Think about it. Take any social problem. Now ponder it. Ask people about it. Contemplate why that problem exists, and who is responsible. Wonder who has the ability to prevent that problem, and who has the power to fix it.
Now, if you’re progressive, the answers to those questions may be different. You could say that poverty is the fault of an economic system that simply must have desperately poor people toil without any hope of advancement for the benefit of the wealthy. You could say that homelessness is the fault of sub-par mental health facilities and the outrageous cost of living. These are all very progressive answers. They may or may not be true for each individual, but they tend to explain the general cause of large social problems quite accurately.
However, these explanations aren’t common. Most people aren’t sociologists. Most people don’t deal with trends and “social institutions” and privileges. Those words mean nothing.
So why are people poor? Why do people commit crimes? Why is adultery so common? What happened to the stability of marriage? Why are people fat? Why are today’s kids lazier than ever? Why is prostitution and sex trafficking so common? Why are half my neighbors sex offenders? Why?
Here’s why: women. Everything is the fault of women. Women are too uppity, they are too meek. They are too slutty and too submissive. They are too bitchy and too shy. They eat too much and they eat too little. They are too hormonal and too frigid. They are too smart and too shallow. They are too demanding and too accommodating. They are bad mothers and bad girlfriends and bad wives. They are bad nurses, teachers, and maids. They are too masculine. They are too feminine. They are bad doctors, professors, and CEOs. They make too much. They make too little. They think too much of themselves. They don’t have a backbone. They are barren. They have too many children. They frown too much and then they are too friendly. They have too much sex. They don’t have enough sex. They don’t enjoy sex. They enjoy sex too much. They drink too much. They don’t drink at all. They talk too much. They shop too much. They laugh too much. They cry too much. They are hookers, they are asking for it, they have driven off the men. Their movements have gone too far but they haven’t gone far enough.
Does this sound familiar? There is always a reason to blame women — a woman, some women, those women, all women — for something. Doesn’t matter how perfect she is. She could be 5’8″, perfect hourglass, hair like sunlight and skin like silk. She could be cute and fun in all the right circumstances, and professional and formal in others. Then, she’ll be too perfect. That’s her fault too. She’s so perfect, that if anything ever happens to her, around her, to people she knows, it’s her fault.
There is one thing that most self-identified women have in common: a vagina. As long as you have a vagina, you are guilty of something. It doesn’t matter what, because it depends on what needs to be accounted for. Innocent until proven female. That’s how it all works.
Here’s the plot: there’s a kid you know. He’s troubled at school. Or she’s troubled at school, it doesn’t matter what gender the kid is. She’s bullied a lot. He brings home bad report cards. She acts out in class and hits other kids when she’s upset. He cheats on tests and eats glue. She draws in the books and on the walls. He grows up a bit and gets into drugs. She smokes some pot after school. He gets in with the “wrong crowd”. She gets caught doing something for their approval. He goes to jail. She can’t make bail, her mother is too poor. He gets in fights with other inmates. She spit at a guard and attacked her cellmate. He is denied parole. She gets out. He sells coke to make ends meet. She violates parole. He goes back to jail. She dies there.
That should be the end, right? What a sad story. Here’s the catch: that kid grew up without a father. Her mother was single. She never got married. She got pregnant in high school. She got a divorce when he was young. She was raped and kept the child. The point is: this life-long criminal was raised by women. Only women. Her family, her money, and her blood, sweat and tears.
Oh! Now it’s different! See, that kid went down that road because they lacked a “strong male role model”. If their mom had just found a good man to marry, or been a better mother, they would be the motherfucking President. They’d be in the NBA, making six figures at a law firm, and closing deals with international corporations. They could have had the world, if only they had dear old dad. Or their mother wasn’t such a failure, such a slut, having too many kids and not enough money.
Here’s another plot: woman gets dressed up. It’s a hot night, humid too. She wears a short skirt. It makes her feel good and keeps her legs cool. She wears a thin low-cut top. It doesn’t stick to her skin or collect sweat. She puts her hair up, puts her make-up on, and slips into some shoes that just pull it all together. She meets some friends, and they have some drinks. She’s feeling good. She meets a guy. His name was David. Or was it John? He’s funny. His cheeks dimple when he smiles. His teeth are straight. Did you know he was an Eagle Scout? She likes him: the way he makes her feel, the way he wears his jeans, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins. She thinks he likes her too: he bought her three — or was it four? — drinks, held the door open, and found excuses to whisper in her ear even when she could hear him fine. Her friends went home a while ago. She doesn’t mind; Victor is all the company she needs. She’s a little too drunk to drive. He invites her to his house. She accepts, and they giggle on the ride to his apartment. He lives on the third floor, and she can’t climb the stairs right now. He sighs, grins, and carries her instead. She vomits in the neighbor’s petunias and apologizes. He shows her to his couch and tells her to sleep it off. She thanks him and passes out. She woke up once, she thinks, and it hurts a lot. Where did her skirt go? Oh, why are you here Thomas? Hey, you’re too warm, get off. She wakes up again. The morning sun leaves stripes on the carpet. Her skirt is on the television. She thought he feel asleep with it on. Her panties are missing. Her thighs are wet. There’s a bruise on her knee. She hurts all over, especially there. She knows what happened. She leaves before he gets up. He calls three days later. Tells her he had a good time, didn’t she? Does she want to do it again sometime? She declines. John is a nice guy. She’s not good enough for him.
What a whore! Her skirt said “yes” even though her mouth didn’t move at all. Her flimsy shirt said “yes” too, even when her lips were sealed. It was her fault really. She could call it rape, but it wasn’t rape-rape, you know? She’s just a statistic. Oh, she’s just the kind of girl that gets raped. Short skirt, promiscuous, doesn’t mind giving it up before you put a ring on it, goes out by herself at night. It’s like she took all those tips that good girls take to heart and spit on them. Good girls know that if you follow the rules, The Rape will not get you. They’re not like her: they follow the rules. They don’t like her: she lives when they hide. She pretends that her body is her own. She pretends that the night is fun and safe. The Rape is inevitable. She should have known better.
Here’s another: she has a kid. No Dad. He wasn’t any good, so she left. Good riddance! She goes back to school, wants to do right by herself. Only classes at night are classes for dead-end jobs. She wants more than that. She quits her job, enrolls full-time, goes to school all day and pays for a babysitter. The savings run out. There’s not anyone hiring part-time. Well, she’s still got something to sell, so she does. It’s hard work, but she sets her own hours, makes her own rules. Sometimes it’s really scary, and the guys smell bad and pant like rapid dogs and their sweat smells like onions. But she’s paying her bills, paying the daycare, and getting her degree. It’s not forever. Until the night she gets caught. She thought he was just another guy. Hell, he even got his money’s worth before he pulled out the badge. Now she’s at the station, what a mess. She doesn’t have anyone to call. She thinks it’s funny that she couldn’t count on them when that one man held a knife to her throat while he fucked her, but she can count on them now.
That’s what prostitutes get, you know. Or whores, escorts, whatever they call themselves, it’s all the same. Prostitution is a blight on society. It spreads disease to good women (white women and rich women!) whose poor husbands are swayed by marketing of the flesh. John’s didn’t invent the business, and pimps don’t run it. If you want to stamp it out, you have to arrest the whores. Whores don’t have dicks like the cops and the judges and the lawyers. They don’t have “urges” like the johns and the pimps. Hell, we can all appreciate some good enterprising businessmen and some lonely sex-addicted slob. But whores? Dregs of society, you know. Washed of women of the night. Breaking up families, soliciting important men, dragging their names into the mud.
It’s always the fault of women. Poverty? Single mothers. Rape? Women whose skirts can consent, even if they don’t. Adultery? Sluts, scarlet women, single women, and whores. The Rape, cheating, crime… all inevitable. You can’t stop it, you can’t ask why it happens. You certain can’t ask who does it. Well, you could if the answer was black men, poor men, or homosexual men. But not white, middle class, Christian, American, able-bodied men. They don’t have anything to do with The Rape. It’s all feminism’s fault or something.
Yeah. That’s how it all goes down. Why focus who rapes when you can focus on who gets raped? Surely, it’s their fault. Why focus on who leaves the kids when you can focus on who stays? Surely, it’s also their fault. Why focus on who buys sex when you can focus on who sells sex? You know that it’s certainly their fault too.
Because all of those people — single mothers, rape survivors, and prostitutes — all have two things in common: they are abandoned/violated/bought by men and they all have vaginas. But since we know that men are never responsible for anything, the reason The Rape, broken homes, and the sex industry exist is because there are people with vaginas. There are people with vaginas, and it’s all their fault. Women — what they are, what they do, and everything they’re responsible for, especially feminism — brought it upon themselves.
They are women. Bloody, beaten, broken, poor, fat, abandoned, or perfect: they all are women. And all women deserve to be judged and scrutinized, no matter what.