The Duchess of Cambridge carrying her own son, rather than getting a nanny to do it. Photo: Getty
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No, the Duchess of Cambridge is not ripping up the royal rule book – but that’s not her fault

Kate has been declared a rebel for daring to carry her own child. What?

Once again, the Duchess of Cambridge has been caught ripping up “the royal rule book”. This time it’s for carrying baby George rather than allowing a nanny to do it. This is really out there, isn’t it? Go Kate! Fuck them, don’t do what they told ya!

I’m old enough to remember when Diana brought that same breath-of-fresh-air sense of rebellion to royal motherhood. It’s as strained and artificial then as it is now. Sure, Kate seems to love motherhood in the same way Diana did, which is nice, but the way the tabloids and glossies try to big this up as a dramatic shift establishment mores is painful. Seriously, your son is cute and I’m glad you don’t hate him but I still want to see a republic asap.

It doesn’t take a great deal of critical though to see how ridiculous the whole Kate the Rebel construct is. Nonetheless, it’s such a common trope – see a woman doing a traditional woman-y thing and present it as something radical – that I’m fast losing the will to live. Baking cakes! Selling sex! Being a stay-at-home mum! Refusing the vote! It’s all totes counter-cultural. Indeed, if you judge by the cover of Closer and Heat, just being a woman who dares to have a body is pretty darn edgy. You left the house with thighs like that? High five, sister!

Now I’ve nothing against choice or rebellion or baking cakes. But let’s be honest: this is bullshit. We are women! We are still oppressed as women! We remain mere cogs in the patriarchal machine so can we please stop pretending we’re each our own personal Joan of Arc?

The feminism of the 1970s and 1980s – the first feminism I encountered – proposed that women need be defined neither by motherhood nor by the male sexual gaze. Good idea, right? Yet the opportunity not to be defined in this way has never really come along, although we’ve had so much time to think it over – so much time in which it’s been claimed by those who withhold it that we do have choice and agency – that we almost believe the opportunity came and went. It’s a kind of false memory syndrome. Oh yes, we thought about doing things differently but look, thirty years down the line and we’re not! Must’ve chosen this route. But come on: we just didn’t.

To make matters worse, if you hold the view that previous feminist battles are over (and that old feminism won) then you could argue that a rejection of the things previous feminists fought for is a rejection of the status quo. I mean, it’s not a very good argument, but it’s there every time a new rebel feminist comes out the likes of this (from a Frisky article by Jessica Wakeman):

Feminists need to accept the fact that some people, many of them women, feel happier and more fulfilled in a domestic arena than they are by office culture.

Or this (from Jodie Marsh):

I earn money from lads mags. I'm in control. I'm holding the power. I'm a feminist, a modern day one (the very best kind)

Woo-hoo! Go you! Tear up the Feminist Rule Book, why don’t you? It’s almost like equality actually happened!

The trouble with all this is, if it’s not a real choice – if there’s not an actual rule book but you’re just selling the same old shit back to yourself, tied up in an empowerment bow – you might be happy as an individual but the overall conditions are likely to be just as woeful as they were before. It’s not that your choice is wrong, it’s that it was non-existent. Rather than kicking back against a now-irrelevant feminist orthodoxy you’re fighting a straw man while your life remains defined by someone else’s needs.  You’re Kate and Diana, bravely hugging your children like the revolution depended on it, all the while propping up the same old thieving establishment with your free spirit PR. This is not to say that women such as Marsh are unhappy or that they don’t, as individuals, have control over their lives. It’s to say that, when it comes to making a broader point about “modern day” feminism, they’re talking utter bollocks.

If some feminists criticise pornography or traditional gender roles it’s not because they see nudity or stay-at-home motherhood as inherently wrong. It’s not because feminism is now so mainstream that glamour models and SAHMs are outsiders who scare the life out of your traditional women’s libber. Glamour models and SAHMs are routinely undermined and deserve better treatment. But outsiders? Hell, no. They’re right at the centre of things.

Take stay-at-home mothers, for instance (by which I mean normal, not royal, ones). The presumption that women take on the majority of unpaid domestic work is fundamental to how capitalist patriarchy functions. What stay-at-home mothers experience in return is not rejection, but a shocking lack of appreciation. This is not accidental. Capitalist patriarchy does it because it can and it will keep on doing it as long as “rebellion” is pitched as standing up to those nasty careerist feminists who don’t see what a brilliant job you do, unlike, say, Peter Hitchens in the Daily Mail. This isn’t rebellion against the feminist orthodoxy. It’s pissing in the wind (or maybe even pissing with it).

In The End of Equality Beatrix Campbell explains what a real domestic revolution would consider:

Nowhere have men en masse been persuaded to share power, time, money, resources and respect equally with women. […] Global fiscal policies do not audit the unpaid work that makes the world go round: the un-priced and priceless work of care, estimated at between one-third and half of GDP. Feminist scholars Sue Himmelweit and Hilary Land spell it out: to treat care as just a cost, to withdraw support from care is the ‘transfer of resources (unpaid labour) from women to relieve taxpayers, disproportionately men’.

To change this would not depend on some abstract idea of inclusion. It’s about real, measurable things: time and money. It’s not about representation nor about how caring work is marketed to the masses; it’s about what we take from the women who do it and how they are rewarded in return. It’s not about patting women on the head or flattering their egos by telling them they’re so damn edgy that prudish, anti-maternal old-style feminism can’t cope. It’s about finally taking a deep breath and saying “stop stealing my stuff!”

Of course, it’s very hard to do this when we’re constantly told that we’re already in the midst of a great cultural free-for-all. A member of the royal family carries her own baby! A woman with big tits gets them out for the lads! Choose your friends, choose your low-paid job, choose your hair-removal method! Can things GET any more radical?

Not to be dismissive of Rebel Kate’s efforts, but I’d like to think they could.

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.

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Charlottesville: a town haunted by the far right

Locals fear a bitter far right will return.

On 12 August, a car ploughed down pedestrians in the street where I used to buy my pecan pies. I had recently returned to London from Charlottesville, Virginia – the scene of what appears to have been an act of white supremacist terrorism – having worked and taught at the university there for four years. While I unpacked boxes of books, the streets I knew so well were full of hate and fire.

The horror began on the evening of Friday 11 August, when thugs with torches marched across the “Lawn”. Running through the heart of the university, this is where, each Halloween, children don ghoulish costumes and trick-or-treat delighted and generous fourth-year undergraduates.

But there were true monsters there that night. They took their stand on the steps of the neoclassical Rotunda – the site of graduation – to face down a congregation about to spill out of St Paul’s Episcopal opposite.

Then, on Saturday morning, a teeming mass of different groups gathered in Emancipation Park (formerly Lee Park), where my toddler ran through splash pads in the summer.

We knew it was coming. Some of the groups were at previous events in Charlottesville’s “summer of hate”. Ever since a permit was granted for the “Unite the Right” march, we feared that this would be a tipping point. I am unsure whether I should have been there, or whether I was wise to stay away.

The truth is that this had nothing to do with Charlottesville – and everything to do with it. From one perspective, our small, sleepy university town near the Blue Ridge Mountains was the victim of a showdown between out-of-towners. The fighting was largely not between local neo-Nazis and African Americans, or their white neighbours, for that matter. It was between neo-Nazis from far afield – James Alex Fields, Jr, accused of being the driver of the lethal Dodge Challenger, was born in Kentucky and lives in Ohio – and outside groups such as “Antifa” (anti-fascist). It was a foreign culture that was foisted upon the city.

Charlottesville is to the American east coast what Berkeley is to the west: a bastion of liberalism and political correctness, supportive of the kind of social change that the alt-right despises. Just off camera in the national newsfeeds was a banner hung from the public  library at the entrance of Emancipation Park, reading: “Proud of diversity”.

I heard more snippets of information as events unfolded. The counter-protesters began the day by drawing on the strength of the black church. A 6am prayer meeting at our local church, First Baptist on Main (the only church in Charlottesville where all races worshipped together before the Civil War), set the tone for the non-violent opposition.

The preacher told the congregation: “We can’t hate these brothers. They have a twisted ideology and they are deeply mistaken in their claim to follow Christ, but they are still our brothers.” Then he introduced the hymns. “The resistance of black people to oppression has only been kept alive through music.”

The congregation exited on to Main Street, opposite my old butcher JM Stock Provisions, and walked down to the statue of Meriwether Lewis and William Clark – the early 19th-century Bear Grylls types who explored the west. They went past Feast! – the delicacy market where we used to spend our Saturday mornings – and on to the dreamy downtown mall where my wife and I strolled on summer evenings and ate southern-fried chicken at the Whiskey Jar.

The permit for the “protest” was noon to 5pm but violence erupted earlier. Between 10.30am and 12pm, the white supremacists, protected by a paramilitary guard, attacked their opponents. As the skirmishes intensified, police were forced to encircle the clashing groups and created, in effect, a bizarre zone of “acceptable” violence. Until the governor declared a state of emergency, grown men threw bottles of piss at each other.

At noon, the crowd was dispersed and the protesters spilled out into the side streets. This was when the riot climaxed with the horrific death of the 32-year-old Heather Heyer. Throughout Saturday afternoon and evening, the far-right groups marauded the suburbs while residents locked their doors and closed their blinds.

I sat in London late into the night as information and prayer requests trickled through. “There are roughly 1,000 Nazis/KKK/alt-right/southern nationalists still around – in a city of 50,000 residents. If you’re the praying type, keep it up.”

No one in Charlottesville is in any doubt as to how this atrocity became possible. Donald Trump has brought these sects to group consciousness. They have risen above their infighting to articulate a common ground, transcending the bickering that mercifully held them back in the past.

In the immediate aftermath, there is clarity as well as fury. My colleague Charles Mathewes, a theologian and historian, remarked: “I still cannot believe we have to fight Nazis – real, actual, swastika-flag-waving, be-uniformed, gun-toting Nazis, along with armed, explicit racists, white supremacists and KKK members. I mean, was the 20th century simply forgotten?”

There is also a sense of foreboding, because the overwhelming feeling with which the enemy left was not triumph but bitterness. Their permit had been to protest from noon to 5pm. They terrorised a town with their chants of “Blood and soil!” but their free speech was apparently not heard. Their safe space, they claim, was not protected.

The next day, the organiser of the march, Jason Kessler, held a press conference to air his grievances. The fear is that the indignant white supremacists will be back in greater force to press their rights.

If that happens, there is one certainty. At one point during the dawn service at First Baptist, a black woman took the stand. “Our people have been oppressed for 400 years,” she said. “What we have learned is that the only weapon which wins the war is love.”

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear