The Other McCain

"One should either write ruthlessly what one believes to be the truth, or else shut up." — Arthur Koestler

Feminism: A Problem, Not a Solution

Posted on | February 5, 2016 | 57 Comments

The Ivy League Is Decadent and Depraved, as I reminded readers a few weeks ago, and you’ll pardon me for quoting myself, but the evidence of elite depravity keeps slapping me in the face. Adriana Miele is a senior at Yale University:

Brunch is the ideal time to do it. Dinner is usually too crowded, and lunch and breakfast are so rushed that I don’t have the time. On any given weekend, I arrive at a dining hall past noon, usually with leggings and a warm, knit sweater. I swipe my card.
Then I count the amount of rapists in the room.
Girls at Columbia and Brown got in trouble for releasing lists with names of known rapists on their campuses. My friends and I have still considered doing the same, but we’re too exhausted to deal with the inevitable backlash.
I can’t speak about other campuses because I know only this one, but Yale has an epidemic. Each day, students fear for their safety as they walk across campus. Whether stepping into the library or taking a seat in a classroom, they’re reminded of some of the most traumatizing moments of their lives.
I think it’s true that you can survive Yale despite an experience of violence, sexual or otherwise. You can do it. I have endured Yale. But you shouldn’t be enduring Yale: you should be attending and enjoying Yale. Women and queer people aren’t thriving at Yale the way we should be. According to the Association of American Universities’ 2015 Campus Climate Survey on Sexual Assault, most of us here at Yale have been physically violated and intimidated. Among straight women, it’s over half; among gender-queer students, it’s over 60 percent. . . .
When over half of your undergraduate female population is being assaulted, you have an epidemic. . . .
Since I started counting, I can’t remember a single weekend without noticing at least one rapist (that I know of) in the room. . . .

Either (a) Yale is the Rape Capital of the World, or (b) Adriana Miele is in the grip of a paranoid delusion. Considering annual tuition at Yale is $47,600, and most of the boys she imagines are “rapists” are mild-mannered brainiac nerds, I rather doubt most women on campus in New Haven “fear for their safety.” Does anyone believe these geeky Yale boys, many of them National Merit Scholar finalists, are committing sexual assault on a regular basis? Is dating a Yale boy like partying with the Hell’s Angels during Bike Week in Daytona? What kind of lunatic would claim such a thing? A quick bit of research turned up an autobiographical essay Adriana Miele published last fall:

I didn’t like Massachusetts because my parents got divorced in Massachusetts, and in Virginia, everything was sunny and perfect and the winters weren’t even that bad. . . . I hated everything about the fact that my parents were no longer together, and I felt like something had died. . . .
One of the few places in New England that didn’t feel heartless and evil was the town of Newton, the place where my brothers, mother, and I all attended school: a private Montessori elementary school for the kids, and Lassell College for our mom, who decided to pursue her bachelor’s degree once my dad left. . . .
My mom . . . met my bearded, New Englander father in D.C. Following the affair with his client’s paralegal, my parents separated, and I became extremely depressed. . . . Out of concern, mom got me a therapist in Newton. . . .
My therapist’s office had a big, comfy green chair and bookshelf full of games and books with titles that mentioned “childhood trauma” and “anxiety,” but we didn’t use those words. Dr. S taught me card games and tried to get me to talk about my father and stepmother.

Well, you can read the whole thing, but the short version is, her father is a selfish creep and her parents’ divorce when she was 8 years old inflicted a psychological wound in Adriana Miele from which she has never recovered, and therefore she hates and fears men. This probably explains why she got into Yale, really. Elite schools require applicants to submit essays along with their applications. Because of grade inflation and programs that teach kids specifically how to take standardized tests, lots of kids finish high school with near-perfect GPAs and high SAT scores. The admissions essay is a way for students to signify their “progressive” politics by telling stories about themselves, signalling their solidarity with radical faculty on the admissions committee.

This is why there are dozens of Adriana Miele clones on all the Ivy League campuses, see? If it weren’t for their feminist “Look at Me I’m an Oppressed Victim” narratives, they’d be attending one of those overpriced second-tier liberal arts schools that exist merely to provide a pseudo-Ivy experience for rich kids who got rejected by Harvard, Yale, Princeton and Columbia. Adriana Miele leveraged her victimhood (and half-Peruvian ancestry, to check the “diversity” box) into an acceptance at Yale, so that now her Daddy can pay the tuition bill while she proclaims to the world how all the men at Yale are rapists.

How could anyone even stand to be in the same room with a whiny overprivileged brat like Adriana Miele? The belief that Ivy League kids are “the best and brightest” in America was never really true, and the prestige of that bogus “meritocracy” continues to decline. There is no standardized test for virtue, so maybe the boys at Yale are as bad as the girls at Yale, and rape is everywhere on campus.

Simple question, Adriana: Isn’t your stepmother a feminist, too? Hasn’t all this “liberation” and “empowerment” of the past 40 or 50 years produced a lot of messed-up kids like you? And what about those rapists at Yale, huh? Here’s $20 that says every one of those Yale boys you’re accusing of being sexual predators is the son of a woman who considers herself to be a feminist. Two generations after “Second Wave” feminism emerged from the New Left in the 1960s, it is nearly impossible for young fools to understand the difference between (a) the traditional values that feminism condemns as “patriarchy,” and (b) the selfish attitudes that feminists celebrate as “liberation.” If feminism is to a great extent the cause of your problems, what kind of fool would insist that more feminism is the solution to your problems?

Answer: The kind of fool who attends Yale University.


The Sex Trouble project, exploring the depths of feminist insanity, is an exercise in reader-sponsored journalism, and I have fallen far behind in my thank-you notes to those of you who have generously contributed. Your generosity would be especially appreciated today, because I’ve got until 6 p.m. ET to hustle up an extra $82 in the tip jar. This involves a brief if rather embarrassing story that might amuse readers.

A few weeks ago, things were going splendidly. My Army son came home for a visit, and we all gathered ’round the TV to cheer Alabama to victory in the BCS National Championship game. Meanwhile, I had received a belated payment for some work I’d done two years ago, which enabled us to catch up some overdue bills and I even took my wife out for lunch at a Mexican restaurant, $24. The PayPal account was doing OK, and I paid the phone bill from that and noticed a surplus sufficient that I could afford to order $58 in feminist books as further research for the second edition of Sex Trouble. What could possibly go wrong?


Well, the Great Blizzard of 2016 didn’t create any particular expense, but it did distract me quite a bit, and somehow I overlooked the cable bill, which is also the Internet bill, and the thievish scoundrels nice people at Our Friendly Local Cable Provider told me on the phone the other day that I have until 6 p.m. ET today to come up with an unusually large sum (overdue amount, fees, blah blah blah) or else, no Internet.

And obviously, no Internet = no blogging.

OK, check my PayPal account and then check the balance remaining in our regular account and . . . Yeah, I’m $82 short. And $82, of course, is equal to the sum of $24 (lunch at the Mexican restaurant) and the $58 I spent on books. It’s as if God had been watching every penny and decided, “Yeah, let’s remind him who’s running the show.”

“Fear not!” I told my dear wife. “The tip-jar hitters have never failed me yet. Just maybe say an extra prayer, OK?”

Pushing it to the edge of catastrophe is a bad habit, but there were times I hit the road on The Shoe Leather Fund with no other plan for how I’d get back home. Really, I’m too old to be doing things the gonzo way and should be more prudent about such matters, but for the time being there’s a deficit of $82 and whatever you can chip in — $5, $10, $20 — will be deeply appreciated. Contrary to what feminists claim, patriarchy is usually just another word for “paying the bills.”


Never doubt God answers prayers. Thanks in advance.



  • DeadMessenger

    I got an interview later today. Prayers welcome. : )

  • Quartermaster

    Hope it wasn’t too late. Just saw this (12:47 EST).

  • Joe Guelph

    RSM, you’re aware of the fact that Bradley was the wife of boy-rapist Walter Breen in a “beard” marriage (both were queer)? And that she molested her own kids as well?

  • Wombat_socho

    Me too, but this version is okay too.

  • DeadMessenger

    Not too late. Just got off the call, 5 pm est.

    Went VERY well! That was the first round, of course, but the company is great, and this job would be tons better than my last job. TONS better! Whoo hoo!

  • Quartermaster

    You have my prayers. When I checked my email during lunch I prayed for you and will keep your job search in my prayers.

  • DeadMessenger

    Thanks! 😀 That’s going to help!

    In addition to losing my job (at a company with a name that has 4 letters beginning with T – I’m confident you know which one), I have undergone a series of major trials. I believe that I’ve learned the lessons that God wanted me to learn, and so, like Job, I think my time of deliverance and subsequent blessing is at hand. I’m optimistic that things are going to turn around for me quickly now. Thanksgiving and honor to the only One deserving of all my praise and worship.