Back in the pre-blog Age of Darkness, when I was a callow young feminist in a vacuum who did not enjoy the instantaneous policing of my views by thousands of invisible critics, numerous facets of my worldview were as yet embryonic. If a facet can be said to be embryonic, which I think it probably can’t. But let’s move on.
What I’m gettin’ at is that subjecting the Twisty weltanshauung to broad public scrutiny has totally refined my ass. It’s obliged me to hone my views to an increasingly ever-sharper edge. Experts are baffled by scans that show my obstreperal lobe to have tripled in size since 2005, but I know that it’s a result of this blog.
Generally the process has been loads of laughs, such as when blamers take me to school with their horizon-broadening perspectives on such topics as white middle class privilege, human rights abuses in distant lands, or Mr T vs Andrea Dworkin. Sometimes it’s goopy and heartwarming, such as when young blamers write in to say that patriarchy-blaming has changed their lives. Sometimes it’s a little weird, like this morning, when I got a what-about-the-men communique — in which every Noun was capitalized — from a self-described MRA called Khankrumtheburglar. Khankrumtheburglar apparently felt moved to reveal that he “completely agree[s] with [me] and gasp Amanda Marcotte” on Subjects ranging from the crapulence of Valentine’s Day to the support of Gay Marriage (for the record, I myself do not “support” gay marriage, or any other kind of marriage. See this post for details.).
But life as an Internet Feminist is not always a plate of Cool Whip tacos. Often I suffer the tortures of the damned. I’m not talkin’ about the death threats or the DOS attacks or the pottymouthed teen jackasses who clog up my moderation queue. No, the deep emotional scars to which I allude obtain because sometimes the commenters are right and I am wrong. Sadly, I am still not sophisticated enough to embrace with a glad cry the public admission of Twistational ignorance, particularly when it comes after a smirky smackdown by total strangers. And dang it, it burns like hot pokers on my boob scars whenever it dawns on me that the struggle to perfect my state of spinster aunthood will require me to jettison another of my most comfortable and satisfying habits/and or assumptions. To wit:
A couple of years ago I got called on the carpet by a vegetarian blamer who was deeply grossed out by blogular photographs of my meaty lunches. At the time I demurred, not having fully worked out the connection between women’s oppression and the global megameatyocracy. But today I lounge before you in my lime green recliner and declare that there is no legitimate argument on behalf of consuming corporate meat. Convenience is not a legitimate argument. Price is not a legitimate argument. The delicious flavor of applewood smoked bacon is not a legitimate argument. Tradition is not a legitimate argument. Culture is not a legitimate argument.
Culture, as a matter of fact, is never a legitimate argument for anything. Fuck culture.
I am prompted to state the obvious by the reports of ground beef recalls and animal cruelty circulating around the media today. An undocumented immigrant meat industry worker has been arraigned for “illegal movement of a non-ambulatory animal,” which is a sanitized way of saying that he savaged sick cows with electric prods and forced them to their feet with fork lifts, among other things.
Despite the protestations of the corporate spokesperson, this slaughterhouse sadism cannot and must not be considered an anomaly. It is a documented fact that whenever human beings are given authority over lower-status beings — whether the lower status beings are cattle or women or slaves or prisoners of war — those in authority are unable to contain their vicious impulses and quickly morph into sadistic amoral assholes. This is a cornerstone of patriarchy. As is the rationalization, parroted, unsurprisingly, by the meat worker: “I was only following orders.”
Thus we can but conclude that hamburgers and radical feminism are mutually exclusive.