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Bullsh*t that I don’t, in fact, have to rise above.

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You know what kills me? It kills me when people tell me I need to just rise above the general levels of doucherie with which I am confronted. That I need to be the bigger, better person. That I need to not confirm whatever asinine stereotype this asshole has about feminist women. That it is somehow my responsibility to be ‘nice,’ to get my revenge by ignoring them, by living well, by sitting down, shutting up and smiling.

This is true in politics as in life. Just sit back and sip your coffee and let the ranters rant! They shall know our veracity by our quietude or something.

But I’m angry. I’m angry that we are on the eve of electing a bunch of tea partiers who couldn’t hate women more if they tried. I’m SO angry that these assholes are controlling the conversation. And the damn burden shouldn’t be on me to rise above.

It shouldn’t be on the minority and lady voters who will no doubt be harassed by teabaggers “concerned” about “voter fraud” by which they mean “concerned about brown people and ladies not voting for the power of the rich old white guys,” to rise the fuck above.

The onus shouldn’t be on me to rise above the assholes, the assholes should be shamed into rising to my level.

This, ultimately is the power structure that I want to dismantle. The one where the wronged party has to fight a fight where the goalposts are always moving because if you get angry you are clearly the satanic threat that they always knew you were, and fuck you, shut up I’m not a sexist racist asshole because why do you hate rich Christian white dudes so much!? Waaaaaahhhh!!

The onus shouldn’t be on me to ignore/not be frightened by/ definitely do not retaliate at people bringing loaded guns to townhall meetings and stomping on peaceful protesters. The sick sad truth is that no matter what, I can’t bring the fight up to my level.

So I shouldn’t have to fucking carry that weight.

I’m not even talking about fighting dirty– I don’t think that we need to fight dirty. I think we need to fight back with the plain truth.

And the next time someone tells me to just ignore them, to just brush it off, to not fucking worry about the crushing weight of the kyriarchy because hey I am so much better than that, my answer will be

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About Pepper

Pepper Lee Hales is a twenty something, married, vicious feminist liberal. She likes dogs, cats, spiders, epistemics and cake.

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