LISTSERV mailing list manager LISTSERV 16.5

Help for SCIENCE-FOR-THE-PEOPLE Archives


SCIENCE-FOR-THE-PEOPLE Archives

SCIENCE-FOR-THE-PEOPLE Archives


SCIENCE-FOR-THE-PEOPLE@LIST.UVM.EDU


View:

Message:

[

First

|

Previous

|

Next

|

Last

]

By Topic:

[

First

|

Previous

|

Next

|

Last

]

By Author:

[

First

|

Previous

|

Next

|

Last

]

Font:

Proportional Font

LISTSERV Archives

LISTSERV Archives

SCIENCE-FOR-THE-PEOPLE Home

SCIENCE-FOR-THE-PEOPLE Home

SCIENCE-FOR-THE-PEOPLE  August 2004

SCIENCE-FOR-THE-PEOPLE August 2004

Subject:

psychology of email

From:

Robt Mann <[log in to unmask]>

Reply-To:

Science for the People Discussion List <[log in to unmask]>

Date:

Fri, 6 Aug 2004 20:54:22 +1200

Content-Type:

text/plain

Parts/Attachments:

Parts/Attachments

text/plain (144 lines)

        By the time I had been on email for only 15 months, I had noticed many
examples of the drastic rudeness which is readily resorted to by some on email,
especially if they think they will never meet the person they're abusing.
        Here's some good neoFreudian analysis of this problem (by a prof of
English):
http://www.human-nature.com/free-associations/holland.html


        I urge you to read the excellent Howard S (as distinct
from Howard K) Schwartz.  Here's a sampler from his website
http://www.sba.oakland.edu/faculty/schwartz/schwartz.htm


     Deconstructing My Car at the Detroit Airport
                                     by
                             Howard S. Schwartz
        Organization Studies 14 (2), 1993, 279-281 (slightly revised)

Returning to Detroit from an academic conference, my head was still buzzing
with what I had learned from the feminists.  All of them were doing work in
feminist deconstruction, and joyfully working out its implications.
Following their lead, I came to see that the organized world is a text that
expresses male domination.  Furthermore, I understood that the male principle
is domination.  If that text could be deconstructed, domination itself could
be overcome and the female principle -- warm, nurturant, and life-giving --
would be able to emerge.

The shuttle bus took me to long-term parking and I found my little car,
waiting for me where I had left it.  Without even thinking, I opened the door
and began to get in.  And that was when the thought hit me.

Getting into the car ... why obviously the car was a female and, expressing
a masculinity which I now understood to permeate me to my core, I was about to
about to enter her and use her for my own purposes in just the same way that
men have used women for thousands of years.

I stepped back from her, astonished by the power of my insight.  For I saw
that there was a larger dimension involved than my simply entering this car
at this time.  Indeed, it became clear enough to me in this moment, the whole
pattern of male domination over the female was present here. And this was so
perhaps least of all with regard to my entering the car and forcing her to
do my will.  More important, I came to realize, was the fact that the car
itself, while clearly female, had been interpenetrated by male desires; her
beautiful feminine essence warped and degraded by the domination of the
phallus.

At that point I decided that I had to deconstruct the car; not for her sake
alone, nor even for the sake of all the females of which she was a part, but
for myself and all males as well.  Crippled and driven by our own phallic
assumptions, we had been deprived of the beauty that could exist if the
female principle were allowed its sway.  In a small way, I saw, I could start
here.  I could remove the influence of male domination from this beautiful
car and leave her to express her female essence in a way that she, and only
she, would determine.

I began with the item that first struck my attention: the driveshaft.
Driveshaft, get it?  This was obviously a penis.  In the trunk was a hacksaw.
I took it out and began to cut through.  It was hard work, and it was hot,
but as I gave up my doubts and hesitancies, it was as if I had discovered a
new source of energy, for the work appeared to become lighter.  And, indeed,
as the hacksaw bit through the last of the metal, and as the driveshaft fell
away from the car, I too felt lightened, relieved of a weighty burden that I
had carried all my life.  Now, it was plain to me, I had passed the point of
no-return. I was committed by my own actions.  I could not turn back.

Next I turned to a more subtle instance of the domination of male values --
the steering system.  Think of it.  You turn the steering wheel a certain
amount and the car turns by a similar amount.  So rational, so logocentric,
so cold, so quintessentially male.  This would never do.  With my hacksaw I
cut out a length of the steering column and, in its place, I inserted an old
inner tube that I had been carrying around.  Fastened to both ends of the gap
in the column, the inner tube would act like a large rubber band.  Now, turn
the steering wheel and perhaps something will happen. And perhaps it won't.
So full of freedom!  So intuitive!  So warm!  So feminine!  Irigaray herself
could not have done better.

Next my attention fastened upon the wheels.  The wheels, with their fullness
and roundness, seemed to me at first to be contrary to my overall judgment.
Could they be a feminine element in the car?  But then my thought led me to
recognize the subtle sexism inherent in their use.  For each of these wheels
was penetrated and subservient to an axle, whose bidding they were forced to
do.  Moreover, it was the wheels that were burdened with the punishment of
the road.  The axles needed to do nothing but turn.  Master and slave.  Here it
was again.  Moreover, as I thought about the matter, an even deeper level of
offense made itself known to me.  Each axle penetrated and dominated two
wheels.  Not only were the poor wheels raped and dominated, they were
devalued as well.  This could clearly not be allowed to pass.

I removed the wheels from the axles and placed them in the front seat.
Henceforth, they would ride in the position of honor that they deserved.  The
axles, now in contact with the road surface, would have to endure the
suffering which formerly they had imposed on gentler others.  Let justice be
done.  They deserved no pity.

Finally, I came to the part of the car that seemed most obviously male.  It
was the engine.  Gas drinker, fume maker, taking from Mother Nature and
giving back junk.  This was what it meant to be male expressed in its
essence.  And for what were these lovely hydrocarbons consumed?  Speed, power,
the lust of going ever faster.  Competition, domination  ... The male image was
unavoidable.  Certainly no woman has ever been interested in stuff like that.

But as I thought about the engine the thought occurred to me that this image
of the engine serving the purpose of domination had, literally, only
scratched the surface.  For when I began to think of what was going on within
the engine, my horror and my shame came unbound.  For there, within the
engine, where outsiders could not see, the most terrible scenes of male
brutality occurred.  The engine, I came to realize, ran on rape.  The pistons
penetrated the cylinder heads and they did this each time the crankshaft
turned.  This was not only rape, it was gang rape and it happened with
unbelievable speed and under the most appalling circumstances.  Two thousand,
three thousand, four thousand ... up to six thousand Rapes Per Minute!  And
the heat, the pressure, the sheer unrestrained violence!  Tears in my eyes, I
ripped the cylinder head from the engine and placed the poor battered dear
in the rear seat.  Never again would this be allowed to happen.  Never.

But my new consciousness understood that simply rescuing the cylinder head
would not suffice.  Payment would have to be exacted for the crime.  Moreover,
punishing the pistons would not be sufficient.  The entire infrastructure of
male domination that supported, encouraged, and even demanded this outrage
would have to suffer as well.

The sun was beginning to set as I took my hacksaw to the pistons, and I knew
that my work had just begun.  After the pistons, the connecting rods would
have to go, then the bearings, the flywheel, the crankshaft, the engine
casings... they would all have to pay.

It was mid-morning when I cut up the last piece of the engine.  My heart
relieved of its guilt, I put a plant where it had been.  Mother Nature and
the car could now be one.

But I was tired.  The night had been long and hard.  I wished I could get into
the beautiful car, now restored to her pristine state, and drive her home.
But I knew that this was not to be.  I would impose my male will on her no
longer.  She was free to go her own feminine way.  I began the long walk home,
wondering where her path would lead her.

- - -

        I think you'll admit this illustrates the power of humour in
political argumentation.
Indeed, it seems to me that little else is likely to work against WimminsLib.
After all, it generally makes good sense to use a weapon your opponent
lacks and cannot understand.

Top of Message | Previous Page | Permalink

Advanced Options


Options

Log In

Log In

Get Password

Get Password


Search Archives

Search Archives


Subscribe or Unsubscribe

Subscribe or Unsubscribe


Archives

November 2019
October 2019
September 2019
August 2019
July 2019
June 2019
May 2019
April 2019
March 2019
February 2019
January 2019
December 2018
November 2018
October 2018
September 2018
August 2018
July 2018
June 2018
May 2018
April 2018
March 2018
February 2018
January 2018
December 2017
November 2017
October 2017
September 2017
August 2017
July 2017
June 2017
May 2017
April 2017
March 2017
February 2017
January 2017
December 2016
November 2016
October 2016
September 2016
August 2016
July 2016
June 2016
May 2016
April 2016
March 2016
February 2016
January 2016
December 2015
November 2015
October 2015
September 2015
August 2015
July 2015
June 2015
May 2015
April 2015
March 2015
February 2015
January 2015
December 2014
November 2014
October 2014
September 2014
August 2014
July 2014
June 2014
May 2014
April 2014
March 2014
February 2014
January 2014
December 2013
November 2013
October 2013
September 2013
August 2013
July 2013
June 2013
May 2013
April 2013
March 2013
February 2013
January 2013
December 2012
November 2012
October 2012
September 2012
August 2012
July 2012
June 2012
May 2012
April 2012
March 2012
February 2012
January 2012
December 2011
November 2011
October 2011
September 2011
August 2011
July 2011
June 2011
May 2011
April 2011
March 2011
February 2011
January 2011
December 2010
November 2010
October 2010
September 2010
August 2010
July 2010
June 2010
May 2010
April 2010
March 2010
February 2010
January 2010
December 2009
November 2009
October 2009
September 2009
August 2009
July 2009
June 2009
May 2009
April 2009
March 2009
February 2009
January 2009
December 2008
November 2008
October 2008
September 2008
August 2008
July 2008
June 2008
May 2008
April 2008
March 2008
February 2008
January 2008
December 2007
November 2007
October 2007
September 2007
August 2007
July 2007
June 2007
May 2007
April 2007
March 2007
February 2007
January 2007
December 2006
November 2006
October 2006
September 2006
August 2006
July 2006
June 2006
May 2006
April 2006
March 2006
February 2006
January 2006
December 2005
November 2005
October 2005
September 2005
August 2005
July 2005
June 2005
May 2005
April 2005
March 2005
February 2005
January 2005
December 2004
November 2004
October 2004
September 2004
August 2004
July 2004
June 2004
May 2004
April 2004
March 2004
February 2004
January 2004
December 2003
November 2003
October 2003
September 2003
August 2003
July 2003
June 2003
May 2003
April 2003
March 2003
February 2003
January 2003
December 2002
November 2002
October 2002
September 2002
August 2002
July 2002
June 2002
May 2002
April 2002
March 2002
February 2002
January 2002
December 2001
November 2001
October 2001
September 2001
August 2001
May 2001
March 2001
February 2001
January 2001
December 2000
November 2000
October 2000
September 2000
August 2000
July 2000
May 2000
April 2000
March 2000
February 2000
January 2000
December 1999
November 1999
October 1999
September 1999
August 1999
July 1999
June 1999
May 1999
April 1999
March 1999
February 1999
January 1999
December 1998
November 1998
September 1998
August 1998
July 1998
June 1998
May 1998

ATOM RSS1 RSS2



LIST.UVM.EDU

CataList Email List Search Powered by the LISTSERV Email List Manager