I am notorious for making women cry, so much so that several of my friends refused to allow me to be alone with their wives or girlfriends. The problem is that I am both anti-authoritarian and asexual. Women have been socialized into being passive-aggressive, and getting their way through emotional manipulation. Being immune to both their charms and their threats, most women find me threatening. They have been taught through both socialization and experience that their ultimate “nuclear deterrent” is tears. The typical westernized woman believes that the sight of tears will horrify and panic most sexist, westernized men – and they’re right. Unfortunately for them, I am unmoved by emotional blackmail, which usually induces hysterics and seething, incandescent rage.
I’ll give you an example of what I mean.
Some years ago, after an organizing meeting, a bunch of us ended up in a bar. The discussion turned to free speech, and I made reference to a recent Kanadian Supreme Court case where they ruled that a man who had been charged with producing hand-drawn child pornography for the sole purpose of self-titillation and had never shown it nor intended to show it to any other person, had not committed a criminal act.
As folks on Fluther know, I take my civil liberties very seriously. I was and am totally in support of people being able to express themselves, even and especially when it makes a lot of people very angry. My opinion was not very popular at a table full of college leftists, and after a vigorous and increasingly acrimonious argument, my main opponent began crying. “No, no,” she said, holding up a hand and turning away theatrically, “don’t worry about me. I’m okay. It’s just that I’m a survivor of sexual abuse, that’s all.”
This sort of emotional blackmail and utterly cynical crocodile tears infuriate me. Especially since it carries with it the arrogance that she’s the only one at the table to have experienced sexual abuse as a child (she wasn’t; I have abuse in my own childhood, and don’t need to put it on display to attract pity), and we should all coddle her like a delicate porcelain doll.
I coldly informed her that she was welcome to weep all the wanted, and that it didn’t bother me at all. Although this is exactly what she claimed I should do, you can imagine the responses I got. And when she realized her tears hadn’t caused my face to melt off like I’d opened the Ark of the Covenant, she flew into a fury and stormed out.
Leaping to the defence of the poor wittle delicate girlies is far more vicious and patriarchal than inducing someone to spout manipulative tears.