The meeting was every bit as awful as I expected it to be, but there was no nay saying my friend Glenda.
“The speaker is supposed to be absolutely fabulous. You’re coming”
It was held somewhere in the city. If I remember correctly a small room in an older building in Russell Street. Don’t expect me to remember either the name of the talk or of the speaker. All I remember is that it was as turgid and as banal as I expected it to be. It was a talk about women’s oppression in a patriarchal society.
We’re talking the early 1970s.
Don’t get me wrong. I have a great deal of respect for women, (and men) who have fought the good fight. In that I include my mother and grandmother. Both lived their own life unencumbered by current social mores; both adhered strictly to universal moral ones. But that’s another story.
Back to the meeting. There were very few women present. All listened respectfully to the speaker, and asked loaded questions to which everyone knew the answer. The mingling and coffee which followed was not dissimilar to a Mississippi religious gathering. It oozed the certainty that one belonged to the virtuous circle.
““Aren’t you glad you came?” Glenda asked me, but before I could answer she joined the group of acolytes surrounding the speaker.
I looked around the room. The speaker had covered the walls with photos of modern icons such as Germaine Greer and photos of recent demonstrations. Some were enlarged, some were presented as a collage. Amongst them was the famous photo of Emmeline Pankhurst being literally carried away by a policeman. There were suited men beside her and more behind.
“The speaker is supposed to be absolutely fabulous. You’re coming”
It was held somewhere in the city. If I remember correctly a small room in an older building in Russell Street. Don’t expect me to remember either the name of the talk or of the speaker. All I remember is that it was as turgid and as banal as I expected it to be. It was a talk about women’s oppression in a patriarchal society.
We’re talking the early 1970s.
Don’t get me wrong. I have a great deal of respect for women, (and men) who have fought the good fight. In that I include my mother and grandmother. Both lived their own life unencumbered by current social mores; both adhered strictly to universal moral ones. But that’s another story.
Back to the meeting. There were very few women present. All listened respectfully to the speaker, and asked loaded questions to which everyone knew the answer. The mingling and coffee which followed was not dissimilar to a Mississippi religious gathering. It oozed the certainty that one belonged to the virtuous circle.
““Aren’t you glad you came?” Glenda asked me, but before I could answer she joined the group of acolytes surrounding the speaker.
I looked around the room. The speaker had covered the walls with photos of modern icons such as Germaine Greer and photos of recent demonstrations. Some were enlarged, some were presented as a collage. Amongst them was the famous photo of Emmeline Pankhurst being literally carried away by a policeman. There were suited men beside her and more behind.
Two women were discussing the photo.
“Poor woman. She looks terrified, doesn’t she?”
“She was probably terrified of her husband, and of ‘what people would say’.”
The conversation continued in this vein. Their photo was that of a meek and mild woman, who being undoubtedly under the thumb of her husband and of public opinion, regretted her action. They were both indescribably patronising.
Irritated beyond belief, I walked away. How could someone call themselves a feminist, but be completely ignorant, and arrogant, about feminist trailblazers.
Today I would probably (uninvited) join the conversation and point out who the portrait represented. I would do it for the joy of sharing knowledge, not to show off. Far from being bunk, history gives us a third dimension. Or as one of my customers once put it “Knowledge is not a heavy burden”
This for me is one of the horrors of the 21st century. All knowledge must be monetized, art for art’s sake is an indulgence we can’t afford, so too serendipitous research.
My response to this argument is: who remembers Da Vinci’s accountant?
Delfina Manor
May 2024
“Poor woman. She looks terrified, doesn’t she?”
“She was probably terrified of her husband, and of ‘what people would say’.”
The conversation continued in this vein. Their photo was that of a meek and mild woman, who being undoubtedly under the thumb of her husband and of public opinion, regretted her action. They were both indescribably patronising.
Irritated beyond belief, I walked away. How could someone call themselves a feminist, but be completely ignorant, and arrogant, about feminist trailblazers.
Today I would probably (uninvited) join the conversation and point out who the portrait represented. I would do it for the joy of sharing knowledge, not to show off. Far from being bunk, history gives us a third dimension. Or as one of my customers once put it “Knowledge is not a heavy burden”
This for me is one of the horrors of the 21st century. All knowledge must be monetized, art for art’s sake is an indulgence we can’t afford, so too serendipitous research.
My response to this argument is: who remembers Da Vinci’s accountant?
Delfina Manor
May 2024
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