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I have had this angry rant building up in me about the culture of breast cancer and the way it is hitting so many of my rage buttons that makes me wish I was smarter, or better with words, or something instead of leaving me an inarticulate fuming mess, ready to start a bonfire of pink ribbons. Not that this has ever stopped me...so, rage below the cut, to spare you from having to scroll.
So many things that already piss me off about the state of feminism today, amplified under the threat of death, and OMG ENOUGH. A special place on that list for smug, upper middle class white women over 50, assuming their issues are THE issues and patting themselves on the back over success while women of color, poor women, and young women drop dead at a disproportionately high rate. I'm sorry, shifting the burden of your mortality to those with less of a voice than you is not progress, it's a fucking shell game.
Faux 'girl power' which pinkwashes the brutality of an ugly disease, and it's often uglier treatments, in a cutsey non-threatening barrage of pink merchandise. It's the nice cancer, dontcha know? People don't suffer with breast cancer, oh no, they march pluckily on as a pink beribboned inspiration to others. Proof that we need not actually face women's real pain. Keep that smile on your face, ladies, even while they are slicing you open and pumping you full of toxic chemicals. Oozing wounds, crippling pain, bodily fluids everywhere, permanent disfigurement, nightmare side effects that last a lifetime, are so depressing. Oh yeah, and death, that ultimate downer...I mean, whatever will we do with your adorable pink 'survivor' bracelet? Fuck pink teddy bears. Give me a battle scarred warrior who isn't afraid to shout at the top of her lungs 'THIS SUCKS' and doesn't give a good goddamn about making you feel better about boxing her suffering up in an appropriately 'feminine' package.
Isn't it keen that women worked so hard to change the practice of radical mastectomies, often performed without choice or consent to be shoved under the table so we didn't have to actually think about breasts outside the context of a playboy centerfold. Hoorah for giving women a choice, for modified radical mastectomies and the option of lumpectomies to prevent unnecessary surgical pain and disfigurement. It's not like that was replaced with a culture that assumes and pressures women to undergo even more unnecessary and painful cosmetic surgical procedures with the attending risks, or to spend small fortunes on special forms and bras to keep up the illusion that nothing happened here, move along, don't think about it. OH, WAIT.
And about those pink ribbons in particular, conveniently adopted by every corporation known to man, and slapped on nearly ever product available to you. Buy more STUFF, because if you just buy enough stuff it won't happen to you. And, hey, even if it does, no biggie because you're a plucky inspiration (see above) and we're Walking for the Cure, Running for the Cure, and don't forget to BUY MORE STUFF for the cure. Ever wonder how much of that money makes it to actual research? You should. Though you may end up ripping the head off your cute pink teddy bear when you find out.
Beyond that, you ever ask how much of the research your pennies on the dollar makes it to is actually focused on 'a cure'? Um, shhhh, we don't talk about that. Yes, it's nifty that modern medical science has made progress in extending life and preventing reccurence. Less progress than they'd like you to think, but still, it's nothing to sneeze at. Finding a cure, though? The kind of research that would identify the root causes of cancer and how to prevent it or cure it for real? Don't hold your breath. We're no closer on that front than we were 20 years ago. One of the first thing I learned in my crash course of 'Oh, holy shit, you have CANCER' is how little anyone still knows about it, or how to treat it. Cancer research has just gotten a whole lot better at public relations is all.
Yeah, I might be a little angry.
So many things that already piss me off about the state of feminism today, amplified under the threat of death, and OMG ENOUGH. A special place on that list for smug, upper middle class white women over 50, assuming their issues are THE issues and patting themselves on the back over success while women of color, poor women, and young women drop dead at a disproportionately high rate. I'm sorry, shifting the burden of your mortality to those with less of a voice than you is not progress, it's a fucking shell game.
Faux 'girl power' which pinkwashes the brutality of an ugly disease, and it's often uglier treatments, in a cutsey non-threatening barrage of pink merchandise. It's the nice cancer, dontcha know? People don't suffer with breast cancer, oh no, they march pluckily on as a pink beribboned inspiration to others. Proof that we need not actually face women's real pain. Keep that smile on your face, ladies, even while they are slicing you open and pumping you full of toxic chemicals. Oozing wounds, crippling pain, bodily fluids everywhere, permanent disfigurement, nightmare side effects that last a lifetime, are so depressing. Oh yeah, and death, that ultimate downer...I mean, whatever will we do with your adorable pink 'survivor' bracelet? Fuck pink teddy bears. Give me a battle scarred warrior who isn't afraid to shout at the top of her lungs 'THIS SUCKS' and doesn't give a good goddamn about making you feel better about boxing her suffering up in an appropriately 'feminine' package.
Isn't it keen that women worked so hard to change the practice of radical mastectomies, often performed without choice or consent to be shoved under the table so we didn't have to actually think about breasts outside the context of a playboy centerfold. Hoorah for giving women a choice, for modified radical mastectomies and the option of lumpectomies to prevent unnecessary surgical pain and disfigurement. It's not like that was replaced with a culture that assumes and pressures women to undergo even more unnecessary and painful cosmetic surgical procedures with the attending risks, or to spend small fortunes on special forms and bras to keep up the illusion that nothing happened here, move along, don't think about it. OH, WAIT.
And about those pink ribbons in particular, conveniently adopted by every corporation known to man, and slapped on nearly ever product available to you. Buy more STUFF, because if you just buy enough stuff it won't happen to you. And, hey, even if it does, no biggie because you're a plucky inspiration (see above) and we're Walking for the Cure, Running for the Cure, and don't forget to BUY MORE STUFF for the cure. Ever wonder how much of that money makes it to actual research? You should. Though you may end up ripping the head off your cute pink teddy bear when you find out.
Beyond that, you ever ask how much of the research your pennies on the dollar makes it to is actually focused on 'a cure'? Um, shhhh, we don't talk about that. Yes, it's nifty that modern medical science has made progress in extending life and preventing reccurence. Less progress than they'd like you to think, but still, it's nothing to sneeze at. Finding a cure, though? The kind of research that would identify the root causes of cancer and how to prevent it or cure it for real? Don't hold your breath. We're no closer on that front than we were 20 years ago. One of the first thing I learned in my crash course of 'Oh, holy shit, you have CANCER' is how little anyone still knows about it, or how to treat it. Cancer research has just gotten a whole lot better at public relations is all.
Yeah, I might be a little angry.