Fuck You, Men’s Rights Activists
This is Fuck You Week, Jezebel’s first annual week of desperate emotional cleansing and unhinged psychic purging.
Fuck you, first of all, for making it nearly impossible for decent men struggling with abusive partners or unfair custody arrangements to get the help they need and deserve. You have forever tainted those issues with your rage-filled, obsessively anti-woman horseshit, to the point where it’s become difficult for any rational, compassionate person to trust a man who claims he’s been screwed over in family court or abused by a female partner, even if he has.
That’s right—I fully understand that those things happen. I fully believe that men in those situations deserve help, and I know they’re generally less likely to ask for it than women are, not to mention less likely to find help there for them when they do go looking. I get how our society’s ridiculously rigid ideas about masculinity mean that men are brought up to believe needing help will make them look weak, especially if it’s a woman who’s terrorizing them. I know those same suffocating standards also encourage men to stifle strong feelings and any nurturing tendencies, which deprives them of the right to experience the full range of human emotions without shame. That completely fucking sucks! You know how I know all that, and why I think it sucks?
BECAUSE I’M A FEMINIST.
That’s the thing, MRAs. By and large, American feminists are really into equality, involved fathers, justice for all, dismantling bullshit gender roles, and helping folks leave dangerous relationships. We would be the natural allies of MRAs, if MRAs were sincerely committed to the causes with which they claim to be chiefly concerned. But no, today’s MRAs—unlike the 1970s movement that earnestly sought to free men, alongside women, from the constraints of gender stereotypes, or the 1980s branch that involved a lot of drum circles and crap poetry—are chiefly concerned with one thing, and one thing only: Putting feminists in their place. Which is in the kitchen at best and in the ground at worst, if you ask these unapologetically misogynistic bags of rot. [Rest.]