I am not going to try and tell you that I know exactly what it is, that thing called feminism. Only that I’ve read enough about it over the years to realise what drives it, and to recognise things done to me, and others as a consequence, in it’s name, or “Women’s Lib”, as my Mum used to say.
It is not just the adults who suffer in relationships afflicted by gender warfare, it is also the tender souls caught in the middle, their hearts torn apart, through no fault of their own.
My own experience as a child, agonised by the split between my parents made me swear to myself I would never put another through a similar ordeal. Hence I stayed unmarried until 37, and was finally convinced to have a child at 40. Then, along came my beautiful daughter, perfect in every way.
It turned out that despite everything, I was powerless to honour my pledge.
I did everything I knew to try to be a good husband, but ten years later, gave in just like my father did, when it became clear that further resistance on my part was just causing more pain for our little one. She was six years old when I had to retreat from her life, as her live-in Dad.
Ironically, my survival of that worst nightmare as a completely powerless, ejected husband and father, losing almost everything I cared about in life, is probably owed to already having survived at the other end of the same stick, the one that caused my childhood trauma. I knew I had to be around to help my daughter endure her own version of it. What doesn’t kill us just makes us stronger.
In the almost ten years that have passed now since married life, I’ve become more and more aware of the characteristics and effects of feminism, and have realised it appears to be responsible for much of the shittier experiences many of us have had, and are still having in life, both male and female.
My Mum was very bright.
Some might say I inherited a little of that. But she was classed as mentally ill. Manic depressive, Bipolar, or Schizophrenic to be exact. Apparently they are all the same thing.
My Dad worked all of his life as an electrician until he retired, including when he still lived with us. My Mum’s condition first manifested when she tried to work also, about the time I was born. Three years later, my little sister was born, so for a while, there were two of us kids, and Mum was “Our” Mum.
By the seventies, we were living with Mum, by then herself single, in slum tenements in Glasgow. My Dad had understandably given up trying to manage my Mum’s unmanageable condition, after about four years of trying to live with it. “Our” became past tense in 1973, when my little sister died of kidney cancer, aged seven. I was ten. After that it was just me and my Mum. Again understandably, she became more ill than ever.
I still remember rats the size of cats amongst twenty-foot-high piles of refuse that gathered in the streets when the refuse collectors went on strike there, back then. Their tails were as thick as brush poles. I was even bitten by a smaller one myself. The army eventually had to be drafted in to deal with them.
My Mum was very ambitious.
Some might say I inherited some of that too.
She studied for qualifications in taxation, until the first time she got ill, around the time I was born. As a result, she never quite qualified. If she’d succeeded, she would have earned much more than my Dad. But failing to qualify didn’t stop her from trying to practice thereafter on a part-qualified basis. Every time she got a new job, she would fall ill again within a few months, and lose the job. When she got ill, she would change character completely. She would become completely paranoid, hallucinating, forgetting who loved ones were, often deserting us, and that she herself needed to eat, or even sleep. No-one could possibly hold down a job in that state, far less look after kids as well. Not even my very industrious, very clever, and very beloved Mum.
My Mum was good looking in those days too.
Of course I inherited all of that.
Each time she got ill, she would be taken into hospital against her will for “Treatment”, often literally kicking and screaming. I understood why she resisted so much after I learned of the nature of these treatments. They would last for anything between two weeks and six months. We could never tell how long really. Each time, I would be taken into the care of our Grandmother on my Dad’s side, and my little sister into that of a Great-aunt, on my Mum’s side.
Each treatment involved trials of various drugs, including poisons like lithium, and even brain electrocution. I found out that my nervous system was completely allergic to one that she had been taking long term, after she gave me one by accident, mistaking it for an aspirin I needed for a sore head. I used to get sore heads a lot back then. The particular drug I was allergic to was called halioperidol. It caused me to convulse uncontrollably, almost to the point of breaking my spine backwards. I was taken into hospital accident and emergency, hours later, and injected with another sedative, valium, which luckily, reversed the effect.
I say luckily, because I still remember the doctors wringing their hands, not knowing what to do with my hideously contorted body.
They decided on a knock-out dose of valium
This was after I pleaded repeatedly to be put to sleep. At that moment, I didn’t care if I never woke again. All I wanted was relief from the pain. I was fourteen.
Each time my Mum came back out after treatment, still heavily medicated, my little sister (When she was still around), and I would be returned, and taken with my Mum to the next place she decided to live. We lived in many places in the UK. I’ve lost count of the number of schools I attended.
My Dad did what he could to try to get custody of us. But, mighty as he was, (And still is), he was no match for my Mum. The court always ruled in her favour, and in what she thought were her interests, bless her soul.
Throughout life, My Mum became somewhat embittered.
I am working very hard to make sure I don’t inherit that.
At least not permanently. I’ve had to think long and hard about writing this article, which I guess in itself is a further form of therapy. I find writing about things is a great way to analyse them from different points of view. Of course I have also modelled it in true Systems Engineering style, in case you were about to ask.
My Mum tended to blame various individuals, always members of the opposite sex, as the source of all her troubles. I have to remind myself not to do the same. It is not the people at fault, it is an ideology.
My daughter, fifteen today, is still perfect, and has never been anything but. I am so proud of her.
As a single guy again, I still love women, very much. But I think this thing called feminism makes things very difficult now for many of us, especially here in the west. Most western women seem to be unwittingly affected by it, and I myself can only think of it as some kind of illness. I usually steer well clear of obvious sufferers, except maybe those who find themselves victims of it.
Women at work.
In my profession as a Systems Engineer, 95% or more technical jobs are done by men. In over thirty years, I’ve met a few great women Engineers, and they do get paid as much as similarly talented men, such as myself, in similar roles, but they are few and far between.
I would class a great Engineer as one who passionately loves what they do, and is plainly an expert in their field.
I do not believe that the scarcity of women in professional Engineering is because men jealously guard those roles. I’ve witnessed many campaigns attempting to get more women into the profession, only to fail miserably. I am inclined to conclude that in general, women are just not interested in, or stimulated by this type of work. And why should they be?
It is all down to money.
Predatorial capitalism forces us all to compete for money. Women competing with men. Black competing with White. East competing with West. etc, etc.
From this point of view, Feminism, just like fascism, is just another symptom of a troubled world, a world run for money, fuelled by inequality.
But it does not have to be like this. All of life’s necessities, and even some of it’s luxuries, can be effectively free to every individual, given in return just for participating as a member of humanity.
Too good to be true?
That might sound too Utopian, or too idealistic to be true, but it isn’t, honestly. There’s far more than enough wealth and resources in the world to provide a good living for everyone. And the magical thing is, the people of the world are what gives it it’s value.
You can find my proposal for this, with more context in some of my other articles, around the VRENAR project. It is not UBI, and it is not Communism.
The issue of feminism is treated as another major stakeholder concern addressed by VRENAR. It is addressed by completely removing the need for it.
I have faith that with the help of VRENAR, and other non-profit crypto-community projects like it, everyone will once again be free, and happier to celebrate our differences, rather than being forced to compete, often to the death, with what we might have in common.
I believe we will return again to loving one another all the more for our differences, just like they always have done in “Undeveloped” places, and that those places also will become equipped, and all the happier to follow us down this road we call “Progress”.
No need to clap
Thanks for reading. Please don’t feel obliged to clap, or respond in any way, though if you want to, please feel free. I have to refrain from clapping some stories that really moved me too, in case we get tarred as being on the one side or another.