War on Y


Most people have the good taste not to know what gender means anymore, but it wasn’t always the case. When I was at primary school 30 years ago, most kids could accurately identify the contents of their pants. On one solitary occasion, a boy famously strayed into the girls’ toilets, and was thereafter accorded the sort of hushed respect usually reserved for infantrymen who had survived a dash across no man’s land.

Fast forward to the present day, and cast-iron certainties about gender can land you in hot water. There’s a war on the Y Chromosome. One of the major achievements of liberals over the past few decades has been to instil uncertainty into the proceedings. In their efforts to get us all playing genital Top Trumps in the same cubicles, they have (quite literally) set out their stall.

This past week alone, a Swedish university is investigating Professor Germund Hesslow (a neuroscientist) for claiming that the differences between men and women are ‘biologically grounded’. Angelos Sofocleous meanwhile, assistant editor of Durham University’s philosophy journal ‘Critique’ wanted to test The Spectator’s recent article: ‘Is it a crime to say women don’t have penises?’, which he did by retweeting it. He was removed from his post faster than you can say ‘transphobic’.

Depending on your requirements, every man is simultaneously the embodiment of toxic masculinity or an effete pansy who needs to ‘man up’. Even dying for their country, men manage to oppress women, as Hillary Clinton observed:

Women have always been the primary victims of war. Women lose their husbands, their fathers, their sons in combat.’

The silent war on males begins early. Expulsion from the womb leaves many men typecast for the remainder of their time outside of it. Every day seems to bring a new brand of female victimhood at the hands of men. Stormy Daniels had to put up with Trump’s Mario Kart-inspired penis, while poor Serena Williams had to endure the ignominy of a male umpire oppressing her with the rulebook.

Sex is sadly the latest masculine pastime finding itself caught in the feminist crosshairs. It used to be a great game but is fast becoming a pursuit for which no man of sufficient means would ever get legal clearance. One spectacular myth, to which all men must at the very least pay lip service, is that women do not enjoy sex and are therefore doing us a favour – they are lying. (Measurable indicators, such as pupil dilation, heart rate, and genital blood flow suggest that, far from frigid little cherubs, women actually enjoy sex and are aroused as much as, and sometimes more strongly than men.)

In terms of the mating game therefore, the female Fabergé Egg is up against male door-to-door salesmen – there is only ever going to be one winner. Men absolutely must make the first move in order to get anywhere, except that now you can’t do that without risking a rape charge.  #MeToo already has a lot to answer for, as many women now feel emboldened to exact revenge on men who perhaps did not pay a high enough price for their most treasured possession. And if feminists agree on anything, it is surely that the price men pay is up for renegotiation. Hollywood actresses for instance are clearly no longer satisfied taking the express lane to the Oscars via the casting couch, when an upgrade to the first-class victim carriages can also be guaranteed. No man knows how much his penis will cost him, until the accusation surfaces. For Bill O’Reilly, the price was famously $32 million, because obviously $31 million just doesn’t quite take the pain away. The only reasonable conclusion from today’s furore over consent is that a man must know a priori that his clumsy overtures will be both welcome and consented to. As English Law currently stands:

The law places an evidential burden on the defendant to adduce sufficient evidence that the complainant consented.’

Not only is this both ridiculous and impractical, but what it also indicates is that any dalliance may subsequently become an issue for a man, should a woman suddenly become indisposed towards him at a later date. We’re now at the stage where it may be injudicious for a man to be alone in the same room as any woman. On a personal note, I changed my daughter’s nappy a bit late today so naturally I’m consulting lawyers just to be on the safe side.

The Ford-Kavanaugh hearing is merely the latest example of this renegotiation playing out in real time: precisely how much is the tax on the penis? In Ford’s defence, it can’t be easy: you’re sexually assaulted in high school, but wait 35 years to accuse your attacker, moments before he’s nominated for the Supreme Court – we’ve all been there. The facts of the case are almost irrelevant – what is striking is the zeal and the ease with which feminists have reversed the presumption of innocence until proven guilty; hardly a surprise, when all sex is rape anyway.

#MeToo is the Obama of protests – all style and no substance. It is not interested in genuine victims, preferring instead Carry On style titillation. As long as it’s Aled Jones sending a racy text, or Sir Michael Fallon’s hand making fleeting contact with Julia Hartley-Brewer’s knee, they’re interested. Show them the systematic gang-rape of teenage girls across the north of England however, and they suddenly go coy and start trying on hijabs.

Frank Haviland was born in London, and educated at Dulwich College. After a brief spell in the City, he obtained an MSc in Social and Applied Psychology. He has been many things including a professional juggler, businessman, and English lecturer. Haviland is concerned that Britain (and the West generally) have fallen to the lie of equality (the false notion that everything is, and must be seen to be of equal value). He has recently finished his first book (outlining his theory), which is due for publication later this year. Frank has lived in South Korea since 2011 where he runs a small English school, and writes occasional articles about the damage of political correctness. A selection of his work can be found here: www.frankhaviland.com@Frank Haviland