This was written by one of my friends, and posted on facebook. It entertained me, although I'm still out on whether I agree with it entirely or not. I thought it might stimulate debate though, so I offer it to you as is, in the hope that it will either provoke you into an incomprehensible rage, or nudge you into fits of laughter.
A warning: It contains some naughty language and some potentially upsetting ideas, so don't read it if you're easily offended.
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What was meant to be a rather dry note about Hegelian dialectics has, since a period spent gazing despondently into the middle distance in Trinity bar, become an equally depressing rant about male/female relations at Trinity.
I suppose it's best to start with a recap : Trinity is one of the most academically successful of all Cambridge colleges. Cambridge is said to be the 2nd best University in the world, after Harvard. How then is it that we attract a significant number of women whose ambition doesn't seem to extend beyond being drugged and raped by members of the Rugby Club?
It's here that I imagine cries of 'misogyny!' will begin, and I can understand why. But forget the subservient women and consider the men : Trinity is full of grotesque, butch, pea-brained jocks whose sole aim in life is to abuse their female counterparts while at university, then to rob people of their pensions as investment bankers. The pertinent question here is not why these goons managed to get in - although the question should weigh heavily on our Fellowship - but why eminently intelligent and otherwise independent women should allow themselves to succumb to their retrograde ideology.
What I imagine we're dealing with here is something rather similar to the phenomenon described by the wonderful Ariel Levy in her book 'Female Chauvinist Pigs' : namely, women who are so consumed by ambition and so simultaneously consumed by self-doubt that the approach of the nearest drinking-society member, far from being a harbinger of potential sexual assault (as it no doubt should be), is in fact a comforting assessment of their own worth.
Quite why privileged women who have been told since birth that they're wonderful and worth every penny lavished on them should feel this insecure is perplexing and yet strangely expected, strangely demanding of sympathy. Whether these home-counties princesses even deserve 'victim' status, given their smiling complicity in their own subordination, is also an open question. If I'm pushed, however, my sympathy lies with them, despite their grotesque and inexcusable betrayal of the hard hard slog made by their sisters in previous decades, fighting for equality and an end to sexual violence. Ask most of these ultimately victimised women what they make of feminism, and they will laugh in your face before introducing their throats to another bout of finger plunging and splattered vomit.
Maybe this is the point at which feminism needs to get tough and insulting, as I have consciously been in this note : it's not good enough to impute victim status to people who laugh at the very notion of a gender imbalance, to women so privileged, so close to choking on their silver spoons that they have lost all sense of solidarity. Perhaps they are less victims, and more collaborators, even enemies. Perhaps the upper class anorexics who hang on the arms of rugby captains, consciously perpetuating patriarchal relations, should be dropped entirely from our political sympathy; perhaps we should spit at their feet. Maybe they're just female misogynists, no better than the thick-necked male ***** who force themselves on freshers, slobbering down the tops of vulnerable new arrivals.
I suppose this is another point where more sensitive readers will bridle; but it's worth asking why. Yes I'm a man and traditionally such trenchant statements were left to the radical female feminist fringe, but what happens when gender politics become so distorted, so horrendously skewed, that men have the potential to be more feminist than women? Where, in other words, are strong women in Trinity, willing to stand up to this situation of sexual servitude?
Equally however, men as privileged and (supposedly) intelligent as we are at Trinity have to turn the light of introspection on ourselves: why do we allow these disgusting, crew-cutted pseudo-rapists to dominate the bar every evening? How has it come to be that the only guys who are heard at Trinity, the ones whose braying voices are heard most clearly, are those wearing a drinking-society tie and those with carnal knowledge of the most criminally underweight girl in their year, who have spoken loudly of 'breaking in half' the thinnest girl they can find?
And there are those who, and I dearly hope they know who they are, protest their condemnation to their token 'interesting' friend while spending the rest of their time with the collaborators. People who are thoroughly intelligent, possessed of an almost anthropological knowledge of how people relate, and who nonetheless pursue their narrow social games with people who want nothing more than to strip them of their ethnic print wear and liberal conscience and deny them any kind of female identity. People who will smile broadly at friends deemed 'different', but spend most of their evenings sliming up to the date-rapists at the bar. People who, in other words, have their token 'moral' friend, their token time in Thailand, but who otherwise spend their time greasing up the worst excesses of Trinity's misogynistic culture.
So I guess the motto is : girls, shame your collaborator friends. And guys, shame the potential date-rapists in your midst. And or, kill yourselves. Now.