This is not Love by Wordsmith Design

LEGACY SCRA PB O O K C

n average two women a week die at the hands of male partners. Violence and sexual attacks on women are endemic. Responding to this situation local group Women’s Voice applied to Comic Relief for funding to organise events and highlight the reality of violence against women. The application was successful and with the funding from Comic Relief, Women’s Voice hosted a series of events for local women where they could talk about their experiences, express their anger, and look at ways of demanding change. This legacy scrapbook captures some of the events and the flavour of the project. It includes words from women who experienced and have survived domestic abuse and coercive control. There are powerful statements from women responding to the murder of Sarah Everard in March 2021, and images and photographs from workshops and a Reclaim Our Streets march that brought between 150–200 local women onto the streets to protest and demand an end to violence against women. In here are quotes from women who took part in the project and have provided testimony to how valuable the project has been in empowering women and bringing them together.

The project is now over but its legacy continues. Women are coming together to set up a women’s peer support network to provide support and advice for women in Hastings and St Leonards who are experiencing abuse and harassment from men. Women who took part are also determined to carry on highlighting the issues, with plans to visit local schools and continue lobbying for change. Women’s Voice would like to thank Comic Relief for funding this project; we are very grateful for their support. Many women made this project happen and all deserve thanks, in particular Sabina, Kirsty and Megan who led on the project, filming, promoting events through social media, writing, and facilitating workshops. Also, Lorna, Jen and Emily who provided artworks, helped to produce placards and facilitated workshops. Thanks too to other committee members, facilitators, volunteers – and all the women who participated, without whom there would have been no project. Ann Kramer, Chair of Women’s Voice, January 2022 Web: womens-voice.org.uk Email: hastingswomensvoice@yahoo.com

Survi vors’ Testi mon i es

eggshells

t wasn’t all bad – he wasn’t all bad and I certainly wasn’t always good; I got things wrong all the time and I’m pretty sure towards the end I was increasingly cold and distant as I tried to build up a protection around me, to keep him out, to pretend it was OK, I was OK. We weren’t even together that long I guess – we probably only lived together a couple of years and even then he’d be away from time to time and we’d keep moving because that was what he was used to and because he’d get into an argument, start drinking, there’d be a fight, maybe the police and sometimes he couldn’t even remember what had happened because he’d drunk too much and blacked out. He didn’t hit me that often, he never really hurt me physically, not badly. Yes, there was a black eye – the worst part was probably having to walk down the line to my sewing machine past all the eyes, guessing what had happened. I was working in a factory sewing buttons onto M&S shirts and I remember having to be there that day and feeling so exposed and so stupid – but there were other women there who did understand, who wanted

to help. I could have asked for more help then – I wish I had. Later, after we’d moved again and our son, my son, had been born, I remember a woman who worked in the shop two doors down, asking me at the counter if we could keep the noise down as it was ‘not very nice’ to hear raised voices. I could barely speak to her – I wanted some help, someone to care, she didn’t care what was happening behind our door as long as we kept it quiet. I felt so trapped, I just didn’t see how it could ever end. I remember walking behind him on the beach …. following him, wondering how it could end. Would he kill me? Would I end up killing him? Every day I was tiptoeing on eggshells, never knowing when or why they might crack. That was the hardest part, never being able to trust that the good mood would continue, knowing deep down that the anger would surely erupt again, the criticism, something I’d done wrong – like leaving hair in the bath after I’d washed it, or undercooking a boiled egg – would provoke the shouting and the throwing and the overwhelming fury. It was the walking on eggshells which almost broke me. ANONYMOUS

DON’T BE LIEV E

I make Don’t believe my words; they ’re lies that up to project a good life, and convince you I’m okay. ceal Don’t trust the smile; it’s a facade to con searing pain, acute shame sheer heartache. ely an Don’t be fooled by the laughter, it’s mer echo of the hollow inside. order; it’s Don’t be convinced by the clarity and the an attempt to control the chaos and calm storms brewing inside. de, Don’t be blinded by the happiness I exu The courage I fake, The confidence I wear, ANON YMOUS For I am broken…

This is not Love… is it? Sex that made me feel demeaned and depressed, regularly Sex that had no signs of love Sex that made me cry Sex that made me feel deeply ashamed and disgusted with myself Sex where you wanted to punish and discipline me Sex where you wanted me to crawl on the floor Sex where you wanted to drag me around by the neck Sex where you wanted to hit me hit me hit me Sex where you never kissed me Sex where you’d ask me to say please and thank you Telling me the bruises turned you on… Telling me you owned my body, it was yours to do as you liked Telling me you’d like me more if I was skinnier… Telling me I was a slag and whore who you didn’t have to pay. Why was I addicted to the trauma? Why did I stay so long? Why did I let you do it, why? Why? Why? ANONYMOUS

Survi vors’ Testi mon i es

within the family

lived with domestic violence within my family. I felt fear for my loved ones who experienced it. In different decades my sister and my granddaughter lived with violent partners. My sister lived with her architect husband and two young children in a leafy middle class London commuter town. She would call me in tears, he had hit her, she was left bruised, sometimes bleeding, and bemused. She had been to the doctors or a hospital. In the late 60s early 70s these events were not discussed. I was the only person she revealed her pain to. I told her to leave him, see a lawyer. How different things were then, on the cusp of women’s liberation, women’s fight for autonomy. We were still owned, chattels. She wouldn’t, couldn’t leave her husband. I felt helpless. She loved him she said, she stayed with him for the children. She eventually left him when my nieces were young adults and one had been beaten herself. Years later, my troubled younger granddaughter then in her early twenties got involved with a violent dangerous man. He used to watch her every move, we tried to get her to leave him. They lived on one of

the big Glasgow estates. Detached from the world she had grown up in, she sank into the darkness. My daughter, instead of calling the police after a beating incident, would get up at 3 in the morning and go round there to calm him down. He threatened other members of my family. We felt my granddaughter would die. This time though we shared our fears as a family, with our friends, with help that had become available. When I was going through this experience with my sister I heard a women’s hour programme on domestic violence. At this time Erin Pizzey was starting Women’s Aid, I heard there what I had felt through those troubled times, that people supporting those experiencing domestic violence needed support groups for themselves as it is a very lonely, stressful experience. Things have changed from that time in the late 60s. Help can be easily accessed on-line, through GPs and other agencies. You do not need to be alone.

ANONYMOUS

MY JOUR NE Y having been let down by the one person I had given my absolute all to – til death us do part, in sickness and in health and forsaking all others. A decade later and trust is still a challenge, the need to self protect when triggers occur, and they do still occur, will always be ingrained. That panic, the rapid heartbeat and the sense of fear fade but the scars don’t. There’s light though now, so much light, it’s bright and sunny and brings with it freedom, self belief, confidence. and love. It shines through every aspect of my life and makes me happy to be me and proud to have come

IT WAS LIKE BEING TRAPPED, held down, unable to breathe in a dark and scary place filled with pain, constant heart breaking agony. It felt like there was real danger everywhere and I couldn’t let my guard down for a second in case he turned on me or worse still my children. Even in public there was the risk of him ‘having one of his turns’ and me having to deal with the aftermath then going back home with him again not knowing what would happen next. Living with ‘it’ was exhausting. ‘It’ was the abuse – dress it up as mental health problems, put it down to personality, call it what you will but it was and still is abuse. Hours spent trying to understand why, often using self blame as an answer and wanting to fix things but also wondering if every marriage was like this and if so could I really do this for the rest of my life and at what cost to my own mental health and safety? I could trust no one

through those times. Real love and respect need to start with the journey to feeling those things for yourself. Real love doesn’t hurt, physically or emotionally, it doesn’t cause fear and it helps us grow stronger and heals wounds.

ANONYMOUS

This Is Not Love Day: It’s been brilliant. I’m taking away that I want to sing in the march. I’m feeling really happy that lots of women actually do care about each other, and that’s really nice.

It was an interesting and supportive experience to see what other women had experienced in their lives and to watch the film. I was very aware that there were some quite intense emotions from myself and the other women after the end of that film because I think it very much called it as it is for a lot of women.

I definitely would like to come to more of these events. I’ve never been to anything like this before and it really was an eye-opener and I’ve learned lots about domestic violence and everything, because you don’t really get taught it that much at school.

It just felt like a very supportive environment, nourishing, that’s mainly what I’ve taken away, bonding with other women.

I’ve really enjoyed the day. The information has been really good. All the women have been very forthcoming and very open which was quite surprising. It’s been a really nice day.

25 September 2021 I think it’s important to bring women together and give them that opportunity. I don’t think we get it enough. We’re all so busy, most of us have got multiple jobs and looking after kids so it’s just nice to bring people together. It’s the way everyone’s listened to each other and lifted each other today, there’s been a lot of strengthgiving. We’ve made each other smile and we’ve made each other feel hopeful and that’s what I’ve really enjoyed about today.

I came for one hour but I stayed for four hours so it must be very interesting. Learned a lot, met lots of ladies, hopefully keep in touch with Women’s Voice. It’s a strength together. You don’t have to be isolated, you don’t have to be lonely…Lack of confidence, different barriers, language, culture, all that but now this thing doesn’t matter anymore. No more fear!

I don’t have any of these problems which women have but I’ve been very lucky in my marriage but it’s good to know what is happening in the world so I can support all these women who are being abused and I wish them all the best. The lesson I learned is that, my daughter is not married yet, but when she gets married I can give her good advice.

I met people. I like to speak to people and I enjoyed the drama workshop.

I’ve come today to show my support and connect with local women in Hastings. What do I take away from this? We are in this together and we share these experiences and also that there is hope and support and something that can be done about it.

Kirsty Grennan vigil speech In my family alone, consisting of; me, my mother, sister and four young adult daughters… we have all experienced sexual harassment on these streets. Forty-three years after the first Reclaim these Streets march, you just have to look at how our society is organised and how it continues to function, to see that there is still an expectation that women will carry the burden. Sadly last Saturday in our collective grief and anger we shared one thing in common: None of this was a surprise. Male violence is ever-present. We have been born into it. Keeping ourselves safe from it is stitched into our DNA: a hyper-vigilant mutation passed from one weary generation to the next. We’re so used to it – so used to men getting away with it – that it feels inevitable. I first experienced it when I was 11 years old, in my new school uniform, on my walk home from school. Leering, wolf whistling, rude comments from older men on a building site. I was ashamed, I told no one, but I soon learned to take the long walk home to avoid the verbal abuse. Two years ago I remember my 21 year old daughter’s shock after her first semester at university. She felt upset and didn’t know how to cope with the harassment she was getting on nights out. And then full circle 35 years later, and my 16 year old daughter is anxious about walking home after dark, after she was harassed on her way home from school. It just doesn’t go away. However – we must never accept that 97 % of women aged 18–24, have been sexually harassed.

We must never accept that 80% of women of all ages have experienced sexual harassment in public spaces. We must never accept that in the UK 2 women a week are killed by their partner or ex-partner. We must never accept that nearly 90,000 women are raped every single year in the UK. We must continue to take up space on these streets. We must continue to make our voices heard. We must rebel against the inequality and injustice that causes male violence against women and allows it to thrive. This is why our ‘ This is not love’ project at Women’s Voice is so important. We need you to help us mobilise, educate and empower our young women. We need to channel our anger, we need to force a change. I encourage you to get in contact with us and together we will make a real difference. I would like to finish with words that have become an anthem and a beacon of hope for the oppressed, from a poem by Maya Angelou called Still I Rise: You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise… Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes?… You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise… I rise, I rise… Kirsty Grennan, 13 March 2021 Online vigil following murder of Sarah Everard

Sabina Arthur vigil speech A UN report revealed recently that nearly every young woman in the UK today has experienced some form of sexual harassment. 80% of all women, and 97% of women aged 18-24 said they had been sexually harassed in a public space. This will not come as a surprise to any women reading. The threat of harassment or violence is always at the back of our minds when we’re out at night. We instinctively know how to avoid eye contact, to close ourselves off in public, not draw attention to ourselves, to take a taxi, or walk the long way home avoid short cuts, we stay alert, we hold our keys between our fingers just in case we might need to defend ourselves. Every woman knows the relief of getting inside to safety and locking the door. Every woman knows the ritual of texting a friend to let her know you’ve arrived, we all do it, we all tell our friends to do it and we all know why. It’s such a routine part of our lives that we’ve come to accept it as the norm. We do these things to feel like we can control what happens to us, that somehow it’s our responsibility to stop men killing us. And yes, we’ve heard the cries of “not all men”, even louder than usual in recent weeks. No, it’s not all men, but it is some men, enough men to kill one woman every three days in this country, and we don’t know who or where those men are. And it’s true that women are more likely to be killed by a man we know well; 57% of all women killed in the last 10 years were killed by men they knew, but that means that over 40% of men are not. Over 40% of women are murdered

by someone else’s brother, husband, partner, father, son, colleague or friend. I’ve been taught my whole life how not to get raped, but how many boys are taken aside and taught not to rape? Or what harassment means? Or coercive control? When are we, as a culture, going to start teaching men to take responsibility? To call out sexism, cat calling, harassment and abuse whenever they see it from their friends, colleagues, and relatives? Men told us they were shocked by Sarah Everard’s murder. Women were not shocked, we were sad and we are angry. Another woman murdered on her way home, and this time a police officer has been charged with her murder, she joins a tragic list of women let down by the police. Blessing Olusegun was found dead after walking home in Bexhill and we still don’t know what happened to her. Harassment, abuse and violence of women is systemic, from school, to work to our interactions with the police, our society accepts that it is part of life. And the services here to protect women, and to provide safe spaces continue to have funding cut by our government. And women do find the courage to report they are often not believed. Yet, we’re the ones writing articles, giving talks, organising vigils and talking about how we can teach men. And we have to keep doing that, we have to keep teaching women how to recognize abuse. But it’s time now for more men to do the work too. Sabina Arthur, 13 March 2021 Online vigil following murder of Sarah Everard, amended for Reclaim the Streets blog

Megan Cronin vigil speech women are all very real. We knew this before the Guardian article about sexual harassment came out. We knew this before Sarah and Blessing’s lives were taken. So how much trauma and death does it have to take before things change?

Its night-time and I’m walking home alone. I’m almost home and I’m jaywalking the last stretch because I’m a little afraid. In one hand, I clench my house key. In the other, I clench my phone to my ear and I’m talking to someone, anyone. I’m telling them that I’m almost back. In the end, I get home safe. As I always have done. I let myself into my flat and lock the world out. I think I am irrational. Paranoid. Nothing happened on the way home. I wasn’t shouted at. But I’ve been shouted at before. Wasn’t catcalled. That has happened before. I wasn’t followed (on foot or by car) but that has happened before. No-one leered or lurked or cornered me or touched me — that has all happened before. No. I got home safe, and I think I was silly for being so afraid. I also think it’s a bit bonkers I walked in the road to keep myself safe from someone who might jump out at me. I just made it likely that I’d be hit by a car. However, certain very tragic events happen that make me, make us women, realise that these feelings of fear or fight or flight that we experience on our streets convinced with all the things we do to ‘keep ourselves safe’ (even if we know we’re not the problem and these things probably won’t work) are not irrational at all. These thoughts, feelings, things we do aren’t silly. If over time, harassment has become normalised, men are never held accountable for their actions and we hear stories, constantly, that chill our blood, we aren’t irrational for being afraid or hyper-aware of every footstep we hear behind us, every rustle in darkened alleys, every car that crawls past with a pair of stony eyes glaring from behind a tinted window. Our fears are legitimate, and we should not have to live like this. Public street harassment, misogyny, violence against

80% of women of all ages said they’d experienced sexual harassment in public places. Women make up half the population. 80% of women of all ages said they’d experienced sexual harassment in public places. Two women a week are killed by a current or former partner in England and Wales alone. Women are being targeted. That’s pretty clear. This should no longer be something that ‘happens to women’. Perpetrators must be held accountable. The onus should not be on women to modify their behaviour. We are clearly not the problem.

Two women a week are killed by a current or former partner in England and Wales alone. Sarah and Blessing were just like us, with their likes, dislikes, hobbies, talents, quirks. Misogyny perpetuates the myth that women aren’t human but something Other and separate. The dehumanisation of women makes it easier for us to be controlled and objectified, mocked, hated, killed and

exploited by a rotten system that seeks only to serve itself. The tragedy that Sarah, Blessing and countless women’s lives have been cut short due to misogyny is already overwhelming. These women should be alive today…But as they are no longer with us, we must remember them well. We must, in our minds, remember all of these women as people who had plans, worlds, humanity, just like we do. And then with all that in mind, we must understand and talk about the magnitude and reality of femicide and hold the constantly insidious, evermorphing patriarchy responsible. It’s time for us to root down stronger than we ever have before, take up our rightful spaces, link together and form the strongest network we can: within our community, across the country and across the world. Resistance is tough and exhausting: we will need each other. We need to use both words and deeds and to share our experiences and shape them into meaningful action. We will empower ourselves to save ourselves,

because we cannot rely on empty promises or the voices telling women ‘… later … we’ll help you after we sort something else more pressing’. This IS pressing. We ARE a priority. And for the men who are silent, who are now failing to take responsibility, I have this for you in the words of Arundhati Roy:

Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. And once you’ve seen it, keeping quiet, saying nothing, becomes as political an act as speaking out. There’s no innocence. Either way, you’re accountable. We shouldn’t have to be jaywalking alone into our future. We shouldn’t have to hope we get home safe. We should be certain that we will. Megan Cronin, 13 March 2021 Online vigil following murder of Sarah Everard

Reclaim Our Streets:

23 October 2021

Please get in touch to find out how you can get involved with Women’s Voice Web: womens-voice.org.uk Email: hastingswomensvoice@yahoo.com Facebook: Hastings Women’s Voice Instagram: @womensvoicehastings #womensvoicehastings