Can men be feminists?

Men have to be part of feminism, but that doesn't mean they have to run the show.

A couple of days ago on Twitter, the hashtag "MenAgainstRape" started to trend. Some people found this a positive and heartening response to a week where the hashtag "RapeApologist" also got some traction. A week where Todd Akin coined the phrase "legitimate rape", which we must suppose somehow stands in opposition to "illegitimate rape"; a week where Akin’s emergence onto the world stage reminded us that the GOP’s VP candidate actually thinks that the tautologous "forcible rape" is distinct from "rape" (which, unless it’s modified by "forcible" is, what, consensual?); a week where George Galloway, in direct contradiction to English law, claimed that, even if guilty, Assange engaged in nothing worse than "bad sexual etiquette".

Others, however, saw the hashtag as problematic. A typical response was that men being "against rape" should be considered the default position: the need for a hashtag was in itself disheartening. They also felt it demeaned the majority of men, who were, of course "against rape" – who wouldn’t be? It would be like coming out in favour of kicking puppies. Or murder. Of course as a society we are, by default, "against rape".

A more significant problem with this hashtag was that, as was demonstrated by Akin’s desperate back-pedalling, even these new hate-figures are "against rape"; they just reserve the right to dictate, in defiance of law and science, what actually constitutes rape. Since Galloway denied that Assange’s actions fitted in with what "most people" understand by the term "rape", he could also join the "MenAgainstRape" Twitter-fest – why not? He’s surely against rape too – whatever it is he considers that to be.

There was, however, another concern. One that had more far-reaching implications for the feminist movement than that of the hashtag’s assumptions about men or how helpful it was at effecting change against rape apologists. And it could be summed up by quoting the following tweet: "Way to make it about you".

The objection in this case was that men were seeking to cast themselves as the heroes of the piece; the archetypal white knight brigade, sweeping in to save women from the dastardly, and equally mythical, pro-rape army. As far as I’m aware, even MRAs wouldn’t go that far – mostly.

The idea that what the feminist movement needs is men is clearly problematic; as a brilliant Onion piece has demonstrated, there is potential for men’s involvement in feminism to be taken as a sign that women can’t "manage their own movement"; that all we ladies need are some "balls" and we’ll get what we want.  And let’s face it, the situation isn’t helped by articles such as this one which promotes male feminists to the extent that it elevates John Lennon above such inspirational women, and yes, feminists, as Hildegard, Christine de Pizan, and even Mary Wollstonecraft. While the historical ignorance displayed by this piece is such that it exclusively uses examples of men who were born after these aforementioned women died to illustrate its bizarre claim that "men were actually the first feminists in history", it is nevertheless a telling example of a tedious tendency that assumes women lack the wherewithal to initiate their own emancipation.

So perhaps it’s little wonder that certain sections of the feminist movement react negatively towards the concept of men calling themselves feminists, and want them instead to be "feminist allies" or "supporters of feminism"; perhaps it is fair enough to want one place where women are indubitably in charge. Perhaps.

But while this stance is understandable, it is nevertheless problematic. And it does a disservice to the over-arching aims of the feminist movement.

To return to balls (I’m a woman; I’m envious of them), the idea that that’s what feminists need, to "grow a pair", is of course in itself problematic: feminism isn’t about turning us into chicks with dicks; feminism rather seeks to counteract a patriarchal system whereby the bullish behaviour implicated in "having balls" is seen to have a higher value than behaviour which might suggest that terrible "castration complex" that Freud lovingly thought caused us ladies such problems. And this is before we even address the issue that having "balls" in itself should dictate any one type of behaviour. In fact, that tired old phrase, trotted out with such unthinking regularity by so many in the face of someone’s less than "ballsiness", actually serves to exemplify why we as women should not semantically exclude men from the feminist movement.

Rebecca West once famously said that "feminism is the radical notion that women are people". And her choice of the word "people" is crucial. The implication of her statement is that "people" is an over-arching term, encompassing both men and women. That being the case, what’s good for the goose should be good for the gander; or, to put it another way, society should serve "people" rather than genders.

But of course society doesn’t. It serves an elite. And this elite does not include most women – but neither does it include many men. Patriarchy is what makes us think that "balls" are symbols for aggressive go-getting behaviour; patriarchy also makes us thinks that this is the type of behaviour that should be rewarded above all others. And patriarchy also means that any man who doesn’t "live up" to this stereotype is thereby considered a lesser man – perhaps even, horror of horrors, "a girl". Those men who don’t easily fit into the alpha male category have the choice of being taunted as "pussies", or learning to behave in an acceptably "ballsy" way that enables them to keep up with their peers.

This type of attitude, which manifests itself both in David Cameron’s tendency towards intellectual belittlement, or this example of outright aggression, can be seen in its earliest stages in the typical gender bullying that takes place in schools and which moderates so many young girls. I still remember the very school lunchtime where, age 11, I realised that I had to start toning myself down, because the boys weren’t reacting positively to my atypical attitude; it was a demoralising moment that many girls who grew up in a boisterous household with two older brothers will recognise. So I learnt to soften myself, just as many of the boys who objected to my angles no doubt had to toughen themselves up.

This kind of damaging stereotype doesn’t stop at the playground gates. It follows us, men and women, up through school, and out into the office, where men are told to be forthright, to wow with words, while women are told to manipulate these powerful men through flirtation. This attitude rehearses the stereotypical roles that both men and women are expected to play – and too bad for women who lack the desire or ability to flirt. And good luck to men seeking promotion who never learnt to throw their genitally-inflected weight around.

Men have to be part of feminism. They have to be part of feminism because societal gender stereotypes affect them as well as us. They have to be part of feminism because the stereotypes that delimit male behaviour act to further quash female potential. And they have to be part of feminism because, through its narrow worldview that segregates us into two opposing sectors of humanity, patriarchy demeans and diminishes us all.

Those men capable of seeing the damage caused by the current system of patriarchy should be welcomed as feminists. But this doesn’t mean they have to run the show: surely it would be buying into sexist assumptions about male power to assume that they would.

Caroline Criado-Perez has just completed at degree in English Language & Literature at Oxford as a mature student, and is about to start a Masters in Gender at LSE. She is also the founder of the Week Woman blog and tweets as @WeekWoman. This post first appeared on her blog here

Galloway claimed that Assange engaged in nothing worse than "bad sexual etiquette". Photograph: Getty Images

Caroline Criado-Perez is a freelance journalist and feminist campaigner. She is also the co-founder of The Women's Room and tweets as @CCriadoPerez.

Photo: PA
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How the fire at Grenfell Tower exposed the ugly side of the housing boom

Nobody consciously chose to harm those at the bottom of society, but governing in the interests of the rich has done it nonetheless.

It’s impressive, in a way, how quickly we slot horrific new events into the beliefs we already hold. In the Grenfell Tower fire – a tragedy that, at the time of writing, is presumed to have cost 79 people their lives – some on the right saw a story about poorly built high-rise ­social housing. The left, however, saw it as fresh evidence of the damage that seven years of austerity had done to local councils.

The fire does feel symbolic: of the inequality at the heart of one of the richest cities in the world; of a government unable to look after its people. But reality rarely slots neatly into our prefabricated narratives and, although the details are still emerging, it already seems as if many of those assumptions were flawed. Experts’ theories about why the fire spread so fast have focused not on the poor quality of the building’s original 1967 design but on problems with the external cladding installed in a £10m refurbishment last year.

What’s more, while most councils have struggled with years of centrally imposed cuts, the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea (RBKC) isn’t one of them: it is sitting on reserves worth £274m and, in 2014, found enough money to give council-tax payers a rebate of £100 per head. And yet, it seemed, it could not find the cash to pay for sprinklers or the £5,000 extra it would have cost to use a fire-resistant form of cladding. There was austerity in Kensington, but it was the product of conscious choice, not financial pressure.

Voting intention by housing type in the 2017 election

For a whole week, those who survived the fire faced a second indignity: the uncertainty regarding where they could now live. The day after the tragedy, the housing minister Alok Sharma offered his “guarantee that every single family from Grenfell House will be rehoused in the local area”. This was both morally and politically right – but whether he would have made this promise if he had been more than a couple of days into the job seemed an open question, because few in the housing sector believed it was one he could keep. The council already had more than 2,700 households waiting for accommodation (actually quite low for inner London). It was possible to give priority to survivors of the fire, but it would require pushing others yet further down the list.

Nor did it seem likely that the homes on offer likely to be adequate replacements for those that have been lost. “Most people made homeless in London have a very long wait in temporary accommodation,” Kate Webb, the head of policy at the housing charity Shelter, told me. “And even that is going to be outside of their area.” In the immediate future, at least, it seemed likely it would be much easier to find bed and breakfasts in Hounslow than permanent new homes in Kensington.

In the event, the naysayers, myself included, were wrong: on Wednesday afternoon, after the print copy of this article had gone to press, the Evening Standard reported that the Greenfell families would be rehoused in 68 apartments in the luxury Kensington Row development, at a cost of tens of millions of pounds. The deal, specially brokered by the Homes & Communities Agency on behalf of the government, was great news for those families. But it is striking that it took a tragedy and national scandal on the scale of Grenfell to make it happen. And those homes – which were always earmarked as social housing – are now not available to the 2,700 other families on RBKC’'s waiting list. They will not be receiving similar treatment.

It doesn’t feel like this should be difficult: Britain is rich, London richer and RBKC the richest borough of all. Yet the shortage of available homes reflects not just some kind of moral failure on the part of the council but a genuine shortage of property.

Who is building houses?

To be blunt about this: we have not been building enough for a very long time. In the decade after the 2001 census, London’s population grew from 7.3 million to 8.2 million, an increase of roughly 12 per cent. The capital’s total number of homes, however, increased by just 7 per cent. Both trends have continued since, with all sorts of entirely predictable results: higher rents, overcrowded homes, hilarious news items about renters going to see “studio flats” that turned out to be a bed in a shed with a tree growing through the wall.

London’s housing crisis is the biggest and most visible in the country yet it is far from unique. In Oxford, Cambridge, Bristol – in almost any city with a decent jobs market – housing costs have soared in recent years. In other parts of the UK, house prices are lower; but so, unfortunately, are wages. The result is a collapse in property ownership among the under-40s – and, one is tempted to suggest, flatlining national productivity and unexpected enthusiasm for Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour Party.

We know how to fix this (in that we know how to build more homes) but we haven’t, for two main reasons. One is that we have inadvertently constructed a housing market in which nobody has both the interest and the capacity to build more. Private developers bid for land based on the price they believe they will be able to sell new homes there for. As a result, if prices fall, they stop building: look at a graph of housing supply over the past 50 years, and it is abundantly clear that the private sector will never give us the homes we need.

This would be fine if other organisations were allowed to build but they are not. Housing associations are restricted by government finance rules. Councils were explicitly banned from fully replacing homes sold under Right to Buy; today, they lack the money and, after decades of disempowerment, the expertise, too. The 2004 Barker review argued that the UK needed to be building 250,000 new homes every year just to keep up with demand. It feels telling that the last year we managed to do this was 1979.

Total government grant to local councils

The other reason we haven’t built enough homes is that we place such tight restrictions on what we can build. Land-use restrictions such as on the green belts prevent our cities from growing outwards; rules on tall buildings prevent them from growing upwards. These are often legal, but are rigidly enforced by public demand.

Last year, for instance, the Friends of Richmond Park, residents of the west London suburbs, fought a noisy campaign to stop tall buildings from being built 14 miles away in Stratford, in the East End of London, because they would ruin their protected view of St Paul’s Cathedral. The buildings wouldn’t prevent west Londoners from seeing St Paul’s, you understand: the buildings could simply be seen behind it. All these restrictions, all these campaigns, are there to protect something good. Between them, they add up to a shortage of housing that is blighting lives.

It is hard not to notice the parallels between the Grenfell Tower fire and the broader housing crisis. RBKC bosses chose to promote electorally motivating tax cuts for the borough’s largely rich residents over fire safety in its social homes. As a nation, we have consistently chosen to protect the views and house prices of those who have housing over the needs of those who don’t. Nobody consciously chose to harm those at the bottom of society but governing in the interests of the rich has done it nonetheless.

The survivors of the Grenfell Tower disaster were left homeless by the tragedy, and it looked for several days like that they would have nowhere else to go. Both of these things may well have been avoidable. But austerity is not just a policy: it’s a state of mind. 

George Eaton: The Grenfell Tower fire has turned a spotlight on austerity's limits

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.

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