Author Archives: Natalie Bennett

Friday Femmes Fatales No 51

Building on my collection of 500 female bloggers – 10 each week. (Yes there are millions out there, this just seeks to highlight a nice range of them and give them a bit of publicity.)

Why “femmes fatales?” Because these are killer posts, selected for great ideas and great writing, general interest and variety.

The Publishing Contrarian, Lynne W. Scanlon P.E.A. (Publisher/Editor/Author), has been to a Harvard power breakfast, and provides an amusing account thereof.

Staying in the literary field, Jenny Davidson on Light Reading discusses a range of books that don’t really deserve that title, including one on the place of the public intellectual.

On the Sigla Blog, Sinéad Gleeson ponders public spats between women, and the media’s affection therefore, prompted by a row between Sinéad O’Connor and Mary Coughlan.

Turning personal, and coming with a warning that this is a very disturbing post, Jules on Depressed Single Mother commemorates the ninth anniversary of death of “the first person I ever fell in love with”. She says: “I know that she really died because her father couldn’t keep his filthy hands off his vulnerable, tiny three year old daughter.”

Sage on Persephone’s Box has a great collection of musings on sexual intercourse, and ignorance thereof among men, and some women. “I also briefly dated a health teacher once who was adamant that menstrual blood is made up of dead embryos. WTF???”

Koonj on HU, a group blog for Muslim women, reports on her victory, as a pregnant, about-to-give-birth woman, over doctors convinced they, not nature, knew best.

On Always Aroused Girl, moving on through the lifecycle, a description of the magic glider on the porch, and its place in soothing a stressed child, or adult.

Ozarque collects words for the sense of touch that we’ve (almost) lost: e.g. “felth – the power of feeling in the fingers”.

Moving into political territory, on Capitalism Bad; Tree Pretty, Maia reports on a New Zealand case in which three police officers were accused of raping an 18-year-woman. Again, it is not pretty reading; sorry. (I’m pointing there to one of the central posts, but it is well worth reading the whole succession, although it is a story we’ve no doubt heard the like of before. For a rape victim, the big problem, it seems, is to behave “properly”.)

On Tired of Men, “a 20-something woman” finds that Canary Wharf in London (the new financial district) is a great place to find dinosaurs.

Finally, to finish on a cheery note, a post from Mom-101 on the Things I’ve Won in My Life, which reminds me of the “I Love My Computer” mug I won in an introduction to computers one-day course back when I was 20 (for writing a short “Basic” programme, if I recall correctly – which really does date me. There were these new things called computers, and I was about to buy my first one; it had twin floppy drives and no hard disk, for the record.

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If you missed last week’s edition, it is here.

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Please: In the next week if you read, or write, a post by a woman blogger and think “that deserves a wider audience” (particularly someone who doesn’t yet get many hits), drop a comment here. (Thanks to Jonathan and Maxine in particular this week.)

It really does make my life easier!

P.S. Yes it is Sunday. Sorry!

Well done to the Guardian

Someone (perhaps even listening to me) has made all the blogs named in its article on feminist blogging clickable, which they weren’t before. Which is making a huge difference to traffic. Thanks!

The younger generation

‘Midst all the stories of Botox, make-up, fashion etc in the Observer Woman, a proper story, shock horror, about a “Michael Moore-style feminist”, Periel Aschenbrand, author of The Only Bush I Trust Is My Own:

Aschenbrand, who made an unscripted appearance at the 2005 Republican Party Convention dressed in vest, knickers and a handmade ‘Fuck Bush’ necklace, says she was originally inspired by a group of young women to whom she taught philosophy one summer vacation. ‘I couldn’t believe the apathy. They were not at all politicised. They’d come into class wearing idiotic T-shirts advertising garbage. “Mrs Timberlake”, “Team Aniston”. It was absurd. I told them: I think we should put our tits to better use. This is prime advertising space wasted on vapid slogans like “Princess”. We should use them to make people think about things that no one else is making them think about.’
When the T-shirts took off, Periel, the rebellious daughter of upper-middle-class parents from Queens, suddenly had both an income and a message. As she succinctly puts it, ‘I’m on a mission to change the world – one pair of tits at a time’.

It turns into the inevitable “future of feminism” debate, but is a bit more informed than many such articles.
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And a further retort to all of those who bemoan the “lack” of activism among young women, one of the victims of a rape gang in Sydney, aged just 18 now – 14 when she was hideously attacked – has spoken out about her ordeal, and her refusal to be destroyed by it.

Standing in the NSW Supreme Court last week after MSK and MAK were sentenced, Wagner yelled: “F— you, go to hell, mate.”
“I’d like to say, ‘Have fun in prison, boys, I won,” she told reporters, as she waived her right to anonymity.
“We’re not telling people so they know we’ve been raped,” she told Channel Nine’s A Current Affair on Thursday night.
“We’re telling people so other victims know they have support . . . to just show that you need to be confident if you’re a rape victim, especially from these boys. You need to come forward. We all need to be strong and stick together and convict these people.”
Sitting alongside Wagner was Cassie Hamim, who was 13 in 2002 when she was lured home by the brothers and raped. It was just a month after Wagner’s ordeal.
Inspired by Wagner last week, Hamim, too, waived her right to anonymity. “Tegan’s grown stronger,” she said. “I’m proud of her. I realise I need to be strong and move on.”

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And showing what campaigners really can make a difference, Burger King is bringing in a new healthy menu prior to a stock market float in an attempt to assuage market fears. And the story reports that the campaigners are preparing a book and other materials directed at children – to try to at least partially match all that fast food advertising, which sounds like a great idea.

Mr Schlosser’s 2001 book revealed in gory detail the nutritional paucity and health risks of junk food, galvanising opposition to the industry.
Now Mr Schlosser is promising a transatlantic tour to promote a children’s version called Chew on This. And executives at McDonald’s and Burger King are nervously awaiting the premiere of a fictionalised film version of Fast Food Nation, which could be ready in time for next month’s Cannes Film Festival.

Just talk among yourselves …

The observant will have noticed that you haven’t had a Friday Femmes Fatales yet this week. I’ve got some excellent recommendations, but after nearly three hours of representing the Green Party at a hustings this afternoon run by the Camden Federation of Private Tenants, and various other duties this evening, the energy just isn’t there.

So you might want to chat among yourselves, or alternatively fill in the alternative energy survey (from The Greens of course), that is our answer to Tony Blair’s crazy rush to nuclear power. It won’t take long. Go on. Please.

You wouldn’t get away with it today

My retroblogger, Miss Frances Williams Wynn, is today reporting on the conditions in 1830s France, and particularly on the early days of passports…

The strictness about passports was most absurd. Dr. Somerville went with Mr. Hankey to the Passport Office, where every individual was then expected to appear, and all, even children and maids, were obliged to have their separate passports, describing person, age, &c. Dr. Somerville, having seen this ceremony performed on the four elder children, at last said to the official, ‘I see you are a gentleman, and I am convinced that a secret entrusted to your honour will, in spite of everything, be in safe keeping. I will, therefore, in strict confidence, tell you an important secret: you see there the Duchesse de Berry in disguise,’ and he pointed to the youngest child, a girl of four years old, who, upon being looked at, hid herself under the table.
The officer, laughing, said: ‘Que voulez-vous, monsieur? Je sens comme vous tout le ridicule de ce que je fais; mais les ordres nous viennent d’en haut; nous devons obeir a la lettre.’ [Roughly: Who are you? I know this is ridiculous, but I have orders from on high that must be obeyed to the letter.]

Today they’d probably bang up the four-year-old for a few hours, just to be certain…

Weekend reading

The BNP reveals its true colours:

The British National party was riven last night over its decision to select the grandson of an asylum seeker to fight a seat in next month’s local elections.
Sharif Abdel Gawad, whom the BNP describes as a “totally assimilated Greek-Armenian”, was chosen to stand in a Bradford ward as part of the party’s biggest ever electoral push.
The decision has provoked a backlash among BNP hardliners who described Mr Gawad as an “ethnic” who should be barred from the party on race grounds. One regional organiser responsible for the candidate’s selection is thought to be under pressure to resign. Another regional organiser is leading the dissent against the party leadership, saying it had betrayed the members and would confuse voters.

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We need to change back from a hydro-carbon economy to a cellulose economy. An interesting over-view of chemistry history. Really! I promise. e.g.:

The first plastic was a bioplastic. In the mid-19th century, a British billiard ball company determined that at the rate African elephants were being killed, the supply of ivory could soon be exhausted. The firm offered a handsome prize for a product with properties similar to ivory, yet derived from a more abundant raw material. Two New Jersey printers, John and Isaiah Hyatt, won the prize for a cotton-derived product dubbed collodion.
Ironically, collodion never made it as a billiard ball: The plastic, whose scientific name is cellulose nitrate, is more popularly known as guncotton, a mild explosive. When a rack of cellulose nitrate pool balls was broken, a loud pop often resulted. Confusion and casualties ensued in saloons where patrons were not only drinking but sometimes armed.

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Amazing how these things go missing, but a letter from the executioner of Louis XVI has just resurfaced.

An article in Thermomètre du Jour, a revolutionary journal, soon afterwards provoked Sanson’s response a month later.
Promising “the exact truth of what occurred”, he set out to contradict suggestions that Louis had to be led to the scaffold with a pistol at his temple, that he had let out a terrible cry and that he had been mutilated because the guillotine struck his head rather than his neck.
Sanson described how the King arrived at the place of execution in a horse and carriage and mounted the scaffold, stretching out his hands to be tied and asking whether the drums would continue beating.
Sanson wrote: “It was answered to him that no one knew and that was the truth. He mounted the scaffold and wanted to rush towards the front as though wanting to speak . . . He was again told that that was impossible; he then let himself be led to the place where he was tied up, and where he exclaimed very loudly, ‘People, I die innocent.’ Then, turning towards us, he told us, ‘Gentlemen, I am innocent of everything of which I am accused. I wish that my blood may be able to cement the happiness of the French’.”

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I’ve been debating modernism and postmodernism, and admit to some affection to art generally grouped in both categories, including that of Banksy, who demonstrates again that art can be both subversive and witty.