Authors: Terry Fallis
“Good morning. I’m Everett Kane. I created the
Eve of Equality
blog several weeks ago and have written every word in every post. My goal with the blog was simply to make a modest contribution to the ongoing fight for gender equality, something I’ve been interested in since my feminist awakening many years ago in the national student movement. I also decided the blog would be anonymous. I didn’t think a man credibly could, or publicly should, be in the vanguard of the women’s movement. It just didn’t seem right to me. But I did believe there was room in the online world for a feminist blog that offered real substance, reason, and advocacy, but was leavened with humour. And that’s what I’ve tried to write. We don’t seem to appreciate the power of humour in social movements, and I wanted to explore that. The blog was shaped by many conversations I had with the feminist icon Beverley Tanner, whom I was blessed to meet and come to know recently. She remains very funny and very committed to the cause.
“While many readers likely assumed I was a woman, I think a close reading of the blog will reveal that I did not intentionally mislead or misdirect in my writing. I just never commented on my own gender. I hope those who might feel that I was not entirely honest will appreciate the dilemma I faced when my humble little blog suddenly became a very big deal.
“The way I see it, we’re here this morning for two reasons. Firstly, Candace Sharpe somehow stumbled on my blog and
promoted it on her talk show. This changed my life in an instant, driving hundreds of thousands of visitors to
Eve of Equality
, many of whom then subscribed and kept coming back. Overnight, it became one of the most popular feminist sites on the Internet. Secondly, we’re here because of a post I wrote early on about Mason Bennington and his chain of high-end ‘gentlemen’s clubs’ known simply as
XY
. Mr. Bennington didn’t like what I’d written and launched an all-out effort to identify the writer behind the
Eve of Equality
blog. In keeping with Mason Bennington’s business practices, he relied on money and muscle, a potent and proven combination, to discover that I was the creator of the blog and the author of the particular post he really didn’t like.
“Just before sitting down in this chair, I posted a more detailed overview of my dealings with Mason Bennington. I need to be careful about what I say, but I’m here today in response to what any fair-minded observer would call threats, perhaps even blackmail.
“I did not want my identity as the creator of the
Eve of Equality
blog to be revealed, and I worked very hard to protect my anonymity. Unfortunately, with Mr. Bennington threatening to blow my cover, control over that secret was no longer in my hands alone. So here we are. Despite what has happened, I intend to continue to write the blog, though for obvious reasons, the focus will shift to the critical role enlightened men must play in the continuing fight for gender equality. I strongly support
NOW
’
S
efforts and hope that we can work together more in the future.
“Finally, my sincere thanks to Shelley Hunter and the great staff here at
NOW
for helping me through this.”
I sat back from the microphone.
“Thank you, Everett,” Shelley said. “And now we’ll open the floor for questions.”
Leslie Bandler walked to the podium beside the table at the front of the room to manage the Q and A, directing questions as appropriate to Shelley or to me. It all worked quite well.
“Judy Franklin,
CNN
. Everett, are you saying that Mason Bennington found out you were the writer behind the blog?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. He threatened to reveal that I was the blogger behind
Eve of Equality
, unless I wrote a post retracting my earlier essay about him and singing his praises. I wasn’t prepared to do that but believed he would make good on his threat. So it seemed the news was going to get out, one way or another. We decided to preempt him and announce it this morning.”
“Won’t he just deny your allegations? Isn’t it just your word against his?”
“He might deny it, but what he doesn’t know, at least until now, is that I have an audio recording of our confrontation where he threatened me,” I said, holding up my cellphone.
“Can we hear it?” another reporter asked.
“I’m afraid I cannot share it publicly. But for my own security, there are multiple copies of the MP3 file, including one here at
NOW
. I’m not expecting to hear from Mason Bennington again,
and I certainly hope not to. But having this audio recording gives me some protection, if I ever need it.”
“Connie Abrahams,
ABC
News. Are you scared? Bennington has a well-earned reputation as someone you don’t want to mess with.”
“Scared might not quite capture it fully. I’d describe it as a few white knuckles short of terrified. But I think this is the right thing to do under the circumstances. It’s not comfortable. But we think it’s the right call at the right time.”
“Tom Grinaldi,
NPR
News. What’s a young man doing fighting for feminism? It seems a little odd, and a little, I don’t know, counter to your own interests, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t see it that way. I think we’ll all benefit as a society when equality is finally achieved. There were plenty of white folks involved in the civil rights movement. There are plenty of straight people fighting for gay marriages. These are movements that can only succeed if more than the constituency directly affected get engaged. I don’t think it’s odd at all to want women to have the same rights and opportunities as men.”
“Follow-up, please,” the
NPR
reporter said. “What has all this cost you? And I don’t mean financially.”
“I try not to think too much about the costs. Social movements all require sacrifices. But remember, I’m a charter member of society’s most privileged demographic. I’m a white man. And for my entire life so far, I’ve enjoyed all the benefits that naturally accrue to white men. So I don’t think I’ve given up much to write
my anonymous feminist essays. I do regret that the nature of the
Eve of Equality
blog meant that I couldn’t be quite as forthcoming about it with, um, certain friends as I would like to have been. So I guess there’s been a minor cost associated with that. But really, my paltry challenges are dwarfed by the obstacles women face in this country, and in every other country, day in and day out.”
I paused.
“Okay, I know that sounded a little preachy. But strange as it may seem, that’s actually how I feel about it all. I can’t really help it.”
It went on like this for quite a while. Shelley bailed me out a few times and kept the session moving. By 10:45 all the journalists had left so they could file their stories. I followed Shelley back into her office. She sat on the couch and I dropped into a chair across from her.
“I thought that went rather well,” she said.
“Well, my standards are quite low right now. I’d consider anything better than falling on my face and responding to reporters’ questions in monosyllabic grunts as success. So I’m quite pleased with how it all unfolded.”
“You did well for someone who isn’t used to this kind of thing,” she said. “I think the coverage will be positive and plentiful. I also think you need to be careful when you get back to Orlando. I don’t think Mason Bennington will be very happy with you. I’m going to phone a friend in Orlando and call in a favour or two, that might help keep you safe.”
“I’m not sure what that really means, but I’m grateful. I’m very much in favour of being safe.”
“Now that the newser is over, I want to plant a seed. Something for you to think about.”
I nodded but said nothing.
“We’ve been wrestling for years with how to bring men into the movement in a thoughtful and productive way. We’ve been searching for a Director of Men’s Programs for about six months now and have come up empty. I think we need to go down this path if
NOW
is to remain relevant.”
“I like the idea of integrating men’s programming into the work of
NOW
, provided it’s always in the service of gender equality and not just a way to make men feel better about the power they’ll – er – we’ll be losing,” I replied.
“My, you are certainly earnest about all of this.”
“Kind of you to say, but ‘earnest’ isn’t the adjective I usually hear.”
“I like ‘earnest.’ I like it a lot,” she said. “So would you be interested in applying for the role here at
NOW
, the Director of Men’s Programs position?”
As Shelley had predicted, the coverage was positive and plentiful. It started with several stories on the noon newscasts, was sustained all afternoon by frequent radio hits and plenty of online pieces, and finished strong with multiple supper hour and nightly newscast segments. I still didn’t know why it was considered news. Clearly it was a relatively slow news day. If the pregnant giraffe at the Washington Zoo had given birth that day, I doubt we’d have had any local coverage at all. But what do I know?
Mason Bennington was almost certainly inundated with interview requests but seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. Not a peep from him was heard. Most of the stories simply noted that he did not respond to interview requests or was unavailable for comment. The EofE blog, Twitter stream, and Gmail account were flooded with supportive messages. A few comments did arrive suggesting I’d hoodwinked my audience by not owning up to the male genitalia I’d carried around with me
for my entire life. But the negative shots were minuscule in number relative to the positive reactions.
After lunch with Shelley at a small Italian restaurant nearby, where she talked a lot about the Men’s Programs position, I returned to the
NOW
offices to say thanks and goodbye to the team who made the media briefing happen on such short notice. Then I hopped in a cab and headed back to the airport for my 5:30 flight. Unfortunately, a front of thunderstorms rolled in just as we were taxiing out to our runway. The pilot was trying to get off the ground before the lightning started striking the ground. She wasn’t quite successful. So we taxied back to the gate and sat for three hours as the rain pelted the plane. Several people had recognized me in the airport from the media coverage but, thankfully, no one on the plane gave me a second glance.
It was nearly midnight when I finally made it back to the apartment. As I approached the building, I saw a police officer standing near my separate entrance. A cruiser was parked not too far away. That was strange. I saw no yellow tape cordoning off the area, so I figured it wasn’t too serious. The nightly community rally was underway, but its intensity and energy seemed to have waned. Very few cars were pulling up to the front doors of
XY
.
“Is everything all right, officer?” I asked as I slipped my key into the front door.
“Are you Everett Kane?”
“I am. Why?”
“I’ve been asked to secure your apartment and stay close for the next little while.”
“Really? You’re kidding. How come?”
“I don’t really know the full story, but I’ve been led to believe you made somebody very angry. I’m just here to make sure you stay safe.”
“But how did you know about it? Who gave the order?” I asked.
“My lieutenant got a call from a buddy on the force in
DC
. And here I am.”
“Wow. I guess it pays to have friends in the nation’s capital.”
“You got that right,” the young officer said. “Why don’t I go upstairs with you just to make sure everything is how it’s supposed to be? Okay?”
“That would be great,” I replied. “Thanks.”
Ten minutes later, he was back down on the street patrolling a tight circuit that circumnavigated the building. We’d uncovered nothing unusual in the apartment. It was all just as I’d left it, including a few stray corn flakes on the floor. I wasn’t sure how long I’d have personal police protection, but it did kind of make me feel like a big deal.
I sat down on my couch. I was wiped. Sitting in economy class of a commuter aircraft for three hours before even taking off doesn’t sound like an enervating experience, but somehow it was. Still on the couch, I had closed my eyes when I heard footsteps hustling up the fire escape. I wondered if it might be my Orlando Police Department bodyguard again. The footfalls stopped as the
banging on my kitchen door started. I don’t know why I wasn’t nervous, but I wasn’t.
I opened the door, and there stood Shawna Hawkins dressed – some might say, undressed – as Sheena, Queen of the Jungle, and behind her the very large Lewis Small. Shawna came through the door first like a runaway train, locked me in a bear hug, and started dancing me around the kitchen.
“I can’t believe you write
Eve of Equality
. I just can’t reconcile it all in my brain. It’s been my new favourite blog for six weeks now! And you live right here!” she gushed, rocking me back and forth. “When I’m dancing tonight, I’ll be thinking, I’m just a pole apart from an A-list feminist blogger! It’s just so awesome.”
She was big and strong. If she wanted to keep hold of me and swing me around like a rag doll, she could do it … so she did. She eventually slowed the rocking and let me go just before I began to think about the benefits of Gravol. Through all of this, Lewis just leaned on the kitchen door and smiled. I know he always smiles anyway, but there were a few more watts in his grin that night. We then just stood there beaming at one another.
“No wonder Batshit Bennington was so pissed. You live right above the club! What are the odds?” she asked rhetorically. “Lewis brought me up to speed on your visit with the little man a few days ago. Isn’t Lewis just the bomb with a blush brush? The man’s an artist, a real artist.”
“Come on. With the symmetry in your face, a blind man with no arms could make you look good every night,” Lewis said.
“No, I have to agree with Shawna. You are a make-up maestro, Lewis,” I said. “I parked in the handicapped spot at the airport just by showing off my cosmetic rib contusions.”