(Artwork by Molly Crabapple)
Laurie Penny, in Penny
Red, titles her chapter on the 2010 London Student Protests after a
memorable slogan used by the protesters: “this is actually happening” (5).
There is little doubt that something is and has been happening in the political
landscape of London, however exactly what has not yet been grasped or
articulated. Much of the widely circulated responses and attempts to
contextualize the onslaught of riots and revolutions of the contemporary moment
have been taken up by men. For example, Dan Hancox proposes that the music of grime
aesthetically and politically “responds to the riots”; men become both the
responders and the icons of the August 2011 riots. But what of the young women?
Certainly, the succession of protests and riots are as much a demand for
feminism to be heard – for the young women who, when expressing a political
opinion are either laughed at and dismissed or demonized for being too serious,
too political – to be listened to as intellectuals with something important to
say. What might feminism have to say, or shout, about the revolutionary and
rioting present of Britain and what might the representation of this revolution
say about feminism? In this project, I wish to begin unfolding the contemporary
state of Britain’s young feminist Left by examining the journalism of Laurie
Penny. I will begin with a discussion of her attempt to realize a space within
journalism for voices of the feminist Left and the struggle not only against
the effects of the popularization of a “one-dimensional feminism”, but against
what Penny calls “brocialism”: an effect of the gendered structure of the Left
in which charismatic men get away with flippant sexism while women are
demonized for taking ‘jokes’, as well as politics, too seriously. Next, I will
discuss how Penny challenges narratives of feminine resiliency, replacing them
instead with a radical feminist stance of revolt and resistance. Penny’s feminist journalism is
one that attempts to rupture, to pierce, to anger, in an attempt to make conversation
out of shouting, to provoke debate out of anger. Ultimately, I wish to think
about how the traces of affect and unrest following the series of riots and
protests might be reverberating, bouncing around, in an attempt to feel out new
spaces, new alternatives for creative, political, and most significantly,
feminist expression. As Rodrigo Nunes states, “[t]he political question, one
incidents like the 2011 riots subside, is. . .what traces they leave in
subjectivities, affects, and perceptions, and what is to be done with them and
how” (572). Penny, and many other British journalists of the Left, reveal the
importance of a constant work to prevent the normal from reinstating itself
after the event has ruptured —to keep the feeling of revolution and hope for a
future of promise and possibility alive – to keep the comfort of the normal
from returning to the urgency of the now.
Penny
challenges, in her writings, the very obstacles that feminist
activist-journalists face in their public reception and struggle to have their
opinions, not only heard, but listened to. In her article “A Discourse onBrocialism”, Penny takes up, in a discussion of Russell Brand, the problematics
of a new Left whose gender dynamics still position “charismatic men” as the
icons for its politics. Penny argues that it is not only Brand’s fame and wealth,
but his gender that lets him suggest things along the lines of “rising up together in anger, as
young people did in London and elsewhere in 2011, might be a mighty fine idea”, without being ruthlessly interrupted, vehemently attacked, or
just brusquely dismissed (“A Discourse"). Brand’s charm and charisma overwhelm
his misogynistic and sexist comments, highlighting the struggle for a feminist
voice not only to be deemed an integral and inseperable part of the class and
racial struggles, but to be heard over the sidelined and brushed aside misogyny
of “brocialists” and “manarchists”. Penny is incredibly aware that, despite his
flippant sexism, Brand, because of his gendered charisma, will be listened to –
not necessarily agreed with – but just simply listened to, over her own voice. Much
of Penny’s frustration, then, comes from the current state of conversation and
debate within British journalism. Like the characters in Lungs, who pay attention long enough only to half-hear each other and
whose shouting to be heard only results in miscommunication (MacMillan 25),
Penny calls for a relearning of the gender dynamics of debate: shouting only
goes so far if no one is listening. And it seems that people are more likely to
listen to the likes of Russell Brand whose charisma excuses his misogyny, than
a militant woman who brings the word ‘feminism’ into political discussions.
Penny proposes that “brocialism” spreads far wider than icons such Brand, but
exists “whenever some idiot commentator
bawls you out for writing about feminism and therefore 'retreating' into
'identity politics' and thereby distracting attention from 'the real struggle'”.
But what is “the real struggle”, if not, put simply, a struggle among marginalized political subjects to be heard, to
be seen, to be taken seriously? Penny asks what it might look like if feminism
could break free from its relegation to the “women’s section”, or “women’s
rights debates”, and become an integral part of the class struggles of London’s
protests and riots, become “a fundamental part of the big political picture” (Penny Red 7). While “brocialism”
represents a particular cultural moment in which brushing off a sexist joke ,
perpetuating patriarchy, is as easy as brushing off and dismissing the validity
and credibility of a feminist, and particularly a young, angry feminist like
Laurie Penny. How might the struggle to create a radical space for feminism be,
not only a struggle against “brocialism”, but a struggle against the prevalent
existence of “one dimensional feminism” (Power 1)? The stuggle of radical young
feminist journalists of Britain is, therefore, a struggle over the very term
itself.
As Nina
Power proposes, feminism has become one of the most popular buzzwords: “the latest
must-have accessory” (30) that is used to sell commodities and political ideas.
The world of British journalism is no exception: explicit feminism that is
radical and militant, like that of Laurie Penny or the writers behind the blog,
The f-word, exists alongside
journalists who make feminism digestable and fun, like Caitlin Moran. There seems to be
a complex divide, within feminist journalists/columnists in Britain, between those who
are militant and angry and those who are funny. Therefore, even those who begin
to challenge one-dimensional feminism, calling for militancy and political
action face critique and demonization
for their too-angry, too-political feminism. Caitlin Moran, one of the 'more
funny 'explicitly feminist journalists proposes that, as feminists, “[w]e don’t
need to riot, or go one hunger strike. . .We just need to look it in the eye,
squarely, for a minute, and then start laughing at it. We look hot when we
laugh” (13). While I strongly believe that humour has political potential,
Moran’s feminism is too hasty in trading in radicalism for humour and contradicts
exactly what Penny and the feminist Left call for: riots and resistance. Even
beyond Britain, this decade of entertainment and journalism belongs to funny
women – from Caitlin Moran to Mindy Kaling to Lena Dunham – the message seems
to be that funny is the ‘in’ feminism. What is problematic about the increasing
shift toward ‘funny’ feminist journalists and role-models is the flipside
effect in which any attempts at seriousness or organized militancy is demonized.
As a result, feminists like Penny are often criticized for taking things too
seriously, for being “humourless” and needing to lighten up (Steppling). Penny
and Moran represent two popular political and aesthetic stances taken
within the instable and volatile political and economic atmosphere of Britain:
a stance of laid-bare militancy and anger or a stance of humour. These stances
represent the desperate attempt to respond, to make sense of the constantly
shifting present with the available tools and genres of the moment. While Moran
encourages laughter – offering a comforting escape from the labour of the
everyday – Penny punctures the joke, disrupting and threatening the comforts of
these humour-filled narratives of ‘feminism’. Funny feminists are, for the most
part, safe feminists; women laughing and still "looking hot", after all, are not as threatening as women
calling for a collective stance of militant resistance. Humour, therefore,
becomes an expression of resiliency: the ability to make it through the present
– to laugh it off -- while the militant
feminism of Penny becomes an expression of resistance – to riot rather than
chuckle.
Part of the struggle of the
radical politics of Penny and the young feminist left is against the persistence
of a narrative of female resilience: in which, much like Power’s argument that
argues the ideal woman is a flexible one, the ability to “bounce back” from a
traumatic event or crisis is the ideal strength rather than preventing crisis
(James). Robin James quotes Mark Neocleous’ theorization of resilience as “the
capacity of a system to return to a previous state, to recover from a shock, or
to bounce back after a crisis or trauma” and proposes that resilience is
increasingly gendered as the ideal for the female neoliberal subject. Penny articulates the pressure to be resilient
rather than resistant, to labour through and endure the present rather than
rupturing the contours of heteronormative and capitalist structures. She notes
how young women are demonized for asserting their feminist politics or expressing dissent and disgust towards current structures that masquerade as
emancipatory and liberating (Power 1). The dominant narrative of resilient
femininity comes up ”whenever women and girls and
their allies are asked to swallow [their] discomfort and fear for the sake of a
brighter tomorrow that somehow never comes, putting [their] own concerns aside
to make things easier for everyone else like good girls are supposed to” (“A
Discourse”). Angry young feminists of the left pose a threat to the
comfortable, one-dimensional feminism that posits that “it’s not the
sexism that needs collective overcoming, but individual women that need to be
‘resilient’ in the face of unavoidable, persistent sexism” (James). The future
of feminism, for Penny however, should be” scary” and “threatening” (Penny Red 178); it needs to
“threaten” and destabilize the precarity of the neoliberal present even more.
If resilience allows for the persistence and return to normativity after a
rupture, then the youth of London, in order to build upon the affective and
political traces of the 2011 “summer of unrest” (Hancox; Kettled), argue resistance rather than resiliency. The work of
resistance necessitates a different kind of work than resilience: one that
works to confront and prevent the seemingly inevitable ‘bounce-back’, the return
of the comforts of everyday normativity after events such as the series of
London riots and protests (Kettled)
and, in turn, requires the opening of new modes of expression and new sites of resistance.
Laurie Penny,
in her journalism, begins to feel out this space in which feminism regains its
militancy and radicalism along with the momentum of the “disquiet youth” (Kettled) protesting to be heard and
taken seriously. As Slavoj Zizek points out of the disorganized structure of
the August 2011 riots, “the sad fact that opposition to the system cannot
articulate itself in the guise of a realistic alternative, or at least a
coherent utopian project. . .is a grave indictment of our epoch” (54). The
project is therefore, not only to oppose the system, but to work at creating
alternative sites and structures of expression within the very system. Penny, and the emerging
journalism of the new feminist Left engages with not only the difficulty to
articulate a volatile present that eludes the grasp, but the difficulty of
finding spaces of conversation – finding an audience who listens to and responds rather than
dismisses and interrupts their shouts. Penny states, of the current voices of the young
British revolutionaries, ”it comes
through like a whisper, half drowned out by the crash and squeal of cargo-cult
patriotism and smothered by right-wing tabloid tub-thumping, but if you listen,
it’s there” (“Will the Revolution…”). Penny takes up a critique of “brocialism”
and “one-dimensional feminism”, revealing the difficulty in forging a space for
a radical feminist Left in competition with the charisma of “manarchists” and
the pull of a more enjoyable and “fun” feminism. Lastly, Penny trades in
narratives of resiliency – of simply riding the waves of the present as they
crash ceaselessly – for a resistance or sort of revolutionary stance that
challenges and ruptures the persistence of normativity. Penny forgoes
comfortable and easily digestable politics for a jagged angry style that
demands to be taken seriously. Penny ends the introduction of her collection of
published articles with the following:
It can often feel like time is
running out, like history is closing down on us, like we’re running to keep up,
like in between school and work and death there’s no time for error, or risk,
or debate. We need to find the time for all of these things. I hope we do. I
hope we find time to be brave. I hope we find time to build the future. I hope
we find time to be kinder to one another. I hope, I hope, I hope. (Penny Red 8)
Penny’s politics offer the urgency needed to sustain and
further rupture the contours of normativity in London. While Penny is often
criticized for coming off as incoherent or rambling, this is exactly what makes
her politics so exciting and promising. In a world where “time is running out”,
and everything is happening at once, making sense of the moment, rendering it coherent
and tangible, while still retaining the feeling of urgency of action becomes a difficult
battle. Penny offers a feminism that articulates the potentials and
possibilities in the current political climate of London and attempts to forgo
the need for seriousness and militancy for more “self-fulfilling” and
comfortable politics (Power 29). For Penny, politics should feel as though the
world is shifting under one’s feet, as though at any moment, anywhere, a
rupture of possibility may occur. For Penny, the moment is exciting, it is
terrifying, and it is happening now.
Works Cited
Hancox, Don. Kettled
Youth: The Battle Against the Neoliberal Endgame. London: Brain Shots, 2011. Print.
---. “Rap Responds to the Riots.” The Guardian. The Guardian News and Media Ltd., 12 August 2011. Web. 1 December 2013.
James, Robin. “’Look, I Overcame!’: Feminine Subjectivity,
Resilience, and Multi-Racial White Supremacist
Patriarchy.” it’s her factory. blogger,
18 March 2013. Web. 1 December
2013.
MacMillan, Duncan. Lungs.
London: Oberon Books, 2011. Print.
Moran, Caitlin. How to
Be a Woman. New York: Harper Perennial, 2011. Print.
Nunes, Rodrigo. “Building on Destruction.” South Atlantic Quarterly 112.3 (Summer 2013):568-76. Duke University Press. Web. 25 November 2013.
Penny, Laurie. “A Discourse on Brocialism.” New Statesman. New Statesman, 2 November
2013. Web. 28 November 2013.
---. Penny Red: Notes From the New Age of
Dissent. London: Pluto Press, 2011. Print.
---. “Will the Revolution Begin in London?” Adbusters. Adbusters, 27 June 2011. Web.
27 November 2013.
Power, Nina. One
Dimensional Woman. London: Zero Books, 2009. Print.
Steppling, John. “Bad Penny and Brand(ed) Journalism.” Dissident Voice. Ed. Sunil K. Sharma, 5 Nov. 2013. Web. 2 December 2013.
Zizek, Slavoj. The
Year of Dreaming Dangerously. London: Verso, 2012.
