A Dyke A Broad #98 The Usefulness Edition
Insights from a dyke raised to be a Southern Baptist handmaiden during the late throes of capitalism. Plus a recipe!
Hello from Paris!
Yesterday I engaged in my usual Sunday activity, the search for a Paris bike, then a quick ride down to the Bois de Vincennes where I rambled through the woods to the little lake Daumesnil. There, I always sit for a minute to admire the folly—architectural, not ontological—with its Greco-Roman-inspired columns and pantheon dome, and listen to the weird white peacocks scream like they’re getting mugged. Afterwards I search for another functioning bike, then zip off back home to do something useful.
Maybe I shouldn’t. It’s Sunday after all, the day of rest when even God paused in his labors thinking, “Six days is plenty. Look how much I got done. What’s there to binge on Netflix?” (I recommend Kleo, reminiscent of Killing Eve, but weirder, and richer. One of the best things I’ve seen in yonks.)
But me, I was raised to be a Southern Baptist handmaiden during the late throes of capitalism. I live on the clock. Feel guilty when I’m not doing something useful, being of service, serving, producing value, maybe my own.
Which is why, when I was laying awake the other night marveling at how it was possible that my generation of activists with its hard-partying and pranks gave birth to the humorless Woke, that I finally realized that the connection was my own obsession with usefulness, productivity, being good.
Yep, Generation Woke is totally my child, the distilled essence of what one might call capitalistic evangelism, in which everything is seen through the lenses, not just of morality, but utility, productivity, which must be maximized. Exists in every choice, every gesture which creates so much good or evil that can help or hurt, not just oneself, but others, the whole planet, that we must all be persuaded to watch our steps, our words, our clothes, consumption including agribusiness’ cellophane-wrapped poisons from the convenience store—formerly known as Doritos. Which company is everybody boycotting this week? Which writers should we burn?
With so much at stake, no wonder they lose their shit on Twitter, are so eager to find targets, unload hate in the name of proselytizing for good.
Furious about the political consequences, the underlying misogyny, I don’t write enough about how I sympathize with them, suspect that what young militants say to others is nothing to what they say to themselves lying awake at night full of self-loathing and regret, afraid they’re already useless pieces of shit at twelve, at sixteen, at twenty.
I talked with a friend of mine the other day about gender ideology, and how, even if you believe it’s a crock, and what really needs to happen is for society to change, not pronouns, we have to do something about people suffering now. Particularly kids, who are up to their eyeballs in it.
If they come to you desperate for help, you can’t just tell them they’re idiots. First, they won’t believe you because you’re old and reactionary. Second, it’s all kind of irrelevant. The problem is deeper. Has to do with how they see themselves in a world in which individual choice is now defined as paramount, but at the same time they’re told they don’t stand a chance against systemic everything, racism, homophobia, misogyny.
I think you have to persuade them what it took me so long to learn, that they are neither as powerful or impotent as they believe, neither as good or as bad. You do what you can, shrug, and move on. That the words useful and productive, even good, aren’t quite the same as necessary. Folly has its place. And that the world, imperiled and devastating as it is, remains shatteringly beautiful. But you often can’t see it unless you give up selfies, just give up, take yourself out of the frame.
Tired of politics? Here’s my gimlet recipe.
Kelly’s Old Lady Gimlet—Extra Sour
lime
gin
ice or water (optional)
So what you do is smash a quarter lime or so into a small glass, pour gin over it until you think, “That oughta get the job done.” Then, if you have some ice, swirl in one small cube. If you don’t, wave a bottle of cold seltzer at it, maybe even add a tablespoon or two. Then sip. Smack your lips. Sigh.
Some of What I Read This Week
The Abortion Fight Has Entered a New Phase, and We Need New Tactics by Sarah Schulman
…Abortion is a collective experience. In the past, women who had abortions were hung out to dry through the tactic of public confession, in which each person bravely, tearfully, or defiantly stood alone and told her truth. While this was initially effective, pre-Roe, in making women’s experiences visible, decades of repetition have dulled this approach. We have missed the opportunity to convey that along with the one in four American women who have had abortions, the people in their lives and extended communities have also benefited. Abortion is actually a collective experience of autonomy that is good for both individuals and for society. The man involved benefits, the parents of the woman exercising her natural right benefit, her friends benefit, and so do her other children. The collective “we” needs to be brought back into the picture. “We had an abortion” is the appropriate response accompanying an image of the multigenerational, multigender group surrounding each abortion. Especially men. Men who impregnated women who got abortions also had an abortion, and they need to say so…
Girls' schools are for girls by Edie Wyatt
When I was at University, I took old-fashioned Women’s Studies. We used to study things like the ways women become disadvantaged in society, how girls were educated and socialised, and what society needed to do for girls to give them better opportunities to thrive.
Feminists used to look at the cultural messages girls were given about themselves and their future lives and how these could limit girls’ understanding of what they could do in life.
America’s Fire Sale: Get Some Free Speech While You Can by Caitlin Flanagan
One writer who signed the Harper’s letter was not just a member of PEN America; she was—and is—one of its trustees: Jennifer Finney Boylan. But on publication day, she freaked out. With trembling hands, she typed her own ransom note:
“I did not know who else had signed that letter. I thought I was endorsing a well-meaning, if vague, message against internet shaming. I did know Chomsky, Steinem, and Atwood were in, and I thought, good company. The consequences are mine to bear. I am so sorry.”
Frederick Douglass said, “I would unite with anybody to do right and with nobody to do wrong.” Boylan’s version: I’ll tell you what I believe if you tell me who else believes it.
Malcolm Gladwell pointed out the absurdity of her position by tweeting, “I signed the Harpers letter because there were lots of people who also signed the Harpers letter whose views I disagreed with. I thought that was the point of the Harpers letter.”
Updates on Ukraine
Click post for important thread
Six Months of Putin’s War Unravels Russia’s Superpower Image
The conflict has laid bare the limits of Russia’s military prowess, even if its economy is holding up better than expected.
Long Read
The War in Ukraine Is a Colonial War | The New Yorker
As we see in the ruins of Ukrainian cities, and in the Russian practice of mass killing, rape, and deportation, the claim that a nation ...
Something to aspire to: recognizing difference & not assigning hierarchy
That’s it for this time,
Disgruntledly yours,