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Laurie Penny on Rush Limbaugh: a vicious clown

When somebody is paid to say the worst possible thing, it allows someone else to say the next worst.

Before I arrived in the United States, I thought that Rush Limbaugh was a special American legend, like the headless horseman, or meritocracy.

Before this week, I thought the real Rush Limbaugh -- bile-spitting Conservative radio wingnut, professional despiser of women, workers and minorities and peddler of frothing crypto-fascist hatespeech to millions of listeners -- had long ago imploded under the pressure of his own hot air.

I thought of Limbaugh as a fairytale, the sort that liberal parents use to frighten their children into eating up all their alfalfa. It turns out that the beast is alive and embarrassing Republicans everywhere by saying what they really think about women in plain, paranoid English.

This week, Limbaugh launched a four-day attack on Georgetown law student Sandra Fluke, who testified before Congress to the effect that all Americans should have the right to affordable birth control, even if their bosses object to it on religious grounds.

Limbaugh called her a slut and a prostitute and wondered aloud how she could walk after all the sex she must be having.

The torrent of misogynist abuse was vile enough that advertisers scrambled to pull funding from Limbaugh's show, convinced by many of the millions of Americans who believe that no woman should be ashamed of wanting to live in the 21st century that the ultra-right pundit had finally "gone too far".

Too far, however is where Limbaugh is paid to go -- he is a cartoon monster, and that's precisely what makes him so dangerous. The trouble with cartoon monsters is that noone quite believes they're real.

Pundits as viciously hysterical as Rush Limbaugh -- and I do mean literally hysterical, "womb-crazy", driven spitting nuts by the notion of women's icky, sticky bodies becoming a known and open part of the political process -- pundits like that have only one real political function. They are decoys. they make a loud noise and a dirty flash and draw our eyes slightly to the right of where the real attack is coming from.

This week, as American right-wingers rushed to disavow the tone of Limbaugh's attack, they have barely been pulled up for backing up its substance. Commentators like Monica Charen got clean away with saying that Limbaugh's "choice of words was crude but that I certainly understood and sympathized with the point he was making."

The left has been drawn into defending the personal attack on Fluke's reputation -- and not the political attack on millions of American women in the anti-contraceptive, anti-sex backlash which is infecting public discourse on both sides of the Atlantic.

When somebody is paid to say the worst possible thing, it allows someone else to say the next worst thing and sound sane.

That's the real danger here, for women and for everyone else who believes in real sexual equality. In an apology so half-arsed it needed a special chair made for it at the misogyny table, Limbaugh said that he had not meant "a personal attack" on Ms Fluke, but noted that " I personally do not agree that American citizens should pay for these social activities."

By "social activities", he means women having sex without fear of pregnancy, and by "pay for", he means "allow to continue without a government crackdown".

Limbaugh's essential point -- that women and girls who want the right to affordable contraception are prostitutes, that women who use contraception are sluts who should be ashamed of themselves -- remains largely unchallenged.

Americans call this a "war on women", but only one side appears to be putting up a fight.

 

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

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How Ireland is reinventing itself as the best small progressive country in the world

Even the abortion rights campaigners have found new momentum. 

At the beginning of March, the Irish government formally recognised Travellers as "a distinct ethnic group within the Irish nation". Cheers broke out in the chamber and MPs stood and applauded the Traveller activists who had packed into the viewing gallery.

On the street outside and in a hotel across the road, many more Travellers had gathered to witness the historic moment of recognition, for which the community has campaigned for decades.

Although the change confers no tangible additional benefits, it is a major step forward for Ireland’s 40,000 travellers and for the whole country which, for so long, has treated this ethnic community with prejudice and contempt.

To understand why this campaign has now succeeded, after many years of effort, we need to look at two key events in 2015.

In May of that year, Ireland famously became the first country in the world to introduce same-sex marriage by popular vote and, suddenly, became the progressive darling of the world. This was a new feeling for Irish people - we’re used to being regularly reminded that our country is hopelessly religious and socially conservative - and politicians developed a taste for it.

They quite liked the idea of being "the best small country in the world" for progressive social reform.

Then, five months later, early in the morning on 10 October, a fire broke out in a ramshackle temporary halting site on the outskirts of Dublin. Ten people from two Traveller families died, five of them children.

Traveller activists demanded that the disaster be treated as a turning point, highlighting that families around the country were living in similar appalling conditions, neglected by local and national government.

Their statements deliberately tapped into the progressive momentum created by the marriage referendum, weaving Travellers’ rights into the narrative of the new, more inclusive Ireland. And it resonated. Politicians grasped that - moral arguments aside - they had an opportunity to show off their progressive credentials once again, to make a symbolic change that means a lot to one small community, but has no cost for the population at large.

Indeed, both Traveller and LGBTQ activists have identified a powerful campaigning narrative, one that’s built on a positive idea of a richer Ireland, not on the dark abuses of the past.

"We’re building a new, progressive, compassionate Ireland," the message goes. "And you need to be part of it."

But the greatest test of this message is still ahead: with the campaign to repeal the eighth amendment, recognise women’s bodily autonomy and provide basic abortion services. Despite other progressive advances, this is an issue that most mainstream politicians are too afraid to touch.

And it is difficult to put a positive spin on abortion rights, in a country where the religious pro-life narrative remains immensely powerful. It’s easy to build an inspiring ad campaign around couples getting married, or a minority community celebrating its culture. It’s a lot harder to create an inspiring campaign about basic healthcare, even before you bring in painful issues like rape or fatal foetal abnormality.

That said, the Repeal campaign has made extraordinary strides in the last year or two, learning the lessons of the marriage equality campaign in particular. You can now buy impressively stylish sweatshirts and button badges showing your support for repeal. Artists, musicians, comedians and writers are using their voices and work to support the campaign, slowly turning it into a rich cultural movement.

And after decades of profound silence, more and more people are coming forward to tell their personal stories, and to paint a picture of a warmer society, in which women’s choices are respected and understood.

They’re building a new, progressive, compassionate Ireland. And pretty soon, the mainstream will want to be part of it.

Niamh Ní Mhaoileoin is the editor of Left Foot Forward.