Wickedness — once remarked Oscar Wilde — ”is a myth invented by the good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others”.
Hmm. Could it, then, have been just morbid curiosity about ”ma-vagina” behind the vexatious picketing locally of Eve Ensler’s ”celebrated” The Vagina Monologues show?
The doek and mid-calf skirt brigade from the African Christian Democratic Party (ACDP) would say no. Because, you see, like their scented ”haute societé” sisters sipping cocktails in the foyer they too have vaginas. Vaginas they don’t want, as one protester put it, ”displayed on their foreheads”.
So, whose vagina is it anyway? All of ours, methinks. And just because one sister ain’t gonna let hers be all talked about on stage don’t mean I can’t. But in this case, the real message — to raise awareness about violence against women — becomes the sideshow.
Dismissing protests against the show would be easy firstly, if the protesters were a phalanx of sagging matrons who didn’t want to be sex objects and secondly on the grounds that ”morality” and religious objection are not really regarded as plausible arguments.
The reality, though, is that objections to shows about vaginas with voices don’t only come from matrons, many protestors are young women. And, as the so-called feminist backlash in the United States is showing, the ”moral voice” is becoming increasingly vocal, and influential.
Not that the ”moral voice” is always logical. Blaming violence against women on how they dress or how they talk is old hat — the rather discredited ”blame the dame” workhorse.
But anyone who is against superflous talk about the nether regions is unfortunately not seen as someone with an opinion. And protesting against a show that is all about sexuality, but dressed up as a ”noble” cause, need not be dismissed as an indication of outmodedness. Some people have a right to be ”old-fashioned” — it doesn’t mean they are acerebral.
”Our body is the temple of God,” one woman protester said, her voice quavering with devotion.
”Away with immoral women, away!” shouted another. ”Phantsi ma-vagina, Phantsi!” could also be heard. Another tall, youngish woman, the self-designated pastor, started praying to the television cameras: ”They [inside] are increasing immorality in this nation.”
Brandishing a pink and black Holy Bible, her voice reached fever pitch: ”In the name of Jesus, we need God in this nation!” The crowd inside, who had gathered at the door to watch was all ”tut-tut”.
”They’re just so sad, so sad,” one scented woman remarked. The protesters, who by now had their eyes closed and their heads turned to the heavens for signs, hardly noticed.
Not that The Vagina Monologues is a serious enough threat to womanhood to be bombed by religious extremists. But, arguably, a case may be made against the show for its acute lack of a point.
Misinformation did play a role in the protests. One woman said she heard that at last year’s show, there was stripping on stage — there wasn’t. But with all the superfluous talk of vaginas, one would, like the protesters, wonder just how woman and child abuse would be assisted. Raising funds is one thing; raising awareness, quite another.
In this year’s show, besides the recycled jokes, one thing glaringly absent was women who had been associated with violence. Rape victim and kwaito star Andile was on stage; so was the one-time ”high priestess” of gender in Parliament, Pregs Govender. But the rest were an assortment of beauty queens and actresses.
”If your vagina got dressed, what would it wear?” one actress asked the audience, who tittered self-consciously. Another actress assumed the role of a 72-year-old woman having an orgasm for the first time.
But despite the splaying of her impressive legs, one doubts celebrity of sorts and GQ pin-up Zuraida Jardine’s announcement ”My short skirt is a liberation flag in the women’s army” could really be taken seriously. Which is, in a way, the point. It’s not meant to be taken seriously. The Vagina Monologues is about sex. If the show were really about violence against women, it just wouldn’t sell — the topic is far too distasteful for the genteel types who forked out for a seat at the State Theatre.
The problem with The Vagina Monologues is that a show about the worship of a sexual organ is easily lost on those of us who want to understand the deeper meaning behind men’s, and indeed women’s, attitudes to sexual violence.
”We forget the vagina, all of us, how else would you explain the lack of awe, and lack of reverence?” read one monologue. There you have it. Problem solved. A little bit of love goes a long way …