“I want you to stop calling me dude”, she says to me with a confrontational stare. Like she’s expecting an argument. A defence. Some sort of validation or a treaties on what “dude” really means in a post-Lebowski feminism-fuelled effort of inclusivity.
I mean… okay. Whatever you say. If you feel bad about an epitaph, it doesn’t matter why it’s used. Time to put an end to it.
But that’s the boring, straightforward answer. The why is so much more fun! But not why a gender-bridging “dude” turned out to be offensive. That’s subjective preference and brokers no argument. But rather why it was used to begin with.
To me, it’s a matter of inclusivity. It’s a matter of bridging divides. It’s a matter of erasing a line in the sand. A stupid line that wasn’t of much use to begin with, except for dictating where a person “belongs” according to some archaic world order. It’s a matter of robbing the conflict of its weapons. Of not burying the hatchet, but breaking it apart. It’s the labour of not passing some gender supremacist torch, but to put it out altogether. And laugh at the fact that we had it at all to begin with.
The old boy’s club of society is a long running fad. Membership to a brotherhood that excluded half of the world’s population (and depending on racism and classism, much more than just half). From the farcical gentleman societies of aristocratic London to locker room camaraderie with copious doses of ass slapping and towel whipping, men have held plenty of exclusive spaces for a long time. Which, to be fair, has been the most visceral divisiveness that men can perceive. A shallow exclusivity, and not really the point of the feminist movement, but none the less what most men probably associate with the patriarchy. That the great leap of gender equality is just about bringing girls along for poker night.
Is it really so surprising that the first and easiest accommodations that men could do for women was to pull them screaming into the testosterone-soaked locker rooms and smoky old boys’ clubs? Along with the brotherly terminology of the “dear old boy”s or “hustle men!”s. Or the “hey dude”s.
But I don’t rightly know how I’d react to be referred to as “sister” or “girl” by a female friend…
It’s a juvenile reaction to realising and checking your privileges. “Oh, okay? You feel left out of our spaces! Well, get in here then!” But that reaction misses the point. The point isn’t that women want to be men. Well, some do. But that’s an extra besides of the issue. It’s a half-way measure that doesn’t reach the mark, no matter how well-intended it may be.
So what, aside from a mansplaination of feminism? Perhaps it was just an invigorating realisation to have over a dish of Hyderabadi Murgh? Maybe that we should take a step onward from just opening the doors to our boys’ clubs and dragging the solicitors inside like some kind of well intentioned serial killer. Maybe it’s just me that should drag my ideas of comradeship out of the sports gutter. And maybe we shouldn’t open the doors to our brotherhoods as much as we should ask ourselves why the hell we need them to begin with. To put it differently: Not to open gates, but to tear down walls.
/Sebastian Lindberg 24/8-2021
WastedWords 