Makerfield misogyny: who is the real misogynist?

A small seaside town in Greater Manchester has become the unlikely stage for a clash over what counts as political scandal. On one side sits Robert Kenyon, a Reform UK candidate whose old online banter — crude jokes about women — has been dug up by reporters. On the other sits Andy Burnham, the high-profile Labour figure whose past embrace of expansive trans-rights policies has, critics argue, had far-reaching consequences for women’s privacy and safety.

Press coverage has fixated on Kenyon’s tasteless forum posts, treating them as if they are the defining issue in the Makerfield by-election. Yet many voters and campaign watchers notice a striking imbalance: robust, public scrutiny of crude jokes, and far gentler treatment of policy positions that, according to some women and frontline workers, translated into real-world harms. That contrast raises questions about media priorities and the standards applied to different political actors.

How social media outrage eclipsed deeper concerns about policy

When sleuths found Kenyon’s comments from a rugby forum — lines dismissing women’s abilities at driving and refereeing, and crude remarks about abortion and a public figure — the reaction was predictable. Outrage spread across news desks and social channels, and politicians from across the spectrum lined up to condemn the remarks. The story’s appeal is obvious: it’s short, sensational, and easy to understand.

But the focus on personality and punchlines often crowds out reporting on policy outcomes. The Kenyon revelations are being treated as a moral litmus test about how parties vet candidates. Meanwhile, scrutiny of prominent figures like Andy Burnham tends to circle themes of tone and rhetoric rather than tracing the tangible effects of policies they have backed. The result is a news cycle that amplifies personal offense while sometimes glossing over systemic consequences.

Andy Burnham’s past support for trans policies and the questions it raises

As mayor of Manchester and a long-serving Labour politician, Andy Burnham publicly positioned himself as a defender of trans rights. In 2022 he said he supported trans people’s rights and sought to tamp down what he described as a “hateful debate” over the issue. He also characterized the desire to preserve single-sex spaces as a minority viewpoint, signaling a preference for policies that prioritized inclusion on the basis of gender identity.

That stance — widely framed as progressive and compassionate — has provoked anger from some women’s rights campaigners and frontline workers who say the policy direction led to situations degrading to women’s dignity and, in some cases, to safety risks in single-sex settings. For many voters, the issue isn’t abstract ideology; it’s whether an elected official’s choices made life harder for women in places like prisons, hospitals, and sports.

Reported impacts tied to permissive access policies

• Incidents in custodial settings where male prisoners housed in women’s facilities allegedly assaulted female inmates.
• Controversies in women’s sports when athletes who self-identify as women compete, prompting debates about fairness and safety.
• Healthcare and care-home staff reporting uncomfortable or invasive encounters when required to allow access based on gender identity rather than biological sex.
• Frontline workers facing disciplinary action after raising concerns about privacy and the wellbeing of female service users.

These are the kinds of examples people point to when arguing that policy endorsements matter more than tasteless jokes. Supporters of self-identification and expansive trans rights counter that such policies protect vulnerable people and that many alleged harms are isolated or misreported. The disagreement is intense, and it has shaped local politics in towns like Makerfield.

Why some see a media double standard in coverage

The contrast between the heavy coverage of Kenyon’s online banter and the relatively softer treatment of Labour figures who championed contested gender policies has a social undertone. Critics argue that elite media are ready to pounce on working-class vulgarity while giving ideological allies a pass when their ideas produce messy consequences.

That critique includes two linked observations:

• Stories spotlighting crude language from less prominent candidates are quick to label them “sexist” or “unfit” and demand political accountability.
• Conversely, complex policy debates involving well-known politicians — especially when those politicians are trusted by certain media outlets — are often framed as disagreements among experts rather than as choices with victims and losers.

To many voters, the pattern looks less like moral consistency than like class-based selectivity: the flippant words of a local candidate draw loud condemnation, while decisions by political leaders that critics say erode women’s boundaries get softer scrutiny.

What voters in Makerfield are weighing at the ballot box

Residents watching the campaign are not just parsing outrage cycles. They are also thinking about what policies mean for everyday life — whether daughters will have safe changing rooms at school, whether local women’s shelters will be able to enforce single-sex spaces, and whether healthcare staff can raise safety concerns without fear of reprisal.

For many, the calculus involves three overlapping judgments:

1. Do offensive jokes reveal a broader ladder of respect for women, or are they isolated instances of poor taste?
2. Have past policy stances by leading politicians produced measurable harms to women’s privacy and safety?
3. Which kind of accountability — personal apology, candidate deselection, policy reversal, or new guidance — will best protect vulnerable people going forward?

These practical questions often matter more to voters on the ground than media narratives that treat offenses as symmetrical. The emotional intensity around both crude language and gender policy reflects deeper anxieties about dignity, safety, and who gets to define womanhood in public life.

How journalists and editors might reshape the conversation

There are straightforward steps newsrooms could take to create a more balanced public debate:

• Contextualize personal attacks and tasteless jokes with reporting on policy records and outcomes.
• Interview affected women and frontline staff directly, giving space to firsthand accounts rather than relying only on opinion pieces.
• Ask senior politicians exacting questions about when and why they supported specific policies, and what they would change in light of reported harms.
• Avoid treating crude language and systemic policy effects as apples-to-apples scandals; investigate both with equal rigor.

Media credibility depends on applying standards consistently — not merely amplifying the most clickable outrage. If journalists want to expose hypocrisy, they should examine whether the very people who denounce crude jokes also defended policies that, according to some women, eroded their rights.

The debate in Makerfield is doing more than deciding one parliamentary seat. It is forcing a national conversation about how we balance competing rights, how we hold officials to account for policy consequences, and how the press decides which political missteps deserve headlines and which do not. The answers could shape not only the next by-election but broader questions about safety, fairness, and the role of ideology in public life.

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Robert Johnson

Robert Johnson is a dedicated columnist focusing on political and social debates. With twelve years in editorial writing, he provides nuanced, well‑argued perspectives. His commentaries invite you to form your own views and engage in critical issues.