Benn’s book details the struggle and awkwardness
but, ultimately, the empowerment that erupts in the conversations had between
mothers and daughters. Sex, relationships, the media, pornography, the elusive
female orgasm... Not topics for those prone to blushing. The awesome foursome
spoke passionately about what it is we should be telling our daughters, often
contradicting each other, frequently profound, occasionally depressing but
unanimously honest.
The whole thing got me scratching my chin about
what I’d be telling my daughter about the world, if she were here now in 2014 (and
of an appropriate age for such conversations). But it’s not the first time I’ve
considered it: in 2012 myself and my dearest pal Rhiannon organised an
International Women’s Day showcase at our students’ union. We included Vagina
Monologues passages, poetry, singing and three of us wrote letters to our
daughters. It seemed so easy at the time. Mine was filled with gutsy 'girl
power' rhetoric – you can achieve anything you set your sights on, don’t let no
manz tell you different grrrl, and for the love of god, the hair under your
armpits is SUPPOSED to be there amiriiiiiight. Just two years ago, that felt so
authentic, so bloody revolutionary – but I’m not so sure my message would be
the same now. The ages of 21 and 23 don’t seem like such a gigantic leap but
when you’ve spent a year as one of only two women at the helm of a 22,000
strong students’ union, received violent threats after talking about equality,
had a misogynistic 'parody' twitter account dedicated to you, and been reduced
to your “sweet arse” by a colleague and peer, the whole “you can do anything,
sista!” discourse just doesn’t seem so relevant. Or true.
So I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to fill my
hypothetical daughter’s head with sassy feel-good mantras; I want to prepare
her for the complete and utter BS she’s inevitably going to face, and give her
the insight to reject it. I’m sure if that was the flavour of my performance
piece two years ago, I would have been met with 300 pairs of eyes, agog and
horrified. So I guess it’s a good job it’s taken me this long to figure it out.
So here goes.
Sex
The biggest lie you’ll ever be told is that men
like sex more than women, or that men have needs to fulfil that women simply
don’t have. This is a lie fed to you by films, tv shows, songs, your friends
and pretty much any type of media that is driven by men – male writers, male producers,
male directors, or just males themselves. The idea that men have “needs” that
women don’t feel legitimises the imbalance felt by women in heterosexual
relationships; it also legitimises male infidelity and partially legitimises
rape and sexual assault. “Men have urges, they can’t control them, they are
biologically wired to sow their seed”: this notion that male sexuality has a
superior significance does women a huge injustice. At best, women miss out on
sexual pleasure and at worst, men feel entitlement over women’s bodies and rape
is normalised behaviour. But this isn’t just about women: this idea does a
disservice to men too. Thoughtful, kind, passionate and exceedingly
well-evolved men. The men who will work their tongues off trying to overcome
centuries of female sexual oppression (and make up for lost time) by spending
Frank Ocean’s entire album going down on you. The men who stand alongside you
at protests over a woman’s right to a free, safe abortion. The men who fancy
you loads but who’ll walk you home after a drunken night out, tuck you into
bed, then see themselves out. Men are not brutish thugs who rape and pillage –
we’ve evolved, get with the programme. But “boys will be boys” and we allow and
expect them to behave this way so, of course, some will.
Just to clarify that point: your sexual
pleasures and desires are equally as important as a man’s. Your lust is as
strong, as potent and as natural. Those who tell you differently are afraid of
what women could do if collectively we all realised this. Because there would
be hell to pay. Or, more likely, we’d all become lesbians. If you’re a lesbian
by the way, I’m totally down with that. I dig chicks.
A sexual relationship should be entirely
reciprocal – if they’re coming, you should be too. It may take longer and
result in some mild jaw cramping, but that’s the price we all pay for equality.
If you’re not having a wild (and safe) time, find someone else to have special
cuddles with. Trust me, you really don’t want to be missing out.
Relationships
Relationships are really hard and usually
boring. They’re also incredibly political even when you don’t want them to be –
remember darling, we’ve discussed the 'the personal is political' thing before,
I hope you were listening. But aside from that, a good relationship should be
the most comfortable thing in the world, like wearing a giant woolly jumper in
bed with an electric blanket with a packet of chocolate hobnobs. You should
feel comfortable showing your partner what you look like in the morning, with
no make-up and unbrushed teeth. If you let this person inside you, they should
be able to see the outside of you as it really is. You should be able to say
things, think things, do things free from fear or anxiety because that person
should be your greatest advocate and ally and even the wildest of notions
should be comfortably shared.
Sometimes men hit women. This has a lot to do
with power and fear and anger and objectification, which we’ll explore in a
minute. But sometimes relationships can pain you in other ways, and abuse has
many different guises. If your partner ever tells you who you can and can’t
talk to, or what you can and can’t wear, leave immediately. I’ll be ready with
an open door, a cup of tea and a pillow to scream into. That last one is for
me.Sexism
Unfortunately this is the most pervasive and
inevitable of all these problems. And that’s because it’s at the very heart of
bad sex and bad relationships. Sexism looks like many things and you often
won’t know when it’s there and when it’s not. You may end up like your mother,
where you can sniff it out when it’s probably imaginary, then you walk
face-first into it when you were blissfully meandering. It’s the slipperiest,
slimiest, stickiest thing: sexism is a slug that crawls across almost
everything you’ll ever know or do. Sucks to be us, eh.
When you turn on the television and you see a
male pop star in a music video looking pensive while watching a sunset, driving
a car – that will seem normal. The next music video will be of a woman wearing
a bikini washing a car, sponging her bulging breasts with suds and licking her lips
– and that’ll seem normal too. We all accept that men and women look certain
ways when they’re portrayed in the media, but this isn’t the way it should be.
This is sexism. This shows that women’s bodies are more valuable than their
talents, while men don’t have to live up to the same standards. And this will
haunt you constantly; you’ll open a newspaper and a topless woman will greet
you; you’ll go shopping and the magazine rack will taunt you with gaudy
titillation; you’ll walk down the street and a man will wind down his window
and harass you. And when you complain about this, people will call you 'over-sensitive'
or a 'whiny bitch' or a 'feminazi' and that will be an attempt to silence you.
But this is where my lesson is coming together;
this idea of you being silent, subdued or suppressed – sexually, romantically
or politically. Even when you feel like it’s quivering or unsure, your voice is
your most powerful asset. You must build friendships, relationships and a
career around your ideas and your beliefs. Thoughts are incredibly valuable,
especially women’s thoughts – those can move mountains when they’ve wanted to.
Solidarity and collectivism are the best things ever; I know I’ve been a bit
doom and gloom, but knowing that you’re not the only one and that there’s a
movement of people supporting, loving and helping each other will lift your
spirits when you’re feeling low. Find those people and hold onto them. Plus, things will be a lot better for you than they were for me, and much better than they were for your grandmother; these things take time and constant belligerence, don't forget that.
And of course, my dear, if you’re horribly bored
and uninspired by feminism and politics and the like, I won’t blame you. I’ll
still adore you, even if you turn out to be a Conservative – or worse,
apathetic – accountant. Just don’t expect the crispy roast potatoes;
they’ll be going to your revolutionary brother.
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