So, apparently women don’t blog about politics?

Crikey editors and writers have been tweeting and blogging about it all morning. Why don’t women get involved, subscribe, comment or blog about politics to the same level that men do?

Well, as a woman that regularly blogs, comments and shouts about politics, I may not be the best person to answer this question, but I’ll give it my best shot.

I don’t think there is one short simple answer (and no, smart arse tweeter, it’s not because there are not enough computers in kitchens).

It’s a little bit to do with time, women have less of it than men and are more likely to take what little free time they do have to more interactive pursuits, eg, if I have 10 minutes to kill at work I’d rather find out what my friends are doing that find out what a bunch of pointless twats in Canberra are doing.

But that’s by no means the sole reason.

It’s also got a little bit to do with the predominantly male commentary on politics. The focus is more on the competition between politicians than the interaction. It’s a subtle difference, but it matters. I’m more interested in why people (and I loosely include politicians in that group) do things than in who is winning. Much of the political commentary I read concentrates on who is beating ten shades of shite out of who, not on why they’re doing it. It’s a male perspective that I am less likely to engage with.

There’s also the point that women are less likely to throw their hearts over the line for a lost cause than men are. Politics is so irredeemably childish, it’s almost impossible for the most dedicated blogger to achieve anything more than helpless shouting into the wind. Why waste time and energy on getting angry about Canberrian shenanigans? It’s not going to change anyone’s mind, it’s not going to have any effect, so if I’m going to get angry about something I might as well make it effective. I’ll take it to the school council, the local paper or my office, where I have some chance of effecting actual change.

Then I’ve earned my glass of wine when I get home from work and my husband and I start shouting and waving our fingers in each other’s faces as we debate the death of the union movement and the benefits of privatisation.

 

 

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