We were at a wedding recently, my person and I. Rare occasion this, so I do my best to savour every moment; which is easy since weddings are notorious for drawing out emotion from even the toughest of gargoyles.
A beautiful afternoon, weather-willing, surroundings in perfect harmony: excitement all-round. Perfect settings to await an extremely late bridal party – something about the chirping birds and forgivable sunshine, made it a little worth the wait.
As the hours crawl by, the guests increase; our circle of ‘friends’ gets larger. Light conversations gain weight as the hunger pangs become less controllable. If there is anything that I’ve learnt of myself – it is that when trying to balance cordial politeness and my ever-fading patience, I need to pay extra attention to my sarcasm (the level of impatience is directly proportionate to the amount of humorous vile spewed). Naturally, the love affair between art and politics means that they are never too far apart in talks. As people start chiming in, there is noticeably more ‘ebb’ than ‘flow’ as passion takes the stage.
At this point, my smile is fading and I’m trying to reign myself in. So many opinions – so few nods to give. I knew it was coming; it’s terrible to say that I’m always waiting for it. “Oh, please don’t – I beg you. Don’t bring up the topic of…”: femininity. Now, I’m always conscious, maybe sensitive, to any mentions of women or women of colour – being the physiology the heavens chose for me as a babe.
I am aware of my demographic and the connotations, conversations around it. “I want to help women out!”, someone says. It starts off simply – the sweet still palatable; but grows bitter and tough as it goes down. I scout my surroundings and try to meet the eyes of the four other women in the circle; whom have shared nothing but their silent giggles this entire time. But surely this is their moment – I cannot be the only one feeling ‘hot under the collar’ about the direction of these opinions. Surely these beautiful, accomplished women have something to say?
After a short internal wrestling match, my consciousness decides that I’ve easily participated in the greater part of this debate – why stop now? After a sigh that might have felt more like a snarl: I barked. And kept barking. I was quickly branded and dressed in a label I’d never heard before: “Toxic feminism”.
Described by the web as a response by Men’s Activists to the more infamous Toxic Masculinity (a term used to refer to the stereotypically masculine gender roles that serve to create inequality). Of course, it occurred to me that my efforts to air my views from a women’s perspective could only be described by the men in my company, as divisive and counterproductive.
As unnerving as this was, what bothered me the most was that my fellow women had all but ‘left’ the conversation.
A little lonely out on that ledge, Paballo?
As the women tried to ignore my nonverbal pleas, I realised that it may not be considered feminine to discuss feminism amongst men. Despite my efforts to nip this in the bud; the locomotive was already running at full speed. I tried to soften my approach with laughter, but my punchlines were too strong.
The wedding was lovely, and I thought I’d managed to redeem myself by ‘keeping it light’ for the rest of the evening, until an acquaintance raised his fist in the air and said: “You know, I’ve always wanted a female president. Amandla!”. I rolled my eyes and threw his comment in the box, to be reviewed later. As anxiety-ridden people like me do; I replayed the negative, blow by blow.
What bothered me the most is that every time I find myself backed into a corner by a man’s account of a woman’s experience; I try to play teacher. It saddens me that I need to. It confuses me that I almost always feel alone. It frightens me that the women who fearlessly hashtag their pride in the digital realm; are more comfortable hiding behind their men’s coat tails.
Of course, in my pacing and panting – I find my words and ask my fiancé if I overstepped my bounds. He smiles, shrugs and says: “Who would you be if you didn’t?”. I would but cannot argue with that.