other weekend,” the women would say, magnanimously.

And oh my god, was it wonderful.  They’d work from nine to five, and the rest of the day, the evening, was theirs.  All theirs.  To do as they pleased.  The housework, the laundry, the cooking—it was surprising how little was needed for just themselves.  And the quiet.  It was … bliss.

In a way, it seemed that women had started getting over themselves.  Truth be told, in most cases, the kids would be no worse off with their fathers.  It’s not like they, the mothers, had been doing a stellar job.  Their kids were, across the board, oh so ordinary.  At best.

In a way, it seemed that they’d finally realized they’d been suckered into believing that raising children was something that only they could do, something that they could do best, being women, being mothers …

“You know, it’s strange,” Ann said to Beth during their coffee break, as they read the latest statistics on the phenomenon.  “It’s like all these women, single and married, suddenly don’t love their kids anymore.”

“Yeah, well, love,” Beth replied, cynically.  “Oxytocin by any other—”

And that’s when it hit them.

They did the research (suspending, for the moment, their development of an air-borne contraceptive, with a somewhat onerous and impossible-to-regulate antidote, like holding one’s breath for 60 seconds every hour for 24 hours straight, that would change the default from having to do something not to get pregnant to having to do something to get pregnant), and sure enough.

There had been a decrease in oxytocin.  For many, that bond was all that had been holding mother-and-child together.  Once it started to dissolve, once their oxytoxin started to decrease, well, it was … easier.  To just give up.  Give up their kids, leave them with their fathers.  It actually didn’t tear them apart.  Quite so much.

We should have seen it coming.  After all, we’d been using pesticides, handling plastics, wearing cosmetics (that turned into a nice irony: you want us to look attractive all the time, well, okay, but … it’s gonna cost ya), and coming into contact with god knows how many other industrial chemicals for almost a century.

We even knew that many of these chemicals were endocrine disruptors: they could increase, or decrease, certain hormones (special signal-sending chemicals); they could interfere with the signals hormones were supposed to send; they could even turn one hormone into another.

In fact, we had proof way back in the 1940s that DDT, for example, caused problems for bees, and in 1962, biologist Rachel Carson sounded a strong alarm about such pesticides (and was dismissed as hysterical for doing so).  It took ten years for the U.S. to ban DDT.  And another forty to make the link to breast cancer.

But, well, research into women’s bodies was not exactly a priority.  The first-ever statement about women and heart disease—the signs of heart attack in women are different than in men—was published in 2016.  And we had Viagra (and Cialis and Levitra and Stendra …) long before safe contraception.  And—

Simply put, women weren’t as important as men.  It was an opinion that was, apparently, impossible to change.  After all, Viagra (and Cialis and Levitra and Stendra …) was covered by health insurance plans ten years before any of the various contraceptives were covered.

As more and more women entered the sciences, there were attempts to change that, but men continued to dominate the funding decisions.  (Ann and Beth had resorted to crowd-funding for their research.)

As for research into mothering, that was especially emasculating.  Only a wuss would choose to do that!  I still remember when I first read Levitt and Dubner’s Freakonomics, in which they present an astounding connection between access to abortion and the crime rate: twenty years after Roe v. Wade, the U.S. crime rate dropped.  Astounding indeed.  That men were surprised by that.  What did they think would happen when a woman is saddled with a squalling baby she does not want, on an income she does not have, because she has a squalling baby she does not want—  She’d get a ‘Mother of the Year’ award?

So.  Oxytocin is a chemical produced by the hypothalamus.  It motivates and reinforces attachment.  Therefore.

Their conclusion was validated when almost overnight, the proportion of new mothers (single or married) with so-called post-partum depression went from one in seven to four in seven.  That’s over half. 

We’d only recently hypothesized that post-partum depression could be caused in part by low oxytocin.  Turns out that it’s not so much that low oxytocin causes post-partum depression as that high oxytocin masks post-partum depression—the reasonable (healthy) response to the forementioned state of being saddled with a squalling baby …  (Especially reasonable when you were absolutely exhausted from having just birthed it, in part because you went into that labour in a weakened state due to the multiple stresses, emotional and physical, of being pregnant for nine months in the first place.)

Those who thought post-partum depression was just a medicalization of not wanting kids were right.  Maybe, just maybe, women’s sole responsibility for that squalling baby explains why they experienced “a loss of energy, changes in sleep patterns, a diminished ability to think or concentrate, and recurring thoughts of suicide.”  I mean, duh.

So when the increase in oxytocin that typically accompanied pregnancy and labour didn’t occur …

Almost overnight, most new mothers acted like those with post-partum depression.  Or like men.  Quite simply, they weren’t all that interested in their newborns.  They saw them as the demanding shit-machines that most new fathers, truthfully, had always seen them as.  (‘Honey, I have to stay late at the office again, sorry.’  Right.  Code for ‘I can’t stand another minute of its crying.  You’re different, you’re a woman, it doesn’t bother you, just like you don’t mind changing its diaper ….’  Right.)

And, simply put, most women did not want to have to look after a demanding shit-machine twenty-four/seven.  Who would?  Looking ahead, they saw nothing but exhaustion, frustration, resentment, anger, rage …  Being completely responsible for a completely helpless human being for years …  

So, many women just left their newborns with their husbands.

“If you didn’t want to look after it, you shouldn’t’ve had it!” Dave said when Diane told him she was going back to work the next day.

She waited a few moments, then saw that she had to say it out loud.  “Same to you.”

And then in the morning, when she was on her way out ahead of him—in many households, there was actually a race for the door—he objected.  He’d obviously not taken her seriously the night before.  But then, when had he ever?

“But … this is crazy.”

She stared at him.  “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Dismiss as ‘crazy’ anything you don’t agree with.  As if you’re the standard of sanity.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

“But … I can’t stay home, quit my job.  I make more money than you!”

“Yeah, pity you never joined the fight for equal pay for work of equal value.”

“But—”

“And,” she sighed, “it’s not all about money.”

Many women took their newborns to their rapists.  In many cases, in many countries, that meant the same as leaving them with their husbands.  But in many other cases, it meant taking the infant to a male relative, a ‘friend’, an acquaintance …   As statistics have shown, in most cases, women are raped by someone they know.

“You can’t leave it here!” Tyler said.  “I don’t want it!”

“Then why’d you make it?”

“I didn’t make it!”

She waited just a moment.  “Do you really not know how babies are made?  When sperm—”

“I know that shit!  Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Well, unless you taught your sperm how to swim backwards …” 

It was amusing, though appalling, that so many men seemed to assume that women had some sort of innate control over fertilization.  That getting pregnant was their choice, hence their fault.

“Why didn’t you take care of it?” He glared at her.

“I am taking care of it.  I’m giving it to you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Then say it.  Say what you mean.”

“Why didn’t you get an abortion?”

“Why didn’t you get a vasectomy?”

“I thought you were on the pill or something.”

“Why did you think that?”

He shrugged.

“Well, shouldn’t you have made sure?  Before you put your sperm into my vagina?”

In many countries, women organized and took their newborns, en masse, to their legislatures.  They walked in, close to a hundred at a time, and set their infants, strapped into carriers, baskets, and car seats, onto the long meeting tables.

“What’s this?”  The Man-in-Charge would say.

“The babies you forced us to have by prohibiting abortion.”

“Well, we don’t want them.”

Then you shouldn’t have forced us to have them.”

And then they started to walk away.

“Wait!  You can’t just walk away!  What kind of mothers are you?”

“The unwilling kind.  The coerced kind.”

And then with great self-righteousness, the Man-in-Charge would call Security and have the women arrested for abandonment.  Right then and there.  They’d be taken away to holding cells.  Sentenced for, possibly, five years.  With smug satisfaction, the Man-in-Charge would turn back to—

The babies were still there.  Now wailing.  Every one of them.

Oops.

Initially, it was concern for the kids that received all the media attention.  (Of course.  Even fertilized eggs are more important than women.)  Women with post-partum depression don’t bond with their newborns; as a result, said newborns don’t thrive.  They are likely to have a wide range of cognitive, emotional, behavioral, and medical problems: lower IQ scores, attention problems, mood disorders, anxiety disorders, substance use disorders, conduct disorders, my god the list goes on.  (Tell me again why mothers, if they’re so very important, are ‘paid’ just room and board.)

Most women fully understood the importance of the first six years; they were the formative years.  Literally.  But why were women best suited for those first six years?  Why was one woman best suited for those first six years?

And if those years were so fucking important, they said, they screamed, why did men keep undoing what women did?  With advertising—sugar-sweetened drinks and cereals, fat-laden and nutrient-poor fast food …  With toy stores—stocked with gun-wielding action figures on one side and pretty pink princesses on the other …  With television, intentionally attractive, intentionally addictive—the more kids watch tv, the worse their social skills, their language skills, their school performance, their physical fitness …

Of course, many women argued that the ‘What about the children?’ response was just a guilt trip, and a way to keep so many of us sequestered, segregated, in the home, overworked, too tired to care about, or to do anything about, anything else.  And not an expression of genuine concern for the children, for those formative years.

And so … the men found out what it was like.  To be home alone with one, two, three kids who demanded their attention every minute, every second.  They’d had no idea how exhausting it could be.  Physically, psychologically …  

What did they do?  Some desperately hired other women to look after their kids.  But ten hours a day, five days a week, it added up.

Naturally, those who were married expected their now-working (wait, now-working?) wives to pay half the mortgage, half the electricity, half the insurance …

“I can’t afford that.  We’ll have to sell the house, move, find something cheaper.”

“Sell the house?  But—”

“And of course I won’t be paying half the nanny’s salary.” 

“But they’re your kids too.”

“I can’t afford it.”  It was true.

Suddenly men were speaking out for equal pay for work of equal value.  Suddenly they were insisting their wives get pay increases and promotions.  Suddenly they were appalled at the jobs their wives didn’t get hired for.

“But you’re qualified!  More than qualified!”

Duh.

“Can’t you pay at least part of the nanny’s salary?”

“Why should I?  It was your decision.”  Because oh, the rage.  Their husbands were paying some stranger more than they’d ever paid them.  To do the same work.

And, again, “If you didn’t want to look after a kid, why did you make one?”

And, of course, it wasn’t just about money.  Unless they hired a 24/7 nanny, the men whose wives had left found they no longer had their evenings and weekends to themselves.  To put it mildly.

When hiring a nanny proved impossible, the men stayed home.  What choice did they have?  Many were fired because they didn’t show up for work.  Or couldn’t stay late.  Or had to leave suddenly in the middle of the day for an emergency.  (Fortuitously, this opened positions for all the women now seeking paid employment.)

Suddenly men were speaking out for, demanding, state-funded daycare.

They insisted that their estranged wives pay child support.  But when the arrears for 24/7 nanny services to date had been calculated, minus their portion for all the joint expenses, in most cases, the men still owed the women.  No child support would be forthcoming. 

Regardless, most men found they simply couldn’t handle the non-stop neediness of babies, infants, toddlers, their relentless whining presence … When their infants wouldn’t stop crying, some men threw them against the wall.  Or worse.

So when that proved impossible, the staying at home with them, they just started leaving them alone during the day.  And often during the night.  Some men just left the house at one point and didn’t come back.

The kids died.  Of course they died. 

Some starved to death.  Some died of thirst.  Some had fatal accidents.  They fell when they tried to get out of their cribs, or they drowned when they slipped in the tub, or they died in a house fire when, so hungry, they tried to make supper … 

Call it ‘failure to thrive’.  In a big way.

So, yes, the incidence of infanticide increased.  The incidence of child abuse and neglect increased.  More prisons were required.  More foster homes were required.  Proposals were made to bring back orphanages.

The number of street kids increased.  More social services were required.

Juvenile crime increased.  More young offender facilities were required.

Governments were overwhelmed.

Of course, early on, almost immediately, actually, the men realized they hadn’t wanted kids after all.  Not really.  They’d just wanted the badge of respectability, the measure of maturity.  And they realized they’d been duped by the association between the two: being able to get a woman pregnant had nothing to do with respectability.  Or maturity.

 And they realized, now, that if they did have kids—that is, if they did create some new human beings—they’d have to look after them for a good fifteen years.  Actually look after them.

And then what happened?

Nations that had hitherto spent half their budgets on weapons found that they had the money for state-funded daycare.

Legislation was passed for equal pay for work of equal value.  And enforced.

Legislation was also passed for equal opportunity for promotions.  And enforced.

Contraception became not only easily available, but free of charge.

Abortion became legal.  And available.  On demand.

And, finally, there was an increase in vasectomies, from a global rate of 2.2% to 81.9%.

And then, zero population growth.

There’s ‘pretty’ and there’s ‘smart’

A few days ago, trying to understand Trump’s becoming President, I searched for videos making fun of American stupidity.  And I came across this: Miss Teen USA 2007 – South Carolina

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj3iNxZ8Dww).

The contestant from South Carolina is presented with this: “A recent poll has shown that a fifth of Americans can’t locate the U.S on a world map.  Why do you think this is?”

And the contestant replies: “I personally believe that U. S. Americans are unable to do so because some people out there in our nation don’t have maps, and I believe that our education, like such as South Africa and the Iraq everywhere like such as, and I believe that they should—our education over here in the U.S should help South Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future for our children.”

At first, I was going to call her out for being an idiot.  And an embarrassment.

(The contest is for women only and so the likelihood, among stupid people, will be to generalize from those women to all women.  True, intelligent men aren’t embarrassed by meatheads, but they—the intelligent men—haven’t been struggling as a group to be allowed as a group, to vote, to be admitted to university, to be fairly paid, to be taken seriously, etc, etc.)

But then I realized that it was a Miss Teen competition.  When I was a teenager, I couldn’t even deliver a prepared speech to just a classroom full of my peers unless I had notes.  So I thought I should cut her some slack.

I also realized that the first part of her answer was actually pretty good: I would’ve gone right to ‘They didn’t pay attention in school and now they’re ignorant fools.’  Schools not having the required materials, maps, wouldn’t ‘ve occurred to me.

And I realized that I was less annoyed by her subsequent non sequitur word salad than by her prefatory “I personally believe … “.  The weight she put on “personally” was no doubt intended, though perhaps unconsciously, to put her response firmly in the realm of the subjective and so make it immune to evaluation, let alone criticism, and oh-the-horror disagreement.  As in there’s ‘my truth’ and ‘your truth’.  Nonsense.  There’s ‘my experience’ and ‘your experience’ and even ‘my interpretation’ and ‘your interpretation’, but there is only ‘the’ truth.  If ‘your truth’ and ‘my truth’ are in conflict, one of us is WRONG.  (Should I have given a trigger alert there?  ‘Wrong’ is the new blasphemy, it seems.)

The weight put on “believe” is understood to guarantee the same immunity.  Everyone has a right to their own opinions (or beliefs), but that doesn’t mean everyone’s opinions (or beliefs) are correct.  (Or even unassailable.)

I personally believe in Santa Claus.

I was also annoyed that such stupidity is granted even 15 seconds of microphone time—access to millions.  Oh what actually intelligent women would give for such an audience!  What we would say!

And, of course, I was annoyed by the competition itself.  I thought we’d done away with beauty pageants fifty years ago.  Apparently not.

So instead of calling out Miss South Carolina, I’m going to call out the competition organizers: if you’re going to have a competition for beauty, don’t expect the contestants to also be intelligent. 

Expecting ‘pretty’ to be ‘smart’ justifies the expectation that ‘smart’ be ‘pretty’.  But ‘pretty’ and ‘smart’ are completely unrelated; they are completely irrelevant to each other.

Unfortunately, although we don’t (yet) expect the girls who enter the chess competitions to be pretty, hiring committees worldwide—for news anchors to secretaries to school teachers to waitresses to lawyers—consider the appearance of female applicants more than that of male applicants.  ‘We’ should be protesting this, not encouraging it. 

(And yes, in the case of male applicants, height is often a consideration [go figure], especially for positions of power, but when was the last time the shape of a man’s legs was relevant?)

(Final note: women, by putting your legs on display, you enable the relevance of their shape.)

Ballsy (fiction from Fighting Words)

Ballsy

“I’d like to thank all of you for coming,” the smartly-dressed woman smiled warmly at the several people seated around the board room table, each with a prospectus in front of them.  Only one was a man.

“As all of you know, my name is Mariette Chandler.  Kristina Bolaenko, legal counsel, is at my right, and Chen Li, financial advisor, is at my left.  We’re hoping that after today’s presentation, you’ll agree to invest in this exciting business venture.  Based on similar ventures, the returns promise to be high, very high indeed.  And yet, our venture is, dare I say, innovative.

“We have arranged a visit to one of our clubs, for those of you who want to see first-hand what we’re talking about, but before—”

She paused as her assistant arrived with a rolling cart of refreshments.

“Please, everyone—” She gestured with her hand for those in attendance to partake, then waited as the young woman made a quick tour around the table, then took a seat at the back of the room. 

“Thank you, Alyssa.”

Alyssa nodded, then took out her tablet, ready for whatever notes she’d need to make.

“At ‘Ballsy’,” Mariette started her power point presentation—an image appeared on the screen behind her, an attractive building with the name emblazoned across the front—”members will be able purchase the opportunity, typically for half an hour or an hour, to kick a man in the groin, or do whatever else they want, whatever else gives them pleasure, and,” she smiled at the room, “I must say that some of our clients have been rather imaginative—”

“You can’t do that,” the man spoke up, brimming with self-righteousness.  “It’s assault!”

Ah.  Mariette had suspected as much.  The man was a reporter.  No matter.  He’d discover that his editor would refuse to print any explicit descriptions.  So she just nodded to her colleague.  “Kristina, would you … “

“Certainly,” Kristina said, then turned to the man.  “We appreciate your concern,” she smiled at him, “but I assure you that all of our employees will have signed a contract containing the appropriate clauses.”

“But—”

Mariette cut him off by clicking to the next image.  “These clips are from our flagship club here in Montreal.  Within a year, we hope to have a ‘Ballsy’ in every major city.  Within five years … who knows?”  She smiled.

The screen showed a man with his arms raised and tied to a crossbar over his head, his legs spread and shackled to the floor, his genitals exposed, and already bruised and misshapen.  A narrow foot shot out from off-screen.

The man present gagged and rushed to the wastebasket by the door.

“I supposed it’s an acquired taste,” Mariette said and smiled at the room.

The man in the video grinned, then panted, “Kick me again.”

The next clip showed a man on all fours, a corkscrew hanging from his bloodied rectum.

Halfway back to his chair by then, the man quickly turned around.

During the next clip, he made it all the way back to his chair, staggering slightly and wiping his mouth with a tissue.  He glanced at the screen, then stared at Mariette.  “That one looks drugged,” he accused.

“Oh, we don’t allow drugs on the premises.  That would be illegal,” she laughed lightly.  “And what our employees do on their off-time is surely none of our business.”

A few more clips played.

“You won’t be able to find enough men—”

“Our data suggests otherwise.  As you know, unemployment among young men is increasing every year.  We provide jobs.  At well above minimum wage.   Most of our men make more money in a day with us than they would in a week at a call center.”

“But,” one of the women spoke up, “I’m not sure I’d want my son to …”

“Oh, no, your son will surely have other options.  We’re not here to recruit!” She laughed again.

When the opening image returned to the screen, Mariette began the next part of her presentation.  “As we develop the brick-and-mortar,” she smiled with excitement, “we will also develop the virtual.  ‘Ballsy’ will be online.  Chen?”

“Thank you, Mariette,” Chen took the hand-off gracefully.  “Adding the virtual will be virtually without cost,” she smiled at her wordplay, “as we will simply record the live sessions and post them online.”

“With the participants’ contractual agreement, of course,” Kristina added, smiling at the man.

“At the same time,” Chen continued, “it will be immensely profitable.  We already have advertisers clamouring to be a part of this.”

“And we have discussed off-products,” Mariette inserted smoothly, as the image on the screen changed, “posters, calendars, magazines—  Imagine seeing ‘Ballsy’ images on buses and bus shelters, in your corner store’s magazine rack, perhaps even in your kids’ teachers’ lounge …”

The man was horrified.  “But—  You can’t do that!”

“But we can.  Do that,” Kristina said.  “Precedent has been set.  Our business, and all of its services and products, would be protected by freedom of speech.”

“How is that,” he nodded to the image currently on the screen, “speech?”

Kristina shrugged, then continued.  “Traditionally, arguments to prohibit have been rejected, replaced with arguments for equal access.  Well, here we are!”  She swept her open hands around the room, then behind her to the screen, where the video clips taken at the club had resumed.

“But some of them are just boys!”

“All over-age, I assure you,” Kristina said smoothly.

Mariette didn’t say that the younger, the better.  The more pliable.  She didn’t say that none of them lasted very long.  Many, sadly, just lost their je ne sais quoi and had to be let go.

What she did say was, “At the moment, this may seem … offensive to some, but in a few years … “

“Indeed,” Kristina said.  “We anticipate that copycat franchises will develop, but,” she assured the room, “we will fiercely protect our brand and strive to make ‘Ballsy’ everyone’s first choice.” “Truthfully,” Mariette said, “we welcome competition.  Such growth would actually be to our advantage, as it would mean that such clubs have become commonplace, that the provision and use of such a service, has become normalized.  Imagine a world in which there’s a ‘Ballsy’ wherever you go!”

What she said.

“We don’t occupy their imaginations …”

“We don’t occupy their imaginations the way they occupy ours.” Black scientist about his white colleagues (from the movie “Black Cake”)

Yeah. Now imagine that ten-fold for a female scientist.

from The First Political Order: How sex shapes governance and national security worldwide, Valerie M. Hudson et al.

Part I is a must-read.

Excerpts follow.

“Men seeking their own security attempt to construct strong male-bonded alliances, typically based on patrilineal (agnatic) relationships … [Women] biologically reproduce the group, providing brothers and sons for this male alliance. The fraternity’s dependence on women … leads to the necessity for men to control them.” p2 [This socially constructed system of male security alliances is called by the authors the Patrilineal/Fraternal Syndrome.]

And there you have it: the explanation for male dominance over women.

And it begs the question, what do they need security from but each other?

“[And as the book demonstrates,] the search for security through a male-based fraternity that strongly subordinates women, pushed to its logical end, has serious and negative ramifications for the security, stability, resilience, prosperity, health, and happiness of the collective as well as negative security effects regionally and even internationally.” p3

“Gowaty continues, ‘The antithetical icon of autonomy for many women is rape …. The insight that violence against women is sexy (turns men on) provides a powerful proximate analysis that explains what many of us know in our guts—sexuality is the fulcrum of subordination/domination.” p13-4

“When individual men subordinate women in their household, they receive tangible and quite personal goods and services, including sexual services; services to maintain the household, such as water, fuel, and food gathering; elder care for the man’s parents; and bearing and rearing children.” p22

“The continual threat of violence, perpetrated almost exclusively by men, has indelibly shaped humankind.” p22

Read that one again.

And again.

“Such economic dependency and emotional vulnerability are purposely created to ensure women’s compliance.” p33

“[W]omen are the means whereby men reproduce themselves.” p41

“Think what it is to a boy, to grow up to manhood in the belief that without any merit or exertion of his own, … by the mere fact of being born a male he is by right the superior of all and every one of an entire half of the human race… People are little aware … how early the notion of his inherent superiority to a girl arises in his mind; how early the youth thinks himself superior to his mother, owing her perhaps forbearace, but no real respect …” John Stuart Mill p46-7

“[T]hose ‘in charge’—overwhelmingly men—are profoundly, and thus humiliatingly, dependent on those whoa re ‘not in charge’, that is, women. Ann Jones p47

“He wants her, but he loathes that he wants her and he hates her even more for not wanting him.” p47

“[W]ithin virtually all societies, it seems, women’s everyday physical insecurity is viewed as completely unremarkable” p95

I’m reminded of all the men so surprised we’d choose the bear (and surprised that we walk to our cars with our keys between our fingers). I mean, duh. Guys, get a clue.

“Even the ‘bro talk’ about ‘tits and asses’ that accompanies Wall Street financial circles shows how ‘the bonding … goes hand in hand with the objectification of the other sex.” p98

“A man’s honor lies between the legs of a woman.” p100

Yeah, whose bright idea was that?

“[T]he woman’s body is perceived not to belong to her, but to the group…” p102

And yet they abuse it, allow it less food, force it through multiple pregnancies, etc. Men are so fucking stupid. They probably don’t even know it’s their sperm that determines whether the women gives birth to a boy or a girl.

“[T]he ability to exclude fellow humans from our emotional in-group may well be the trait underlying much of what we call evil … Men first learn to practice such emotional exclusion on women.” p115

“[T]he degree of women’s access to political power in a society is predictive of the likelihood of that state engaging in interstate disputes and war.” p115

“[T]he typically high fertility rates of Syndrome societies, resulting from the repression of female family planning interests …” p116

In other words, overpopulation is caused by men. By rape.

Read that again.

“What evolution has produced in men, generally speaking, is a tendency ‘to seek power with an almost unbounded enthusiasm’ and to engage in ‘unprovoked aggression.’ Potts and Hayden observe that ‘male Homo sapiens … have an inherited predisposition to team up with kin—or perceived kin—and try to kill their neighbors.'” p117

“And yet, as [Sarah] Chayes points out, corruption may not so much undermine the government as to be the purpose of government. … ‘What if the Afghan government wasn’t really trying to govern? What if it was focused on another objective altogether? … If that government was actually a crime syndicate in disguise, the dearth of good people was no surprise. … That was the Afghan government, It was not incapable. It was performing its core function with admirable efficiency … Governing—the exercise that attracted so much international attention—was really just a front activity.'” p132-3

Sound familiar?

“Ironically, then, even though the Syndrome is designed to maximize resource access by men relative to women, overall prosperity, generally speaking, is typically lower in Syndome countries. … It is almost as if gendered relative gains are much more important (if the gains are for men) … ” p172

“‘A “full potential” scenario in which women participate in the economy identically to men would add up to $28 trillion, or 26 percent, to annual global GDP by 2025 compared with a business-as-usual scenario. This impact is roughly equivalent too the size of the combined Chinese and U.S. economies today.’ [McKinsey & Co.]” p172

“Apparently, discriminatory laws an dpractices concerning women’s property rights, land rights, inheritance rights, and access to capital must all be maintained even if greater prosperity for all is sacrificed as a result.” p173

We will subordinate you if it kills us.

And they say men are the logical ones.

The authors go on to show—nay, to prove—that subordinating women leads to
– less political stability
– a lower quality of governance
– less freedom of religion
– greater corruption
– more interest in acquiring, accessing, and importing weapons
– less wealth
– more economic inequality
– less food security
– and more …

“The subordination of women does not lead to a happy society for anyone, even men.” p294

They conclude that “The Syndrome matters, and it matters greatly.” p303

And “As [Rose] McDermott puts it, ‘If these findings were about something not related to women, chances are that they would be treated as revolutionary in international relations theory; indeed, the effects [of the Syndrome] are much stronger than those supporting the notion of the democratic peace that has spawned an entire cottage industry of inquiry.'” p308

(And whether the society was ‘Western’ or not was significant in only one model.)

“[N]othing will change until men change.” p373

And there isn’t enough time for that to happen.

Especially because “catastrophe”—like, oh, I don’t know, extreme heat, extreme storms, fires, flooding, destroyed housing, water shortages, and food shortages—”is likely to lead to greater subordination of women.” (p377)

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