The seed of every struggle is planted when a body gets its feelings hurt. Think Hitler and Mein Kampf, or his Great Struggle. The dude might have had some valid points, but his methodologies to effect change for the better did not work. His nose got out of joint producing a snotty snit that threw a whole world into disorder.
These are the ways of movements to solve injustice: Meetings hold, fingers point, laws enact, and then, when momentum slows and donations dry, lies fly and violence explodes. In any case, the first-pass benefits are soon outstripped by long-term damages.
Take, for instance, the great war on equality between the sexes. The same process began in the 1960s with marches for constitutional equality and equal pay for equal jobs that quickly descended into anti-Miss America marches and public bra burnings, then became a call for outright hatred of all men just because they were not female.
In an attempt to appease the RadFems, when anyone of their gender simply was being male many men began to take it upon themselves to apologize to any woman only to be told they were apologizing incorrectly.
Attempting to find a path through the ever-changing minefield, succeeding generations of men since The Sixties developed PRFSD, that is, Post-Radical Feminist Stress Disorder.
PRFSD symptoms include: Dissociation (as made famous in a John Prine song by the name of Other Side of Town), flashbacks (as made famous by Gotye called Somebody That I Used to Know, and CeeLo Green in Forget [f*ck] You), and intense emotional and physiological distress when re-exposed to provocative trauma most specifically manifested as SPCFD, or Situational Politically Correct Female Drama.
It is no surprise to most men that it is easier to go to war than it is to be a gentleman who as SOP opens or holds doors for any nearby person traveling in the same space because, if that nearby person is female, he better be prepared for an exploding PC-loaded IED.
Radical feminists, like masked terrorists and little dictators, are now more often thought of as fools, taken as seriously as a two-year-old laying in the aisle of a grocery store screaming and kicking for a toy du jour. Passersby just want the damn parent to shut the damn kid up.
And so RadFems, just like little dictators and masked terrorists, are experiencing a shrinking of their donation pool and pushback from the masses thereby limiting their sphere of influence.
But across the land, this writer is seeing both men and women returning to a certain adult gentility.
Men are graciously holding doors for women again.
Women are pleasantly saying thank you.
Refinement, courtesy, politeness, breeding, decorum, discretion, elegance, civility, manners…call it what you will, males and females are tired of RadFems slinging shit, are actively speaking out against it, and using their savvy to get back to that great interpersonal fly-over country where a man can be a man, a woman can be a woman, and both welcome it.
Comments are always appreciated: GordonUnplugged@outlook.com
Excerpt from the third novel in The Dance Floor Wars series: Collisions