On a recent Best of
the Left podcast episode, “What are women complaining about?,”
I found out about action being taken to address Hollywood's gender bias, which
has received a lot of media attention in the past year. What really
caught my ear was the stat that the percentage of speaking roles for
women in Hollywood movies has only increased by 5% since the 1940s and 50s.
And what interested me about that stat was that, as a fan of
classical Hollywood movies, I was under the impression that there
were now far fewer major roles for women – not a few more. Fans of classical
Hollywood movies just think that there were more and better
roles for women then because so many of the movies from that era that
film buffs still care about have terrific roles for women: canons are
not necessarily representative of the norm.
So far, so awesome for
women that the ACLU has taken political action to have the industry
investigated for gender inequity. In fact I think that every industry
where there's perceived discrimination should be subjected to
thorough governmental investigation, especially if that industry is
as powerful as Hollywood (or Silicon Valley). How else is the public
going to know, and how is discrimination by the powerful going to
combated except by transparency, public pressure, and public
accountability?
However, the segment lost me when an indie director who was asked why it matters that there are so few women in the industry gave a standard leftist response: that we won't see more
“authentic portrayals of women" in movies in television until we
have more female directors. In the first place, surely what matters about women not being able to make careers in an industry is... women not being able to make careers in an industry.
Second, as a writer and
English major I'm disturbed by the implication that only female
creators can produce good female characters. Because there are so
many more canonical male authors than female ones, almost all of the
female characters who mean the most to me were authored by men. The
exceptions are the heroines of Jane Austen and George Eliot, but they
don't mean more to me than the heroines of Chaucer, Shakespeare,
Flaubert, Thomas Hardy, Henry James, Ibsen, or Tennessee Williams.
Nor are they noticeably more “authentic”: they are all distinctly
literary characters, and as such resemble (and are, no doubt,
influenced by) each other more than actual people.
The question of
authorship is more complicated in the case of film directors, but
assuming the fiction that the director is the “auteur,” all
of my favourite female film characters were authored by men. I don't
tend to think of it that way, though, because many classical
Hollywood actresses have more-or-less-unofficially attained the
status of auteurs in their own right, so that I think of a Bette
Davis or Barbara Stanwyck or Jennifer Jones character as being
authored by her; or, if she's
paired with a remarkable director (or, occasionally, producer) in a
remarkable film, co-authored. Sometimes directors and actresses
develop ongoing creative relationships in which the collaborative
aspect is emphasized: Sternberg and Dietrich, Fellini and Masina,
Godard and Karina, Cassavetes and Rowlands, Lynch and Dern. The other
part of this is that I've hardly seen any movies by female directors,
a fault I hope to remedy some year soon (I have a lot of faults,
though, so I can't promise when it will happen), and it so happens
that my favourite movie by a female director, Elaine May's Mikey
and Nicky, contains a couple of
my favourite male
characters.
Which
leads to my objection as a writer to this use of “authenticity”:
of course both male and female authors have to be free to create
characters of both genders. I don't want to be told what I can write
about, and I don't want any other writer to be told that, either –
although if they create a representation that's offensive in some
way, they should be criticized. If you want to hear me criticize
sexist representations, please enjoy my podcast about time travel movies, co-hosted by David Fiore. (Criticizing sexism isn't the
purpose of the podcast, but we do spend a lot of time doing it in
each episode, especially me, really loudly, with swearing.)
Moreover,
if you tell men that they can't write female protagonists, you
reinforce the notion that women are utterly alien, which isn't
exactly conducive to the feminist project. At its best, imaginative
literature and filmmaking about women by men has been about the fluid
movement between desire and cross-gender identification; about the
affirmation of heteronormativity through desire and its undermining
through identification; about sympathy and sadism. To remove
cross-gender identification from literature and film would be to
remove at least 50% of what interests me about them.
So, based on my
responses to this segment, what do you think: am I a feminist, or not
a feminist? Please answer in 3-5 paragraphs, giving the reasoning for
your position.
I think the answer is
that I'm all too feminist, but it will take more than five
paragraphs to flesh it out.
Penultimate Post
Although I first
promised this post on feminism a long time ago, I've gone back and
forth about whether to write it. As I finally sit down to compose it
as the penultimate post of this blog, I wonder if I can finally do it
without getting too angry or sarcastic – the reason I've abandoned
my many previous attempts.
A couple of things have
happened to make me less angry. First, my political perspective has
vastly broadened this year, which has had the effect of taking my
focus off of feminism. When I'm not focused on it, I'm less upset
about it. I also realized, quite a long time ago, that a tone of
anger is never going to persuade anyone to listen to your criticisms.
It didn't work when Camille Paglia did it in the 90s, and it doesn't
work when Cathy Young does it now.
In fact, my first
criticism of feminism is its resistance to criticism. And that's the
final reason my anger about feminism has subsided a little. When I
was listening to the Best of the Left episode yesterday,
hoping to get myself riled up to write this post, because now the
problem was that I was too calm about feminism to write it, I
noticed that one of the clips, a collage of reasons to be a feminist,
featured a couple of MRA talking points, I realized that feminism
has, in fact, been absorbing criticisms from all corners, and not
just from other communities that feminists recognize as oppressed,
such as Women of Color and the trans community. Does that make me any
more hopeful about feminism? We'll see.
Definitions
First, let's get the
context out of the way. What is feminism, and am I a feminist? If
feminism is the belief in the equality of women and men, then why
yes, I am. I think the majority of people in most countries nowadays
would define themselves that way, in fact. (If you want stats, don't
look to this post, because I'm not going to provide them for every
point. Many critics of feminism have written many stats-laden
articles that can be easily found on the internet. I decided it's not
worth my time to produce one of those articles, because I'm not
getting paid for this and because mountains of stats alone won't
persuade anyone of anything. If you find yourself concerned or
intrigued by anything in this post, I'd suggest that you do your own
internet research, like I did, and, like I did, draw your own
conclusions.)
The very fact that this
is a popular sentiment – few would define themselves as racist,
either – means I have to further define what I mean by “feminist.”
So let me be clear that not only do I think men and women are equal,
but I also reject traditional gender roles. I have never wanted
children and my life is centred around my artistic and intellectual
pursuits.
On the other hand, if
being a feminist means adopting certain political stances (e.g., on
reproductive rights) and/or adhering to at least a few of the
theories propagated by the feminist movement (e.g. those theories
evoked by terms like “patriarchy,” “objectification,” “rape
culture,” and “consent”), you're starting to lose me. If it
means feeling righteous anger about street harassment or male
“spreading” on public transit, among other popular talking points
and memes, you've lost me. If it means believing that women as a
global group today are oppressed, I'm not going to agree without
heavy qualifications. I'm not even sure that “oppression” is the
best lens through which to look at the traditional position of women
(it's a lens, and an informative one), and increasingly I
think that each instance of oppression, or disenfranchisement, needs
to be looked at in its own particular cultural, historical, and
political context.
Finally, if being a
feminist means thinking that there's a place for a women's movement
even in supposedly modern, democratic countries today – then again,
yes, I do. But I have given up thinking that feminism will ever be
“reformed”: that is, that it will ever purge the elements that I
find objectionable and become a collection of ideas and set of
priorities that I largely agree with and find positive. Nevertheless,
there are of course many people, from lawyers working to improve the
legal process for rape victims and ensure access to safe abortions
for economically deprived women, to members of civil rights watchdog
groups committed to social justice, who do good feminist work with
real, important consequences every day.
In summary, then, as
soon as you move outside of a definition of “feminist” that means
“person who believes in the equality of women and men and rejects
traditional gender roles,” feminism, for me, is just another set of
ideas to be considered independently and objectively. Some of them
are interesting and useful, many of them (even the same ones) are
misguided and infuriating; all of them have been carefully considered
by me, and none of them are accepted by me without many
qualifications. Sometimes, as in the case of reproductive rights, I
agree with the feminist position, but not for the reasons most often
given by feminists: I don't think that being able to control one's
reproductive capacity is in itself essential to equality,
because I don't think that opposition to abortion is solely a
conspiracy by the patriarchy to keep “control of women's bodies”
in their hands. That, like so much feminist poststructuralism, is a
melodramatic cartoon that obfuscates more than it illuminates. I do,
however, think (in keeping with older trends in feminism) that
control of one's reproductive capacity is necessary for economic
independence, which is necessary for equality.
I'm not here today to
talk about the hard (in the sense of both “difficult” and
“concrete”) issues, though. I'm here to talk about the stuff
that a person of my demographic (highly educated, raised middle
class) is going to most often encounter on the internet: the theory,
on the one hand, and the memes, on the other. In fact, it's
unavoidable. Along with geeks, feminists may be the highest-profile
colonizers of the internet – no doubt because they're pouring out
of college and university campuses.
Keeping this in mind,
here are my Top 5 Criticisms of Feminism:
Imperviousness to
Criticism
If you start to
criticize a trend in feminism to or in front of a feminist – say,
for example, the way that feminism treats the topic of rape – the
first thing you will hear is some variant of “feminism is not a
monolith.” The response neatly serves to shut down the conversation
because it's irrefutable but fails to address the point. It doesn't
matter to me, or my criticism, if some feminist in a cave somewhere
agrees with me. What matters is the general tenor of the
conversation, and that is the source of my frustration.
Many critics of
feminism have pondered why such criticism engenders such
defensiveness. Believe it or not, I can also be the feminist
responding defensively to attacks on it – all it takes to trigger
that response is for the attacks to be made to me. The best
explanation I can give is that, whether or not the mainstream media
is “liberal” (that's an argument for another day), people of
leftist sympathies have picked up the liberal message from the media
that “feminism=equality for women=good for women=good” and
identified with it to such a degree that any criticism of feminism is
equated with being anti-woman and, as such, next door to evil. So
that when, as a teenager, I heard about Camille Paglia the
“anti-feminist,” I genuinely believed that she must be some kind
of Antichrist. Until I saw her on a talk show, risked listening to
her, and found what she had to say fascinating and challenging, even
when I disagreed with her.
To me it seems like a
no-brainer that no political movement can be at its strongest unless
it's open to having its most fundamental philosophical positions
questioned. I don't mean negated: if we take as the basis of
feminism the assumption that women and men are equal, feminism
doesn't have to entertain the idea that they are not equal.
But any positions formed on the basis of the assumption of equality
should be open to criticism, with the idea that proponents and
critics have the same goal of advancing the idea and reality of
equality. So if your ideas suck, or if they may in fact be harmful to
the cause of equality, you ought to know about that, think hard about
it, and abandon or refine them.
Since, however, the
left is no better than the right at having open, objective, rational
discussion about its pet ideas, but instead wants to find reasons to
cast out traitors, the bullshit of feminism goes unchecked, and
reform is impossible. Because if “feminism is not a monolith” or
its variants doesn't succeed in shutting down the conversation, the
next move is to discredit your critic by branding her an
“anti-feminist.”
Now, there are people
who are actually anti-feminists, and not always from a conservative
perspective. There are many reasons for a person to be an
anti-feminist: you can actually think that women and men are not
equal, or you can think that men and women are equal but different
and traditional gender roles honour that difference, or you can think
that feminism is opposed to “family values,” or you can think
that feminism promotes political divisiveness and does not actually
serve the cause of gender egalitarianism. In my experience, people
who are anti-feminists are quite happy to identify themselves as
such. For my part, I think I still identify as a feminist despite a
hugely fraught relationship with feminism from my teen years on
because I don't want to be confused with traditionalists. As much
explaining as I have to do in order to identify as a feminist, I feel
like I'd have to do even more explaining in order to not
identify as a feminist, and my time is limited.
One day maybe we'll get
to the point where we can all call ourselves “humanists” or
“egalitarians” and it won't seem like a complacent move, but
we're not there yet. In the meantime, what I've learned to do is to
continue to identify as a feminist but to broaden my egalitarian
focus. What you are actually thinking, saying, and doing is probably
more important than how you label yourself.
Failure to Model
Enfranchisement
My
second criticism of feminism is its failure to provide a model of
what an enfranchised woman would look like. There were two roads
feminism could have gone down: the road of emphasizing victimization,
and the road of emphasizing enfranchisement. Guess which one it took.
I was never happier as a feminist than when, as a teenager and in my
early 20s, I was reading Molly Haskell on the types of independent
womanhood represented by the great stars of classical Hollywood
(Garbo and Dietrich, Davis and Crawford, Hepburn and Stanwyck), or
Camille Paglia celebrating feminist role models (mostly those same women
plus heroines of Spenser and Shakespeare); or marveling at forceful
famous women of arts and letters from Colette to Courtney Love – or
for that matter, Paglia herself.
Part
of the reason for feminism's emphasis on victimization is,
presumably, that the idea of “personal responsibility” was so
tainted by conservative rhetoric that the left surrendered it to the
other side long ago. (Which is exactly why Paglia's use of it was so
electric.) The left seems to consider the rhetoric of liberation and
independence to be in conflict with the recognition of systemic victimization. The result is that feminism can look awfully fucking depressing, and attracts on the basis of feelings of anger and victimization rather than feelings of possibility and aspiration.
Not
that the idea of agency has been entirely banished from feminism.
Here, feminism is definitely not a monolith, but rather a mishmash.
Recently, for example, Charlize Theron's action hero character in Mad
Max: Fury Road was
widely celebrated as a victory for pop culture representations of
female agency. This is something that seems to happen periodically in
the era of the action blockbuster – I can remember the excitement
and controversy over Linda Hamilton in Terminator
2: Judgement Day when I
was a kid. Women are, obviously, never going to get equal
representation in the action genre, so that every time, at long
intervals, a movie of this kind with a good, ass-kicking role for a
woman does come out, it will feel like something revolutionary and
“feminist” all over again.
Personally,
I'm not that inspired by depictions of women kicking ass. (Linda
Hamilton in T2 is
more interesting to me because she's a complex character who's a bit
of a psycho, not an idealized mother, and not at all a sex object –
while still being very badass.) But a feminism that envisions its end
goal as a woman who is free from male oppression and victimization is
going to look very different from a feminism that envisions its end
goal as a woman who is intellectually, emotionally, and economically
independent – which is not, notice, necessarily the same thing as a
woman who is unequivocally triumphing in a late capitalist society.
The first has its emphasis on (a negative view of) men, and what they
do; the second on (a positive vision of) women, and what they can be.
Linda Hamilton in T2: a bit of a psycho, but check out those buff arms |
And
lest you think that the personal responsibility “piece” (to use
late capitalist businesspeak out of a business context, like a real
asshole) is just about celebrating female capability and strength,
the other side of it is the recognition, which some iterations of
feminism consider essential to considering women as full human
beings, that women can be just as deeply shitty as men can. That is,
I think, what Lionel Trilling meant when he said that Jane Austen's
Emma Woodhouse is one of the few female characters in literature who
have “a moral life” just like a man. People who are just
victims, who have no
agency, can be pitied, but they can't make true decisions and
choices, and therefore can't be held responsible for their actions.
Perpetuation of
Gender War
It's
bizarre how some feminist arguments seem to be stuck in a time warp:
they keep appearing, decade after decade, as though no progress, or
attempt at progress, has been made. For example: the catcalling
issue, which emerged again when that woman posted that video on
YouTube. What did the video add to the discussion, other than
bringing the argument to a new medium? Have we made any progress
toward stopping
catcalling? Or have we made any progress toward understanding and
addressing the cultural and economic reasons why it happens? Or are
we still chanting the mantras “patriarchy” and “misogyny”?
A
whole lot of feminism, especially the kind that occurs on the
internet, is just the perpetuation of gender war. One of the feminist
memes I've heard endlessly repeated is that people who say that
feminism is about male-bashing “just don't understand” what
feminism is. Obviously, the ideological basis of feminism is not
hating men, nor does it logically entail hating men, but not everyone
who thinks that feminism has a man problem is simply confusing the
idea of being equal with men with the idea of hating men.
Men
and women have been accusing each other of terrible things throughout
history. That is, apparently, what human beings who are necessarily
(for the propagation of the race and transmission of property)
intimate with each other, and who are on more-or-less of an equal
social footing (compared to, say, property-owning men and slaves)
with each other, do. Since men, for most of this time, by and large
wrote the books, this argument has survived as anti-feminist
literature and its refutation, the latter of which could be put in the mouths of
female characters (Chaucer's Wife of Bath, for example, or
Cervantes's Marcela), and which could involve criticisms of men as
well as defenses of women. Now that women not only write more books but also have access to Twitter, they can write their own attacks
on men, which can go viral, because there's nothing that either men
or women like better than a bitter stereotype characterizing the
“opposite sex.” Since feminism is predicated on the idea that
“men oppress women through patriarchy,” a notion that's broad
enough to include every complaint any woman might think to make about
men, feminism legitimates this demonization of men, which in fact
often proudly announces itself as feminism.
If you try to point this out, you will be told that “reverse sexism” isn't a thing because “reverse racism” isn't a thing. Feminists don't, can't, hate men; they can only react against misogyny. The fact that the racism analogy is always brought out to avoid addressing criticisms only goes to show that, unconsciously, feminists know that people consider race a more serious problem than gender, and in fact share that bias. It's true that men don't suffer from systemic sexism, which is not to say that the traditional male gender role doesn't involve plenty of hardships and disadvantages. (Feminism has got this covered under “patriarchy is bad for everyone,” although that phrase, too, is often used to deflect rather than to engage with criticism.) However, the fact that demonizing men doesn't contribute to systemic sexism doesn't make it more pleasant. All it does is add fuel to the neverending gender war.
If you try to point this out, you will be told that “reverse sexism” isn't a thing because “reverse racism” isn't a thing. Feminists don't, can't, hate men; they can only react against misogyny. The fact that the racism analogy is always brought out to avoid addressing criticisms only goes to show that, unconsciously, feminists know that people consider race a more serious problem than gender, and in fact share that bias. It's true that men don't suffer from systemic sexism, which is not to say that the traditional male gender role doesn't involve plenty of hardships and disadvantages. (Feminism has got this covered under “patriarchy is bad for everyone,” although that phrase, too, is often used to deflect rather than to engage with criticism.) However, the fact that demonizing men doesn't contribute to systemic sexism doesn't make it more pleasant. All it does is add fuel to the neverending gender war.
Sexual Parochialism
I could write a book
about the sexual parochialism of (most) feminism. Camille Paglia did
write one, and it's called Sexual Personae. Credit where it's
due, a lot of feminists did come around after the 90s debates: BDSM feminists emerged; it seems to be largely
acceptable among feminists for women to direct pornographic films as
an expression of their sexuality; and feminists seem to be
recognizing sex worker's rights as a legitimate women's issue.
But alongside
sex-positive feminism there arose rape culture feminism, which as far
as I can tell is an excuse for the left to police any language or
behavior that it doesn't like by associating it with rape; and
campus rape hysteria, which appears to be a volatile mixture of
sheltered middle-class women at their hormonal peak who are being fed
a steady diet of victimization feminism, men at their hormonal peak
who are being fed a steady diet of misogynous sports culture,
controlling parents paying exorbitant tuition fees and expecting that
their children will be protected from dangerous reality in return,
and a culture of binge-drinking. Sounds like the makings of an
American tragedy to me.
Meanwhile, feminist
hostility toward the concept of personal responsibility has become a
self-caricature wherein, by tortuous logic, no one – women included
– is allowed to discuss strategies for rape prevention other than
“telling men to stop raping,” or they risk being accused of “victim blaming” or even being a “rape apologist.”
Rape is to the left as
terrorism is the right. Rape is, no doubt, a bigger actual threat to
American women than terrorism is to Americans, though the numbers
that float around and have even reached the White House are bizarrely
inflated: more soberly, in a 2014 Bureau of Justice Statistics survey
about 6 per 1000 female college students age 18-24 reported being
raped or sexually assaulted. Both left and right trade in
fear-mongering, as the dwindling middle class invents bogeymen in
its entitled pursuit of a vacuum-sealed reality of perfect safety.
Back in the 90s, when I
first became aware of problems with feminism, I was willing to
entertain the possibility that feminist studies were inflating rape
statistics. But I could not buy Paglia's claim that date rape
“hysteria” consisted of sheltered young women, unprepared for the
fact that adult life and sexual freedom can sometimes be physically
and emotionally unpleasant, having “bad sex” and then
retroactively – perhaps due to the intervention of feminists –
interpreting it as rape. Until, two decades later, I read Lena
Dunham's account in her memoir, Not That Kind of Girl, of what
she labelled on the book tour, though not in the book, as her “sexual
assault,” which is an absolute textbook case of the process I've
just described. There are sometimes good reasons to expand the legal
definition of rape, as feminism has been doing and attempting to do
for some time now, and there are also good reasons to be concerned
about its expansion. All we've got to go on are our intuitions, which
are themselves culturally determined, but all I know is that there's
not an intuition in my body that can account for why Dunham (who I
think is a fine comedic writer and performer) thinks that she was
sexually assaulted, unless she thinks that a traumatic sexual
experience is, ipso facto, a sexual assault. There's one occurrence
early on that one could make a case for as a sexual assault, but
Dunham specifically doesn't describe it in a way that would make it
unambiguous.
If Dunham had refrained
from labeling the incident in life as on the page, the account could
have stood as an example of some of the shit young women experience
in their sex lives, although even as such it casts a sort of Gothic
shadow over female sexuality, as if, here as elsewhere
in the book Dunham is conveying the message that the sexual freedom for
women that one version of feminism fought for is a cul-de-sac that
ends in male violence and callousness. If I say that my own
experience, although sometimes weird and awkward, hasn't been that
bad at all, I know I'll get the response that offering a different
example is insensitive to people who aren't as fortunate. But the
very fact that these dark experiences are apparently widespread makes
me think that Paglia called it when she said that middle-class
feminism was producing generations of depressive young women who were
not equipped to philosophically or emotionally handle the turbulent
reality of their sexual imaginations and experiences.
Hence – the ongoing
problem of the sexual parochialism of feminism.
Failure of Cultural
Perspective
Feminism's difficulty
with philosophically dealing with sex is part of its broader failure
to look at the issues it raises in a wider cultural perspective. To
use the example of rape culture: the tortuous logic of rape culture
theory is that our culture, rather than condemning sexual violence
against women, actually condones it. Of course, there's a certain
striking, paradoxical truth to this. You can make the same argument
about violence in general: on the one hand, we strongly condemn it;
on the other hand, we glamourize it; make it the constant focus of
movies, TV, the news, even popular music; celebrate it in sports;
institutionalize it in the police, military, prisons; make it the
cornerstone of masculinity.
Given this similarity,
I don't see why we're not making the leap that the problem we should
be doing something about is not violence against women, but violence.
MRAs, whatever their problems, have made the points that although
women are at far greater risk of being murdered by an intimate
partner than men are, men are at far greater risk of being murdered
in general, and also at far greater risk of death by suicide. Why
should we so focused on rape? Because we're invested in female
virtue? Not as feminists we're not. Because feminists are only
interested in problems that affect women? Because that would be a
problem. It was one thing when we thought that violence
disproportionately affected women; as we apply the arguments of
feminism to men, we become increasingly aware that that is not the
case.
Likewise, one of the
more interesting feminist articles I've stumbled upon on the internet
have to do with looking at the problem of the wage gap from the
perspective of worker's rights and women's unpaid labour as mothers. In
other words, for me, as soon as you look at the problems that affect
women alongside problems affecting other groups, they become a lot
more interesting, but maybe that's because we're no longer simply
repeating the words “patriarchy” and “misogyny,” or, more
recently, “privilege” and “entitlement,” and thinking we're
done.
Trust me, I've been an
angry young woman in my lifetime, and at the age of 40 (as of the end
of next month), I still get pissed off at sexism as often as I get
pissed off at feminism. Female anger, as a symbolic,
lightning-in-a-bottle substitute for female agency in a world that
stifles the latter, is a glorious thing (as long as you're not dealing with it in person), and it's still a delight to
see it disrupt expectations of soothing, submissive feminine
niceness. But I've never been especially interested in being angry at
men. Insofar as men do terrible things to women and other men, is it
because they're inherently evil, or because that's how masculinity is
constructed? If it's the latter, why are we wasting our energy
ranting about “toxic male entitlement,” as happened in the wake
of the Isla Vista Killings? Couldn't we, instead, be talking about
toxic gender roles and their relation to violence?
It seems to me that the
majority of feminism happening on university campuses and the
internet is a lot more invested in staying angry at men than in doing
something about the issues it has raised. That's a shame for many
reasons, and not least because once upon a time some people thought
that one of the great boons of feminism would be the transformation
of heterosexual love into a relationship based on equality; that changing the meaning and improving the nature of love would be feminism's contribution to a
new and better world.
Failing that,
nevertheless, at this point in history, I don't think there's any
point to trying to adjust the current social and economic system to
make it better accommodate women, with their same old biological
disadvantages (slightly curtailed by birth control) – not that the
white men at the top of the global power structure are interested in
sharing their power anyway. We should all be focused, women and men,
on creating a better, more egalitarian, social and economic system.
All of the ideas of feminism are valuable to think about; the best
ones, by their own logic, ought to be extended beyond feminism and
take feminism beyond identity politics; the worst ones should be
unequivocally rejected.