Being a bitter black man-hating feminist is hard work, but the Busy Black Woman is totally here for it!
A few weeks ago I vented some of my frustration after reading a thread on FB regarding the curious timing of the resurrection of Nate Parker's sexual assault case. Then a week or so later I vented a bit more in response to his PR defensive, had an enlightening twitter convo with a friend, and stewed in my own pot last week when it looked like everyone on my timeline seemed to be advocating for the film. I debated posting one more tirade (actually two), but then several things happened:
1. Pu$$ygate blew up on Friday (more on that in a bit).
2. I never found the time to write between Mom duties, Daughter duties, Sisterhood duties, and then the unfortunate mouse that scurried out of my shoe...
3. I got discouraged and second-guessed my position on the matter by Sunday morning. Not whether I should see the movie, but whether I needed to engage any further, especially after I felt dragged by the entire exercise of sharing my opinion (more on that later as well).
4. The Debate on Sunday and the subsequent political morass that we find ourselves unable to escape.
Let me start with the big fish and then work down to the minnows...so it took a hot mic and Billy Bush, the Fredo of the Bush dynasty, to finally offend your sensibilities? You mean to tell me that y'all are just realizing that DJT is an unrepentant slithery poor excuse for a human being? Really America?
And then some of you backtracked when he trotted out Bill Clinton's past sins, because we must have forgotten that he TOO cannot keep his married hands to himself. And for good measure, just remind everyone that Hill was once a humiliated and vengeful wife. And then to really dig in, remind us again how America's favorite TV Dad was just a really horny actor...
On top of all of that, some chick decided to write this crap; however, I decided that after reading this brilliant clapback I was redeemed.
This is the conversation we are not really having right now, the one where sexism reveals itself to be just as insidious and odious as racism, religious persecution, xenophobia, homophobia, discrimination against the disabled, and callous disregard for the least among us...that locker room/golf course pu$$y talk that Maxy, Bill Clinton, Vernon Jordan, Roger Ailes, Nate Parker, Bill Cosby, Clarence Thomas, Scott Baio and the rest engage in while the bitter man-hating feminists are out burning bras and boycotting mediocre movies.
Save your fake outrage and pull the lever that best reflects your own inner thoughts about women. Then call your mother or sit down with your sisters and daughters to explain why it is totally acceptable for Maxy to be the next POTUS. I mean, if: (1) none of us saw it happen; (2) it happened so long ago; (3) this is merely an attempt to discredit and malign the character of decent God-fearing men; (4) this movie/country is bigger than just one man; (5) blah, blah, blah...then why the hell not?
No, I am not conflating. Sexism gives some the impression that a woman is a bitch for speaking her mind. Sexism tells us that of course the rich boss man can walk into a room full of half-dressed women for a "look" around, to inspect the merchandise if you will. Sexism says that a young woman cannot file charges against the men whom she claims sexually assaulted her unless she was a sober virgin. Sexism argues that the most powerful man on the planet getting a blow job from a 21 year old intern is not a big deal. Sexism is body-shaming, hurling personal insults, and ridiculing a woman's appearance. Sexism is expecting sex in exchange for career advancement. Sexism presumes that your reputation as a philanthropist is more important than the accusations of random women you allegedly drugged and raped. Sexism looks a lot like jamming to misogynistic lyrics because you like the beat. Sexism is assuming that all woman who identify with feminism hate men.
Sexism is ALL of this and SO much more. But you don't have to take my bitter, blog-writing, shea butter using on my natural hair, black film boycotting, dancing in the corner by myself to Meshell Ndegeocello word for it.