International Women's Day is a perfect example of feminism’s failure
to connect with the poor. Get up in arms about that accusation all you
want (and please do, it would be great to see some mass mobs in
feminism), but the fact remains that, for all the grasps at
intersectionality and the spat-ridden Twittering of recent years, there
are still women who find themselves scrabbling through rubble for the
body of a loved one.
We consistently fail to connect with the whole embarrassing mess of it.
Sweatshops still exist across the world, as do trafficking, slavery,
horrendous working conditions and unsanitary living conditions. On our
own doorstep, women are bearing the brunt of the cuts. Single mothers,
poor teenagers in inner-cities, ordinary working women who struggle to
put food on the table. What do we debate on Twitter, on our
much-fought-over platforms in the press? Pink toys, boobs in newspapers
and women on banknotes but which have all risen to the top of the debate
because of our reluctance to deal with anything filthier.
International Women’s Day – and perhaps feminism in general – now veers dangerously close to paint-by-numbers protest.
Don’t forget the revolutionary roots of International Women’s Day
