Patriarchy and the Chilcot Enquiry

Watching TV footage of the Chilcot enquiry last night (well, I say watching, I was footling about on the internet as I listened) I heard Tony Blair say he had no regrets about the invasion of Iraq - needless to say, in my amazement I didn't even look up from browsing Spring jackets. The crowd roared with wounded anger, sensing this was their cue for a speaking part. Again, not a flicker from me. I had found a rather nice denim model, not too pricy.

Now comes the interesting bit, Sir John Chilcot's voice boomed out "Be Quiet!" over the audience of bereaved parents, wounded soldiers and rabble-rousing journos. And there it was - immediate silence. I looked up from my idle browsing in irritation.

I had recognised it too - cutting through my random jumble of thoughts like a scythe. That bloody voice of male authority - deep, self assured, audible and commanding in even the loudest room. It was as if a silver backed baboon had lumbered into the savannah.

There's a certain quality of a certain kind of voice that resonates within all the rest of us and calls us to attention. The headteacher, the doctor, the successful businessman explaining his love for Pink Floyd on Desert Island Discs (making you think, simply through the suggestive power of his sonorous vowels, that maybe you love Pink Floyd too). They know they're right and they're always in the right, even when they're wrong.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I've grown up with this voice telling me what to do and it makes my teeth grate and the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end. More than that, it makes me want to do wild rebellious and disruptive things, like run my nails down blackboards, throw my computer screen out of the fourth floor office window, jump around in front of moving traffic, whooping and tossing traffic cones.

This may all sound a bit unhinged and disproportionate to anyone out there reading, and if I wasn't busy contemplating paintballing The Oriental Club, I'd probably agree with you. But what disturbs me most is that I have the strong suspicion that if I'd been in that crowd, I too would have sat back down quietly, clutching my papers in impotent rage. Because I'd know that if I wanted to play with the big children I had to play nicely or go and sit outside.