Women are required not to be angry. But we are raging ...Middle East

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Women are required not to be angry. But we are raging

If I tell you that “rage rooms” are the new thing, rooms in which you can (for a price and in full safety kit) take a bat or iron bar and, for between five and 30 minutes, smash to buggery bits of crockery, old technology and furniture, what image of the typical customer springs to mind?

Groups of teenagers? Lads on a stag do? Men coming straight from the office, hanging their suit jackets neatly outside and then enjoying their time in a mancave to end all mancaves?

    Wrong, wrong, and wrong, my friends. Apparently, 90 per cent of rage room customers are female. One operator describes the typical “rager” as “early 40s, woman, couple of kids, good job”. This surprises me… not a jot.

    If you don’t think women are angry – well, I won’t say you haven’t been listening because the main problem is that there is nothing to hear. I cannot begin to tell you how thoroughly we are trained not to show any negative emotions, but especially anger, nor how early the indoctrination begins. But so successful is it that it takes many of us decades even to realise what has been done to us, and even longer to unlearn the impulse to suppress.

    I literally don’t know what to do when I’m angry. In fact, I am barely able to recognise what I’m feeling, so profoundly have I internalised my macro and micro-schooling against it.

    Am I dehydrated? I drink water. No, that wasn’t it. Am I hungry? I eat something. No, that wasn’t it, though I sure did enjoy that cheese on toast and may well have some more. Am I sad? Not quite. Frustrated? Ooh, that’s a bit closer… And then, finally, I realise. And then?

    Well, then, I give it a quick, horrified glance and shove it away in whichever rank oubliette in my brain is not yet filled to capacity with wildly unsuitable feelings, unwanted thoughts, unspeakable desires and unhappy memories, and find some way to distract myself. This is usually accomplished by eating more cheese on toast, so the process cannot be seen as all bad.

    But still. It is pretty bad. Because really, you’re asking quite a lot of 50 per cent of the population. To require people to take a natural, predominantly justified human response to various situations and other humans – oh God, the other humans – and repress it, to alienate themselves as thoroughly as possible from it requires a lot of energy from them. From us. A lot of emotional contortion. Do it for long enough and it bends your entire self out of shape.

    Why do we do it? Or, if you prefer, why do we let this be done to us? My theory is that to a certain extent and at a primal, visceral level, it has always been a matter of practicality. If you belong to the half of the population that is generally smaller and weaker than the other half, it is never wise to start a fight. Your basic survival instinct knows this. And so, the half that stands to benefit from us being “nice” finds itself pushing at an open door. Or, if not open, then at least usefully ajar.

    So it begins and so over the generations and the centuries it continues, becoming a practice and a state so ingrained as to seem natural and immutable – if it even becomes visible enough to require consideration or a label.

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    But it is, in the end, unsustainable. In an individual’s life, there always comes a breaking point. It may not be marked by externalised outbursts. Depression, some experts will tell you, is anger turned inwards. So too can acts of self-harm and suicide be. Outward expression is what we should wish for, and not just at an individual level but at a collective one too.

    There are lots of reasons for women to be angry. The world is still endlessly and systematically weighted against them. In huge, obvious and terrible ways such as the curtailment of every possible freedom the women of Afghanistan endure, through matters like the growing threat to what had come to seem in Western countries like settled rights (to reproductive autonomy, for example) for us, through to the things we have never had, like sexual violence or harassment taken seriously as crimes, equal pay, adequate childcare, fairly shared domestic chores. The list… well, I suppose it can’t be endless but it certainly feels like it sometimes.

    So women are angry. Women should be angry. But for safety’s sake, we can really only afford to lose our tempers collectively. Individually, we are better off in rage rooms, where we are stronger than crockery and old TVs and they won’t fight back. But maybe we should start meeting there en masse, like the old feminist consciousness-raising groups in the 1970s. And hang on to the bats, maybe, and the iron bars. We need a fairer fight.

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