I often get comments from very weird individuals who write things like:

I have never read anything feminist’s has written that I would consider wise, logical, pertinent, reasonable, or scientific. Its statement that it is known for its sound judgment, unerring foresight, and sagacious adaptation of means to ends is no exception. What’s more, it makes a lot of exaggerated claims. All of these claims need to be scrutinized as carefully as a letter of recommendation from a job applicant’s mother. Consider, for example, feminist’s’s claim that everything is happy and fine and good.

These comments are very long, very convoluted, and very unhealthy. Should I let some of them through? Will they entertain? Or am I right in discarding them as garbage? Usually, I simply delete them but things like “feminist’s’s“ seem like something that should be preserved for posterity.

This is how it always ends up being, people:

And Ted had kind of had it. Here he was, he said while coming and going from the kitchen where he was making French toast for the Mattox’s youngest child, earning the household income, helping drive the kids around, pitching in on laundry, housekeeping and cooking, while Kuae, in his eyes, was blithely giving her time away — free — to a volunteer organization. He’s a numbers guy, he said. From his perspective, the numbers pertaining to what he called her at-home “journey of self-discovery” just didn’t add up to be a very good deal for him or any husband whose nonearning wife still expects to split household drudgery 50-50.

At first, you think, “So he isn’t making any money, that’s OK, I make enough, so why force a person to be miserable in a workplace he hates? At least, the house will be clean and there will always be a good meal. It isn’t like I have any time to do this stuff.”

And then a very short time later you discover that you get stuck with the household duties while the person who isn’t making a dime is constantly exhausted from doing absolutely nothing, constantly depressed and feeling underappreciated, and constantly demanding your attention as you skip between work duties, the laundry, and grocery shopping.

A person who doesn’t contribute any money to the family budget yet refuses to do 100% of household work is an exploitative jerk who needs to be sent packing immediately. “Ted” in the linked story is a total tool who needs to wake up and stop letting “Kuae” treating him like garbage. I was just like Ted when I was 20 but at least I clocked on to how idiotic I was being early enough.

Reader Shakti asks an important question about an alternative to the privilege discourse:

Interesting comments: but what words and what framing would you use?

Merely saying, “I get better treatment, in big and small ways, because of who I am” riles. Having somebody say to you, “You get better treatment, in big and small ways, because of who you are” riles. (I’m oversimplifying, obviously).

I believe that the moment we allow the conversation to enter the realm of personal and subjective experiences of who gets treated better or worse, we lose an opportunity for activism. Instead of uniting around our shared rejection of racism (sexism, xenophobia, etc.), we isolate ourselves in the lonely recounting of how we experience our individual identity labels.

I have witnessed a multitude of privilege discussions, and they always end up alienating and antagonizing good, progressive people who could be working together to promote change. Here, for instance, is an example of the privilege discourse needlessly souring the relationship between friends and allies.

Instead of trying to decide whose experiences are more painful – which is a losing proposition anyway – it would make more sense to acknowledge that all of these experiences come from the same unacceptable reality we need to change. And we will only manage to change it if we work together.

“I think on the whole if you could choose your parents. . . we would rather have a mother who felt a sense of guilt – at any rate who felt responsible, and felt that if things went wrong it was probably her fault – we’d rather have that than a mother who immediately turned to an outside thing to explain everything. . . and didn’t take responsibility for anything.”

– Donald Winnicott.

Reader Tim suggested we run a poll to determine where people who come to this blog on a regular basis reside. And what is lovelier than a poll? Not much!

So here it is in the right-hand panel.

Share where you reside (most of the time, if you move around a lot)!

WSJ published a really great article that debunks all of the myths surrounding the need for pregnant women to police what they eat or drink. I made a decision very early on that the rules of how to be pregnant “correctly” would not be a part of my experience and feel very happy that I did so. Of course, if you enjoy the lists and the rules, knock yourself out because this is your pregnancy and it is none of anybody’s business how you manage it. Women who suffer because of the completely baseless restrictions on foods and beverages they can consume while pregnant, however, should read Emily Oster’s article and forget about curtailing their lives needlessly.

One thing that bothered me in this otherwise great article is the author’s insistence on cultivating a public image of herself as a beleaguered Little Red Riding Hood who cannot get anybody to treat her with respect. Oster teaches Economics at the University of Chicago and writes a column for WSJ. I find it very hard to believe that this kind of person would be treated “like a child” just because she was pregnant, would put up with a situation where “there was always someone telling me what to do,” would allow a doctor to give her “a serious scolding” and call her “so fat!”, would agree to be patronized by a guest at her own house, etc.

I’m not nearly the kind of a shark one needs to be to teach Economics at the University of Chicago and write for WSJ. I’m just a quiet literature professor who has a tendency to look like a very angelic Sophomore. Yet I cannot even begin to imagine anybody trying to visit these humiliations upon me. My guess is that Oster is creating this victimized persona in order to make her article more attractive. I can really understand the compulsion to get more readers, but when a brilliant, highly successful woman makes it seem perfectly acceptable to be condescended to and insulted, this sends a very dangerous message about the way it is OK to treat women.

There is this widely held belief that unless a woman positions herself as Little Orphan Annie and whines about her complete and total victimhood in direct proportion to how rich and successful she is, nobody will listen to her. Oster is very good at debunking such mythology, though. I wish she had allowed herself to drop the victimized persona together with the list of pregnancy rules.

Look at the brilliant comment reader Stille has left:

Privilege is still a misleading word for these things. Like other beloved concepts of progressive discourse (the word “empowering” comes to mind) it implies a great shadowy force that strongly influences people’s lives. I find such a unified antagonist implausible and sometimes suspect its main purpose is to create a well-defined enemy that people can use in defining themselves as progressives without doing much (if any) actual work. Such a mighty force cannot be opposed by mere humans, after all.

Is that profound, or what?

I have the best commenters ever. The amount of sheer, undiluted brilliance people share on this blog on a daily basis is scary. And not a single chirpy, “OMG Clarissa I adore you, please write more of the same.”

One thing that upsets me, though, is that I have commenters from every continent except Latin America. It is very sad to be ignored by Hispanics given what I do for a living. But I also suspect I have more Europeans commenting than other bloggers.

For how much longer do we have to put up with the inane blabber about the fictitious “opt-out generation”? The only place it ever existed were the pages of the NYTimes.

An anonymous heroine who has retained a sense of humor in face of true hardship has come up with the following slogan for PUPPPS:

“PUPPPS. It’s the 1% you really don’t want to be in.”

God has punished me for being critical of nurses and is now sending me only the ultra-helpful, ultra-knowledgeable nurses who treat me like I’m their long-lost sister.

God knows that there is no greater punishment than remorse.