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Laurie Penny on The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo: Girls, tattoos and men who hate women

The real problem with sensationalising misogyny is that misogyny is not sensational.

For a long time, I refused to read Stieg Larsson's Millennium trilogy. Not out of disdain for popular fiction, nor because of the many objections in feminist circles to the books' graphic depictions of sexual violence, but because I judge books by their covers. I simply declined to spend my money on one more novel entitled The Girl With the Distinguishing Physical Attribute of Minor Narrative Significance.

Having been thoroughly bored by Girl With a Pearl Earring and The Girl With Glass Feet, I naturally assumed that The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo would be stuffed with monotonous, sexist clichés.

So, imagine my surprise when I discovered that not only is the Millennium franchise a global pulp fantasy crammed with dashing heroines taking bloody and unorthodox revenge on male abusers, but the original Swedish title of the first book is Men Who Hate Women. The English-language publishers found this sentiment rather too confrontational, and it's not hard to see why.

Salander girl

I now can't help grinning every time I see prim ladies in office suits reading the Millennium books on public transport, or scrutinising the posters for the hugely popular film adaptations, the second of which is currently in UK cinemas. Larsson, who died of a heart attack just before the trilogy was published, was disgusted by sexual violence, having witnessed the gang rape of a young girl when he was 15. According to a friend of his, the author never forgave himself for failing to help the girl, whose name was Lisbeth -- just like the young heroine of the trilogy, who is also a rape survivor.

Lisbeth Salander is an immensely powerful character, a misandrist vigilante with a penchant for black fetish wear and ersatz technology, like the terrifying offspring of Batman and Valerie Solanos. She is so well drawn that one can almost forgive Larsson for having her sleep with the protagonist (an obvious author-insert of the kind normally only found in teenage fan-fiction) for no discernible reason. Salander is smart, she's brave, she always wins, and she won't let anyone tell her what to do. No wonder so many women secretly want to be her.

It is clear that the author of the Millennium franchise did not intend to glamorise violence against women. Unfortunately, it's rather hard to stop the heart racing when rapes and murders are taking place in gorgeous high-definition over a slick soundtrack: part of the purpose of thrillers, after all, is to thrill. Decorating a punchy pseudo-feminist revenge fantasy in the gaudy packaging of crime drama rather muddles Larsson's message."Misogynist violence is appalling," the series seems to whisper; "now here's some more."

However, the real problem with sensationalising misogyny is that misogyny is not sensational. Real misogyny happens every day. The fabric of modern life is sodden with sexism, crusted with a debris of institutional discrimination that looks, from a distance, like part of the pattern. The real world is full of "men who hate women", and most of them are neither psychotic Mob bosses nor corrupt business tycoons with their own private punishment dungeons under the putting green. Most men who hate women express their hatred subtly, unthinkingly. They talk over the heads of their female colleagues. They make sexual comments about women in the street. They expect their wives and girlfriends to take responsibility for housework and to give up their career when their children are born.

Reality check

Most rapists, similarly, are not murderous career sadists who live in flat-pack Ikea torture palaces conveniently rammed with incriminating recording devices. Most rapists are ordinary men who believe that they are entitled, when drunk, angry or horny, to take violent advantage of women who know and trust them.

Equally, most men who see women as objects don't dismember them and stuff them into rucksacks. They visit strip clubs. They watch degrading pornography. If they work, just for instance, in publishing, they might reject a book title that draws attention to violence against women and replace it with one that infantilises the female protagonist and focuses on a trivial feature of her appearance.

Cathartic though revenge fantasies may be, not every woman is a ninja computer hacker with street fighting skills, and fantasies that divide men into sadistic rapists and nice guys obscure the subtle matrix of real-world misogyny. Real misogyny requires a sustained and subtle response. And real sexism, unfortunately, can't always be solved with the judicious application of a Taser and a tattoo gun.

Read Laurie Penny's weekly column in the New Statesman magazine.

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.

This article first appeared in the 06 September 2010 issue of the New Statesman, The Pope on Trial

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How the “conscience” objection for doctors is being used to threaten safe access to abortion

A new parliamentary report seeks to expand how far a doctor’s “conscientious objection” to providing abortion can stretch.

Getting an abortion in the UK is an exercise in hoop-jumping. You have to find a doctor willing to refer you (jump), convince them your case satisfies the conditions of the 1967 Abortion Act (jump), have a second doctor confirm this (jump), and get yourself to a clinic (jump). Given that the 1967 Abortion Act doesn’t apply in Northern Ireland, and provision varies by region depending on doctors’ expertise, jumping all these hoops will involve travelling hundreds of miles and spending hundreds of pounds for many women every year.

That, however, is still considered too much of an easy ride by the politicians and campaigners who’d like to close down women’s right to choose. With no prospect of achieving an end to legal abortion, anti-abortion activists have focused their efforts instead on tightening those hoops and adding a few more, in the hope that some women will get stuck on their way through. So far, they haven’t had any legislative success, but that hasn’t stopped them from trying.

In February 2015, Fiona Bruce tried to add an amendment to the serious crime bill to “make it clear that conducting or procuring an abortion on the grounds that the unborn child is a girl – or a boy (although this practice mainly affects girls) – is illegal”. It was, as the campaign group Abortion Rights (I’m on the executive committee) pointed out, a Trojan horse: using the pretext of a non-existent sex-selection problem, Bruce sought to reclassify the foetus in law as an “unborn child” and, by specifying that “procuring” an abortion should be illegal, implied that women who seek abortions for supposedly “bad” reasons should be criminalised.

Sensibly, Bruce walked back from the latter wording; thankfully, the amendment was defeated anyway. But she hasn’t given up, and now she’s back with a new hoop. Yesterday the All-Party Parliamentary Pro-Life Group, of which Bruce is a member, published its report on freedom of conscience in abortion provision. If the Trojan horse amendment was about restricting the remit of the 1967 Abortion Act, this new approach is about making it harder for women to find healthcare providers who will facilitate terminations at all.

Under the 1967 Act, medical staff can exercise a conscientious objection to involvement in “any treatment authorised by this Act”. The exemption is important – no doctor should be forced to act against their own conscience – and so is the specification that it applies directly to treatment. In 2014, two Glasgow midwives lost a case at the High Court in which they argued for an expanded interpretation that excluded them from delegating, supervising and supporting staff carrying out abortions: the court concluded that treatment meant only direct involvement in the procedure, and in doing so, protected women from incalculable interference in their ability to obtain abortions. This broader reading is a creeping, tendril-ish interpretation that would allow any anti-choice professional, however tangentially employed in the procedure, to obstruct it simply by making scheduling impossible.

Unsurprisingly, the All-Party Parliamentary Pro-Life Group would like this prohibitive reading of the law to stand. Among their recommendations are that “the Government should consider the feasibility of extending conscientious objection to indirect participation” and “no doctor who has a conscientious objection to abortion should be required to refer a patient to another practitioner”.

The general interpretation of the law now is that doctors with a conscientious objection to abortion should refer women to another practitioner who is able to consider the procedure. Without this convention, getting an abortion becomes a labyrinthine task for women, in which any path might turn out unexpectedly to become a dead-end. Retreat and start again. Count the time you have. Think about the other steps you have to get through. Think about how many more dead-ends there might be.

In the end, this will stop women from getting abortions. Not as surely as a ban would, but in its quiet way, it will ensure that some women who do not want to be pregnant are forced to remain pregnant because the first doctor they approach shuts the door on them. And that is immoral. The language of conscientious objection, as employed by the All-Party Parliamentary Pro-Life Group, assumes that morality is an exclusive property of those who object to abortion. This is incorrect.

Every day, practitioners perform abortions for women from the most deeply considered ethical reasons. Their training may well have dealt with this in detail (at UCL, for example, medical students explore the ethics of abortion in a series of seminars that introduce multiple perspectives). They do it because they know that denying women safe, legal abortion forces them to have recourse to unsafe, illegal means. They do it because they recognise that the actual life of a woman carries more weight than the prospective life of a foetus. They do it because they recognise that decisions about how a woman’s body is used are for her to make, and that to force an unwilling woman into maternity is a profound kind of violence.

Practitioners may recuse themselves from certain stages of the process. But an ethical medic does not prevent a woman from accessing the treatment she needs. And for those who can never be reconciled to the morality of abortion, there is a more definitive way out of involvement than conscientious objection: the UK government could simply remove abortion from criminal law, and treat it as healthcare.

There should be no more requirement for two doctors to authorise each procedure. No more unnecessary involvement of doctors in early-term abortions that could be safely overseen by a nurse or midwife. No more demand that women prove they are doing this for the “right” reasons. Just dismantle those hoops, and let women exercise their own consciences in concert with understanding doctors. Morality doesn’t belong solely to the authoritarian right, however much anti-choice campaigners would like that to be true. Matters of right and wrong direct all of us, and when it comes to abortion, the greatest wrong is for a woman to be denied the choice she makes for herself.

Sarah Ditum is a journalist who writes regularly for the Guardian, New Statesman and others. Her website is here.