Empowering women! Through secularism!

Remember a couple months ago when you wonderful people went and sent me to a conference? That conference is this weekend! Myself and some other awesomers (hey there Geoff & Sharrow and a bunch of other people who weren’t actually sitting right in front of me) have been tweeting up a storm over at the #ewts2013 tag. Beware of the trolls, though- this is a thing on the internet where people are talking about feminism. You have been warned! 

I’ll be heading back there in an hour or so- giz a follow if you fancy. And if you’re at the conference, don’t be a stranger!

Empowering women! Through secularism!
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Equality, already!

There’s a lot of reasons to support marriage equality. Respect for human dignity. Excuses to wear fancy hats. Recognising and valuing love and commitment. Giving your assorted aunts a day out. Thousands of legal rights and responsibilities. Cake.

I’ve got one more.

Every time I watch a marriage equality video, I cry.

I’m not talking a single dignified tear. It starts a few seconds in with that tear. By the end of a 3-minute video, the tear has been joined by its sisters, brothers, cousins, friends, old babysitters, and everyone who’s ever worked at its favourite cafes. What I’m trying to say here is that marriage equality videos- every single damn one of them- make me bawl. I’m crying right now just thinking of ’em.

In fairness, I cry at straight couples getting married too, but I have to actually know the people involved. Show me an old queer couple that I’ve never met and tell me that they’ve been waiting longer than I’ve been alive to have their relationship recognised, though? You’d better have brought a stack of tissues with you, ’cause I’ll be sobbing before you can get the words out.

This is a problem. Sometimes I have to appear professional. Like a grown-up in control of herself who won’t turn into a teary mess in seconds. The only way that I can see to deal with this is for every country, everywhere, to get off their asses and legislate for equal marriage- preferably on an evening or weekend, so there’ll be no problem with me hiding under a blanket with a bucket of icecream. Let’s get this out of the way in a morning, have our happy cry, and then get on with things.

In the meantime, check these out. You can try to tell me you’re not moved if you like, but I won’t believe you.

If you were to fancy throwing any links into the comments that’ll make me ugly-cry? I’d probably complain, but I’d also watch every sniffly one of them.

 

Equality, already!

Gender Recognition, Feminism, Intolerance, and Food Poverty. Linkspam!

A few things I think everyone should be reading today:

Why society still needs feminism

Just in case you were wondering:

Because to men, a key is a device to open something. For women, it’s a weapon we hold between our fingers when we’re walking alone at night.

..Because a girl was roofied last semester at a local campus bar, and I heard someone say they think she should have been more careful. Being drugged is her fault, not the fault of the person who put drugs in her drink?

..Because out of 7 billion people on the planet, more than 1 billion women will be raped or beaten in their lifetimes. Women and girls have their clitorises cut out, acid thrown on them and broken bottles shoved up them as an act of war. Every second of every day. Every corner of the Earth.

And also, yeah, nobody burns their bras. Not on purpose, anyhow.

Poor little rich girl… Without the rich bit.

If you’re not reading Jack Monroe, you should be. I came for the cheap&tasty recipes, and stayed for the social commentary. And the recipes.

There’s a queer sort of juxtaposition that comes with Being Ms Jack Monroe at the moment.

I spent this afternoon emailing Councillors and other people regarding the recent decision to suspend my Housing Benefit claim based on the (incorrect) assumption that I am sitting on a £25k cheque from my publisher (I’m not) and am sitting on a pile of cheques from newspaper interview and TV appearances (I’m not).

But I was doing that, on the 1414 train from Southend Central to Fenchurch Street, as I’d just been invited to a fundraising dinner by a friend with a spare ticket, via the Soho Food Feast in Soho Square.

But it’s a queer kind of juxtaposition, when you have a beautiful dress to wear to dinner tonight, but on quick inspection of the shoe collection, decide that the soft chiffon dipped hem just won’t go with the shoes you were issued in the Fire Service, your brogues, or your one pair of trainers, so you hang it back in the wardrobe and decide you can’t justify buying a pair of shoes. Not even in the sale at Primark.

Transgender people seek State recognition to escape gender ‘limbo’

Orla Tinsley (who is excellent, by the way, and you should go follow her on Twitter immediately) has managed to do the impossible: write an article about trans* issues in a major national publication that isn’t going to get you a line, never mind a full house, on a trans* discussion bingo card.

Nineteen-year-old student Tyron (he wants to be identified only by his first name) says it is easier to be young and transgender today but the lack of legislation does enable discrimination. “It’s easier than it was and it’s becoming a more known term,” says theNUI Maynooth student, who is currently looking for a job to pay his way through college.

“In interviews I only bring up my gender identity if they want to contact a previous employer,” he says. “Of the last three job interviews, only one was willing to hire a transgender person. The other two said it was not suitable for their working environment.”

It is also extremely important that you click that link in order to admire the extremely stylish tie which Ben borrowed off me for the photo. Yeah, I know, it’s a serious topic. But that’s my tie in the Irish Times!

Is intolerance prevalent in Ireland?

Aileen Donegan- another person with an excellent blog and twitter to follow- in TheJournal. Bet you guess the answer before you click. This, by the way, is a brilliant example of why we need to Shut Up And Listen when we’re privileged. Because otherwise we just don’t see whats going on.

As recently as April I asked a friend ‘Is racism big in Ireland?’ We were attending the same training course on hate speech. I guess my innocent question caught him off guard: ’Yes Aileen, racism is a hugeproblem in Ireland,’ he said with a tone of awe and surprise that offended me. Though Ireland, my home, has never seemed intolerant to me, the last week in news has given me some much-needed insight into Irish attitudes.

…The ECRI quote a disturbing statistic from the All-Ireland Traveller Health Study, which states that 7.6 per cent of Traveller families have no access to running water. Resistance from local residents, and the “lack of political will” of local authorities are cited as reasons why Traveller accommodation is difficult to attain in Irish society. This is hardly surprising. Remember when local residents set fire to a house that Travellers were set to live in?

(By the way? Don’t Read The Comments.)

Disabled man refused entry to nightclub after Scottish Charity Awards

Didja hear the one about the guy who had the police called on him for the crime of trying to get into a nightclub while disabled?

Actor Robert Softley Gale, who has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair, attempted to enter the Polo Lounge in Glasgow with his husband Nathan Gale after attending the Scottish Charity Awards with the Equality Network.

They claim that the bouncers informed them that they could not enter because the nightclub didn’t have disabled facilities.

Despite the couple explaining that they wanted to enter the popular gay nightclub anyway, they say staff continued to refuse to allow them to enter.

“The manager came and said that they didn’t have disabled facilities so they weren’t letting us in,” Nathan told TFN. “We said, you can’t not let us in just because we’re disabled, that’s a violation of the Equality Act, but he still wouldn’t let us in.”

Charming. Oh, and Robert Softley Gale is yet another person to follow on Twitter. You guys, it’s all about the Twitter today. And speaking of disability and ableism, have something from Captain Awkward:

#487: I use a wheelchair, and people are condescending as fuck.

Dear Captain Awkward:

I’m woman in my late 30s who uses a power wheelchair due to a medical condition that causes severe physical fatigue.

Often, strangers – retail staff, waitstaff, members of the general public – assume that because I use a power wheelchair, I have an intellectual disability. I don’t. I have a university degree and I read widely.

How should I respond to people:

– talking loudly to me;
– talking to me in a sing-song voice;
– being condescending/patronizing;
– calling me love/sweetie;
– telling me that I remind them of their 12 year old daughter with Down syndrome;
– praising me for putting rubbish in a rubbish bin as though I’ve won a gold medal at the Olympics;
– telling me that you eat cupcakes?

Signed,

Smart Crip Girl

You know that you want to hear what the Captain has to say.

A Racist B&B?

Speaking of intolerance, Tara Flynn’s husband got an unpleasant reminder that Ireland isn’t above blatant racism lately. Here’s what happened then:

On a recent trip home, I got a reminder that Ireland Of The Welcomes can be conditional.  By now very familiar with Kinsale, my husband offered to take the dog out for his last walk of the night. I sat chatting with my mum. 20 minutes later, my husband returned. He looked angry. “Well,” he said, “I haven’t been called those names in a while.” A group of young people standing outside a bar in the centre of town had shouted racist epithets at him. Some of those epithets have made it into my clip but we’ve decided to cover them with sound effects. They’re just too vile. They are shocking in the abstract and absolutely horrifying when applied to someone I love. In my hometown. In 2013.

My husband is a tolerant person. He just stared the namecallers down and they – like most cowards – shut up when faced with this silent challenge. He tried to laugh it off in the re-telling, saying it wasn’t his first time and that he’d heard worse. But that’s not the point.  I was mortified. Stunned. Fuming.

So I wrote a sketch about it.

 

One more thing

That’s all the links I’ve got for ya, but one more little thinglet before I go. Nominations have just opened for 2013’s Irish Blog Awards! Now, I’m not saying that you should immediately go and nominate me- I’m far too Irish for that sort of carry-on. Although I’ll admit that I do like getting the chance to dress up fancy and eat free canapes and photobomb legit fancy people. But shure have a think about who your favourite Irish bloggers are- I’m lookin’ at you, Geoff’s Shorts– and give a nomination to the people who deserve a bit of recognition. Remember: attention is to bloggers what money is to everyone else.

Gender Recognition, Feminism, Intolerance, and Food Poverty. Linkspam!

I like people. People are cool.

A little antidote to my habit of blogging about things that I find less than excellent:

The other day I was driving to roller derby training in the rain. This was partially excellent, and since I drive the kind of thing that has two wheels (and is super cute), I was pretty damn eager to get out of the less-than-excellent bit, cube my quota of wheels and see about hitting a few people (this is what I do for fun). The thing about rain, though, is that it makes the ground a bit more slippy than it would otherwise be. And the thing about traffic, as I’m sure you know well, is that it means you don’t really get to look at what precise bits of ground you’re driving over. This, combined with three manhole covers right on the turn in the road, led to the kind of rather unfortunate situation where I found myself a bit more horizontal than I would generally prefer. At least, than I’d prefer while I’m commuting. 

Okay, so that was less than excellent. But you know something? Within seconds, some total strangers had helped me to the side of the road, another had gotten my bike to the path as well- and taken the keys out and brought them over to me, just to be safe. Once I’d worked out that I hadn’t broken anything, they were regaling me with stories of all the times they fell off their bikes, making sure I was okay to drive home, and filling me up with advice on RICEing up my leg.

And you know what’s even better than that? The fact that you knew that was what would happen next.

Because people, on the whole, are pretty great.

I like people. People are cool.

Absolut’s new Pride video.

Where do I start? How about here: it is a very pretty video. The people in it were great. Sweet stories, real people. Lots of familiar faces- people who I know and admire from the LGBTQI community here in Dublin. It’s wonderfully human and engaging.

It’s just what’s missing that bothers me.

While the people and couples in it are lovely, the first thing I noticed was that it was all gay, gay, gay. No trans or bi representation, definitely no mention of the existence of any other diversity in the LGBTQI community. No POC, no people with disabilities, no people with non-Irish accents. No people with working-class or regional accents. In a video about Pride in our capital city- a place where so many people move to to find acceptance and community. And the only mention of an older person? Was someone talking about how he once saw an old lady waving a Pride flag from the sidelines, with the assumption that she must have been straight.

That’s not our community. I think.. there’s such a wonderful opportunity here to showcase that LGBTQI people are everyone. That we’re not just young urban white gays! To actually show more of a cross-section of Ireland and make it obvious that we’re so much more than that. There are far more interesting stories to be told. There are faces that should be shown and voices that should be heard. Those faces and those voices- from the working-class queers, queers with disabilities, queer POC and immigrants, from the bisexuals and asexuals and intersex people and trans people, from the kids of same-sex couples- are the stories you don’t get to hear. I want to hear those stories. I want those faces to be as visible, because I want those people to feel the same kind of belonging that we give to young, urban, middle-class, abled white gay people.

I like the video. It’s well-done. But in terms of representing what Pride is supposed to be about? It’s disappointing.

Absolut’s new Pride video.

Iain (M) Banks and grief for those we’ve never met.

You know, Iain Banks died the other day. As with most people reading this, I never met the guy. As with many people who love his books, though, I feel deeply sad that the mind that created them is gone. It’s strange and hard to believe, in that all too familiar way of death.

(Aside: I really wish people would quit dying so that I wouldn’t find myself writing about this kind of thing all the time. If you’re alive and reading this: do me a favour and stay that way? I mean, even if I don’t like you all that much I’d almost certainly rather you just stopped being a douchebag than kicked it. Let’s all just stay alive. It’ll be great. And if it’s not great.. well, then we can go back to the way things are now, no hard feelings.)

Engaging with being affected by the death of people you don’t actually know is strange, at best. When someone who you know and love dies.. it’s horrible. Nauseatingly, achingly, violently horrible. One of the few things you have to cling on to is the rituals we create around death- the gathering together of loved ones, the funeral, the community. These places we create where we can fall apart.

That space where we grieve those we love is essential. If I used words like ‘sacred’, I’d use it here. It’s not a place to intrude upon. I do not want to intrude there.

At the same time, though? This culture of ours is one where we will never meet many of the people who influence us. It’s one where we can communicate to many more people than we can communicate with. And in a few cases, we can invite many thousands of people into our imaginations. Into our minds.

It’s never complete. It’s never like knowing or loving a person. But in a genuine way, creating stories is always sharing a part of who you are. If you’re exceptionally good at it? It can feel like tasting, in a small way, the flavour of a person’s mind. Not of what they are like, but of what it must be like to be them. Experiencing, in a way that you never could on your own. That wonderful, familiar, utterly alien sense of anotherness.

You don’t find out what a person is like. But you do- maybe, a little- get a sense of what it might be like to be them, from the inside.

After Banks’s death, Brendan O’Neill wrote an article decrying any expressions of grief from members of the public as “death watching”, and accusing those who speak of their impending mortality of being nothing more than “trendy”. O’Neill- who, by the way, seems to make his living as a contrarian- sees any way of dying that is not purely private as fashionable nonsense. And mourning for anyone outside your private circles? “Glory-seeking”.

Obviously, I don’t agree. We have the absolute right to privacy in our final days if that is what we wish for. We also have the right to be as public as we are able- and continuing to engage with others until the day we die does not take one jot of our dignity away from us. It’s our life. If talking and sharing make it meaningful to us, then who are we to take that away from someone for their final days? Who the hell are we to tell someone what to do with their last weeks on earth?

And who are we to say that grief for those who we’ve never met, but who we knew of, whose work we loved, who allowed us glimpses into their imaginations, isn’t real?

Iain (M) Banks was an astounding writer. His work wasn’t just absorbing and entertaining. He wrote books you’re sad to finish, characters that you miss terribly after the final page, worlds and places that you feel could be just there, around the corner. Where you knew there were thousands more stories waiting to be told around their corners. Imaginary spaces that felt as alive, as real, as rich as the one we live in.

It’s hard to believe that the mind that created all of that could end. Could truly end- not be backed-up, not live in a substrate or turn out to have been just one small part of someone far greater. Just end. Hard to believe that there isn’t any longer a life at the centre of it all.

I didn’t know Iain Banks. I’m not his friend or partner or family or loved one- not even an acquaintance- and I would never claim a fraction of the grief that they are feeling now.

But he wrote wonderful things. I will miss that.

 

Iain (M) Banks and grief for those we’ve never met.

Lady Doctors, Imagination, and DS9.

So, Matt Smith is leaving Doctor Who. Soz for the spoiler- I know it’s the kind of thing that it’s almost imposible to hear about on the internet.
I have to say that I’m not tremendously bothered. Smith/Moffat era Who never grabbed me the way that Russell T Davies, Nine and Ten did. It’s not just Moffat’s well-known fail-y ways when it comes to characters that aren’t straight white dudes- although after the RTD years, that was a bit on the unpleasant side. There was just something about the Eleven era that failed to grab me. Some depth, flair or humanity missing from the characters. One of the things I loved about RTD’s companions was how grounded they were (aside from Captain Jack, natch. But that man is a bit of a deliberate enigma, isn’t he?). They had real lives- boyfriends, mothers, sisters, doting granddads, ordinary jobs- and the Doctor was just another part of those lives. They felt.. plausible, in a fantastic universe. They weren’t Manic Pixie Dream Companions. They were people.

But that was then, and this is now, right? Onwards and upwards, allons-y and all that, and we’re all a mite interested to know who’s going to be next. In this corner of the internet, we’re all simultaneously crossing our fingers for a Doctor that may not be yet another white dude (nothing against white guys, like, but you lot have been hogging being the Doctor for decades. It’s time you let the rest of the world have a go, k?), and shuddering at the thought of what Moffat would do to ’em, given his track record with everyone who isn’t part of his favourite minority.

In the middle of the speculation comes Russell T Davies. And what did the man who gave us Captain Jack and Donna have to say?

Russell T Davies explained to the publication how this mega change would never be allowed because it is “a family show”, adding:

“While I think kids will not have a problem with a female Doctor, I think fathers will have a problem with it.

“That’s because they will then imagine they will have to describe sex changes to their children.”

Before I go on, and as a bit of an aside- does anyone think it’s (not) funny that it’s apparently okay to cast Benedict “So White He’s Practically A Daz Ad” Cumberbatch as Khan Noonien Singh, but that changing the gender of a non-human alien with a well-documented ability to transform themselves into a whole new body would be going too far? If I were less unrealistically optimistic about humanity, I’d say that we were dealing with a one-way valve leading to straight white dude-hood.

Let’s get back to RTD and the Lady Doctor, though. In a fantastic reversal of the good ol’ Argumentum Ad Won’t Someone Think Of The Children, Davies is pleading with us to Think Of The Fathers. If the Doctor regenerates into a Lady Doctor, the fathers (but not the mothers?) of the nations will have to explain to their kids that real-live people sometimes transition to different genders. As a society, I guess that we’re just not ready for that. Right?

Maybe. But… maybe not. Let’s make a list, shall we?

A Lady Doctor Would Not Be The End Of The World: In Three Parts.

  1. It Really Wouldn’t.
  2. It’s Not That Difficult
  3. It’s Been Done Before.

Part the First: It Really Wouldn’t.

The Doctor is an alien. An immortal alien with two hearts, a telepathic time machine that is both infinite and the size of a phone box, a widget that will fix anything, and the ability to regenerate into a new body (and personality) every time his current body looks like it’s about to give up the ghost. The Doctor does tons of things that you or I can’t do. He’s just a little bit magic. When people die, we don’t get dramatic and glow-ey and turn into Matt Smith as our spaceship crashes to the ground to rousing orchestral music. If parents fathers are so disturbed at the idea of telling their kids that sometimes people change gender, all they have to do is wave their hands and say that it’s just another one of those wibbly-wobbly doctorey-woctorey things. By which time something exciting will have happened involving aliens and saving humanity and they’ll be distracted anyway. Easy.

Part the Second: It’s Not That Difficult

“But Daddy, Daddy! The Doctor turned into a lady! Can people do that too?”
“Yep. There’s less in the way of glowing TARDIS energy involved, though. Also: fewer violins.”
“Cool! Does that mean we can have sonic screwdrivers and TARDISes too?”
“Nope, unless you invent one when you grow up”
“I WILL BE A SONIC SCREWDRIVER INVENTOR WHEN I GROW UP”
“Excellent”

And then the kid grew up to invent a sonic screwdriver, and the parent father won at parenting.

Part the Third: It’s Been Done Before.

I wonder if you’ve ever heard something like the following:

“I’m fine with xyz, but society isn’t ready for it”

The speaker is cool with you, you see. They’re open-minded, accepting and desperately intelligent. Far more clever than the unwashed masses out there. Those masses, on the other hand? Are just not able to deal with whatever it is you are. We don’t want to tax their little prole minds too much. Best to wait an indeterminate amount of years until society grows up and magically, without exposure to difference, becomes cool with the rest of us.

Of course, that falls apart when you realise that a major sci fi series did just that twenty years ago, with a main character who was centuries old, who had regenerated many times into different bodies and personalities, who had friendships that continued from one life to the next, and who- yes- had been different genders many times. I’m referring, of course, to Deep Space Nine’s Dax.

If you haven’t seen DS9, you should obtain all 7 seasons by whatever method you do such things yourself, clear out your diary for the next few weeks, and watch it now. In the meantime, a little background on Dax. Dax- or Jadzia Dax, as she is when we meet her- is a joined Trill. Trills are a species who, in their joined state (most Trills aren’t joined) are composed of two parts- a humanoid host who lives and dies like other humanoids, and a wormlike symbiont who can live for many centuries and who holds and preserves the memories of its hosts. When a host dies, the symbiont is transferred into a new host to begin another life. A joined Trill individual is therefore a blend of the current host, their symbiont, and all of their past lives. Trippy, eh?

Where the Doctor rarely refers to the past, Dax doesn’t have that luxury. Jazdia Dax lives and works among people who knew her when she was an old man. Her boss, closest friend, mentor and mentee (life is complicated when you’re a twentysomething with a centuries old mind) calls her “Old Man” and reminisces about old times. She encounters people of many species who she knew in past lives, deftly negotiating complex terrains of age and gender, owning both who she is and all of the other people that she was. She’s also, by the way, a badass science officer, wicked smart, and manages to gamble with the Ferengi and win. The Doctor ain’t got nothin’ on Dax (although, dear sweet FSM she would make an incredible Companion. Although I suspect it wouldn’t be long before it’d be the other way around).

When Russell T Davies says that fathers wouldn’t be able to deal with telling their kids that girls can be boys and boys can be girls, he betrays his own transphobia, not theirs. When he implies that society just isn’t ready for a female doctor, he betrays his own classist elitism. And when he narrows the scope of shape-shifting science fiction aliens to just another guy in a (delightfully dapper) suit, he betrays the very point of storytelling and imagination. If in this fantastic playground of space, time, changes and identity we can’t recreate our ideas of who we are, then where can we?

Lady Doctors, Imagination, and DS9.

Jerkbrain, trampolines, gardening.

Imagine you’re in a garden. It’s a sunny day. A big, green garden- shady trees in one corner and a great big lawn, tons of flowers and somebody’s cooking on the barbecue over by the house. You’re on a trampoline. You twist your ankle- or have you broken your leg? You try to get off the trampoline but you can’t find the way out. You know you need to stop bouncing but the door is gone, there’s netting all around you and everything you do just bounces you more.

You’re still in the garden. You love trampolining. Everyone knows you love trampolining. You know that you’d be fine if you could just get out of this trampoline and sit by the barbecue or under the trees until your ankle heals. It’s still a sunny day. Your foot is getting worse, you can’t get out, and you can’t stop bouncing.

It feels like that, sometimes. I’m in the midst of this fantastic life, surrounded by things that I love. I should be having the time of my life- but all I can do is keep bouncing on that goddamn ankle.

It’s not like that all the time. Eventually I find the way out, figure things out.

As you may have noticed, I haven’t been blogging as much as normal. It’s partially being stuck on that trampoline and not having any goddamn energy left to deal with messed-up things in the outside world. Partially that a couple of months ago I started a job and moved house and a whole bunch of other things in my life changed and working out what shape my new normal is supposed to be seems to be taking a while. Also, work involves sitting in front of a screen and when I get home all I want to do is anything else. I’m tempted to turn this into somewhere I talk about gardening and cooking and skating and all sorts of things that have nothing to do with keyboards. 

Speaking of gardening, check out these pics of what I did this weekend. With my bare hands (okay, there were gardening gloves involved) I turned this:

garden before

 

Into this:

garden sunday

Important to note there is the massive pile of rocks you can not quite see in the right hand side of the picture. Those rocks used to live in the Future Veggie Patch. They do not live there any more. Because ME.

 

Jerkbrain, trampolines, gardening.