Julia, Octavia, Kat, and Jessica were collected by Mathematical Bridge, Julia’s favourite part of town, to once again discuss the WAFGM society (now colloquialised to simply ‘The WAG’). Jessica had never come to the WAG before, and this was to be her first meeting. Like most societies, The WAG had an aim with no direction, they had a map with no treasure. They wanted to put an end to FGM, but didn’t really know how. In fact, without more members, the society quickly began to shrivel into obsolescence. Octavia provided the money, and what little direction the group had. Jessica and Kat approached from the square, while Octavia and Julia waited under the archway to avoid the shower. The was something to be said about Mathematical Bridge in its age and design. It was built in 1749 and had this interesting truss design which, if you’ve ever drawn a circle using a ruler and extended lines, you would be all too familiar with. The bridge had been rebuilt twice since the eighteenth century, and although its most recent reconstruction was just over a hundred years ago, Julia thought of it as the original regardless. Suppose, in a way, the Mathematical Bridge as proof enough for Julia that Theseus need not worry over his new ship (which was really his old one). Paradoxes rarely survive confrontation with reality, that is what makes them paradoxes in the first place, Zeno could attest to that. This bridge was nothing like that bridge, and these beams were different, and yet it was that bridge in whatever way that mattered.
‘Bought some coffee,’ Jessica said, holding a four holder of cardboard cups and extending her offer to the group. Octavia accepted, Julia didn’t and with the other two already taken, that left one out in the rain. Jessica balanced it on the side which Julia was at length to ignore.
‘Coffee upsets my stomach a little,’ Julia said politely. In terms of height, she was the second shortest, dwarfed by both Octavia and Jessica, but the way she kept herself shrank her some. You might have been forgiven for thinking her the smallest, not that it mattered.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’ Jessica had only been in the group a little while, and was clearly keen to impress with her good humour and otherwise general decency. She had this wig, which she parted down the side slightly awkwardly that Julia found endearing in a clumsy way, somewhat how she hoped her own odd dress sense appeared. She clearly wasn’t yet used to hair so long. Julia made a note to offer her some help, and went about her business. She fumbled through her bag, pressing her glasses up a little as she did.
‘Actually, I was looking at statistics of FGM victims and I was thinking about perhaps trying to target the groups most likely at risk in the UK… Although it’s a low number around here because—’ A part of her was glad not to finish, although well intentioned, her process may easily have been misconstrued. Jessica of all people cut her off, rather curtly, actually, although Julia herself was so used to it by now that she hardly noticed. It was Octavia who mentioned it after the fact, and Jessica who found her later to apologise. In the moment, however, the conversation went thusly:
‘—I had a thought about that, and I was wondering how you all thought about perhaps extending the cause to GM broadly. You know it’s not just CIS females that suffer from it, right?’ Julia, who was raising some printed papers from her bag, slowly lowered them back and looked around. Her eyes met Octavia’s, and she got the memo. Speak, say something because I don’t know what to. Octavia piped up.
‘Well… We started this group because we wanted to be specific about our issues, and if we start broadening too much, then…’ Julia and Octavia both hoped that would be the end of it, but soon Kat piped up herself.
‘I agree with Jessica, to be honest. I think we ought not to be so exclusionary. It’s bad optics for us not to care about CIS male plight in any case. And if we’re helping people, then what’s the harm?’
‘It’s not about inclusivity, it’s about specificity. It’s just that there aren’t enough of us to really get anything done if we spread too thinly. You understand, don’t you? Jessica? You get it?’ Octavia was on the back foot now, and Julia hated seeing her this way. Octavia was the big sister she never had, and to see her so taken aback felt very much like seeing your parents as human for the first time. She ought to say something, she ought to back her sister up somehow, but what to say? She nodded, hoping that would be enough.
‘It just kind of feels like we’re not catering to the trans community, which isn’t what the movement is all about,’ Kat said, apparently sensing weakness and pushing forward. Julia noticed Jessica leaning against the railing, and as frustrated as she was about the coffee, she felt vastly more frustrated by the leaning. You wouldn’t lean against a statue, but the bridge is fine apparently.
‘It’s just that we don’t have enough people,’ Octavia reiterated, turning to Julia with a stunned look. One of the more frustrating aspects of social politics is the eggshells you walk on. It’s one thing to speak politically if you’ve a prepared speech and subject, but to launch into it when caught off-guard is a totally separate matter.
‘If it’s an issue of people then I know lots of people who would join. Loads, actually. Girls and guys. And that would be good because there’d be more voices, and people tend to listen to men more.’ Kat nodded along with Jessica, that last part was right at least. A movement seemed only as good as the men backing it, regrettably enough, men will only listen to men in some senses. Before it had even been considered, and before Octavia had even sipped her rapidly cooled coffee, it was decided. The extra people would bring some vigour into the movement, but Julia couldn’t help but feel a little left out. This was supposed to be her thing.
‘I guess it’s okay,’ she said at last, blindsiding Octavia. Much like the very bridge, once the trusses had given in, the whole structure would wash away too. Octavia herself soon sighed, and acquiesced. Julia felt a twang of frustration bubbling up inside her, both at Octavia for surrendering, and at herself for caving. She thought of those statues again, and felt that not only had she let herself down, but let them down too. The great women of history stared down at her with disappointment cast in cold bronze. She should have spoken up, but what were they to say? And now that it was settled, what were they to do? They couldn’t split off, they needed the members, but they couldn’t subdue half of their cohort, that would be tyrannical. Julia and Octavia exchanged slightly disappointed looks at first, and then again later when names neither recognised were added to their private society group chat. Just like that, The WAG (WAFGM), had become The PAG (Peoples Against Genital Mutilation), and then later, as a reclamation of the word, The FAG (Folx Against Genital Mutilation). Julia nodded along as it happened, and the moment a fifth person had arrived, become very much quieter. Partly that she didn’t feel comfortable anymore, and partly that the influx of people spoke so loudly that she would have to really raise her voice to be heard, and she refused to do that. Before she knew it, their numbers were in the double digits, and hardly anyone recognised her at all, let alone as the groups founder.