We went wild over Geoffrey Barker’s recent rant about TV journalism’s “babes”. There was considered comment and angry analysis as well as some of the funniest feminist tweeting in recent memory. We were outraged and vocal. But why? Why so much time for so much drivel? What does our outrage really mean?
In the 80s when I was an unknowingly tender young feminist, misogyny was a word not to be used in polite patriarchal company. It was a rude, trenchant and powerful word. It was not the kind of language used by prime ministers. It quietly makes reference to lady parts in Latin. It’s a word that dares to say as Germaine Greer did – to such furious outrage – that there is a hatred of women out there.
In some ways it’s a dream come true that we use this word in polite society. How far we’ve come. And yet something is not quite as we imagined it all those years ago in collectives and on picket lines, out front of all-female factories and child care centers. Something quite substantial has been left behind. In all of our outrage, we appear to have dumped some of the outrageous.
Had you arrived by Tardis to the very middle of my militant lounge room in 1985 to tell every woman present that misogyny was not only now an acceptable term, but one that was being shouted out by feminists around the globe in response to evidence of woman-hating, and by one female prime minister in particular, we would have wept with joy and relief. How many other things would we have to look forward to in our future middle age? For surely this development would herald radical changes in what it meant to be a woman in the world. Surely if we were bandying this powerful word around in the future, then we would be doing so with our hairy legs in the sun, smiling our snaggle-toothed smiles at each other and scratching our graying manes in awe that we had arrived at our utopia: a world where gender was no longer an excuse for an extra load of poverty, violence, grooming and cleaning up.
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