Feminism is not about women, it is about power imbalances

To change Britain for the better, we must dispute the right's depiction that feminism is about "issues".

 

It used to be said a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. Surely then Conservatives claiming to be feminists is like Nemo competing in the Tour de France. But before the left dismisses those on the right who call themselves sisters, we should ask what we are doing to offer women in Britain an alternative and progressive claim to their future. We also have to remind some on our own side of the rewards to all in the pursuit of a more equal society.
 
Having more Tory women MPs in parliament has changed the political landscape. When giving anonymity to those accused of rape was first mooted, we worked across the House to stop the proposals proceeding. Their enthusiasm for this debate is a welcome sign concern for gender inequality is now perceived as mainstream.
 
Yet if we welcome their interest in feminism we also query their interpretation. They actually mean simply talking about women, not equality; hence their warm words are not matched by a commitment to action to address inequality. Tory feminism at its worst is about attracting female voters and liking the Spice Girls, a twisted take on the ethos of the film Working Girl. At is most consistent it reduces feminism to a series of yes/ no questions. Are you pro-life or pro-choice, pro-tax credits or pro-marriage, pro-Top Totty beer or po-faced?
 
Making feminism a 'pick and mix' of issues however important - whether genital mutilation, access to childcare or pornography - disaggregates each of these concerns from the other and the 'big thing' which underpins them all. For progressives, feminism is not about women per se. It is about this 'big thing'; the power imbalances within society that mean 50% of our population struggle to achieve their potential - and the benefits to us all of acting to break these down.
 
These barriers appear in many different and connected ways. Whether economic - the persistent pay gap or lack of women in boardrooms, social - the provision of services to fit a stereotype of what family life should be, cultural - the proliferation of 'lad mags', personal - debates around body image, or even political - the lack of women in decision making. The thread that runs through all these issues is not who is affected, because we all are, but how the exercise of power enables exclusion and its consequences.
 
Seeing these concerns as separate allows Tory feminists to choose what is a 'women's issue' and what is a 'personal matter'. This helps square the circle of an interest in social inequality and being in thrall to free markets. So whilst they speak out about a lack of female TV presenters, they are silent when it comes to the impact of the universal credit on female incomes. It also allows them to discount the variety of women's lives, so ignoring how gender intersects with social class, ethnicity, sexuality and disability. Attempts to argue those on low incomes have different needs or are affected by cuts differently are rejected as disempowering. That the women who do manage to break through the glass ceiling are predominantly from privileged backgrounds reinforces the need for an alternative perspective that recognises we all miss out when anyone is blocked from contributing to our shared future. So whilst we all may say we want women to be free to live the lives they wish, and that sexism is wrong, Conservative feminists offer at best warm words of encouragement - and at worst pass judgment those who struggle in today's society simply aren't trying hard enough
 
Progressive feminism sees the problems and the solutions differently. We understand discrimination comes in a variety of forms and so requires a multitude of actions. That a cartoon woman in a bikini and bunny ears on a beer pump plate denote a society where a woman's appearance is given higher priority than her ability. That this is in turn part of a global culture in which a woman's reproductive capacity is used to objectify her. That 'little things' like airbrushing photographs and ignoring women sports players help make 'big things' like denial of democratic or human rights easier because they help devalue the status of women as equal citizens.
 
We also know our task isn't just to identify these links, but redistribute the power and resources required to overcome these inequalities for the benefit of all. Having started the battle for a fairer society we must continue to pursue it or risk others appropriating it to their own ends. If the right wishes to argue money doesn't matter and all anyone needs is ambition and a sharp suit, the left must fight for the greater prizes to be won when we all work together to break down inequality in its many forms. This is not just about changing a parliament when men still outnumber women 4 to 1. Societies with more equal distributions of power in all its forms are also more prosperous for all their citizens.
 
That means taking on not only those who want to turn the clock back but those who want to go no further - whether on left or right. Our challenge isn't just to promote the timeless case for equality. It is to deal with the outcomes of our '80/20' society where "some" women in a boardroom or Westminster or a narrowing pay gap is taken to be 'enough'. The stubbornness of this ratio in defining our modern gender divide is compounded by those who think they are on the losing end - whether within our party, business leaders or Tory women -- and so seek to check any further moves forward.
 
To tackle this we not only have to highlight existing achievements but also how barriers to equality have moved or mutated -- whether via the impact of the internet, Beyonce, or Arab Spring - even if the power underpinning them remain as ever doggedly defined by gender. In taking on popular culture's depiction of femininity, the growing risks to personal safety or in the resistance to change in workplaces, progressives need to engage and empower a new generation of men and women who may call themselves "feminists" but believe the gains we have made are as far as it goes -- and as good as it gets.
 
In doing so we should work with the Government where we can - and hold them to account for the things they don't want to talk about, including policies that perpetuate, exacerbate or ignore inequality or disregarding the cumulative impact of the cuts on women. Whether reducing access to legal aid for victims of domestic violence, resisting equal pay audits or moves to curb access to abortion, women are paying a heavy price under the Coalition.
 
Progressives understand the value of a society in which women from all walks of life are supported to achieve their potential because of the benefits this will bring to us all. That includes championing how the changes we secured transformed Britain for the better for both men and women and the returns to come from further advances. To secure these we must ensure feminism isn't only for women and dispute the right's depiction it is about 'issues'. As we celebrate International Women's Day we should not calm down, dears. Sisters and brothers who want a more socially just, fairer and prosperous world for all: we only have our bikinis and bunny ears to lose. Girl power indeed.

Stella Creasy is the MP for Walthamstow.

MPs elected in 2010 pose in Westminster Hall. Photograph: Getty Images
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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad