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.

A rant about 'rape'

Earlier today I posted a status update on the Book of Face which was a mini rant about being shoved on the train during my commute to work. It was quite amusing really. This small, Chinese lady dressed all in pink battery-rammed me out of the way with her stupidly large pink handbag, and all because the girls in front of me didn’t move into the carriage fast enough. (Dawdlers are a common source of rage to me in this city, but it’s fun ‘cos I get to mine the comic potential from the rage that festers deep within my soul.) Anyway, a friend then replied saying that being at Admiralty station during rush hour is how they ‘imagine it feels to be gang-raped’.

My response was something along the lines of: o.0

We then exchanged a couple of additional comments where he apologised for going too far and I apologised for my sense of humour fail. No hard feelings, and all was well again. But it got me thinking. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt uncomfortable or even disapproved of a male (and I've found it usually is a male, not a female) using the word ‘rape’ in an unexpected context. You know, like, “I got totally ass-raped at work today”. Mostly though, I’ve noticed, it comes up in relation to gaming. A synonym could perhaps be ‘owned’, or ‘pwned’, or ‘destroyed’.

I guess the main point of this post is to help me unpick just why this bothers me so much. Firstly, ‘rape’ is one of those words which kinda gives me the heebie jeebies. The connotations for me (arising from its actual, primary meaning) are fear, horror, pity, revulsion. So first, what is rape? Without looking up a formal definition, I would probably say that rape is primarily a form of sexualised violence. It happens to both men and women but I don’t think I need to look up any statistics to back up the assumption that it happens mostly to women. It is not only a sexual act but an act of power, of dominance, of subjugation, of humiliation. Besides murder and child abuse, it is also theft of the most invasive, psychologically damaging kind. The rapist takes what he or she wants from their victim, and then leaves. If someone breaks into your house and steals your shit, you might feel sad, angry, shaken up, scared. But eventually you move on. You install some new locks. You grieve the old shit. You possibly buy new shit to replace the old shit. But rape? God forbid, but if it were ever to happen to me, then it might take me a lifetime re-learning how to ever trust another human being again.

There are other forms of horrendous violence and violent acts committed by those with power against those who have little, or none. But we don’t hear those appropriated for the sake of jokey lad banter. People don’t go around saying, “Aw man, did you see that? I got totally gas-chambered.” Or, “Dude, that was the worst exam I’ve ever done, it molested the child out of me.” Or, “Shit man, you fucking KKK’d my black ass.”

And maybe that’s why it pisses me off so much. Because for a guy to use the word ‘rape’ in a stupid, jokey, gaming context, whether that’s in reference to football or Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 or whatever (which is a GAME and therefore in the realm of FANTASY and therefore NOT REAL) is like me wandering into Bangladesh during the middle of a famine complaining about how I was totally FOIE-GRAS’ED in First Class on the plane journey on the way there. “Oh God, yeah, the food just kept coming, it was MENTAL. How many courses was it? 4? No, it was 5, or 8 if you include all the littleamuse bouches… and the champagne! There were positively rivers of it, seriously. Oh my GOD I think I need to undo my trousers, I’m not sure I can ever eat again. If someone were to put a gun to my head right now and tell me that if I didn’t eat a plate of steak or roast dinner or my mum’s lamb biriyani or whatever I think I’d just ask them to shoot me.”

What a wanker! :P But yeah, it’s that kind of nonsensical, ridiculous, insensitive, knobby ignorance of privilege – the boys who talk flippantly about ‘being raped’ probably don’t spend a lot of time thinking or worrying about being actually raped in real life, just as both the fictional, obnoxious version, and the real version of me don’t spend a lot of time thinking or worrying about how famine would affect me in real life. I’m privileged enough not to have to worry about it, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. Real people do suffer from famine. And real people get raped.

These jokey-lad-banter-boys probably don’t wonder whether they should pop that rape alarm their dad gave them in their pocket before they go on a night out in case they need it on the way home, or worry about what randoms might try to approach them or follow them or harass them as they try to walk down the street, wishing that they could disappear into themselves or somehow become invisible. I feel my heart rate rise every time I see an Indian man in the street, or in a shop, or in a bar, because I don’t want to have to deal with their unwanted stares, or whistles, or leery hellos, or feeble attempts to make conversation, or thinly-veiled attempts to connect with ‘another fellow Asian’. Mostly because I can’t be arsed with the annoyance, but a lot because I’ve had so many bad experiences before that it just becomes utterly disheartening and demoralising to have these encounters, however brief, with these men who give you every signal imaginable to indicate that you are merely there, that you exist, purely for their diversion/enjoyment/pleasure, and that whether you actually want their attention or not is completely irrelevant, because you are a woman, and your job is to look pretty and make them happy and do what they want you to do, and you could not possibly have thoughts or feelings or opinions of your own that do not align with that narrow, pathetic world-view. Or if you do, they just don’t give a fuck. You say no, you say you’re not interested, you say you already have a boyfriend, you even say ‘Look, you are making me feel very uncomfortable,’ but the advances still keep coming. Because secretly the answer is yes, they just have to be patient enough for you to say it. Newsflash, morons: the answer is always, and will always be, no. But every time you keep asking you demean me and belittle me and ruin my day/evening/night. So thanks for that.

And for anyone who is thinking at this point (and I genuinely hope no-one reading this does) that I ought to ‘loosen up’ and ‘get a sense of humour’ I’d kindly request you punch yourself in the face so I don’t have to. Go join those Indian men in the corner, I’m sure you’ll get on handsomely (or greasily, rather).

Wow, that became a completely different rant! Or did it…?

Oh dear. I did not intend this to be a man-hating rant. Nor am I pointing fingers at those jokey-bantery-boys… well, I am a bit, but not in a jabby eye-stabby sort of way. I’m sure many of my male friends, who I love and respect, are guilty of questionable rape similes just as much as I and some of my girl friends are guilty of questionable gay similes (e.g. “Twilight is so gay” i.e. lame). I do that. But I guess the point is I/we should know better.