Mary Beard blogs:
March 20, 2007
Where's the loo?
Most Cambridge colleges “went mixed” some twenty years ago. But they still preserve unexpected corners of male power and privilege. None of these corners is more irritating than the location of the female loos.
Imagine it. You’re sitting in the SCR – that’s the fellows’ common room – after dinner. You casually ask for the Ladies. The chances are that there will be a bit of a flap, while the equivalent of an AA route map and a compass is produced. It usually involves going out into the courtyard, through the rain, into the next court, up a staircase three doors on the left – only to discover a set of facilities which you know to be decidedly inferior to whatever is laid on for the men, and much less ‘convenient’ in almost every way.
Some colleges, to be fair, are a bit better organised; and my own, I confess, treats male needs with almost equal disdain. But the general rule seems to be that women’s ablutions are lower down the pecking order than men’s.
I have never really understood why single sex loos are necessary, anyway, in a place like a university (King’s Cross station late at night is probably another matter).
Why can’t we just share?
In my more paranoid moments, I strongly suspect that the answer has to do with men’s urinals being one of the few remaining sites of exclusively male wheeling and dealing. Men will disappear for a pee in the middle of a meeting and come back, after a cosy chat in the loo, with the business fixed.
Women can’t do that. Female toilets are strangely discreet places, for the simple reason that you never know who is locked in the cubicles – invisible, but capable of overhearing every word that’s said. There can hardly be a woman in the land who hasn’t learned her lesson on this one: bitching in colourful terms about a woman who two minutes later emerges to wash her hands.
This was something that repeatedly got Ally McBeal into trouble in that wonderful old television series. As the joke used to go: How do you know if you’re an Ally McBeal fan? Answer: If you look under the toilet stalls to see who’s using them before you start talking.
Surely it would be easier, and an imaginative blow for female power and equality, just to make urinals a thing of the past and put everyone in the same facilities. It’s already common enough in the USA (in fact, Ally’s loo was a ‘unisex’, as I recall). It’s we Brits who have this illogical obsession with urinary segregation – to the extent that we are even known make students use separate toilets from the staff.
. . . So what did the Romans do, you’ll be wondering.
Well domestic loos were something of a rarity. But the evidence from Pompeii suggests that, if they were present at all, the usual location was in the kitchen. There was convenient water supply and Roman assumptions about hygiene were rather different from our own. Better not to think too hard about the consequences.
Outside, and in places such as baths, they had an excellent line in splendid multi-seaters. like this one from North Africa. Though whether these were also mixed sex we don’t, I think, know.
I’d like to imagine that they were.
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Choppa's reply:
Women can pee standing up. All the gen at:
How to pee standing up
And so they can use male urinals doing it, instead of this:
Loo queue
The traditional morning shit was usually taken at the village ditch/latrine communally as I've understood it. Men and women separately.
Sweden/the Nordic countries (open-air life in forests etc) has a tradition of open-air peeing with few constraints that sometimes leads girls in need to do it with minimal cover (behind a hotdog stand, say) on the pavement in town.
Men peeing like horses in the street I've seen in Austria.
Some fashionable eateries here in Sweden now have (unisex) twin toilets, where the frequent habit (of women at least) of sharing a visit to the loo is rendered a bit more civilized.
Most workplaces here now have unisex toilets, although a growing puritanism has been encroaching on the traditionally perhaps less constrained intersex behaviour in other areas.
In Finland the sauna is taken naked, of course - towels are used to sit on not wrap, knickers etc are laughed at - but how the family/friends mix or segregate is an individual matter. A common habit is kids first perhaps with a woman (coolest), then women, then men (hottest). No drink (or sex) in the sauna while it's hot (you'd collapse), but plenty after. Or before if you're trying to cure a hangover.
Akseli Gallen-Kallela "In the sauna"
Now, Mary, how about a blog on classical farting? - I vividly recall Claudius being advised by his medicus to let it all blow free in the TV Claudius. Did they care at all?
Posted by: Xjy | 21 Mar 2007 11:09:24
She finishes off:
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Choppa's response:
FUD - "fear, uncertainty, doubt"
Always works - with kids ("what's daddy going to do now?"), spouses ("lovely dress", "where'd the money come from?"), employees ("good work", "afraid you're just not a team player") etc etc.
The smiling, reptilian, unpredictably violent mafia boss (Little Napoleon in Some Like It Hot).
RD Laing describes the pathology well in "The Divided Self". Mixed messages, double binds and so on.
More relevant to political thuggery is Trotsky's analysis of Stalin and Stalinism, for instance in The Revolution Betrayed:
Here it becomes clear what the mass social base for the political regime of Stalinism was - a broad and diffuse crowd of privileged union and party bureaucrats. The minimal cultural level and maximal insecurity of these people defies belief, of course. Similar traits characterized the social base of imperial thuggery, except that that comprised a broad and diffuse crowd of slave-owning landowners, top military brass and moneylenders.
Of course, the Roman thugs already had slaves and rule by clout, although they had to disembowel the old body of the republic to achieve completely arbitrary rule by force. The Stalinist gangs had real trouble creating slavery and arbitrary rule. The emperors had the wind of history in their sails, the Stalinists didn't - just the putrescent gases of a much more powerful capitalist world market.
Orwell caught the gloomy atmosphere of oppression very well in 1984, as did Huxley the showbiz aspects of it in Brave New World. What the German and perhaps the Russian postmortems on Stalinism will produce will hopefully take us a bit nearer the limits of dystopia. A pre-post-mortem so to speak was Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita (useful brief intro on Wikipedia). Farewell to Lenin, the Stasi Museum(s) and so on, like a French novel I recently read about Brecht and the Stasi (La Maîtresse de Brecht. (Brecht’s Mistress) by Jacques-Pierre Amette), highlight the BANALITY of what was going on. Suburban totalitarianism. The Nazi ethos without Ragnarök/Götterdämmerung. Carpet-slipper sadism at the dawn of a new day instead of the fiery end of a dying epoch.
Plenty of contradictions of the most titanic kind. Plenty to hate and spew bile over - and... yet...
Almost twenty years on the ordinary people of the old Eastern Bloc are still not at ease with their new system, and don't feel at home in it. And the shreds of the old Doris Day/Bing Crosby optimism of the Free World are lying in stinking piles around our ankles like the melted rubber of overinflated balloons.
Eppur si muove, I think Galileo would mutter about world history today. No stasis, despite the best efforts of the Stasi and the States.