I should probably introduce myself first. I’m Woody, I’m By Jove’s most bearded member. Every young artistic collective needs at least one unequivocal beard and I’m ours. To give you a bit of an idea, I look like a Pokémon that might one day evolve into Brian Blessed. Good, that’s that sorted. Hello. How are you? I’m fine, thank you for asking. It’s always nice to be polite, but I have things to talk about, so it’s probably an idea to get onto the substance of the blog-post.
Right, before we get any further I ought to make something incredibly clear. I am not an expert on anything. If I were, I would have whatever room in which I did my work entirely covered in oak panelling, furnish it with a stylish globe that turns into a drinks cabinet, and insist it be referred to as “the Knowledge-arium”. As is, it’s decorated with programmes and flyers and whatnot from various shows of which I’ve been a part, the closest thing to a drinks cabinet is a bottle of gin guarded by a six-inch toy tiger called Tom, and the full title of the room is “That Detritus-Strewn Pit I Call a Bedroom”. So what I’m saying is the following should only be considered my own thoughts and nothing grander. What I say here is not a statement of how the world works; it’s a vocalisation of how I currently understand a small part of it. As such, I would appreciate it if any of misuses of terminology or unsubtle generalisations are viewed sympathetically for what they are: the well-meaning if ignorant scribbles of a young man trying to understand something quite complex and express it through a writing-style over-influenced by study of Classical Latin.
The second thing I feel I should say is that I’m not very good with -isms. Until I started working with By Jove, the only -ism I had was my Atheism. This is a very simple –ism; have a bit of a think, decide you don’t think there’s anything that could be called god, get your badge, and start feeling slightly embarrassed when talking to people you love who do happen to believe. The thing that makes Atheism so simple is that it is entirely personal; one can wear the label without feeling any pressure to join in with a grand struggle. There are debates out there if I want to join them, but absenting myself from them in favour of a quiet pint doesn’t make me a “bad Atheist”. It’s something about which I can quite easily not think.
This is not how I feel with my newly-acquired –ism. Since joining By Jove and experiencing their interesting and intelligent conversations on Feminism I have concluded that I think I am a Feminist, or if not that I want to become one. They kindly and efficiently dispelled any misconceptions I had about Feminism. My thought when things finally clicked was “Oh THAT’S what Feminism is; I always thought that was called ‘not being an unmitigated arse!’ My arse-like tendencies are generally fairly-well mitigated ergo I must be a Feminist, QED.” The issue is that I feel far more aware of the weight of my new –ism than I ever have the older one. My Atheism has never compelled me to ask my friends not to shout “village bike” whenever a certain female character appeared onscreen during an evening of the Flash Gordon Drinking Game, or whatever the equivalent is for Atheism. Nor does someone merely believing in a god invoke in me the instant contempt that a person denying the equality of the sexes does.
I suspect the difference comes from the fact that in my life Atheism can afford to be intellectual and removed from reality – being oppressed by wannabe theocrats is something that happens in the Deep South of the US or Tehran, not in the wilds of deepest Surrey. I have, on the other hand, witnessed first-hand examples of people shouting vulgarities at my female friends in the street; I have seen women have to extricate themselves from unwanted physical attention on (the rare occasion I have been present on) dance floors; I have had friends recount stories of abusive relationships which have required me to insist that I am in fact alright and that it’s just this damn hay fever making my eyes water. None of these things should have happened, but they did. If being aware of my new –ism means fewer instances of these things then hurrah. In fact, make it a stiff double hurrah with lime and soda and maybe one of those paper umbrellas.
It’s all well and good to show solidarity with my sisters, but it’s not my only reason for accepting the burden of my new –ism. If we’re honest I’m probably mostly just in the way and spilling beer on things, anyway. I think it worth mentioning that my Feminism as I conceive it – believing in and fighting for equality between any and all sexes and genders – also has some entirely self-serving aspects.
I am under no illusions that as a white, male heterosexual I have a pretty cushy deal. I’m probably never going to be ignored for promotion for what I have between my legs, and the only thing that someone has ever shouted at me in the street is that I look a bit like Jesus. I will not, however, be dissuaded from my belief that removing silly and outmoded concepts of certain behaviour being unacceptable for a man or woman will directly and personally benefit me and those of my ilk. I would love, for example, to live in a society in which I can unashamedly tell my male friends that when I’m ill nothing cheers me up quite so much as a big bar of chocolate and a well-loved copy of Seven Brides For Seven Brothers or Calamity Jane – I struggle to buy ‘flu medicine without at least humming ‘The Black Hills of Dakota’. More seriously, about this time last year I became painfully aware of how damaging expectations of gender can be. At 16.25 on the 7th of March 2012 my Grandad died. I got the news over the phone while I was out with friends. It hit me like a freight train and my reaction was to cling to my large, rugby-playing friend and sob out my beardy, Cicero-reading, little heart. D’you know what I felt mixed with my grief? Shame. If the unseen gaze of the Patriarchy can make me feel shame at being unable to show manly control of my emotions when I’ve found out I can never again exchange obtuse, nigh-incomprehensible gags with one of the pillars of my childhood then the Patriarchy can go find the largest cactus it can and swivel vigorously upon it.
So if you’ll have me I would like to claim my new –ism and wear the label with pride. If nothing else, I will take great delight in any activity that I think will irritate those knob-heads who persist on calling themselves “Lads”. They took the word “banter” away from me and the tweedy exchanges of witticisms I love and so deserve no mercy.
One hopes you’re well,
Yours,
ADWoodward
