I don't scroll down that often at nezua's, maybe out of some psychological equivalent to lockjaw, I dunno.
But that picture sums up my feelings on the middle class feminists of the 60's and 70's.
They existed because of the working class women, white and brown, who fought through the 50's, and they were working from the framework of the feminists of the 30's and 40's, the socialist and anti-racist women, who were the stark contrast to the upperclass socialite "proto-feminists" who put forth ideas like: Rape was caused by booze, marital abuse was caused by booze, and of course were those sort of women who thought that men were just so incompetent compared to us hard suffering white women who'd run the world so much better than those men...
Now the 60's and 70's feminists did their share of stuff, and the modern theoretical frameworks got added to from them.
But I find it interesting that even many feminists, especially the middle and upperclass ones who are undoubtably clinging to some feeling of class worth lest they feel Teh Guilt® about Teh Success They Achieved All On Their Ownsome® (like Sofia Coppolla!), seem unable to see past the rightwing lies (it's not like they're complex or anything, this is the right wing we're talking about) and note that there is this remarkable gap between the "1st wave" feminists (the sufferagettes, who have been parsed down to just the reactionary conservative upper class white women these days, thought they weren't, by and large) and the "2nd wave" feminists, who emerged fully formed from daddy zeus' brow once the female eunuch came out, and the transwomen have been spying on our toilet activities ever since (and note that I do try to give them a good show, I've no quarrel there) until fellatio was invented by Bill Clinton in the late 90's thus leading to the anguish and the grief of The Churchs of the Latter Day Radicals.
History as a continuum? History as a whole load of non-descrete, non-quantifiable water flowing out to a many times promised sea?
Lotsa waves, but no river, no sea shore, no flow, no constancy.
Life's a beach, but there ain't no waves, just a whole lotta people counting the old pebbles and missing the sunrise.
A heck lotta bothans died for your privelage girl. A heck lotta bothans.