Jill Filipovic is a 34-year-old feminist who has never married and never had children, nor is it likely — given her advanced age and fanatical advocacy of abortion — that she ever will become a wife and mother. “The personal is political,” as feminists say, and Filipovic’s lifestyle is therefore relevant to her recent celebration of feminist rage:
Rage is a healthy reaction when a know-nothing woman-groping chump triumphs over an intelligent, hardworking, and much better-qualified woman. Rage is the only sane reaction when you start to put all the pieces together: That we wound up with Trump because we are a country in which the hatred of women is baked in; that this hatred, and the related objectification, is behind every ass-grab, every catcall, every attempt to regulate our uteruses and vaginas and ovaries, every rape joke, every online comment that we’re a bitch, every promotion denied because our actual work may be better but Steve shows so much promise.
American women have been the nice girls who waited our turn. . . . We assumed if we just worked hard enough and proved ourselves — if we were polite while we did it, if we smiled and remained helpful and magnanimous — we might find not only individual success, but success for this whole women’s-rights thing. Maybe we would get to the point where our daughters wouldn’t face the same problems. . . .
(Permit me to interrupt to note how Filipovic abuses first-person plural pronouns. She includes herself in a “we” of smiling, polite “nice girls” — a dubious assertion, to anyone familiar with her radical ideology — and she invokes “our daughters” when in fact she is childless.)
Maybe, if we went through the proper channels and made sound and logical arguments, we could stop debating whether birth control was health care and whether new parents should have the paid time to bond with a tiny baby; maybe we’d reach a moment when, finally, our bodies would finally be ours: our uteruses would be free of government intervention and our breasts and buttocks free of unsolicited grabs.
A lot of women, even those who didn’t previously and perhaps still don’t label themselves “feminists,” seem done with nice. And the explosions that come when nice girls let out years (or decades) of pent-up indignation are messy and chaotic. . . . A significant number of women are no longer worried about being nice or alienating men. . . .
Finally, a critical mass of women doesn’t seem to care what men think, and isn’t afraid of threatening their stranglehold on power. . . .
You can read the rest of that, but I think you see the point: Jill Filipovic hates men, and is encouraged by the anti-male “rage” she celebrates as “a healthy reaction” because she interprets this as evidence that her own man-hating ideology has now become mainstream. Whether this is true or not, Filipovic seems indifferent to the potential consequences of widespread emulation of her own rage. Filipovic has never “worried about being nice or alienating men,” nor does she “care what men think,” because she is a professional feminist who has devoted her life to the hatred of men. No husband, no babies, no concern for anything but her own career — yes, a woman can live that way, especially if her parents can afford to send her to elite schools like Filipovic’s alma mater, New York University ($68,128 a year for tuition, room and board). However, the vast majority of women can’t afford to attend NYU and, unlike Jill Filipovic, most women would like to have husbands and babies, desires which obligate them to “care what men think.”
Most women don’t have the luxury of devoting their lives to man-hating “rage,” just as most men don’t have a “stranglehold on power.” The average guy, working his crappy job to pay the bills, is insulted by feminist accusations that he unjustly benefits from “male privilege” because he possesses a “stranglehold on power.” The average guy is not Harvey Weinstein or Al Franken or John Conyers, nor is the average guy’s situation comparable to any of the other wealthy and influential men whose reputations and careers have been destroyed in the Sexual Harassment Apocalypse. The average guy is not a politician, a TV star or a movie mogul. The average guy resents being blamed for the wrongdoing of these rich men he never admired anyway. Perhaps the guys Jill Filipovic knew from NYU once admired Harvey Weinstein, but the average guy? No, he’s not surprised to learn that Hollywood is run by a bunch of creepy freaks, nor is the average guy shocked by stories exposing members of Congress as perverted psychopaths.
This is not to say that the average guy is innocent of “sexism,” but whatever his sins, they can’t be explained by feminist rhetoric about an alleged male “stranglehold on power,” since the average guy as an individual has little or no part in this collective “stranglehold.” Feminists like Jill Filipovic, who view themselves as guerrillas in an anti-male insurgency, have no interest in (or compassion for) the average guy working his crappy job to pay the bills. Feminists derive sadistic pleasure from imagining the hardships their hateful “rage” might inflict on the average guy. Jill Filipovic hates men, and delights in their misfortunes.
“President Trump ran a campaign of aggrieved masculinity, appealing to men who felt their rightful place in society has been taken from them. . . . Trump supporters didn’t just oppose Mrs. Clinton, they hated her with unchecked phallic rage.”
— Jill Filipovic, March 27, 2017
Feminism is an anti-male hate movement, and if Jill Filipovic is correct in celebrating 2017 as the year that feminist “rage” became mainstream, what consequences can we expect as a result? We can expect that more women will turn out like Jill Filipovic — unmarried and childless and permanently embittered toward men who, predictably, will continue to prefer the companionship of smiling, polite nice girls.