Let’s All Agree, “Angry” Is Not An Insult

Nothing is meant to silence a woman as quickly as the accusation that she is “angry.”  A woman passionately speaking out against oppressions based on her gender, class, or ethnicity is rarely well-spoken or thought-provoking; rather, she is angry or emotional.  While misogynists levying “anger” against women daring to speak their mind may seem reductionist and unoriginal, the insult remains quite effective.

We are angry when we passionately speak up about our right to be treated as equals.  We are man-hatin’ angry and hormonal when we try to share menstrual woes.  When we talk about institutional discrimination, we are merely listing off problems.  We are whining.  When we call out someone’s sexism or lack of inclusivity, we are in attack-mode.  Offended “butt-hurt” babies who make everyone around us walk on eggshells.  Since when did it become wrong to be offended by hate speech?  In a nation that builds statues honoring Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King, Jr., when did anger or emotion become something to denounce?

Anger is a plea to be heard, to be listened to in a world that consistently reinforces our unimportance.  Anger is being frustrated with receiving less money, less praise, less promotions, and less credit.  Anger is working a forty-hour work week and spending each evening running the household with little to no help.  Anger is trying to speak out, only to be silenced at every turn.

I am not ashamed to admit that, I am, in fact, angry.  I’m angry that I can’t walk down the street without getting whistled at, without my body receiving unwanted compliments from creepy men.  I’m angry that my reproductive choices remain elusive and limited in scope.  I’m angry that I still feel ashamed when buying menstrual products or that I have to apologize for having cramps so bad that I’m bedridden.

Most of all, I’m angry that I can’t talk about these problems or offer any solutions without being silenced by the word “angry.”  And yet, we allow men to loudly scream at televisions in sports bars when their favorite basketball player misses a free-throw.  Somehow, that is passion, that is belonging to something bigger than oneself, not childish anger.  So often, I find myself apologizing for pointing out a misogynistic comment or talking about inequality.  In these moments, I might as well say, “I’m sorry that I have the audacity to think I should be equal to you.”

However, we’ve been conditioned to apologize, haven’t we?  We have been taught that tears show our lack of strength and that voicing our thoughts makes us opinionated, a put-down that more often than not is levied solely against women.  Even worse, we could be a labeled a “bitch.”  We don’t want to be seen as aggressive, bossy, weak, or whiny.  Whenever I talk to a man in my life about the patriarchy and he responds with an accusation against my anger or ranting, he knows that in some way, he is responsible for my and every other woman’s oppression.  Instead of coming to terms with the role we all play in upholding the patriarchal system, far too many men blame women for bringing the lack of equality between sexes to their attention, as though our fight for fairness constitutes a burden.

I argue that, as women, we ought to be angry.  Our health isn’t considered as important as our reproductive potential, we are routinely reduced to two boobs with a vagina attached, and we simply are not taken as seriously as men.  Our rightful anger comes from a place of knowledge.  We know, through both our personal lived experiences and statistical studies, that the United States remains a gendered society where men have greater social, political, and economic power than women.  This divide is even deeper for lesbian and trans women and women of color.

Our anger is our collective rejection of passivity or acceptance.  Is it possible that women in Saudi Arabia or Somalia or Honduras face a harsher reality than women in the U.S.?  Absolutely, but that does not mean we should consider ourselves lucky for not suffering as much as other women around the world.  We shouldn’t feel obligated to thank men for not behaving as brutally as those in different cultures.  Feminist outrage stems from a united front.  No woman will be free from the patriarchy’s shackles until all women are free.

Men, you ought to be angry as well.  You work, socialize, and interact with other men who are responsible for rape, harassment, and sexist put-downs and comments.  You yourself may have even treated women as less-than-human because you internalized the message at an early age that you are entitled to sex, and women, societies’ second-class citizens, are supposed to give it to you.  You should be angry that your behavior might not match the ideals you have, and that you could be imparting that very behavior to your younger brother, cousins, nephews, or sons.  Also, emotions are not exclusive to women, and it is unhealthy for men to stifle, hide, or lie about their feelings.

One way we can work towards an egalitarian society is by encouraging the women in our lives to speak about their experiences with discrimination and misogyny.  We need to stop the silencing.  Those who have the potential to benefit the most from this exchange – white, cis-gendered, straight men – are often the ones denouncing feminist passion as angry rants.  Please, stop dismissing women.  This also pertains to women who are white, upper-class, straight, or able-bodied – feminism has struggled with race and class inclusivity, and that needs to change.  “Angry” can be as racist as it is sexist when used to silence a black woman speaking her mind about injustice, as the destructiveness surrounding the trope of the “angry black woman” are well-documented.

Remember, until all women are equal to men, none of us are.  This includes poor women, black women, trans women, immigrant women, non-American women – when I say all women, I mean all women.  I urge my fellow women to reinterpret “angry” or “overly emotional” to mean “passionate,” and not let one word with fierce misogynistic overtones influence how strongly we feel about our rightful place as equals in society.

Disclaimer: This post was written by a Feministing Community user and does not necessarily reflect the views of any Feministing columnist, editor, or executive director.

My name is Kate Ericson, and I am a writer, social justice theorist, and Feminist living in Washington, D.C. I have a Master's in American Studies from George Washington University, with a focus in women and gender studies. My hobbies include excitedly petting golden retrievers, eating pizza, and traveling.

Kate is a writer and social justice advocate living in Washington, D.C.

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