Sometimes I feel the patriarchy most of all with feminist groups, and the P leaves me alone on occasion in the real world. Hell, I turn off the TV and the patriarchy almost ceases to exist. Then I’ll be on a feminist committee and feel like women actually grouping together against the patriarchy are the most deadset against us getting anywhere.
As a professional expert spinster aunt it is my sworn duty to inform you, blamer, that you are wrong-o.
What you are experiencing is Anti-Oppression Fatigue. You’re pissed at the feminists because they’re a ceaseless reminder that patriarchy does not leave you alone. You’re tasering the messenger. Ouch! It burns!
You can turn a jaundiced eye toward the arguing feminists, you can shoot your TV, you can imagine that the dominant culture “leaves you alone,” and you can refuse to believe stuff that’s actually true. But your agency is illusory. It is not possible not to participate. There are wheels within cogs around sprockets under layers of dung upon substrata of filth. To wit:
Even if — as you enjoy what you perceive to be a patriarchy-free moment — you’re lounging on the couch you made yourself from sticks you found in the woods, wearing the rough-hewn mu-mu made from cloth you spun yourself from the bamboo you grew on your roof, eating a salad of organic homegrown alfalfa you raised from heirloom seeds and gazing at this post with the computer you hand-built from scrap metal found in a dumpster — there is no way — no way — you personally have not availed yourself of the products of human oppression.
Even if nobody is molesting you, harassing you, hitting you, pimping you, judging you on the size of your ass, selling you carcinogenic wrinkle cream, working you like a dog in a strawberry field and paying you jack shit, taking naked pictures of you and posting them on the Internet, feigning interest in how you coped with your most horrifying frizz experience, sending you subtle messages through film, TV, the Internet, and other media that you’re nothing but a piece of ass, preventing you from obtaining an abortion, threatening to fire you if you don’t put out, leaving your toilet seat up, or murdering you, a gazillion women and kids actually are experiencing this shit — patriarchy — as a big, violent bummer.
The dominant culture of domination is all up inside your shit, too, like one of those 30-foot parasitic worms winding itself around your intestines. It oozes from every pore. You collude with it daily. It’s your first language. Deny this at your peril.
Patriarchy is the reason women don’t get it together and throw a feminist revolt, not feminists. The whole set-up is rigged, see?
Remember, ladies: whenever a feminist takes a day off, a penisface gets his wings.