When the Nottingham Women’s Corner event was announced by Kellie-Jay Keen (KJK), I started planning my speech. I wanted to talk about my life’s experience, and to state uncompromisingly, why I was in this fight against the erosion of women’s rights and why I stand up for the protection of children against the dangerous ideology of gender identity.
Once I’d finished writing the speech, I backtracked and decided that certain aspects of what I wanted to say about the divisions within feminism were so incendiary that they risked causing greater divides, rather than calling out existing divides in order to try to fix them. I’d gone off on a tangent and I was dissatisfied with myself. I was guilty of ranting.
On the morning of the event I woke up and decided that it was entirely likely that I might ad lib a speech if the attendance seemed low due to the forecasted bad weather. I mean, what sane person would travel to an event to stand out in the terrible torrential rain that was being predicted? Thankfully, I have never claimed sanity, so I was going anyway!
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m rarely short of things to say, and this particular subject matter can get my vocal chords chirping quicker than any other subject matter ever has. What’s more is that my passion for the subject matter, i.e., the protection of women and children, means that I don’t really struggle with getting fired up and vocal.
On the evening of Friday 19th November, a group of women from the Northern RadFem Network, consisting of radical feminists from across the north of England, chose to congregate at The Harlequin on Nursery Street, to hold their first Christmas Social.
We chose The Harlequin to show support to a pub that has stood up for women’s rights against what can only be described as an onslaught by trans activists, who attacked the pub to try to discredit their business, because the pub owners opposed trans rights activist efforts to erode everything that we are as women. Efforts to corrupt and delete our language, to rename our body parts, to alter literally everything that shapes us as women.
Due to the spread of us all in the network, several of our members elected to stay overnight in Sheffield. This meant that a good many of us would be in Sheffield for the day on the Saturday and this represented a good opportunity for us to create an action event.
Here we are, nearly a quarter of a century in to the 21st century, and here I sit as a radical feminist, fighting for the right to call myself a woman, to call myself female, to be able to say out loud ‘Only women have a cervix’. What’s the reason for this ridiculous state of affairs? Well, it’s the great trans distraction. When our oppressors put on a dress and some lipstick and class themselves as more oppressed than women, and the rest of the world, seemingly, falls in to line.
Radical feminism stands in direct opposition to the notion of gender ideology. Radical feminists are gender abolitionists. The very idea that it is the nature of the clothes that we wear that causes our oppression is way beyond insulting. For the whole of my adult life I have worn the clothing that hangs on the rails of the assumed ‘male’ half of the shop. Yet, in wearing those clothes, it’s never magically protected me from the unwanted gaze or attention of a man that sees me as a possession to be taken at his will.
How can it be then, that if a male puts on a dress and some lipstick, they are suddenly so vulnerable?
It’s fair to say, I’m no fan of London. I’m not in to big noisy cities at all. I hate places that are crowded and where manners are considered a rumour of an ancient past. Conflict, even the threat of it, see’s me frozen in fear. It would take something really special, nay extraordinary, to see me making that trip down south anytime soon. To be brave enough to feel the fear and do it anyway. And, so it was.
On the 21st October 2021 such a miracle occurred. I did indeed wake up in London, having stayed overnight in Wood Green. I had woken, readied myself and then taken the tube to arrive in the political heart of our country at Westminster. There was an inevitable threat of conflict, as another section of our society didn’t want the likes of me congregating with others similar to me, and wished to make their objections perfectly clear. The utter madness and insanity of the preceding 4 years I’d witnessed meant that I no longer cared about my dislikes of big cities or my fears of conflict; I had to be right there in central London, on this day, regardless.
With a quick stop at the statue of Millicent Garrett Fawcett for a selfie en route, where I was reminded that “Courage calls to Courage Everywhere”, I arrived at the Queen Elizabeth II Conference Centre to represent the B of the LGB Alliances inaugural conference. The big scary counter demonstration at 8am consisted of one trans-identified-male lurking behind a tree, and two men dressed head to toe in black with a black mourning veil covering their faces, who believed themselves to represent the mourning of us gathering solely as the LGB, with no attached T. It was both disappointing and terribly dramatic all at once.
On the 8th March 2021 it was International Women’s Day. Its intention is to be a day to celebrate women (adult human females) in all of their glorious wonder. Women.
I’m a woman. I wanted to celebrate that day, but I couldn’t.
Every organisation that decided to express a celebratory ‘woo hoo, its International Women’s Day’ seemed to have to centre their show of wokeness to trans identified males, rather than celebrate natal born women.
In a day to celebrate my born sex, I am expected to make room for men.
For many people here in the UK, the Tavistock & Portman Gender Identity clinic was an unknown part of their highly regarded NHS Service. They were most likely in a blissful state of unawareness that such services were now being made available to children as young as 10 years old. Transition was no longer a treatment reserved entirely for fully developed and mature adults. Keira Bell’s High Court judgement in December 2020 certainly achieved a new level of awareness, caused some conversations to happen, but it is clearly still not enough.