Why I’m Not a Feminist.


Women have been all over the news recently.  Not sure if you noticed it or not.  And I’ve been sitting on my hands and thinking about this and decided today that I wanted to share something with you.  I wanted to share with you, something that is very important to me, and the thing that is very important to me is the reason.  What reason?  The reason

Why I’m Not a Feminist.

Let me start this off by saying something straight forward, flat-lined, hardcore: the fact that women are sexually harassed and assaulted is disgusting.  Whatever is worse than disgusting actually.  The fact that teenage girls who have been violated (violated: verb — break or fail to comply with; fail to respect; treat (something sacred) with irreverence or disrespect) is often written off because the teenage boys who violated them might have their futures ruined, and that is repulsive.  The fact that rape statistics were allowed to get into the double digits is heart trampling.  The fact that the women are blamed for what they wear is utterly ridiculous.  Let’s look at this objectively: I hate neckties.  If I were to start kicking every man wearing a neck tie directly in the crotch…would that be his fault?  Cool.  Unless someone is wearing a literal sign that literally says: “Please violate me” that argument is invalid.  I needed to get that understood first.

But now we need to talk about something.  We need to talk about a number.  The number we need to talk about, is 55.

What’s so important about 55?  It’s the tenth fibonacci number; it’s the atomic number of caesium; it’s the title of a song by the British indie rock band Kasabian; it’s David Ragan’s racing number; it’s the year Bruce Willis was born; it’s Junior Seau’s jersey number. Which one of these facts makes that number so important to you Maggie?

None of them.

You know what’s interesting about 55…it’s when you team it up with 87.  Slavery is illegal in every country in the world, ain’t that swell?  But it is still operational in 87% of the countries of this world.  “At least it’s not 100!”  Don’t be a narcissistic jerk nozzle.  87% of the countries of the world have slavery operating within their borders, and a lot of it revolves around the sex trade and that is by far too much.

Of the 87% of the countries of the world that still have slavery, much of which is people being sold into prostitution, 55% of those are women and girls.

Read it again.  You can’t quit looking at it just because it’s uncomfortable.  It being uncomfortable for you doesn’t make it less true.

87% of the countries of the world still have thriving slave trade and 55% of those are women and girls.  

The “feminist” movement has been getting a lot of press recently.  You know what I’ve noticed?  The “feminist” movement only applies to women in America.  One country in the world.  We are eager to fight for the women in 1% of the countries of the world.  What about the other 86%?  Assuming of course, that the problems women in America face are equivalent to the slave trade.  For the slaves in this country, yes, but what about me making $10,000 less a year than a man that makes the same as me.  I haven’t even ever seen $10,000 and I am blessed to be part of a comfortable, middle-class family.

I don’t want this to turn into a political speech.  I want it to be a request.

Can we put down our banners?  Retire our mantras?  Burn our agendas?  What if all the groups that want to be equal to all the other groups that end up being a never-ending spiral-upward to betterment, what if all those groups joined forces and decided to become one group:


See, I’m not a “feminist”, I’m a “humanist”.  I think that freedom should come to the females trapped in slavery, 1/5 of which are girls under the age of 18.  I think that safety should be provided for the young women who represent this country in gymnastics at the Olympics.  I think that African Americans shouldn’t be statistics proving that the legal system in this country is jaded.  I think that it is a fact that some of the African American communities in this country create hostile environments for children growing up…but I know that if everyone who used that as an excuse joined together, we could change these very communities.  I think that I want to know the world that I’m making, the world that I’m leaving for that sweet little girl in the picture above, is one where she feels free to be a person of worth.  I think that as a young Caucasian woman, I shouldn’t worry about being seen as a problem just because of the color of my skin.

Interesting, my finger slipped while typing that last sentence and it came out: “because of the color of my sin.”

This is where the Bible-belt part of me wants to throw some Scripture in and make it all Christian and stuff.  But that would be redundant.  Because at the center of every push to become a humanitarian stands the One who was such a humanitarian.  He chose to put on human flesh and walk among us.  If we are going to call ourselves Christians, little Christs, imitators of the Holy Humanitarian, we must carry the burden of everyone who cries out, remembering that we have plenty of room to help others with their burdens, because Jesus took ours.

Be His.



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