Latest in the seemingly endless barrel-scraping attacks that the right-wing press are throwing at Nick Clegg and the Liberal Democrats is this story (by the legendary Jan Moir) about the wives of the leaders. In it, she criticises Clegg's wife, Miriam Gonzalez Durantez (whom she annoyingly keeps referring to as 'Mrs Clegg' as though repeatedly saying "How dare she not take her husband's name!") for going shopping for underwear at Rigby and Peller, a rather expensive lingerie shop, claiming that perhaps the Cleggs are not as close to ordinary plebs like you and I as they pretend to be.
The article gets my goat on several points. Let's dissect each of them. Firstly, Nick Clegg has never hidden his public school education, has never tried to go about identifying himself as being an ordinary bloke - that's just how he comes across, and that's because he's probably slightly less stage-managed and more genuine than David Cameron. His wife also works as a lawyer, and typically they don't get paid minimum wage - so when she buys clothes I'd personally be very fucking surprised if she bought her underwear at Primark. The socialist in me doesn't like to see people pissing money away on expensive food, or clothes, or cars, but I hate hypocrisy even more. The Daily Mail shouts "Look! See? They're posh and have nothing to do with the likes of YOU!" whilst at the same time trying to get us to vote for an Etonian and his shadow cabinet of Etonians, who arguably have even less to do with the likes of us, and are openly declaring their plans to cut inheritance tax for their closest chums.
Secondly, I take issue with the notion that Miriam is somehow doing something wrong by staying at work and not accompanying her husband on the campaign circuit like some appendage. It smacks feminism in the face squarely with it's patriarchal suggestion that a woman's place is BY HER HUSBAND'S SIDE no matter what, even if it means giving up her own very lucrative job to do so. Miriam has very wisely said "Screw that - that's your job, Nick, and this is mine" as any woman should be able to do without fear of mockery or ridicule. This line of reasoning extends to a kind of slightly disapproving frown that she wields too much influence over her husband by 'encouraging' him to take a day off from his important campaigning to spend a day off with his children who have been stuck in Spain for the last week or so. I'm sorry, Jan, but 'encouraged'? You don't think that maybe, just maybe, Nick might have been missing his boys and might just have a) needed some time out, and b) wanted to see them again and spend some time with them? You think he needs to be 'encouraged' to do this? Do you even know any human beings, Jan? Or have you been too long enclosed in the misogynistic bubble of the Daily Mail, where men caring for their children is seen as weakness, and should be done by the little subservient women? Moir sums up this anti-feminist mindset when she says, "For don't you feel that the wives could do a little more to help their floundering husbands in this yo-yo election?" No, Jan. I don't. Because that's their job, not their wives'. I also don't approve of the way she tries to hilariously insinuate that Miriam's dominance over her husband extends to beating him up if he doesn't empty the dishwasher. Seriously, read the piece, it's in there, I kid you not.
Thirdly, as mentioned earlier, and still on a feminist rant, this appallingly facetious mentioning of Miriam as 'Mrs Clegg'. She has clearly decided not to take her husband's name, in a move I applaud wholeheartedly, and yet Moir uses it as a stick to hit her with. It's like she's being all sniffy and saying "Well, you might have chosen to try to be all feminist and clever, but I'm still going to call you Mrs Clegg, because you're a nuaghty little woman who should have done the right thing and being utterly subjugated by your husband. So there."
Another corker from Moir, and another black mark against the Mail in what surely must be a record fortnight for black marks against them.
No comments:
Post a Comment