This morning has been dedicated to study on women and war – an assignment deadline looming early May. The garden beckons – lawn, plants, paintwork. There are never enough hours to get everything done in amongst work. Yes, it’s all work, I hear you say.
Having stopped to read an article in The Guardian on the far right and their revised stance on ‘who to hate the most’, it seems that targeting muslims will be their anti-human campaign. Banning burqas etc being part of it all. So what colour do these right-wingers want to paint the world?
And so my blood pressure rises and I ask what right do men think they have dictating to us in this way? Then I ask who has control over our clothing industry, who makes our clothes, who designs them.
As women are we just f*cking each other over, caught up in mutual oppression, whilst men decide how the whole industry is run?
Are women in China happy making our jeans, or the rest of South East Asia – are women there enjoying the exploitation – level of pay, hours worked? What did we lose in Britain when our textiles industry closed down -what did our workers lose?
What of the image of woman? Who decides that it is alright to pull us in extreme directions – to paste our images everywhere and to use us to fight wars we never asked for?
I reserve the right to wear the colours I want to. To reflect my feelings, my chakras, my environment, my mourning, my celebrations, the seasons, my many cultures that I am a part of.
I also reserve the right to find a way to ensure that all women are not dictated to, that somehow we find a path that isn’t about exploitation. That we are not wearing clothes made under slave and cheap labour conditions.
So how do I do this? How do I unravel this monstrous jumper knitted by the international textiles industry and re-use the wool to make something that will last, be loved for years, didn’t use or abuse anyone in the process or exploit mother nature, mother rights and mother clothes.
Our Flower, The Rose