A particularly vile attention-seeking Feminist has been making headlines after she ran the London Marathon with period blood running down her leg. Kiran Gandhi, Harvard MBA student and former drummer for the “artist” MIA, wrote about the experience on her blog, brazenly clothing her crass bid for attention in the langauge of social justice: this time, to “raise awareness” about “period shaming” and lack of access to sanitary products.
The liberal media, as it does with all instances of degeneracy, has exploded in a chorus of oohs and aahs, celebrating Gandhi so vigorously that nobody even knows of the woman who actually won the London Marathon.
Feminism: a race to the (front) bottom
Gandhi writes on her blog:
I got my flow the night before the London Marathon and it was extremely painful… I had spent a full year enthusiastically training hard, but I had never actually practiced running on my period.
An MBA student with phenomenally good foresight, then. Gandhi then weighed her options between running with a sanitary pad and running with a tampon.
I knew that I was lucky to have access to tampons etc, to be part of a society that at least has a norm around periods.
Having invented a nice bit of imaginary oppression to moan about, Gandhi then had her Eureka moment.
If there’s one person society can’t eff with, it’s a marathon runner. You can’t tell a marathoner to clean themselves up, or to prioritize the comfort of others. On the marathon course, I could choose whether or not I wanted to participate in this norm of shaming.
Society’s revulsion for women being out in public with period blood dripping through their clothes is not healthy and normal. It is a form of “shaming.” If I was to walk around with shit caking my canary yellow dungarees in order to raise awareness of a lack of toilet paper in Africa, I would quite rightly be carted off to the nearest nut-house under the proscriptions of the Mental Health Act.
Feminists, on the other hand, are seeking an entirely different dispensation. And what better way to rationalise a claim of righteousness when outraging public decency that by clothing it in the flimsy veneer of radical social action?
A marathon in itself is a centuries old symbolic act. Why not use it as a means to draw light to my sisters who don’t have access to tampons and, despite cramping and pain, hide it away like it doesn’t exist?
The comfort blanket of phony oppression
To bolster her claimed right to be disgusting, Gandhi even indulged in a spot of half-baked sociology, all in the middle of the marathon:
As I ran, I thought to myself about how women and men have both been effectively socialized to pretend periods don’t exist. By establishing a norm of period-shaming, [male-preferring] societies effectively prevent the ability to bond over an experience that 50% of us in the human population share monthly.
“[W]omen and men have both been effectively socialized to pretend periods don’t exist”? In whichever universe this has happened, it’s not the one most people inhabit. Period jokes and period jibes are part of the very fabric of language and life most countries.
The richness of epithets describing the phenomenon alone prove the claim that people have been “socialised to pretend that periods don’t exist” entirely spurious: Time of the month, on the rag, got the painters in, Arsenal are playing at home and flying the Japanese flag, in English alone.
The again, Gandhi’s extra curricular cultural classes in her business education probably went no further than Feminism 101. She goes on:
By making it difficult to speak about, we don’t have language to express pain in the workplace, and we don’t acknowledge differences between women and men that must be recognized and established as acceptable norms. Because it is all kept quiet, women are socialized not to complain or talk about their own bodily functions, since no one can see it happening. And if you can’t see it, it’s probably “not a big deal.” Why is this an important issue? Because THIS is happening, right now. And so I started bleeding freely.
The next frontier in Feminist liberation of, presumably, the twenty-third wave: complaining about period pains in the workplace. The real reason why it is unacceptable to complain about period blood in the workplace is not some patriarchal conspiracy against women, but rather the common notion that “keep your personal ailments to yourself, nobody wants to hear it.”
There are not many workplaces that would tolerate complaining and bitching about headaches and upset stomachs. Kiran Gandhi wants a special dispensation to regale the world with her period pain, because reasons.
Also, which “workplace” will welcome Kiran Gandhi in, now that her name is associated with this particularly grotty stunt, remains an interesting discussion.
Solipsism as tonic for a rotten soul
The grottiness of the stunt having dawned on Gandhi during mile nine of the run, her rationalisation hamster kicked into overdrive:
I was going through all these crazy thoughts and analyzing whether I was ether a) a crazy chick who needs to just calm down and reach for an effing tampon (someone came up behind me making a disgusted face to tell me in a subdued voice that I was on my period…I was like…wow, I had NO idea!), or b) a liberated boss madame who loved her own body, was running an effing marathon and was not in the mood for being oppressed that day.
For Western women, oppression is to be faced with somebody else’s natural distaste for your crass attention whoring.
And as we come up on mile 9 I saw my dad and brother. They were so completely amazing, smiling and laughing and cheering. I kept trying to awkwardly pull my shirt down to my knees so they wouldn’t see that I was bleeding. But as I approached them, I realized they just wanted to scream and hug and take a photo and celebrate together. They were so in the moment with me and there was so much love. I realized they couldn’t have cared less.
The two most important men in my life were down for team feminism.
Castrati manlets of the future rejoice in the degeneracy of their own daughters. It would not surprise me to open the Guardian one day to read an edgy piece about how it is now the done thing for fathers to chaperone their daughters to bukakke parties.
When intellectually bankrupt, blame “Our Culture”
Republishing the blog in the Observer, Gandhi made some peculiar claims about “culture”:
Consider how women in developing nations are affected by period secrecy and taboo. Our culture tells them to hide their monthly flow, despite the fact that the ways to clean it up are either unsustainable or unaffordable. Even women who are able to use pieces of cloth to absorb blood don’t always have private places at school or at work to change them out. As a result, they choose skipping school or work as a better, less shameful alternative.
By “developing nations” I have to presume she means mud-hut societies in sub-Saharan Africa or thereabouts. But “our culture”? Even in the abstruse obliqueness of Social Justice Warrior-speak, “our culture” can only mean, well our culture. The culture of the West.
Unless Kiran Gandhi originates from a third world mud-hut society, which as a Harvard MBA I’m guessing she doesn’t. In what sense does the culture of the West tell women in the third world to hide their periods? Could it be that, in her feminist fervour, Kiran Gandhi has become incoherent?
“Our culture,” contrary to what Kiran Gandhi would argue, is one in which women can pull a stunt as filthy as running a marathon with period blood flowing down their leg while their fathers and respectable media outlets cheer them from the sidelines and give them kudos for being progressive.
“Our culture” is one in which a leading scientist can have his life ruined by a baying mob because he said something which was interpreted as possibly offensive to women. Feminists like Kiran Gandhi tend to forget how much the “society” they love to criticise allows them to get away with.
Western Feminists are becoming ever-more deranged as the months roll on. Just this week, radical militant feminists have employed violence and terror to suppress the free speech of Roosh Valizadeh on his Canadian speaking tour. I have reported previously how a British feminist was pressing for the right to have herself sterilised on the public dime at 29 years of age.
Another British feminist was given a top honour for having some people locked up for offending over the internet. Now Kiran Gandhi, another privileged Western feminist, is making a song and dance about her bodily functions in order to garner attention. If you find this distasteful, you are an “oppressor.”
It is an irony that the real victim of Kiran Gandhi’s attention whoring is a woman—the actual winner of the 2015 London Women’s Marathon, Tigist Tufa, who ran 26.2 miles in 2 hours and 23 minutes. Quoted in a Buzzfeed article, Tufa told of how she was overshadowed by Gandhi and her rank stunt:
I called People Magazine asking for a feature, I even catered to them saying I’d talk about my fitness routine. But they just said, “Are you the tampon girl?” and I said, “No I’m the winner.” But they had already hung up on me.
Feminism is a device by which privileged professional women with a gnawing hole in their rotten-carcassed souls demand and receive attention from the world. It’s nothing to do with justice, and nothing to do with improving the lot of real women.
It’s simply status signaling by comfortably-off women who have been told their entire lives that they can do no wrong, that the world owes them attention and deference and that the only thing they have to do to earn it is fart, or bleed into their own leggings.
Which reminds me of what it was that gives away Gandhi’s foul ruse as an plea for attention… black leggings don’t show blood.