my feminist rage literally fuels me I was struggling to open a new pickle jar and my dad said “give it to me I’m a man” and I looked him dead in the eye and suddenly opened the jar without a problem I’m like the feminist hulk
amyisjolly asked: A fetus may not have dreams and the ideas or intellectual capacity that a fully grown person does, but a fetus is still a living human. That is easy to understand with basic research on the development of a fetus. It is living, breathing, has a heart beat, etc. Just putting that out there, that in this way a fetus and a fully grown person are equal. And what I really mean from this is, equality in my opinion should not need to be based on whether or not two people have the same intellect/growth
I’m aware that a fetus is human. That has never been up for debate. And I agree that treatment shouldn’t be based on intellect or mental capacity. That is also not up for debate. What it comes down to is bodily autonomy. When an embryo or fetus is reliant on the body of another, the person hosting that being has a right to veto that use. Just like a person needing a blood transfusion couldn’t require you to donate blood just because you were a type match. If the pregnant person doesn’t consent to the pregnancy, they can receive a medical procedure to terminate that pregnancy. Bodily autonomy means your body belongs to you alone AND YOU ALONE have the right to control who uses it and when. Opening it up to government restriction and control basically turns it into a system in which mostly cis men are controlling the reproductive rights of mostly cis women, and that’s a horrific and terrifying thing.
I really don’t get where these people think that fetus humanity entitles them to a pregnant person’s body.
As MM says, blood transfusions aren’t compulsory, but it’s more than that.
Organ donation isn’t compulsory. _Not even after death._
We give dead bodies the right to say no, that dying little girl in the next room can’t have my liver, even though I’m not using it.
But you think you can argue fetuses are owed space in my uterus? Nope. Not how the law works.
Go fight to make organ donation mandatory. You’ll save the way more lives and hurt nobody. Or is this only important to you if it subjugated pregnant people?
Your professor will not be happy with you if he says the Stanford Prison Experiment shows human nature and you say it shows the nature of white middle class college-aged boys.
Like he will not be happy at all.
For real though. That experiment. Scary shit.
someone brought that up once and my teacher (can’t remember which one) was like
no
nonono
This reminds me of a discussion that I read once which said Lord of the Flies would have turned out a hell of a lot differently if it was a private school of young girls (who are expected to be responsible and selfless instead), or a public school where the children weren’t all from an inherently entitled, emotionally stunted social class (studies have shown that people in lower socioeconomic classes show more compassion for others).
Or that the same premise with children raised in a different culture than the toxic and opressive British Empire and it’s emphasis on social hierarchy and personal wealth and status.
And that what we perceive as the unchangable truth deep inside humanity because of things like Lord of the Flies and the Stanford Prison Experiment, is just the base truths about what happens when you remove any accountabilty controlling one social group with an overwhelming sense of entitlement and an inability to feel compassion.
^could never have put it better. bolded for emphasis.
Ellen Page is an important actor and Hard Candy is an important film.
Hard Candy is a VERY heavy movie about a specific type of guy, but what Ellen page is saying here is relevant for all adults who argue “oh they were flirting / they initiated.”
This speech should be required daily viewing for judges that handle CSA cases.
every woman on tumblr should have this on their dash
And every man
Look how nobody’s yelling or arguing or making things into a competition. Look how this is to straight up educate people through a different perspective. Look how effective that makes the message.
A boy sprawled next to me on the bus, elbows out, knee pointing sharp into my thigh.
He frowned at me when I uncrossed my legs, unfolded my hands
and splayed out like boys are taught to: all big, loose limbs.
I made sure to jab him in the side with my pretty little sharp purse.
At first he opened his mouth like I expected him to, but instead of speaking up he sat there, quiet, and took it for the whole bus ride.
Like a girl.
Once, a boy said my anger was cute, and he laughed,
and I remember thinking that I should sit there and take it,
because it isn’t ladylike to cause a scene and girls aren’t supposed to raise their voices.
But then he laughed again and all I saw
was my pretty little sharp nails digging into his cheek
before drawing back and making a horribly unladylike fist.
(my teacher informed me later that there is no ladylike way of making a fist.)
When we were both in the principal’s office twenty minutes later
him with a bloody mouth and cheek, me with skinned knuckles,
I tried to explain in words that I didn’t have yet
that I was tired of having my emotions not taken seriously
just because I’m a girl.
Girls are taught: be small, so boys can be big.
Don’t take up any more space than absolutely necessary.
Be small and smooth with soft edges
and hold in the howling when they touch you and it hurts:
the sandpaper scrape of their body hair that we would be shamed for having,
the greedy hands that press too hard and too often take without asking permission.
Girls are taught: be quiet and unimposing and oh so small
when they heckle you with their big voices from the window of a car,
because it’s rude to scream curse words back at them, and they’d just laugh anyway.
We’re taught to pin on smiles for the boys who jeer at us on the street
who see us as convenient bodies instead of people.
Girls are taught: hush, be hairless and small and soft,
so we sit there and take it and hold in the howling,
pretend to be obedient lapdogs instead of the wolves we are.
We pin pretty little sharp smiles on our faces instead of opening our mouths,
because if we do we get accused of silly women emotions
blowing everything out of proportion with our PMS, we get
condescending pet names and not-so-discreet eyerolls.
Once, I got told I punched like a girl.
I told him, Good. I hope my pretty little sharp rings leave scars.
— ‘My Perfume Doubles As Mace,’ theappleppielifestyle. (via queenofeden)
