Empty tins make the loudest noise!
By Brian Friday Bwesigye:
You say you hate men. Well, not 'hate' but you do not like patriarchy and chauvinism. You in fact fight to destroy those things. You do not agree that females are inferior to males. Different, yes but not inferior, you say. You have cultivated a following along these lines. You inhale feminism and exhale equality. We admire you for your steadfastness –the steadfastness of your words.
So we follow you. We follow your example. We want to know how you live, who you relate with, how you relate, so we can emulate you. You know, they say that some of us believe by seeing more than we do by hearing. We stalk you. We spy on you. We want to feel your influence beyond your words – we seek the influence of your actions.
Success eludes us for the first years. You manage to build walls high enough, even a professional high-jumper can't risk. You employ very able bouncers around your relationship/s, even the most skilled kick-boxer among us can't fight his way around them.
But we do not give up. We insist. We arm ourselves with patience and perseverance. Meanwhile, your venom begins to choke us – the smoke you puff towards males, men, masculinity and patriarchy starts to blind us. But we insist; we want to prove.
One good afternoon, we get glimpses of what it is that you are, behind the mask of equality and feminism. We see you moaning – lying on your back, with a man, a male, the epitome of patriarchal masculinity, big muscles, deep voice, inflated ego, superiority complex in tow , humping on top of you – f*cking you. We sharpen our eyes to see your reaction. Thinking this may be a rape-incident, we are shocked to see you in waves of blissful wriggling of your waist to the rhythm of his humping. The humping is so rough it is real thumping, complete with sounds of victory. We see you submitting to him, calling him names of endearment, we see you cheering him on, welcoming and enjoying his conquest of your whole self. We see a “you” we never imagined existed, a “you” that is happy and excited and who enjoys being f*cked. We did not know this “you”. Oh Oh Oh, we see you.
We do not see you for long. See, we are intoxicated already. We have taken your equality gospel to heart and mind all this while. Even when we doubted, we were almost sure our doubts would be disproved. Even when we prodded, we did not expect our faint doubts to be justified after all. That is why we did not stay longer to watch the f*cking. Once we confirmed that it was you being f*cked and enjoying it, the weight of the disappointment lifted us and threw us out of the vicinity of the action. To see you under the epitome of patriarchy, and enjoying it was too much for us. Isn't poison too sweet the whole world is committing suicide?
Aren't you the one who told us what f*cking means? What being f*cked means. Didn't you tell us that men f*ck women in a patriarchal order to signify conquest, strength, power, superiority on one hand and vulnerability, weakness, inferiority and powerlessness on the other end? So, in your words, didn't we learn that to f*ck is different from making love or even having sex? But dear feminist, you were being f*cked, you were not making love, you were not having sex, you were being f*cked by a man. The power dynamics of that encounter were as visible as the sun at midday.
And in those few moments, we saw that you are nothing: That when we add your words to your actions, we get zero – nothing. That is why we did not stay longer to see the super-man f*cking you into a vegetable state. You ceased to inspire us; you sunk lower than the ordinary girl who does not lay claim to a struggle against patriarchy. But we wonder; why do you abuse super-man during the morning and rush into his arms in the afternoon, to enjoy the inferiority you condemn and abuse? Isn't making love, having sex sweeter, and most enjoyable than being f*cked? Do you remember your own words in those moments of being pinned down to the bed and you wriggling your waist in ecstasy? Your own words – that being f*cked is being reduced to what you carry in your legs – those are the words. While you think of responding to us, remember that the man who thumps you does not even know how to spell the word patriarchy, but oozes it, you can't even hold a discussion about it, he simply can't get it, it is Latin to him, but he thumps you and you cheer him on, and then wake up in the morning shouting feminism, matriarchy, etc – no wonder, they say empty tins make the loudest noise.