Feminist Politics: Theater of the Absurd

The ease with which the left corrupts history and preys upon the young and dim never ceases to bother me. 

Take this example.  Emily Zanotti at The Daily Wire reminds us of a popular movement during Trump's presidential campaign, with the hashtag (because any modern sloganeering requires such things) #VoteTrumpGetDumped.  The idea was expressed in a way that today's enlightened feminist, with attention spans measured by nanoseconds, might grasp the gist of before taking the first sip of her skinny, organic skim milk-infused caramel macchiato.

"Join us by wielding your influence," the marketing asked of its female readers in 2016.  "Until Trump is defeated, we don't date, sleep with, or canoodle with Trump supporters."

That "influence" is...well, you don't need it spelled out.  But just in case you do, there's an image of a woman's defiantly crossed legs emblazoned.

There's an inherently sexist implication in assuming that the greatest power a woman has lies between her legs.  Think of your wife, your mother, your sister, or any woman that you know and respect.  Does her greatest gift to the world lie in her sexual potency, or in her other values, as we human beings appraise them?  Her mind, her talents, the other intangible things which should demand her respect beyond what the feminists believe her greatest bargaining chip to be – don't those things matter more?

As Zanotti points out, this campaign is wildly ironic, given a recent assertion made by Hillary Clinton that white men coerced their wives to vote in unison with them in 2016, and that's why she lost.  This is clear evidence that the left was actively coaching women to refuse sex to men in order to coerce men to vote a certain way. 

But that's the lesser of the travesties on display, in my opinion.

The text in the advertisement asserts that women following the campaign's directive have ancient historical precedent.  "The Greeks did it," the image proudly proclaims.

Now, I have no misapprehensions to believe that a college student who saw this ad paused for a moment after that first sip of her $6 coffee to think, "Did the Greeks really do that?  Maybe I should check..." 

This, I guess, leads to the bigger problem I have with all of this. 

You see, when I was young, I had no phone or television in my room to occupy my time.  I went to sleep many nights simply picking a random letter of my almost complete 1967 Encyclopedia Britannica set and reading what I found that I hadn't read before.  It was an efficient way to gain information back then.  But today, nearly all knowledge is there for the taking.  All that's required is that you tap a relevant sequence of letters on that magic computer that takes your selfies.  You don't have to go to a library to sift through Dewey Decimal card catalogs, as generations before you did, to find a specific fact you'd been wondering about.  It's now at your fingertips.

What should have been the greatest intellectual liberation of mankind has yielded a lethargy among the youth that is impossible for me, in what I guess you'd call my early middle age, to understand. 

Greek women never held a historically authenticated "sex strike" to achieve and attain political aims.  The claims that drive that narrative are predicated upon a fictional play, written by Aristophanes, called Lysistrata.  It's an absurdist playwright's fiction – political satire of its time.  It's purposefully absurd for the sake of comedy.  The sex strike and the risqué shenanigans that ensue are pure absurdism.

Yet here we are, in an even more absurd scenario, where it's assumed that all of that nonsense actually happened by a gaggle of supposedly educated women.  Existing within the feminists' theater of the absurd, it is demanded that we not laugh as the Greeks assuredly did.  It's demanded that we take all of this seriously.

In January of 2017, a county judge in Travis County, Texas showed her solidarity with the "Women's March" and feminism in general by wearing a "pussy hat" in the courtroom, belying the fundamental notion that a cis-straight-white male (a stringing of words at which most sane people would have raised an eyebrow just a few years ago) might receive impartial judicial rulings from her bench.

Feminist icon from the 1980s Madonna suggested she'd sexually indulge anyone voting for Hillary Clinton and said she'd "thought about blowing up the White House."  The rhetoric was deemed not only substantial dissent, but brave.

Ashley Judd offered that she's a "naaasty woman."  "As nasty as the blood-stains on mah jeans," she offered.  She said this to an audience in which women were garbed in full-body vagina suits in an effort to demand that we take them seriously.

This is progress?

I cannot be the only man to believe that women are worthy of respect beyond their sexual faculties.  I, like most human males who exist now and existed before me, understand that my wife is greater than I am in so many ways.  I am grateful that she has chosen to live a life with me, and that we have our life with our children.

The feminists' world is not the real world – not 2,400 years ago, not thirty years ago when I watched my parents in the act of family life, and not in my home with my wife and kids today.

I hold hope the world does not share the insanity of the radical feminist movement.  But the increasing prevalence earned by their insanity in the national dialogue is enough to make a sane person wonder.

William Sullivan blogs at Political Palaver and can be followed on Twitter.

The ease with which the left corrupts history and preys upon the young and dim never ceases to bother me. 

Take this example.  Emily Zanotti at The Daily Wire reminds us of a popular movement during Trump's presidential campaign, with the hashtag (because any modern sloganeering requires such things) #VoteTrumpGetDumped.  The idea was expressed in a way that today's enlightened feminist, with attention spans measured by nanoseconds, might grasp the gist of before taking the first sip of her skinny, organic skim milk-infused caramel macchiato.

"Join us by wielding your influence," the marketing asked of its female readers in 2016.  "Until Trump is defeated, we don't date, sleep with, or canoodle with Trump supporters."

That "influence" is...well, you don't need it spelled out.  But just in case you do, there's an image of a woman's defiantly crossed legs emblazoned.

There's an inherently sexist implication in assuming that the greatest power a woman has lies between her legs.  Think of your wife, your mother, your sister, or any woman that you know and respect.  Does her greatest gift to the world lie in her sexual potency, or in her other values, as we human beings appraise them?  Her mind, her talents, the other intangible things which should demand her respect beyond what the feminists believe her greatest bargaining chip to be – don't those things matter more?

As Zanotti points out, this campaign is wildly ironic, given a recent assertion made by Hillary Clinton that white men coerced their wives to vote in unison with them in 2016, and that's why she lost.  This is clear evidence that the left was actively coaching women to refuse sex to men in order to coerce men to vote a certain way. 

But that's the lesser of the travesties on display, in my opinion.

The text in the advertisement asserts that women following the campaign's directive have ancient historical precedent.  "The Greeks did it," the image proudly proclaims.

Now, I have no misapprehensions to believe that a college student who saw this ad paused for a moment after that first sip of her $6 coffee to think, "Did the Greeks really do that?  Maybe I should check..." 

This, I guess, leads to the bigger problem I have with all of this. 

You see, when I was young, I had no phone or television in my room to occupy my time.  I went to sleep many nights simply picking a random letter of my almost complete 1967 Encyclopedia Britannica set and reading what I found that I hadn't read before.  It was an efficient way to gain information back then.  But today, nearly all knowledge is there for the taking.  All that's required is that you tap a relevant sequence of letters on that magic computer that takes your selfies.  You don't have to go to a library to sift through Dewey Decimal card catalogs, as generations before you did, to find a specific fact you'd been wondering about.  It's now at your fingertips.

What should have been the greatest intellectual liberation of mankind has yielded a lethargy among the youth that is impossible for me, in what I guess you'd call my early middle age, to understand. 

Greek women never held a historically authenticated "sex strike" to achieve and attain political aims.  The claims that drive that narrative are predicated upon a fictional play, written by Aristophanes, called Lysistrata.  It's an absurdist playwright's fiction – political satire of its time.  It's purposefully absurd for the sake of comedy.  The sex strike and the risqué shenanigans that ensue are pure absurdism.

Yet here we are, in an even more absurd scenario, where it's assumed that all of that nonsense actually happened by a gaggle of supposedly educated women.  Existing within the feminists' theater of the absurd, it is demanded that we not laugh as the Greeks assuredly did.  It's demanded that we take all of this seriously.

In January of 2017, a county judge in Travis County, Texas showed her solidarity with the "Women's March" and feminism in general by wearing a "pussy hat" in the courtroom, belying the fundamental notion that a cis-straight-white male (a stringing of words at which most sane people would have raised an eyebrow just a few years ago) might receive impartial judicial rulings from her bench.

Feminist icon from the 1980s Madonna suggested she'd sexually indulge anyone voting for Hillary Clinton and said she'd "thought about blowing up the White House."  The rhetoric was deemed not only substantial dissent, but brave.

Ashley Judd offered that she's a "naaasty woman."  "As nasty as the blood-stains on mah jeans," she offered.  She said this to an audience in which women were garbed in full-body vagina suits in an effort to demand that we take them seriously.

This is progress?

I cannot be the only man to believe that women are worthy of respect beyond their sexual faculties.  I, like most human males who exist now and existed before me, understand that my wife is greater than I am in so many ways.  I am grateful that she has chosen to live a life with me, and that we have our life with our children.

The feminists' world is not the real world – not 2,400 years ago, not thirty years ago when I watched my parents in the act of family life, and not in my home with my wife and kids today.

I hold hope the world does not share the insanity of the radical feminist movement.  But the increasing prevalence earned by their insanity in the national dialogue is enough to make a sane person wonder.

William Sullivan blogs at Political Palaver and can be followed on Twitter.