Where’s our feminist jetpack?!

The Saga of Julian Assange marches on. Sady Doyle of Tiger Beatdown writes an amazing piece on Michael Moore – the director of popular, progressive documentaries like Roger and Me and Fahrenheit 9/11, posted $20,000 in bail for Assange earlier this week and appeared on the Keith Olbermann Show, calling the charges against the Wikileaks founder, “a bunch of hooey.” Doyle takes Moore to task:

So, who remembers the climactic scene of Roger and Me? Everybody, right? Poor little guy Michael Moore, standing up against The Man, standing outside the office of The Man, in fact, just because Roger has done something that has immeasurably harmed his community, and he wants to talk to the guy. He wants to hold him accountable. He wants Roger to look him in the face and tell him why he’s hurt all of these people.

You know what immeasurably harms the progressive community, though, is rape and rape apologism. Is victim-blaming; is accuser-smearing; is the unwillingness of men in positions of power to consider rape a crucial issue that must be taken seriously. And the person who’s hurting our community, and refusing to take responsibility for that, right now, is Michael Moore.

If we’re to believe end-of-the-year lists, women haven’t done a damn thing in 2010. The number of women in Congress decreased for the first time in three decades, only about 14 percent of executive positions at Fortune 500 companies were held by women, and TIME’s person of the year was, once again, not a woman (spoiler: it’s Mark Zuckerburg). Melissa McEwan of Shakesville writes:

“Person of the Year,” my ass. If Time doesn’t believe there’s been a single individual woman deserving of the title in 24 years, then the least they could do is be honest and go back to calling it what it really is: “Man of the Year.”

Because the message being sent by having not found a single woman deserving of the cover in longer than a girl child could be born, attend grammar school and junior high, graduate from high school, graduate from college, get her Master’s degree, and settle in at her first job, is not that she could be their “Person of the Year” someday.

At The Atlantic, Alyssa Rosenberg considers the not-so-hidden feminist messages in “School House Rock,” which brought us such educational videos as “Sufferin’ Til Suffrage” and “Interplanet Janet”:

The girls in these videos don’t have questions about their capabilities or pre-determined senses of restrictive gender roles. They’re strapping on their backpacks, hiking boots, and jetpacks, standing up to cranky neighbor ladies, and acing their classes.

Amanda Hess of TBD counts down the 10 nastiest things Washington Post fashion critic Robin Givhan’s ever written. At number 2 is a critique of a lady who was dear to our hearts this week, Hillary Clinton. Hess quotes Givhan:

“It’s tempting to say that the cleavage stirs the same kind of discomfort that might be churned up after spotting Rudy Giuliani with his shirt unbuttoned just a smidge too far. No one wants to see that. But really, it was more like catching a man with his fly unzipped. Just look away! . . . To display cleavage in a setting that does not involve cocktails and hors d’oeuvres is a provocation. It requires that a woman be utterly at ease in her skin, coolly confident about her appearance, unflinching about her sense of style. Any hint of ambivalence makes everyone uncomfortable.” BONUS DEEPLY UNFLATTERING COMMENTARY ON HILLARY CLINTON’S CLEAVAGE: “unnerving.”

Oof. Feel free to wash that taste of your mouth with this list of the best female comic creators of 2010. Have a great weekend!

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