Young England and Wales Programme 2014

A couple of weeks ago I hopped on a train to Lancaster to participate in an intense 4-day residential course/competition called the Young England and Wales Programme.

I, along with 50 other delegates from across the public sector, convened at the Lancaster House Hotel, excited but apprehensive, and unsure of what exactly to expect.

We had been told that the programme was devised to "encourage the research, writing and presentational abilities of delegates, helping to build confidence where it is fragile as well as enhancing the talents of more experienced participants."

The best way I can describe it is a bit like a public sector TED, but with prizes. 

The main competitive element of the programme was the "Argument Paper". All delegates had to research and write a 900 word paper, in advance, on a topic of their choice - "of interest or controversy". We were then expected to deliver this paper to the rest of the group, within approximately 6 minutes, with a time penalty for going under 5 minutes 30 seconds or over 6 minutes 30 seconds. Each paper would then be followed by a short discussion session, with the Chair asking some questions and then opening it out to the floor. This Argument Paper accounted for 80% of the total mark. The other 20% was awarded for the "On the Spot" - a session in which we were challenged to ask ourselves a question (could be anything - serious, political, humorous, philosophical) and answer it, without notes, in two minutes.

For my "On the Spot", I opted for the ridiculous, posing the question: "Was Twin Twin's 'Moustache' the most criminally overlooked song of the Eurovision song contest?" - coming to the conclusion that oui, it most certainly was. (If you haven't seen it yet, please, I implore you, watch it right now.)

For my Argument Paper, I decided to go for a topic I feel passionately about and which I can (un)happily rant about all day long: sexism and misogyny. 

I had so many different ideas, so many angles, for how to approach this topic, but in the end I chose to focus on a small but significant incident which happened to me one balmy evening in Hong Kong.

For anyone who would like to read it in full, here it is:

I’m going to tell you a story about a man, a woman, and a bobble.  

Picture the scene. A small, dimly lit bar. Two young women, chatting animatedly. And a man, sat on his own, watching. 

Fast forward half an hour. The man has somehow inveigled his way into the female circle of trust. The women wear strained expressions, cracks appearing in their polite façade. They clearly want to be left alone, to be free of this unwanted intrusion into their evening, but the man lingers, either unaware of their discomfort or uncaring.

One of those women is me. The man: his name is Raj. And the bobble? Well. Allow me to explain. 

At one point, as I was dancing with my friend, trying desperately hard to pretend that Raj didn’t exist, I decided to tie back my hair.

Raj stared at me, agog. “Why are you doing that?” he asked me, gesturing to my hair. “Your hair is so beautiful. I mean, you look beautiful with it up, but well,” he said emphatically, pausing for effect. “With it down, you are more beautiful!”

By this stage of the evening, however, the compliments were wearing a little thin, as was my patience.

“Thank you,” I said, through gritted teeth, “but I am feeling very hot and uncomfortable and it’s getting in the way.”

He merely continued to gape at me in disbelief, as if my refusal was the last thing he expected.

He asked me to take it down. I refused. He asked again. I refused, again, this tine feeling rage bubbling up inside me. Why wasn’t he listening to me?

Two minutes later, I was surprised to find my hair tumbling messily down around my face. Raj held my bobble aloft with a smile of victory, as if to say, “There. That’s better.”

I wish I could explain how angry I felt in this moment. It wasn’t just that I had expressly asked him not to do something but he had gone ahead and done it anyway. It was that this one small, seemingly inconsequential gesture, summed up everything that was wrong with our exchange that night.

It was an act of entitlement, pure and simple. It was an act of power. And this is what it said to me. I’m a man and I like you. I want you. And I want you to look a certain way because it pleases me. And nothing that you say or do is going to change that. Whatever you think, whatever you feel: doesn’t matter. It’s what I want that matters.

And so, this one small but significant act felt like a violation. Of my personal space, of my own personal wishes, of the nice evening I had planned with my friend. And it felt like an invalidation. Because even the strongest of “no”s was being interpreted as a “yes, please continue”. And when even a red light is seen to be green, what can there be except blind chaos?

I was lucky, really. Another man might have grown angry at my refusal. Shouted at me. Called me a slut. He might have tried to follow me home. Or he might have tried to force himself upon me in other ways which I would rather not think about.

But Raj was not the first, and he will surely not be the last. I can laugh about it now, but it’s a sad truth that I do not know one female friend, relative or colleague who does not have at least one story of harassment or abuse, both large and small.

The Everyday Sexism project was founded by Laura Bates for this very reason – to give voice to countless instances of sexism and misogyny that normal women experience in their everyday lives: on the street; in the workplace; in bars and clubs; on public transport; on holiday.

Because the fact is that misogyny doesn’t just come in one obvious guise. It’s not just the one crazed gunman who unleashes retribution on the “sluts” who reject him and the “brutes” who thwart him. It’s not just the couple of police officers who are complicit in the brutal gang rape and murder of two young teenage girls.

These crimes are real and yes, they are horrific, but they spring from a common well. Entitlement is an ugly force in our society, whatever form it takes, and it poisons that well. It is the means by which the strong oppress the weak, and take by force what is not theirs to take, without fear of reprisal.

We can try and pretend that it only happens out there, in other places, but the truth is that it exists right here, right now, and everyone you know is affected.

In the UK, the figures paint their own picture. A woman has around a one-in-five chance of being the victim of a sexual offence, and a one-in-four chance of being the victim of domestic violence. And in England and Wales alone, seven women per week are killed, on average, by current or former partners.

So what can we do? I believe that the only way to fight back is to speak up and take action – together. It’s not enough for women to speak up about their experiences, as I have done, although it’s a start. We need men on side too. Men who are not afraid to speak out when they see or hear harmful or offensive attitudes or behaviours playing out – whether it’s on the street or on the pitch, in the locker room or in the boardroom.

I am not ashamed to call myself a feminist because I believe that men and women, both, deserve to be treated with mutual respect – and sexism and misogyny hurt us all.

In the question and answer session which followed, I mentioned that I had written a second version of this paper which was framed in a more controversial manner. This paper opened with the question: "What do Raj the IT Consultant from Delhi and British-born mass murderer Elliot Rodger have in common?"

I made it clear that I, in no means, meant to belittle the tragedy of the shooting in Santa Barbara, California, by comparing it to bobble-stealing, but the point that I wanted to make was that there was something in common between these two incidents, and that was the underlying prevailing attitude of the two men: one of entitlement and objectification.

The Chair expressed an opinion that perhaps I was making too great a leap by drawing such a comparison, and in the end, I wonder whether I may have lost some marks for this, but I absolutely do not regret saying what I did; and, in fact, I was really pleased when one of the male delegates jumped in to my defence. He agreed with my position and felt that it wasn't too great a leap to make, because as long as these underlying sexist and misogynistic attitudes remain unchallenged and unchecked in our society, then unfortunately it just creates a climate where more serious incidents of violence against women will continue to happen.

***

On the final night, the winners were announced, and I was awarded "Highly Commended" for my paper, which was one of 6 that were shortlisted.

Yay!

All in all it was a great week: intense, jam-packed and mentally exhausting, but I thoroughly enjoyed meeting some lovely people and listening to each and every argument paper. 

Equally enjoyable was staying up drinking multiple G&T's in the hotel bar and playing Giant Jenga whilst talking absolute shit (like would you rather: have anal sex with scorpions or a blow job from a shark... :P). 

But it was awesome and humbling to be in the company of so many intelligent, inspiring, passionate people. I'd definitely do it again.

Jamie Shovlin: Hiker Meat at Cornerhouse Manchester

Imagine standing in a hall of mirrors: you look around you and all you can see are images of your own face - familiar but fragmented - a dozen or so contortions and iterations that are similar but different, except there's just one thing… you don't exist.

Let me put it another way. You know that bit in The Matrix where a slack-jawed Keanu Reeves utters, with deadpan profundity, "There is no spoon."? Yeah. That.

Confused? You will be. But then that is one of the biggest draws of Jamie Shovlin's mind-mashing exhibition "Hiker Meat" which puts forward the question: "How do you re-make a film that never existed?"

The three floors of this exhibition are, in effect, Shovlin's hall of mirrors - and at the centre is a film by legendary Italian exploitation film maker Jesus Rinzoli - Hiker Meat: the slashery kernel at the heart of it all.

Except Hiker Meat is not a real film, and Rinzoli never existed.

Step into the first floor of the exhibition, though, and you may well be convinced otherwise. Detailed panels on the wall trace the story of Hiker Meat's colourful and troubled journey from inception to conclusion, full of juicy morsels relating to the highs and lows of collaborative film-making - from clashes of egos to disagreements and spats over plot-points and casting.

Equally convincing are the props (my favourite being the model of the giant worm, which provides the film's supernatural, teen-feasting terror, though the severed head comes a close second), posters and other ephemera that add to the credible narrative of this film that never existed.

Work your way up through the next two floors and the audio-visual installations deconstruct phase two: the remake of this fictional horror flick.

In the end, it was never Shovlin's intent to remake the whole film - budget constraints and personal inclination just two of the main reasons for not undertaking such a colossal venture.

However, in collaboration with writer Mike Harte (whose name, via the power of the anagram, provides the film's title) and composer Euan Rodger, a full screenplay was drafted, a soundtrack composed, and a prototype constructed using a collage of over 1500 vintage film clips that roughly matched each sequence.

The culmination of this real-life collaborative effort was the filming of the beginning and end sections of this prototype and a trailer for the film in the Lake District in June 2013 - all of which feature in Shovlin's feature-length debut Rough Cut.

Rough Cut is the bow on the beautifully-wrapped polystyrene-filled shop-display present, the cherry on the meta-cake: a documentary which showcases these sequences whilst also charting the behind-the-scenes of the gruelling seven day shoot and providing an insight into the group effort behind the wider Hiker Meat project.

Jamie Shovlin's Hiker Meat is many things, depending on where you're standing. It's a parody of and homage to a much-maligned but popular cult genre. It's a truly multimedia exhibition, bringing together sketches, painting, sculpture, video and film. It's a playful exercise in story-telling and an experiment in creative collaboration. It's an artist's game of Chinese Whispers and Russian Dolls, where truth and fiction collide and coalesce: where the line between reality and fiction is as solid as its watery reflection.

Ultimately though, it's not really important what is "real" and what is not. As Shovlin himself expressed to an initially befuddled yet captive audience, when he reads a novel he's not interested in whether or not it's real - he is more concerned with whether the narrative and the world contained within its pages is compelling enough to captivate the imagination.

But perhaps Morpheus said it best. No-one can tell you what Hiker Meat is. You have to see it for yourself.

Jamie Shovlin: Hiker Meat continues in Galleries 1, 2 & 3 until Monday 21 April 2014. 

Catch Rough Cut before the exhibition closes on Sunday 20 April. Watch the trailer and book tickets here. Rough Cut is a Cornerhouse Artist Film.