It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. And after today, it must surely be a truth universally acknowledged that V. S. Naipaul has never read Jane Austen.
Before I go any further, I shall put my hands up and admit that I have never read any of Mr. Naipaul’s fiction either – so the below is purely based on his comments at the Royal Geographical Society.
He said of Jane Austen that he

couldn’t possibly share her sentimental ambitions, her sentimental sense of the world.

Now, anyone who has read Jane Austen and engaged with the text for about 30 seconds would struggle to call her work sentimental. I often joke that Austen gets her own special exception to the Bechdel Test. While she has plenty of female characters and they do often talk to each other, they rarely talk about topics other than men. And yet, every time a female Austen character discusses men, she is actually commenting on the social and economic conditions of her time. There is nothing at all sentimental about being one of five daughters who will be left penniless after their father’s death, and for whom therefore securing an advantageous marriage is a matter of survival. Mr. Naipaul’s understanding of both Austen and the world in general seems incredibly limited if he cannot get his head around this.
Of women writers in general, V.S. Naipaul says

Women writers are different, they are quite different. I read a piece of writing and within a paragraph or two I know whether it is by a woman or not. I think [it is] unequal to me.

He puts this down to their “sentimentality, the narrow view of the world”.

And inevitably for a woman, she is not a complete master of a house, so that comes over in her writing too.
My publisher, who was so good as a taster and editor, when she became a writer, lo and behold, it was all this feminine tosh. I don’t mean this in any unkind way.

I especially love that final disclaimer – almost like he realises he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar but can’t quite work out why this is a bad thing. Then again, “unkind” is perhaps too mild a word to apply to Mr. Naipaul’s comments. With a few words, he invalidates the experiences of half the human race, makes it clear that he finds nothing of value in those experiences or in women’s attempts to express them.
I guess that’s his prerogative – just as it is mine to think that V.S. Naipaul has failed to meaningfully engage with the world around him. So I for one shan’t be engaging with his work.

I’ve a confession to make: I am a bigot. Here are just some of the ways in which I am bigoted.
I’m a racist. The latest example of my racism is from this morning. I caught a snippet of news on Sky about the shooting in Milton Keynes and the first thought in my head was “I wonder what colour the victim and perpetrator were.” In my head, that information would have put the shooting into one of a number of available pigeon holes.
I also have the tendency to assume that all Muslims are homophobes, and that Muslim men with beards are extremists.
Sometimes I think very Tory thoughts (and yes, I’m bigoted about Tories too) about the disabled – especially when I meet disabled people I work with. Then I think “Why can’t all people who have this particular disability also work?”
I am incredibly bigoted about class and especially education. I find it difficult to engage with people who do not come from the same privileged background as me.
Religion is another one of those things I’m bigoted about. In my head religious people are all alike, and that generally means all like the most exasperating examples of religious people I’ve come across (think the rapture people).
And these are just the bigoted thoughts I catch myself thinking. There are probably countless other small things I think and do in my life that reflect prejudice and stereotypes living in my head.
Most of the time though, my brain does a double-take after that initial impulse and goes “What the fuck – that’s racist/sexist/etc.” And sometimes I’m lucky enough to meet someone who will gently challenge my prejudice – sometimes just by being the person they are, sometimes by calling me out on bullshit. Occasionally, I’m challenged quite rudely – and that’s great too.
I suspect deep down inside we all have our little bigotries. And I think it’s incredibly important that we recognise them, acknowledge them, and then try to do something about them. So, what’s your pet prejudice?

So far this week:

• Half the world has gone into collective denial with regards to attempted rape allegations against former IMF chief Dominique Strauss-Kahn.
• Nadine Dorries MP has claimed that teaching girls to say no will prevent child sexual abuse.
• The Justice Secretary had to apologise after he displayed a spectacular level of ignorance and insensitivity on the subject of rape, as well as the legislation surrounding it.
• The Lord Chief Justice stated that spreading rumours about celebrities on the Internet was comparable to distributing child pornography.
• And to top it all off, Roger Helmer MEP thinks that some rape victims are to blame.

And the week isn’t even over yet. Is there something in the water in London, Paris and Brussels?
I’d had enough after Dorries, nevermind the other three. I have very little energy left to actually argue with these people. I will keep doing so, keep calling them out on it, but I want to do more.
Every time I write about violence against women – whether it’s to tell my own story or to challenge the monumental ignorance and cruelty displayed by people like Nadine Dorries and others – I get one response consistently: every single time, a few more women get in touch – privately or publicly – to share their own stories of sexual violence, rape, domestic abuse.
If you’ve been reading my blog over the last year or so, you’ll know the stats:

• 45% of women suffer sexual assault, domestic violence or stalking.
• One in four women is raped – that’s 200 every single day.
• 21% of girls are sexually abused.
• 2 women a week in England and Wales are killed by a partner or ex-partner.

The stats are clearly not enough. Somehow, our politicians and judges still seem to find it acceptable to trivialise this kind of violence and to blame the victims. We need to do more to help these people understand the extent of the issue and its impact on women and society in general.
So I have spent my weekend with two friends, working on a way to give women who have suffered this kind of violence a voice; a place to speak out safely about what happened to them, to tell their story, to make others aware and help them understand. As I am writing this, Gemma is sitting next to me, coding the alpha version of the site.
We will go public very soon, and we want your contribution. If you have a story to tell – safely, anonymously – then please get in touch with me. I know it’s an incredibly brave and difficult thing I am asking of you; but if we do not speak up, the victim-blaming and trivialisation, and ultimately the violence, will never stop. It’s time to stand our ground. Stand with me.

Dear Nadine Dorries,
I had an epiphany last year. After fifteen years of self-hate, guilt and shame, something in my brain finally switched and I realised that I was not to blame for what was done to me by an uncle when I was a teenager. Imagine for a moment fifteen years of living with the thought that something you did or didn’t do caused the horrific abuse you had to endure. Did you dress wrong? Did you say something wrong? Should you have said “no” more forcefully, perhaps slapped him or kicked him? What should you have done differently so that this person whom you had trusted almost like a parent for all your life up to that point didn’t commit this horrendous crime against you? You’ve read all the literature, you’ve been told to just say no, you were old enough to look after yourself, so why didn’t you?
Fifteen years. For the first five I didn’t tell anyone. When I eventually did speak up, the only expectation I had of people around me was to ask me why I had let it happen; to challenge me and tell me that clearly I didn’t find the right way of saying no, or else it wouldn’t have happened; to tell me I must have wanted it in some way, brought it on myself. Mercifully, my friends are better people than you.
To this day, the abuse I suffered is affecting my relationships – with my family, with my partner, with others. It left me damaged, with a view of human relationships and intimacy that is warped, unhealthy, hurtful to me and those around me. I still get flashbacks. Pianos, random gestures, words, the way someone approaches me – all of these can trigger them. Even last year, when I first considered telling my parents about this, I had to sit down and mentally go through all the possible ways in which they could react – and make my peace with the possibility that they might not believe me, might blame me. Mercifully, my parents are better people than you.
One in every six children is sexually abused. My heart aches for every single one of them – boy or girl – and for every woman or man who has been through this horror, and who had to read or hear your comments.

If young girls were taught abstinence, there would be less sex abuse.

Ultimately, even if we’ve been fortunate enough to have epiphanies, most of us still walk around with a tiny bit of our brain constantly telling us that it was all our fault. We have good days and bad days. Some of the worst are the days when our elected representatives stand up, point the finger and say, in as many words, “It was all your fault”; or, for the boys and men who have survived abuse, when said elected representatives refuse to even acknowledge your experience.
There is enough victim-blaming going on in our society, without prominent politicians such as yourself having to reinforce it. Victims of sexual violence and rape who speak out – from those who accuse people like Dominique Strauss-Kahn or Julian Assange, to those who speak out against abuses they suffered at the hands of Catholic priests, and those abused by family members, friends or strangers – are constantly questioned, smeared, intimidated. Most do not come forward, precisely because they fear this kind of treatment. You have just given your stamp of approval to this attitude.
Not only will your proposed abstinence education for girls not decrease child sexual abuse; your victim-blaming comments are likely to lead to less abuse being reported and stopped. More children will suffer in silence, wondering what they are doing wrong. More survivors will be traumatised by having that nagging suspicion that they are to blame confirmed by people in power who are supposed to act as role models and opinion leaders. Boys and adult male survivors in particular will continue to suffer because their experiences are not addressed, not even acknowledged.
You have done a lot of damage, Ms. Dorries. And yet it is not too late to remedy at least some of it. You should stand up and apologise for your comments, publicly, sincerely. You should make it clear that you do not believe that children are to blame for being abused, that you do not believe it is children’s responsibility to prevent or stop sexual abuse. You should make it clear that you believe that the only person at fault in a sexual attack – regardless of whether it’s against a child, an adult, a man or a woman – is the attacker, and that any measures to prevent or stop such attacks should be focused on perpetrators, not victims.
Only if our political and cultural elites – which you belong to, Ms. Dorries – present a united front against child sexual abuse will we have the slightest hope of tackling the issue. Your victim blaming is not helping, and those of us who have been victims, as well as those of us who care about the welfare of our children will thank you for not causing any further damage on this front.
Sincerely yours,
Milena Popova
You can contact Nadine Dorries at
dorriesn@parliament.uk
or
Nadine Dorries MP
House of Commons
London
SW1A 0AA