More on DSK

Have to re-think what it means to be a feminist. I have never asked myself many questions about it, taking it for granted. Of course I’m a feminist. After all, for a specialist in literature that means granting authority to voices that resist the master narrative. That's what I do for a living. But reactions to the DSK case have turned a light on in my head – for the first time, I have a sense of why some people dislike feminists as a group.

The feminists they dislike are the ones who seem happy to ignore the basic protections of our legal system – like presumption of innocence – in the case of a rich white guy to argue that of course he is guilty, even if the case gets dismissed, as will happen any day now. People who argue that the fact that the accuser turns out to be a fraudster does not mean that her word on this should be disqualified even though the single bit of evidence we have is her testimony. People who mistake the broad metaphor of rape for the legal reality of rape by interpreting an unpleasant interaction between a rich, white male and a poor woman of color as necessarily a literal case of rape.

Most frustrating of all to me is that they will not own the problem they create that in arguing that the jury (which of course will now never sit) should take the word of a known liar for proof beyond a reasonable doubt. If we extend that argument we have to justify accepting the word of all those racists who have identified random men in a police line up. The problem with our judicial system is that it has convicted the innocent to a degree that we are just now beginning to fathom through DNA evidence because juries do in fact listen to an emotionally persuasive voice.

When I think of all the people later discovered to have been innocent who have been locked away because the jury takes an accuser’s word as true I want to be very very sure before we convict. I don’t care what color the accused is – I am no more willing to lock up an innocent rich white person than I am a poor person. The eagerness to lock up a rich white person is a manifestation of a particular ideology. I have spent much of my adult life arguing that feminism is not about ideology; it’s about listening to a variety of voices. I continue to maintain this. But I do understand why a certain type of feminism arouses such disgust. Yeah, it is very difficult to make rape charges stick, but it should be.

Mac MacClelland’s I’m Gonna Need You to Fight Me On This: How Violent Sex Helped Ease My PTSD

I had to hunt it down – it’s been on all the blogs the past few days, Mac MacClelland’s story of how violent sex with her buddy Isaac cured her of the post-traumatic stress disorder she had acquired watching a horrendously abused Haitian woman called Sibylle flip out. The usual stable of highly privileged journalists were calling the story brave – but I’m pretty sure that only other journalists would have that reaction. I think that rest of us are probably more likely to think that poor Sibylle is sad hero of the story, the one with the problems, the one who must be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. The journalist from the most comfortable society the world has ever known who plays at living in war zones, disaster areas, then flies back home after a couple of weeks, doesn’t really have a lot of standing to represent herself as deeply traumatized but still brave after a trip to Haiti and then a really violent round of sex.

What kind of a person writes a story like this after witnessing the absolute catastrophe of tens of thousands of ruined lives? “The shocking lack of sympathy I got from some industry people I talked to about my breakdown was only compounding my concerns that I didn’t deserve to be this distraught. ‘Editors are going to think I'm a liability now. What kind of fucking pussy cries and pukes about getting almost hurt or having to watch bad things happen to other people?’"

No. The question is not what kind of pussies puke after seeing tragedy. The question is what kind of prima donna asks us to sympathize with her when she has just asked to stare at pretty much the worst life has to offer. What would make her imagine that we read her accounts of disaster zones to sympathize with her reactions to them?

Happily, it looks like journalists re beginning to feel a bit silly about embracing the article. This defensive response to readers’ generally disgusted reaction to Mac’s grotesque egocentrism pretty much says it all. The journalist sort of gives up trying to defend herself and settles for: “On behalf of free thinkers and art lovers everywhere, I reserve the right to enjoy writing you'd rather I didn't. I'm as overly politicized, hypercritical, and analytic as any other neurotic journalist….Some things are simply to be enjoyed for their decadence. This is one of them.”

No. No one gives a rat’s ass what any journalist reads for pleasure. We are objecting to your characterization of Mac’s piece as fearless. Yes, to the revolting assertion that it takes guts to hang around in a situation which you can LEAVE, go home to food, comfort and fake violent sex after a couple of weeks.

Okay, we need journalists to do that. But we do not need hear from them how brave they have been. Because their psyches just aren’t really the point. We need them because we wouldn’t know anything at all without them, but having to wade through the journalist to get to the information is a pretty high price. It is really disgusting and really embarrassing.