I had the pleasure of attending a rough-as-guts Australian state school at the peak of 1990s feminism. The dumpiest and grumpiest female teachers, apparently unconcerned about life-threatening peer violence against weaker boys, attempted to ideologically seduce the girls, succeeding in winning over a few gangly suck ups who obediently wore trousers (in the 1990s, gasp), and who took up science challenges in which they had no interest.

In the meantime, a thin, talkative pretty boy a year above me who was a little too popular with the cute girls was held down by some jealous classmates and had his mouth thoroughly smashed in with a brick. He spent a month in hospital. One perpetrator was expelled and the other fled. The incident, not atypical for our institution, attracted no other attention from school authorities and the police were not involved.

Instead, the feminist phenomenon reached its zenith at about the same time when the butch teachers organized girls-only self defense classes and held an assembly exclusively for female pupils (the content secret), and when the (male) Vice Principal thundered at the entire student body about how proactive and dedicated girls were and what awful losers boys were, thus ensuring that any boy who had been considering taking up an academic opportunity avoided doing so lest he be called a fag.

Feminist posters went up celebrating girls in non-traditional fields, warning them to focus on their career rather than marriage, and about the dangers of the male members of our shared species.

vice principal

Artist’s impression of Vice Principal.

I lived in terror amid this unpoliced chaos until I reached fifteen or so and was large enough to defend myself. Throughout, we were berated for being the cause of the world’s problems by the very adults who were supposed to be protecting us. Then we were gone, moving on to further study or prison in approximately equal numbers.

Recently, the sneering, severely shorn harridans of Australian secondary education have again emerged from their tree, pioneering a program to indoctrinate children in feminist ideology.

A hyperventilating ‘news’ piece in the once respectable paper, The Age, begins with a bossy, bitchy, sixteen-year-old feminist complaining that people call her a bossy bitch. It continues by explaining that a teacher and some of her students have begun a Feminist Collective which has subsequently turned into an elective class.

The girls, together with a tiny troupe of “boys,” receive political instruction in such feminist falsehoods as “systemic sexism” (illegal in Australia since 1984), the mythical hordes of wife-beating thugs, and the venerable wage gap.


Ferocious husbands.

The next section of the article is best quoted in excruciating detail, together with English translations.

The students were angry that good friends were falling victim to eating disorders . .

Yes, men made them do that. What red-blooded bloke doesn’t savor that bitter, bilious taste of kissing a bulimic?

. . . that white middle class men dominated their reading lists . . .

Drink! Around a third of the authors on the official reading list are female, and they make up half of the novelists.


“. . . that objectifying images of girls they knew were circulating on Facebook . . .”

Yes, and who put those images there? Did those rascally boys sneak into those girls’ bedrooms and secretly snap them in their knickers? Or, perhaps, did those girls put sexy selfies of themselves up there as they are hopelessly prone to do?


A woman posts a sexy selfie because of sexism.

The collective also faced opposition in the playground . . . Male students argued that they should form a “men’s rights collective” to protect themselves against the feminists.

What was most upsetting about that was, it was the cool boys who were trolling them so. The naughty recalcitrants won’t really turn into MRAs – they’re too busy having fun with prettier girls. It’s good to know the red pill has sunk so deeply into Australian society, however. I suspect some of those young hooligans are presently reading this very article. Nice work, lads.

Remember: your cheeky antics are making those spluttering, red-faced educators quite damp. You’ll get away with murder so long as you never, ever apologize. See: Trump.

It got increasingly aggressive . . . I tried to stay calm, but when I left, I just about to burst out into tears [sic], because these were a couple of my really good friends who had just yelled at me, for simply saying that I want rights.

I’m guessing no one was yelling except the young Kommissar. More sensible friends probably pointed out that she is denied not a single opportunity and that she enjoys a freer, safer, and more privileged existence than ninety-nine percent of the world’s population.

A word to the wise: you don’t get to run the world if you flee in hysterics when someone disagrees with you. Could you image Vladimir Putin doing that? Neither can anyone else, sweetheart. That’s why he’s got the job.


Vladimir Putin responds to his critics.

. . . a growing number of boys . . . support the collective.

Boys who will not lose their virginity until they either pay for it or stumble upon a site like this, whichever comes first.

I’m not at all opposed to high school kids learning about feminism. Let a hundred flowers bloom, as Mao briefly said. Students should be exposed to the classic feminist texts. They should also be exposed to anti-feminist views such as those put forward by articulate MRAs (they do exist), and to neomasculinist values promulgated on Return of Kings.

Having read widely and debated without the straightjacket of feminist censorship, would adolescents follow the example of their desperately sad, feminist teachers? Or would they notice who is happier and more successful among the peoples of the world?

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