Why I became a Ranty Feminist

My happy place

So, the older I get the more I find myself quietly seething in rage about women’s place in the world. Occasionally, I find myself becoming a loud, shrill, harpy feminist online too. I recoil at myself in those moments and think “Get it together Natalia, you’re an articulate, educated woman, you don’t need to incoherently rage out like a banshee”. But it inexplicably feels like the only option I have to express myself in that moment.

Yesterday, I read an awesome article about catcalls (hello, summer!) by Jessica Valenti in the New York Times and I sent it to all my female friends. It was “What does a Lifetime of Leers do to us?

It’s a brilliant piece and I laughed and thought AHA! This is why I’m angry, because this low level objectification is exhausting. Phew!

And then this morning I woke up to the news that a guy had been sentenced to six months jail for sexually assaulting a woman because “any more time in jail would ruin his life” and I thought: No

No. I’m angry because the low level of objectification of women that we shrug off everyday leads to judges giving sentences like this. Valuing the life of a “potential future Olympian” man over the life of an “unconscious intoxicated” woman. She wrote a letter that she read out to him in court about how he ruined her life. It's powerful and movingly sad. And it’s painfully, ridiculously obvious. Take a moment and read what a woman who has lost a year of her life has to say to her attacker.

This is not okay.

I’m tired and angry that it’s 2016 and we still haven’t figured out how to treat each other as equals. I mean, fuck we still kill different looking people in wars everyday so how could I possibly expect that we could look in the face of someone whose genitals are just slightly different to ours and see an equal?

So yeah. I guess that explains why I’m am becoming a ranty feminist. 
I’m glad I figured it out.

And while I’ll try to be more articulate, I’m not sorry.