Why is no one challenging the misogyny on Celebrity Big Brother?

The revelation that Jim Davidson, Evander Holyfield and Dappy from N-Dubz are acting like misogynists is hardly shocking. The depressing and dispiriting thing is how ordinary and everyday their attitudes are, and how little their behaviour was challenged.

I’ll get the embarrassing confession out of the way quickly – I have been watching Celebrity Big Brother. I’ve been ill! I’ve had the flu! But there’s no excuse. I started watching in the hope of some Liz Jones-generated outrage, which predictably hasn’t materialised. I kept watching after getting hooked on a love triangle between some bloke out of Blue, a glamour model and an actress. But I’m stopping watching now. The hatred and aggression towards women from the male housemates has reached despair-for-humanity levels, and I can’t take it any more.

I know what you’re thinking – you’re watching Big Brother, and you’re surprised that it’s making you despair for humanity? But hear me out. What’s making me despair is not the shocking revelation that Jim Davidson, Evander Holyfield and Dappy from N-Dubz are misogynists. The depressing and dispiriting thing is how ordinary and everyday their attitudes are, so much so that their chauvinistic beliefs and harassing behaviour can pass by without challenge or comment, either from their fellow housemates, or from the show’s producers.

The main target of their hostility is 26-year-old Luisa Zissman, cupcake entrepreneur and runner-up in last year’s series of The Apprentice. Perhaps she is a very difficult person to live with, although that hasn’t come across. Her main crime, it would appear, is having the audacity to be young, beautiful and self-confident, and to admit to having a healthy and active sex life. She has been very candid and open about her bisexuality and her enjoyment of group sex, and although I’ll admit to finding people who go on and on about all the wild sex they are having a little bit tedious, that’s as far as my judgment goes. In the Big Brother house, however, her sex life is a weapon to be wielded against her, a tool to discredit her in disagreements.

 

In Saturday night’s episode, Dappy – a man who deliberately leaked a photograph of his genitals to promote his own career – followed Luisa around the house, shouting at her that she is “dirty, disgusting, loose”, that she is a slag and a whore, that her daughter should be ashamed of her. He proclaimed loudly and surely that such things are different for men than for women; that while a man who sleeps with five women is a pig, a woman who sleeps with five men is a slag, and “I would rather be a pig than a slag”. Despite Luisa’s clear, calm, but obviously distressed pleas for him to walk away and leave her alone, he followed her from room to room, repeating his sexist tirade, and encouraging bystanders to join in the denunciation. Meanwhile, Evander Holyfield mocked Luisa and her friend Jasmine for thinking there could ever be such thing as equality between the sexes. Jim Davidson apportioned fifty per cent of the blame for the abuse on to Luisa herself – something he later explained by the fact that “I’m a male chauvinist pig”. So that’s alright then. I had assumed he was a nasty, bullying woman-hater, but it turns out he’s just one of those loveable male chauvinist pigs you used to hear about it.

The sexist attitudes held by Dappy and his allies don’t surprise me, and nor does his aggressive and harassing manner of expressing them. But what shocked and disturbed me was that nobody intervened. The rest of the housemates were studiously silent, and when pushed to comment, were keen to interpret it as an argument where blame lay equally on both sides. And if the programme-makers noticed the sexism and harassment that was going on, they didn’t share their concern with the viewers. A few days earlier, Evander Holyfield made some pronouncements about homosexuality being abnormal and like a disability – comments which rightly saw him quickly and publicly rebuked by the show’s producers, and which may result in an Ofcom investigation. It is striking that the public expression of one category of morally reprehensible views is so unacceptable that the programme-makers are forced into condemnation; but when the target of your views is women, it is unlikely that anyone will even notice. You can jokingly and self-deprecatingly make reference to your sexism, as Davidson has done, and still be cheered by the crowds assembled outside.

We know that the Big Brother house is rarely a hotbed of liberal, progressive thought. But the “Jade Goody Big Brother racism row”, as it is now officially known, prompted an important debate and a great deal of national introspection about race relations. The individuals at the centre of those events had to be carefully ferreted away from the crowds and the cameras, while the conversation about what this means about our society and our culture dominated the media. As I watched Saturday evening’s episode, what frustrated me most was not the sexist behaviour I was watching, but the certain knowledge that the hatred towards women being expressed in there isn’t going to trigger any national soul-searching about societal misogyny. And not just because I was the only one watching.

 

Last year's Apprentice runner-up Luisa Zissman has been the main target of the CBB misogyny. Photo: Getty

Rebecca Reilly-Cooper is a lecturer in Political Theory at the University of Warwick. She tweets as @boodleoops.

Show Hide image

A new BBC program allows us to watch couples undertake mediation

Mr v Mrs: Call the Mediator is a rather astonishing series - and it's up to the viewer to provide judgement.

Somewhere in Epsom, Surrey, a separated couple, Sue and Peter, are trying with the help of a family mediator to sort out their financial situation. It’s a complicated business. Long ago, when she was in her twenties, Sue lived with a man called Bernard, a partner in the accountancy firm where she worked as a clerk. Bernard, though, was 25 years her senior, and because he already had three children the relationship seemed to have no future. Sue wanted a family of her own, and so she left him for his colleague Peter, whom she married in 1982. In 2015, however, she fell out of love with Peter. One morning in January, she cleaned the house, made a casserole for him and the two of her  three adult sons still living at home, and scarpered back to Bernard.

You wouldn’t call Bernard a Svengali. He is soon to be 80; his major pleasures in life appear to be golf and mah-jong. But he does play a role in all this. Every offer Peter makes, Sue takes home to Bernard, who then goes through the small print. If he sounds gleeful at what he regards as Peter’s pitiful idea of a settlement, she seems not to notice. But then, Sue, a housewife, seems not to notice anything much, least of all that the well-off Bernard insists he can’t keep her, financially speaking – never mind that, come lunchtime, it’s she who’s there in his well-appointed kitchen, dutifully dotting Worcestershire sauce on molten slices of Cheddar. Is Bernard taking his revenge on ­Peter for having nicked the woman he loved all those years ago? Or does he genuinely care only on grounds of fairness that everything is split 50:50? You decide!

I’m not joking: you really do. The BBC’s rather astonishing three-part series Mr v Mrs: Call the Mediator (Tuesdays, 9pm) offers no judgement in the matter of Peter and Sue, or any of the other couples it features. In this, it reflects the mediators, whose sanguine exteriors I find quite disturbing.

“You’ve had some intimacy, yes?” said Judith, a mediator working in King’s Cross, as a woman called Nichola complained that her ex, Martin, had broken into her flat and begged her for sex, an act that required her to have a “full health check” afterwards (post-coitus, she discovered he had joined an internet dating site). Nichola didn’t answer the question, choosing instead to stare at Judith’s earrings (dangly earrings appear to be a requirement for jobs with the Family Mediation service). Meanwhile, Martin walked out, fed up of Nichola’s “snidey remarks”. Another woman, Victoria, had agreed to mediation only if she and her ex-husband could sit in separate rooms; their mediator, Irene, had to shuttle between them every 15 minutes. How the mediators keep their mouth shut when people are behaving like this, I have no idea. To the long list of jobs I can never do, I must add another.

Everything about this documentary series is eye-popping, though that doesn’t mean I’ve much appetite for it. Some people descend into snarling madness when they split up; their hurt, to which they cling as if to a soft toy, makes rational thought all but impossible, and it is horrible to see. I was mildly surprised that National Family Mediation allowed the BBC access, but I suppose they’re only hoping to encourage more people to sign up, the better to avoid expensive court battles. What is far more astonishing is that these couples were willing to be filmed as they yelled and cried and exposed their most intimate flaws and secrets. Why did they do it?

Jason, who sends his ex-wife “helpful” web links mansplaining how a child’s teeth should be cleaned; Nichola, who won’t even talk to her husband when he delivers their small sons back to her (they must run in the dark from his car to the stairwell of her flat); Sue, whose mediation, thanks to Bernard, drags on for three months before she accepts Peter’s offer: I can’t think that any of them is a bad or cruel person. In their misery, however, they seem so. Lots of us have been there. But when things improve, we get to look back in horror, to gaze wonderingly at the sickness that then took hold. For these couples, it’s all preserved for posterity: the meanness, the futility, the mind-turning hate. 

Rachel Cooke trained as a reporter on The Sunday Times. She is now a writer at The Observer. In the 2006 British Press Awards, she was named Interviewer of the Year.

This article first appeared in the 23 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Divided Britain