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Cos we’ve never heard that one before.
THIS isn’t, apparently, a touchy-feely, “women are more emotional in the workplace” kind of argument.
No, instead it’s a ‘men are just emotionally incapable and LIKE to see others fail, while women make a good judgement not to get involved with aspects of business that require more commitment time-wise’
. . . .
Male performance is boosted simply by having to compete, while female performance is automatically lowered by competition, according to studies that tested fourth-grade schoolchildren under different running scenarios in gym class.
Because, of course, fourth-grade schoolchildren are perfect examples of working women and men. And anyway, why o why o why the generalisation?! Some women perform better when they have to compete (I sure as hell do), and some don’t. The same goes for men.
“More women than men think they’ll do poorly, even when they perform very well,” Dr. Pinker says in the book. “In the competitive sphere this can look like discrimination, when in fact women may be withdrawing from the race of their own accord, based on their faulty self-assessments.”
This, of course, is natural. Women expect to do badly. This couldn’t possibly be a learnt personality trait, could it?
Oh no, let’s not even suggest that. That’s crazy talk. Women just think like that, ok?
To be fair, I’m judging from the article rather than reading the actual book. But really, Dr. Pinker, shouldn’t we have learnt by now that all people behave/think/process information differently? What can we possibly gain from such ‘research’ other than a confirmation of this, which has been gendered? Surely the only thing that this book does, then, is promote the idea that it’s ok for there to be so few women in the higher jobs in business because some women don’t want it, and that men are incapable of real emotion/compassion?
Thus, the power of patriarchy is yet again affirmed – we’ve even got women saying that it’s natural for women to not want to be promoted/paid more! And while we’re at it, let’s confirm that idea of the RealMan – he’s masculine, he’s strong, he likes to compete and WIN, oh yeah, and he just doesn’t do any of that girly compassion bull.
Perleeease. Give me a break.
This, while (sadly) unsurprising, is certainly an interesting read. Women, it would seem, as still seen by 1 in 4 people in Ireland to be partly (if not wholly) responsible for being raped.
As I have said before, I find this idea ridiculous. One of the statistics shows that
38% believe a woman must share some of the blame if she walks through a deserted area.
If someone was walking through a deserted area and was robbed, would they be blamed? While, of course, one should be aware of their own safety, this blaming of the victim is simply unacceptable.
Still, as “dagnymeetsassisi” says, this can also be viewed positively:
” More than 30% think a victim is some way responsible if she flirts with a man or fails to say no clearly. “
Or, 2/3rds believe a woman is NOT responsible despite flirting…. a commanding majority. How would that figure have looked in the 1970’s?
…
“37% think a woman who flirts extensively is at least complicit, if not completely in the wrong, if she is the victim of a sex crime.”
63% – again a commanding majority – do not believe the woman is complicit or wrong.
“One in three think a woman is either partly or fully to blame if she wears revealing clothes.”
Two of three do not believe the woman is partly to blame; most respondants, that is.
“38% believe a woman must share some of the blame if she walks through a deserted area.”
Again, 62% do not beleive a woman shares some part of the blame. Most people, in other words.
I’m not sure how far I agree with this, as 1 in 4 is still distressing regardless of the wiser 3 that believe the rapist to be the criminal, not the victim.
Intrigued, as ever, to hear your thoughts.
And on that note – adieu.
Young boys being made to fight each other. In some older guy’s bedroom. In Crawley.
Fighting, apparently, ‘like girls’.
Why? Just…why?
This is for Andy and the others who were in creative writing today. And actually, for anyone who happens to be interested…
Today we had a discussion in Creative Writing about rape/the safety of women in England now. I’ve found some links that I think are relevant:
- Government money for rape centres
- Rape conviction rate: 37% in 1977, to 5.6% in 2005
“While they conclude there was some evidence of poor investigation and lack of understanding of the law, the main problem was the culture of scepticism among both the police and prosecutors.” (Second source above)
- The rape conviction rate for the last couple of years has proven much more difficult to find than I anticipated. I think we may be wrong in saying that it is as low as 2%, I think it is actually more likely that it has remained at 5 or 6%. (This, from 2007, says 5%…) This is still shocking, as the rate has dropped. By 31.4%.
- This, from 2007, covers a great deal of the issues and inbuilt stereotypes in society RE rape, and discusses both the issues and solutions.
“Judgements about the credibility of charges of rape are often influenced by impressions of the woman’s attractiveness, demeanour, dress and alcohol consumption which are in fact irrelevant to the real issue of consent and the perpetrator’s culpability.”
“Prevalent public attitudes about rape also have a clear influence on the investigation and prosecution of rape cases and at court, and contribute to the low rape conviction rate. Police, prosecutors, judges and, perhaps most importantly, jurors are as likely as any other members of the public to internalise common attitudes about rape, and misconceptions about who are ‘real’ rapists and victims.”
- Responses to the question ‘Why are rape conviction rates so low?’, this January.
- An incredible performance poet, speaking about rape (in fact, check out her site cos she really is amazing)
- And finally (as I think I’ll have to continue this another time because I’m getting so tired and depressed), this – it shouldn’t still need to be said, hell it should never have needed to be said, but it is still relevant and a pretty powerful post. Also the source of my title – see the comments.
On a completely unrelated (and yet, as ever, related in some way) point: this guy’s poem is really powerful.
And on that note – adieu.
…of Praise-God Barebones. And his poor poor son, Nicholas Unless-Jesus-Christ-Had-Died-For-Thee-Thou-Hadst-Been-Damned Barbon.
Teehee.
But still – crazy. Totally crazy. How could he get away with changing his name to that? How can he get away with wanting murder charges for doctors who perform abortions? And the women who have them? How?
I should probably give you the link now, right? So you know what on sweet-mother-earth I’m talking about? 
Anyway, I must away to my philosophy coursework. We have the coursework exam tomorrow, and I’m still not happy with mine so I’m putting finishing touches to it now. It’s a FOUR HOUR exam, with a break in the middle, and we have to basically write it all out again. All 4,000 words. Hooray. Still, we get 1,000 words notes, so it could be worse I guess. It just strikes me as a total waste of time. And it’s 40% of our grade this year! 10% per hour!!
*Weeps*
And on that note – adieu.
…and I’m afraid it’ll be quite a while still, until you get a proper blog from me. I’ve got so much on at the moment!!
But to keep you going till then, here’s a poem I have started. It needs a fair amount (A LOT) of work, but I’d be interested to hear what you think of it thus far.
I Think I Can
I think I can I think I can
the little train puffed
as it struggled its way up the hill.
I remember it, still,
though I heard the tale years ago –
it is a technique I have used myself.
The chant outside the exam room
I think I can I think I can
and the tired whispers of determination
I think I can I think I can
as I dragged myself around the track
a third and final time.
I thought I could, and did.
But now, it’s different.
I enter the darkened street
and the old mantra returns,
sinister now.
Can can can was what I used to hear -
now uncertainty ringing in my ears as
think think think
hits home.
Yet,
pushing my reluctant feet
that long to buckle and give in
to the footsteps close behind me,
the words play on.
Round and round
I think I can I think I can
As I catalogue each sound
I think I can I think I can
Each step ringing loud
I think I can I think I can
Chin held up and proud
I think I can I think I can
And panic deep within.
Buried beneath can and think and I and think and can
A single line within my mind
That carries me past the pub with the ‘alright love’
Down the path with the lack of streetlight
Into the park with the gangs there watching
And homewards homewards through the darkness seeping
Past loveless couples and a heartbeat quickens
Past a white lorry and the atmosphere thickens
And breath is lost until I’m far past
And still
I think I can I think I can
plays on.
Not I thought I could I thought I could
like the little train that could, and did,
but can can can for a future
filled with dark streets
filled with pounding feet
and a sense of defeat
as I repeat:
I think I can I think I can
ad infinitum.
And on that note – Adieu.
Wrote this for the theme ‘My Generation’, set as a challenge in creative writing. Partly for that, partly because I passed two guys doing some work on the roads and one said to the other ‘yeah, but we’re in an age where women can…’ and I hurried past, and partly cos it’s how I feel.
Enjoy.
We’re in an Age
We’re in an age
We’re of an age
The men say on the street
Where marriage is not sacred and
A woman feels complete
Without a man, her better half.
She’s two halves on her own
And where do we fit into that?
Our duties overthrown
-
We’re in an age
We’re of an age
The women disagree
Where spinsterhood is ridiculed
And there’s no equality
Where rape is normalised and we
Have no safe haven near
We can’t walk the streets alone, in darkness.
Every footstep whispers fear.
-
We’re in an age
We’re of an age
The ‘gentlemen’ insist
Where women have the right to put
Their bodies on the list
That we can buy and sell
at leisure
in a world that’s geared
towards our pleasure
-
We’re in an age
We’re of an age
Sigh women far and wide
where just to wear a low cut top
or take a step outside
is to provoke attack, abuse
from men that think they praise us
- but complement us on our ‘tits’?
It never ceases to amaze us.
-
We’re in an age
We’re of an age
Where nothing seems to change
Where women are still victimised
And end up with the blame
A time where, when it comes to rights
It’s the poor oppressed men
Who feminism has destroyed
And who must start again
-
Yes, we’re in an age
We’re of an age
But it’s just like all the rest
No matter how we all despair
And try to protest
There’s a time for equality
The politicians vow
But we’re in an age
We’re of an age
And nothing’s changing now.
-
-
-
And on that note, as ever – Adieu.
at an open mic night in Brighton. I’m quite pleased with it…
It is based upon this picture…from post secret =]
Yesterday (Inspired by a postsecret postcard)
Yesterday I tried to find god
I started deep within myself because
it’s as good a place as any to begin.
So I settled down
and looked within.
In a time of loneliness and sorrow
when my very being seemed to be hollow,
I hoped a god on side would help me through
when I was feeling low and blue.
So I tried my best to understand
how within me there resides a man
who is everything and everyone,
but I must confess that it did not take long
for my mind to wander way off track:
I was lost and there was no way back
from my thoughts of emptiness and love.
There was no voice to captivate from up above
Crying “you’ve found me now it’s your turn to hide”.
There was no answer, no shining light to guide,
No bingo! There was no grand revelation.
But determined to discover my salvation
I decided to look
in a so called holy book
hoping therein would lie the answer that I sought.
Some time later I emerged, distraught
to find misogyny had found a base
in the most vulnerable, hopeful place
within so many searching for an explanation,
longing for a perfect destination
to the journey that our lives begin.
Yet finding gods that reprimand our ‘sin’
and seek confirmation of our ‘true’ belief,
although for some it may provide relief,
seems like a faith that I can do without.
So when I look on with a sceptic’s doubt,
and see ‘gods’, husks of our imagination,
that seem to have a hold upon the nation
I cannot help but disagree
that god can tell me what to do and who to be.
And while I watch the faithful wistfully
and wish I could find consolation in the guarantee
of a life after death, that’s rich and rare,
if I’m honest I can’t say I really care,
when to find this hope I must give up my reason
and my logic and all I truly believe in.
As I value values more than what I’m taught
my beliefs held out against the god I’d sought
and revealed a passion unbeknownst to me
So yesterday I searched for god,
but my failure set me free.
And on that note – adieu.
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