I really struggle with the idea that any criticism of Dee Devlin is automatically misogynistic. Funny how this grace always seems to be reserved exclusively for white women. White feminism stays undefeated at using “feminism” as a shield to dodge valid criticism.
And let’s be real, as a white woman myself, we have a history—and a present—of throwing people under the bus to preserve our own comfort and privilege. Case in point: Taylor Swift. Silent on Palestinian women, loud as hell when it’s about jokes on a skit comedy show. The priorities are... something else.
I guess it’s no surprise that actual feminist activists get buried under cutesy graphics shouting “Live Deliciously.” Like, excuse me ma’am, but there’s a cost of living crisis and multiple genocides happening—over 100 women have killed themselves in Sudan to avoid sexual violence in the conflict. Maybe pipe the fuck down with the slogans about embracing pink and dancing in your pants as the solution to patriarchy. Or better yet, stop pretending it goes any deeper than self-posturing for white, middle-class women.
And then there’s Conor McGregor. A vile man flourishing in a system that rewards evil, because accountability is practically extinct. £200,000 means nothing to a guy like him. Why would he care? He’s living his best “poundland gangster” life, fueled by cocaine and the knowledge that the mother of his children doesn’t seem to care either. It’s the perfect setup for unchecked awfulness.
Maybe I’m just angry—angry at how women’s safety is sacrificed for this charade of justice, angry at how predators thrive while their enablers look the other way. But I hate every single person who supports rapists. Every. Single. One.
