Posted 4th January by @Eunuch_Onegin in series The Call-Out
creator chose not to give content warnings
tags: zines; phalluses; heterosexuals dying
No more tricks. Let’s just keep moving.
October continues. Everything gets worse.
Nothing shows any signs of improving,
neither the weather, nor my verse.
There’s no more beauty. Okay, admitted,
there are days when the shifting clouds are slitted
with sudden sun, which falls in strips
across the buildings, and dazzles and skips
from off the windows, at last denuded
of air conditioners. Days which might
seem made of breezes and dancing light,
but that’s just appearance. Don’t be deluded.
The moving finger, or whatever, has writ.
It’s settled. Everything’s going to shit.
Day’s state of dismay and desperation
gets more intense as October goes on,
then November starts with a communication
from Kate, explaining that Gaia’s gone,
and she’s in charge, and naming plenty
of texts, from Brownmiller through Valenti,
Day ought to study, in order to prepare
for the group’s first meeting. “It’s so unfair!”
Day mutters to herself, reading the email.
She goes to find Bette. —“Oh my God, I’m pissed.
Look! They’ve set me a reading list!
Like what the fuck? ‘Visions of Female
Sexual Power’? I’m a woman too!
This is such bullshit. What should I do?”
Bette looks round slowly. She’s comfortably lying
stretched out on the sofa, vaping weed
and watching a movie about rich guys dying
on Everest, because they refuse to heed
their Sherpa’s eminently sensible warning
that they’re setting out too late in the morning.
She frowns and pauses. —“Okay, let me see.”
She reads. “So, what don’t you agree
should be on this list? It seems, like, normal.
A bit white feminist, but she has that zine
about sex and race in the anarchist scene . . .
It’s mostly pretty standard for a formal
process like this.” She pauses and vapes.
—“Standard? This stuff is all about rapes!”
—“Well, rape, consent, assault, and power . . .”
—“But that’s not me. It’s just not true.
I’m not a rapist, and I won’t allow a
fucking ‘panel’ of fuck knows who
to say I am. I have to fight it.
I’m gonna reply. Will you help me write it?
Are you on their side?” —“I’m not on their side,
Day. Like, Jesus, all I’ve done is tried
to support you since this shitshow started.
Don’t turn on me. You have to allow
this thing to happen. Can’t stop it now.
That ship has sailed. It’s gone. Departed.
Just read the books. It’s all you can do.
You might even learn a thing or two.”
—“Oh Bette, fuck off.” —“Well maybe learning
more about feminism will help you find
the energy to follow through on returning
to school.” —“Oh stop! Or please be kind?
My life is under, like, demolition.”
—“And why do you think you’re in this position?
Have you stopped to ask, like, ‘why the fuck
is this happening to me?’” —“It’s just bad luck!
Like, maybe ask Gaia what was her reason
for dragging me? Ask her why did she get
her little friends on the internet
to fucking declare it open season.
Why’d they all line up to say
‘me too, I was also abused by Day’?”
—“So let me get this straight: you’re claiming
it’s nothing to do with anything you’ve done
and all these people are just defaming
you on Twitter, for why, for fun?
Like Day, you know it takes two to tango.
I won’t disagree those bitches can go
love themselves, they’re drama queens,
but don’t you deny this also means
you’ve been doing something incorrectly.
Like, take responsibility!
You’re failing at non-monogamy
and generally life, kind of abjectly.
You know, when we met I thought I’d found
an adult, at last. Did I get clowned!”
—“But you were always making fun of
me for my job, or wanting to commit.
Sleeping around was actually one of
the things I did for your benefit!
You’re being really arbitrary!”
—“Okay, well I teased you because it was scary.
You seemed to have your life all set
and my job is jerking it on the internet,
so I needed something where I was stronger
and that was sex and getting high.
But it turns out your life was all a lie.
You just hung on for like, way longer
to male privilege. You were so afraid
to leave that life, you just fucking stayed.”
—“Well I’ve left it now! That’s all surrendered.”
—“And now your life is a trash-heap too!
You’re not, like, better at being transgendered,
I’m garbage, and still I’m better than you.
You lost your job, you alienated
seems like, half the girls you dated,
you’re accused of assaulting a POC . . .
Trannies are our only community.
Cis people suck, and chasers can’t be trusted,
they’re all fucking cowards. You can make them pay
to fuck you, but after, they’re not gonna stay.
Trannies are it. Without them you’re busted.
If you don’t do this, if you don’t make amends,
you’re just not gonna have any friends.”
Day scowls, and snaps —“But they’re persecuting . . .”
and the fight goes on, but it’s clear Bette’s right,
so after an hour of fruitless disputing,
and a week of reading, on the appointed night,
Day drags herself across the city
to stand before the appointed committee
way up in Ridgewood, at my place.
She comes through the door, with a look on her face
that screams, I want to get this ordeal
over and done with. Which isn’t smart.
She might be holding defiance in her heart
but if I were her I’d try to conceal
that fact. She stares with a visible sneer
right in Kate’s eyes, and announces —“I’m here.”
—“Welcome! I want to begin these discussions
by talking about how our actions incur
certain consequences and repercussions”
(Kate’s doing that thing where she acts all mature)
“for us and for others. Just by appearing
you show that you’re committed to hearing
useful critique. So I’m really impressed
you’re here. You should know we all want the best
for you, but in order to get that it’s vital
we account for some actions which we’ll have to name,
not because we want to punish or shame,
we’re not the police, we don’t want a recital
of guilt, but because we can help you reflect
on how you treat others, and on how to respect . . .”
Janet jumps in. —“You’re just very aggressive.
I mean, I’ve seen the way you flirt
with people on Twitter, and I think it’s oppressive.
I’m not surprised to hear you hurt
people in life. Any conversation
you join, it’s always the sexualization.
And don’t get me started on the pictures you post!
I’m not the only one who’s grossed
out by suddenly seeing an erection
under a skirt, but very on view,
out of nowhere, out of the blue
in the middle of a freaking comments section!
A survivor might see it, or someone below
the age of consent. How would you know?”
Kate tries to stop this, —“Please, can we dial . . .”
but Day has already started to speak:
—“Oh right, so now my body’s on trial?
I thought this was supposed to be ‘useful critique’?
Like, sorry, not sorry, the free expression
of trans sexuality isn’t aggression
and none of you bitches can make me stop.
I’m proud of my body, I’m proud I’m non-op,
and I think it’s good to share that feeling.
I won’t be shamed, or go back in my box
because you freak out at the sight of cocks,
and never learnt the tools for dealing
with internalized transmisogyny.
That’s your problem. Don’t put it on me.”
Now Baker joins in —“Hey wow, now hold it,
for sure, like, be sex positive,
but you gotta hear a no when you’re told it.
Like, women aren’t always able to give
clear expression, because socialization,
and you know, like, sex objectification . . .”
—“That’s very helpful, could you please explain:
what’s it like to be a girl again?
I think I need a man’s perspective.”
—“Day,” says Janet, “that’s very rude.
We want what’s best, but your attitude . . .”
—“You want what’s best? No, your objective
is to ruin my life. I can’t win this fight.
You’re Gaia’s buddies, and you think she’s right.”
—“Everyone, please have some moderation!”
Kate shouts. The voices fall away.
“Gaia’s not involved in this conversation,
and no-one’s conspiring against you, Day,
I promise.” She gives her a friendly smile.
“I can see you feel like this is a trial
but Keiko doesn’t want that, and neither do I.
I want to talk. Do you think you could try?”
Day scowls. —“Okay.” —“We’re here to support that,”
Kate smiles again, “and help you succeed.
So I sent you a list of books to read . . .”
—“I read Brownmiller. And actually I thought that
it kind of sucked.” —“Well, that’s okay.
Can I ask you why you felt that way?”
—“Well, it says that rape is a tool for attacking
women, and that you shouldn’t trust
anyone, basically, who isn’t lacking
a penis, and to me that just . . .
sounds really terfy, and kind of reductive.”
—“You don’t have to rape to be destructive.”
—“Okay, but whatever you’ve think that I’ve done
no one is saying I raped anyone.”
—“Her point is that rape is a material condition
for the perpetuation of patriarchy . . .”
—“But what’s that got to do with me?
Like I’m a woman.” —“But your position
or mine” (Kate sounds a little annoyed)
“is in this context. We’re not in a void.”
—“Well also it’s racist.” —“Well, estimated
by the standards of now, then yeah, I admit
the stuff on Emmett Till is dated . . .”
—“It’s racist!’ —“Okay, yes fine, a bit,
but other texts on the list are injecting
a consideration of intersecting
identities, and there are still some things
a radical feminist analysis brings,
you know, as context, that are really . . . real.
Sex isn’t just pleasure. It’s a means to extract
labor from women, by producing the ‘fact’
of gender. So Brownmiller helps to reveal
the material basis that men want hid.
I mean, whatever exactly you did . . .”
—“Whatever exactly? Wait, do you really . . .
do you not even know my alleged, like, ‘crime’?”
—“Well, not in detail. I mean, so, clearly
to heal survivors need space and time,
and often demanding a survivor perform a
‘narrative’ just makes her relive her trauma.”
—“No wait, no wait, so like, just now
all this stuff on the material basis of how
sex like, functions, or whatever you’re saying . . .
you don’t even know what you’re talking about!”
—“Well that’s where theory can help us out . . .”
—“This is my life! This isn’t playing!
Like, what do you think you’re here to do?
You’re not even trying to find out what’s true!”
—“This isn’t a court. This is harm reduction.
The point is there’s stuff you all need to know,
political stuff, and I’m giving instruction
to try and help this community grow.”
—“Well you aren’t helping!” —“Well fuck, I’m trying!
You’re all so needy, you’re basically crying
out for my help . . .” —“Bullshit! Who died
and made you the boss who gets to decide
what people’s needs are? It’s like you’re feeding
on whatever happened with Keiko and me,
and Gaia, I guess, so you get to be
wise, and central, and like, a leading
community member. So you get to belong.
That’s really gross and selfish and wrong.”
Kate’s silent, like she can’t accept she heard that,
and Day is as well, like she can’t believe
she could have come up with a single word that
came out of her mouth. —“I’m going to leave,”
says Janet. “This blows. Baker, you coming?”
—“Oh well, I don’t know. This is kind of bumming
me out.” —“We don’t have to sit and take
being talked to this way. She can jump in a lake.
It’s not worth the effort. Come on, I’m walking.”
Baker pauses. —“Guys like me
who are also injured by patriarchy,
we hear you, Kate, like, when you’re talking.
And Day, grow up. I’m gonna head.
Peace. I think this process is dead.”
Kate looks at Day. —“Did you really mean that?”
—“I’m sorry. Maybe I went too far.”
—“I mean, I get it, you know, I’ve been that
recently-out fuck-up you are.
Accepting help is terrifying . . .”
—“You’re not, like, helping! God! Stop lying!”
Kate squeezes her nose. —“Alright, no more.
You don’t want to listen, so what’s this for?
I don’t need this . . . well, this rejection.
Just, try to be kinder? Now go. Just go.”
So Day takes off, into the blow
and bluster outside. Kate, in dejection,
stays there, sitting apparently sunk
in thought, ’til midnight, when I get home drunk.
—“Hello my darling,” I say as I wobble
unsteadily in, “I had a good night!
And listen, I’m sorry about our squabble.
I’ll try to support you more, alright?
I ran into a bunch of trannies,
Otter, Juno, both of the Annies,
so I got a bit tipsy. But it was fun!
So how was your thingy? Is everything done?”
She doesn’t answer. “Are you sleeping?
Love?” More silence. “Are you okay?”
Finally she says —“Just go away,”
and then she begins loudly weeping.
There’s a roll of thunder. Rain starts to fall.
I hug her. She sobs, “I failed them all!”