Togatus Issue #6 2014 by Togatus

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EVA COX PROFILE | FEMINISTS OF YESTERYEAR | BITCHY RESTING FACE | MRA 1

THIS IS FREE

Published by the State Council on behalf of the Tasmania University Union Inc. (hf. â&#x20AC;&#x153;the publishersâ&#x20AC;?). The opinions expressed herein are not necessarily those of Togatus staff or the publishers. The copyright in each piece of work remains with the contributor; however, the publishers reserve the right to reproduce material on the Togatus website (www.togatus.com.au)

The copyright in this magazine remains with the publishers. Editor: Tabitha Fletcher editor.togatus@utas.edu.au Deputy Print Editor: Olivia Congdon Deputy Web Editor: Nathan Gillam Guest Editor: Heidi La Paglia Design: Jess Curtis, Mahalee Smart Contributors: Nikayla Bourke, On Ee Chin, Joey Crawford, Nathan Gillam, Ruby Grant, Caitlin Gregorette, Lara Hembrow, Kat Induni, Sophie Jarman, Heidi La Paglia, Evan Miller, Molly Turner, Emma Skalicky, Jessica Smith, Laura Wilkinson, Milly Yencken Advertising: Please contact editor.togatus@utas.edu.au Togatus PO Box 5055 Sandy Bay, Tas 7005 0407 839 814 Follow us: Twitter: @TogatusMagazine Facebook: facebook.com/TogatusMagazine www.togatus.com.au | Instagram: @togatusmagazine Togatus welcomes all your contributions. Please email your work or ideas to editor.togatus@utas.edu.au It is understood that any contributions sent to Togatus may be used for publication in either the magazine or the website, and that the final decision on whether to publish resides with the editor and the publishers. The editor reserves the right to make changes to submitted material as required. Togatus is published monthly. Next edition deadline (contributors): 1st September Front cover art by Laura Wilkinson and Mahalee Smart. These and all subsequent illustrations produced and owned by the artist. Miss Tuxedo Illustration by Laura Wilkinson: Instgram 7_willa Print: Monotone Art Printers, Hobart 2

CONTENTS

Eva Cox Profile

If I am Ever to Have a Daughter /

A Step Back for Higher Education

Nikki Bourke

The Strength in No Sound /

My Face is My Business /

Women Against Feminism /

The Red Pill

Riotgrrl Music /

The Day After /

Penthselia /

Never Gone

Music Review: The Dead Maggies /

Celebration of the Female Body /

UTAS WOMENâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S

COLLECTIVE Be part of a supportive group of women students Attend meetings and participate in discussion in a safe and non-judgmental environment All types of feminism welcome Participate in and help run women's department events Champion an issue that matters to you!

CONTACT: TUU WOMEN'S OFFICER HEIDI LA PAGLIA hola@utas.edu.au

GUEST EDITORIAL This edition of Togatus is the Women’s Edition; one of the autonomous issues of Togatus for 2014. As the 2014 Women’s Officer of the Tasmanian University Union (TUU), I have been particularly looking forward to the Women’s Edition. To me this edition is important because it recognises that women still suffer from a systematic oppression in contemporary Australia. While many people believe that women gained equality with men when the Whitlam government granted them equal pay and increased access to education in the 1970s, the reality is that women’s experiences are vastly different. In Universities around the country, and in broader Australian culture, women experience discrimination purely on the basis of the fact that they are women. If you don’t believe me, think about how often women are valued in relation

to their appearance. I’m sure Julia Gillard would not have been picked on for having a “fat bum” if she’d had’ve been a man. As a student representative for women, I believe that is important that we continue to work to empower women in order for their voices to be heard as loud as men’s. In this edition, we hear from a range of students about their experiences of “everyday sexism” and why they believe in feminism. Whether you are a man or a woman, I would encourage you to read this edition. I hope you are able to have a laugh at some of the more comedic pieces such as Lara Hembrow’s article on why “we need to stop telling women to smile”, but I urge you to also take seriously the emphasis that this edition places on the importance of standing up for women and feminism.

Heidi La Paglia

TUU SRC South Wommen’s Officer

LETTER TO THE EDITOR Re: Hotties (of UTAS), pages 20-21 July 2014 edition of Togatus. I am gobsmacked that the Hotties of UTAS page is in existence. What’s more, I am amazed that UTAS has allowed it – if they even know about it (which they should)! Where is the permission from the ‘subject’? It seems one can simply contribute a photo of a male or female they consider to be a ‘hottie’ and it is posted. Unless the subject requests it be removed, it remains. I had a look to see if in fact it was on Facebook, and sure enough it is; along with the name, campus, and study details of the ‘hottie’ and in some instances smutty comments at the bottom. I hope this page is removed from Facebook and the internet in general. It is distasteful, infantile and not what one would expect from a ‘higher education’ provider. Abysmal

Garth J illustration: Milly Yencken

JUMPSTARTTING THE REVOLUTION WITH EVA COX

Ruby Grant

Honours in Sociology, Hobart

Eva Cox is undeniably a force to be reckoned with. Born in Austria in 1938 to ‘state-less’ Jewish refugee parents, Cox is no stranger to a life lived on the borders. It is these experiences, and her early confrontation over the kindergarten gendering of masculine and feminine instruments (drums are for boys, triangles are for girls!), which have made her relentless in the fight for a truly civil society. Cox is a feminist, academic, political advisor and welfare advocate, awarded an Order of Australia in 1995 for her contribution to women’s welfare. Public figures like Eva are important, not just for feminism, but for the broader cultural tapestry of our society. Seasoned academics and thinkers are inherently valuable in what they can contribute to our collective cultural ontologies. It is with this thought that I am daunted and struck by the opportunity to speak with Eva about her visit to UTAS, to give the annual International Women’s Day address. Her efforts have been both politically and personally important to me. Cox is a sociologist, graduating with

Honours from the University of New South Wales in 1974. Exactly forty years on, here I am, a young feminist, also studying Honours in Sociology, speaking to a national treasure (because that’s what we call influential women of a certain age) about gender, politics and feminism. You visited us in Hobart to give a keynote address for International Women’s Day; what do you believe is the significance of this event? Do you think we ‘need’ an International Women’s Day? Why? As long as feminist views and female viewpoints are not part of the dominant debates, and the dominant cultures of politics and social well-being, we need at least one day to air our views. However, it also provides an excuse for talking about women only around this day, so we need to use it as a base to take over talking. I want us to stop using terms like ‘women’s issues’ and offer feminist views on everything that affects us directly and indirectly. And do it every day not just one day of the year.

Why do you believe feminist progress has stalled in Australia and what to you think it will take to reinvigorate it? Basically, the arrival of neoliberalism undermined most of the social movements of the 60s, because it stressed individualism and self-interest. There is ample evidence that we are not sharing more power, getting more equal pay, or having more successes in areas like the arts, the workplace and politics. I found your argument that feminist progress has stalled in Australia particularly relevant in light of Prime Minister Tony Abbott's comments, at an International Women's Day breakfast, that “Australian women have smashed almost every glass ceiling.” What were your thoughts on these comments, and do you think a 'glass ceiling' theory is really adequate to gauge feminist progress? No, it only shows how many women can make it to greater equality, but usually on male terms, so it doesn’t show systemic change. What we need is changes to the hierarchies where masculinity, for both genders, is what counts.

As you mention, although we have had a number of women in positions of potential power, very few have made much of a feminist difference. In your essay Bewitched and Bedevilled: Women write the Gillard Years (2013) you take a refreshingly different feminist approach to Gillard's Prime Ministership, highlighting both her failures and strengths. Why do you think women in positions of power, like Gillard, tend to fall short of our feminist hopes for them as leaders, and do you think women leaders have a responsibility to make a feminist difference? We expect too much from the relatively few women who are let into top positions. First of all, most wouldn’t make it into those positions if they were seen as possible game changers/activists. Why assume that just because they are female, they share feminist values or would want to change a system that recognised their ‘value?’. I don’t think women leaders have any more responsibility than men have an obligation to do the right thing by the less fortunate. We can hope they would make changes, but the evidence so far is that few do! They will generally be supportive of the system that met their needs so expectations are naive. It took us some time to recognise it.

As a veteran of the women's movement of the 60s and 70s, how do you think the nature of Australian feminism have changed over the years? We have lost the idea that the world both needed radical change to become gender fair and progress was needed for good social outcomes, and that we could contribute to this. Now we restrict our scope to improving the status of women, rather than fix the world. You mention that we have currently lost sight of the view that radical change is necessary to bring about a more ‘gender fair’ world. Do you think this is a generational issue? Are young women today less politicised than in previous decades? And if so, why? The 70s was much more optimistic, if much less comfortable. We believed strongly that the future was likely to be much better than the present and we could make a difference. So our politics was about working out what needed changing and how we wanted life to be. So, there were many social movements that started the changes we all benefit from, but the enthusiasm for social and political changes petered out somewhat over the next few decades. The market took over politics

and policy, the state lost power to business. Environmental issues and loss of faith in progress as inevitable turned people inwards and most political leadership failed to inspire people any more. I think most young people who do engage try and fix the existing problems but don’t seem to see the possibility of bigger changes to the current economically driven system. What is a ‘Good Society’ and in what ways will feminist leadership bring this about? My vision of the good society is one that values relationships, connectivity, belonging, contributing and feeling good about being part of groups. It’s moving back from the ideas that all that counts is money and economic growth. That is how we pay our bills not about determining what matters in how we live our lives. I like your statement that ‘feminists need to encourage women to take more risks.’ What are your words of wisdom to young women, particularly those who aspire to leadership roles? Stop worrying about what people may think about you, whether you know enough (you usually know at least as much as the other lot), or being nice and waiting for permission. Good girls make lousy leaders.

i f i am e ve r t o ha ve a da ught e r The night he tried to sneak his tongue between my teeth I tasted the summer time on his breath. I felt the sand between his knuckles and wondered if it was my fault for wearing that dress.

His hands found that spot on my back that you had mapped out on my skin, and it rejected him. It rejected him from the tip of my spine to the dip of my tail-bone and you were all I could utter.

And I decided between pleas that if I am ever to have a daughter, I will tie the bow on her pajama shorts tightly so that she understands the privacy of her temple. She will never have a night light because she needs to know she can breathe in the dark. And most importantly, she will feel the power in her voice each and every time she tells someone ‘no.’

The night he tried to sneak his tongue between my teeth I sipped at the second hand whisky he left on my clothes and tried to get drunk on thoughts of you. I cursed my lack of defensive strength and longed for the morning.

His fingers searched for the corner of my mind in which I stored him, clawing for the home he had built inside my head. But he was a house burnt down long ago.

And I decided between hits that if I am ever to have a son, I will place petals in his palms as he sleep so that he understands that he can move the earth with kindness. He will never raise a fist in an effort to control because he will know he is crushing the love that once rocked him through the night. And most importantly, he will feel the warmth of a ‘yes’ he has nurtured.

by Jessica Smith, BA 9

A STEP BACK FOR

HIGHER EDUCATION

photo: Nathan Gillam

Heidi La Paglia, BA, Bachelor of Philosophy, Hobart

When I ran for my position as Women’s Officer with the Tasmania University Union SRC South (TUU), I knew that my job would involve standing as a voice for women at university. I anticipated advocating for women, and helping to provide resources that would be useful to women at UTAS. I wanted to try and improve women’s university experience. I never expected however, that I would be writing letters to the Vice-Chancellor to try and safeguard women’s right to even attend University.

For me, the 13th May 2014, the day the Federal Budget was released, was a huge game changer. We’ve all heard about the highly controversial changes to tertiary education in the Budget; but not everyone has the ability to say anything. As Women’s Officer of the only university in the state, I felt obliged to advocate for the women I stand for. While Australian women are still far from achieving gender equality in many arenas, university was the one public institution in which women’s participation has exceeded men’s. Since 1987, women have outnumbered men at university. Until the 13th May, I never considered that this would be under threat. In addition to the massive cuts to welfare payments and community services and the increases in healthcare cost that would be felt through the introduction of the $7 Medicare co-payment; the changes to tertiary education will disproportionately disadvantage women in Australia. The government’s proposed changes include the deregulation of university fees, increasing interest rates on HECS/HELP debts and

limiting the amount of university places that are government funded. In short, the government wants students to cough up more $cash$ for their education. Although these changes would likely impact on EVERYONE who has attended university, is currently attending or had aspirations to attend in the future, I believe that the cost increases will hurt women most. Despite equal pay legislations, women’s income is still 17.5% less on average than men’s in Australia. Women are the most likely to be living on low and limited incomes. Additionally, women are more likely than men to be responsible for the costs of bringing up children. In Australia, women on average have less access to economic means than men. The changes to tertiary education will therefore mean that many women will be further cut out of tertiary education; and those who do attend will be effectively punished for seeking an education. Since the release of the Federal Budget, modelling has shown that the increases in HECS/HELP interest will result in women paying 30% on average more for their

degrees. This is due to both the fact that women are more likely to work in lower paid employment, take time out to birth / care for children, and the fact that women’s incomes are still significantly less than men’s. I do not wish to be divisional. These are simply hard truths. As Women’s Officer, I have taken it on as my job to advocate for women’s right to go to university. I have written letters to the Vice Chancellor as well as government representatives, highlighting the effect that these changes will have on women; and if these policies go through, I will continue to lobby for something to be done to safeguard women’s university participation. Before equal opportunity policies were introduced and access to tertiary education was expanded in the 1970s, the majority of university students were men. In 1951, only 20% of university students identified as women. I’ve always thought of men’s dominance in education as being an unfortunate aspect of the past, that we have overcome. If the current policies are implemented I believe it will steer us back in that direction.

TASMANIAN COLLEGE OF THE ARTS SECOND YEAR PAINTING PRESENTS

ROOTS AWAKEN IN MY HEAD - SEAMUS HEANEY

ENTREPÔT GALLERY 13/08-27/08

NIKKI BOURKE

A VEIL UPON MY FACE The Veil - a symbolic object that provides concealment, among numerous other things. I like the idea of a veil, and its many forms. It has varied levels of transparency â&#x20AC;&#x201C; it can hide a little or a lot. Much like our dispositions as humans really. Our character reflects our inner state, usually, unless we choose to wear a mask or veil. Transparency is concurrent with honesty. A beautiful way to exist â&#x20AC;&#x201C; yet unanimously translucent we are not. By using intimate facial photography I have created a clear statement of honesty, baring myself to the viewer. Some shots contain a direct, almost confronting gaze. Others are inert, with eyes cast down. Multiple mediums have been employed to create different layerings upon my face, all working together to convey the meaning and context of my idea. This has been quite an introspective journey for me, and I am interested in pursuing it further, over time. 12

Nikala is in her second year Bachelor of Fine Arts, at Hunter Street. She is majoring in Photography, which doubles as her therapy and anchor. Her hope is to perhaps one day leave her nursing career aside, becoming one of those lucky people to do what they love for work. This series, called A Veil Upon My Face, was created during a drawing class in 2013, where her love of photography is combined with mark making of a different kind. Below is her artist statement. nikalajane@bigpond.com

THE STRENGTH IN NO SOUND

illustration: Milly Yencken

“Some of the women of the past generation were feminists in their own way and right.”

On Ee Chin, BA, Major in English, Hobart

I believed she was a strong woman. Sometimes, I thought she was weak and callous because no matter how many times it happened, she refused to stand up to him. She stayed, to receive the things that she thought she no longer had the vigour or ability to hunt down herself. The shelter and security that your children would be clothed, fed and bred into a world you could only see and dream of but never touch. My mother tells me her why and her story, which is rare, because Chinese women do not speak of their sadness. She spoke more than what was typically acc-epted, but I always felt that there were holes in the story. Holes to lose things into.

She starts off in early mornings. I imagined 6 years old, 6 o‘clock, to ready everybody and go off to school. 4th born child, 3rd born girl. At “home” we have the father that works the odd job for odd change, and mother, who having laid 9 more, would divide herself unequally. This rooster, made of fire was born to exist for the contentment of others and never her own. The trials started on Day 1 with the promise of a loving embrace upon successes, though with each completion, edged further and further away, desert dreams. The only promise kept was that love would always be out of reach. Sensing and seeing that she was strongest, she designed herself the defender of the family. Because there was no one else to do it but her. She becomes the roots of the tree. Let the trunk 14

and the branches rest upon weary shoulders so that they can boast a healthy foliage. This beauty makes her smile, and the pain is forgotten. 4th born child, 3rd born girl; may as well have been the 1st boy. Father, a hardened man, with skin impenetrable from the whips of human beings. Mother, a sheltered woman who can’t fend for herself, let alone others. The order was set in her birth order. You are the 4th one, and fourth you shall be. When a brother cries it’s beatings. When a sister cries it’s beatings. People always taking, taking, taking, and never returning. Never stopping to think of where their water comes from. Until her well is dried and there is nothing left for shame.

Her everyday is a stage with unforgiving critics who all wait for a stutter. She became old enough to put on a play by herself. She was old enough to give even more. In her deliverance of lines she learns the right face to wear and the right things to say to make birds sing their best and lions bow at her will. ‘No’ is not a word in her dictionary. Her skill earns her money that she sends back home to water the plants. She learned to never take her face off. And then she met the man.

rooster to put her better future in me. She the one who snuffed out her own fire so mine could burn ferociously. The one who gifted me entry-level feminism at its most raw, said that you do not need a man to be a wo-man. Gain such independence that your ankles wouldn’t be left bare to any serpent’s bite. Your body is yours, and with lovers, as with friends, be choosy. Leave when you want. Take any train. The world is yours. Don’t be me.

She married Robert. She married security, money and status. She married a man who wanted and could give her the world – and this for a while was good, because through another family she could escape her own. She tried chasing an education, but the baby she was carrying in her stomach proved to be too much weight to run with. She chose to birth child over education.

Did you, like I, think that the women of the last generations; our mothers, our grandmothers, were meek and submissive to a world where they were bound voiceless to the roles of factory, restaurant and brothel? There was no platform where they could train their thoughts away to be received at a destination. They did not attend rallies in the streets nor speak up when they saw, heard or felt wrongs. Acceptance, compliance, obedience. These are the words I would choose to describe what I saw, if I didn’t think about it too hard. Because there would always be repercussions, and they would always think of these repercussions. Of course not everyone was like this. There were women that my friends and I called “Dragon ladies”. They run their households and grip their husbands by the balls, while still holding the title of ‘housewife’. Fear and love going together like a sick mix of juice and oil. But these are two opposite ends of the spectrum.

A good husband is like a medal, more so if you have ‘good’ children. One turned into four that made it. She loved them all very much, and tried to teach them about masks, good lines, and the importance of putting on a good show. All girls, who preferred to sit with legs splayed for comfort and take up more space than what society allowed. Girls, who ran with the wind and the friends they made in the books they were never denied of, and with the quality nourishment they got without having to worry from where, grew faster than the new blood of the family she grew up with. Yes, she thought. This was the life she had wanted to give. But she was a rooster and not a hen, her true nature scratching its way out onto the surface needed to find the sun, without the rearing of a farmer. That way, she could claim it all for herself, and have confidence to decorate her pride. But she felt that she had nothing, and could do nothing with nothing, so smothered her

Society demanded beautiful dolls who bent to the whims of authority. To be unable to scream in anger or fight for yourself, but still stand tall within the confines of the outlines of your feet traced out in chalk. No faltering, for the sake of the ones you love. Some of the women of the past generation were feminists in their own way and right. Their boldness beating in the knowledge that the ones they love would live.

Robert was not a bad man, but wanted things she could not whole-heartedly deliver. Stubborn, like the ox, who showed his love with long hours at the office and presenting to her things that can only be seen with the eyes but not the heart. He was sturdy like the earth he was born of. Heaven promised the two a marriage even their gods would envy. But even thousands of years of traditional prediction can falter to the press of modern conventions. Bearing tribute to the manual of man that the world tunnels into our minds, there were conflicts against societal ideals of behaviour. He was more like a “woman”, and she was more like a “man”. Had they listened to their beckoning instincts, the moon might have been able to finally touch the sun. Instead, with each passing day, they pass each other by. Never knowing, never touching the other; failing to fill each other’s holes. She had good cards in this power play, but didn’t win until the others had left the table. Her father, was a man in the military who lost his use after the war ended, further fuelled by his refusal to renounce his Chinese. A proud man humiliated tried to salvage his sanity by reliving what had once proved his worth back “home”, turning his children into an army for him to iron fist over. From regimented life, she becomes regimented wife. Because her husband too found comfort in his everyday uniform. The family pariah who consigned herself to a coffin of convenience. The woman who was never allowed to be a girl, who gave back with her back broken. While the tops of that tree flourished from the fortune of her roots, she stayed ugly and forgotten. Her withered self only appreciated by a special few. I saw an old family photograph from your youth, and you were the only one not smiling. 57 years. You were the strongest woman all along.

BUSINESS MY FACE IS MY

Do you find yourself relaxing in a space only to be asked if something is wrong? Are you always being told to smile by strangers on the street when you are simply walking to and fro? If you answered yes to either of these questions, you may be suffering from BFR. BFR, or Bitchy Resting Face, also known as RBF is a condition suffered by millions of women all over the globe. You are not alone. (Record screeches..) Okay, so Bitchy Resting Face is old news, but if you’ve managed to somehow not have your face attached to a device screen for the last few years, BRF (and ARF, Asshole Resting Face for the men identifying folk) stems from a video made by comedian Taylor Orci. The video describes women who are just going about their day to day lives but are often misinterpreted as being “bitchy” or uninterested because their facial emotions are misread as sUCH. Being tired, daydreaming, or simply staring into space can be a factor in BRF. BRF has plagued me my whole life. If I had a buck for every time a friend has confessed that they thought I hated them when we first met, I’d have like… thirty bucks.

In one incident last year when I returned from a trip so jet lagged I fell asleep on the couch at The Brisbane Hotel. I was sleeping with my eyes half open. Fully exposed Bitchy Resting Face. I had to explain this afterwards, to someone that I didn’t know very well, who left the pub because of my face, that I did indeed want to be their friend, I just have lazy eyebrows. Luckily, I know now I’m not alone. Wherever you look on the internet about BRF the comments lamenting this same affliction run into the hundreds. The BRF video has inspired many women to take up the label and highlight a wider social problem, which is street harassment. Street harassment is an action or comment between strangers in public places that is disrespectful, unwelcome, threatening and/ or harassing. It is often motivated by gender, sexual orientation or gender expression. These can include sexually explicit comments, catcalls, homophobic slurs, stalking, leering, groping, flashing, sexist remarks and assault. Most women (and men too) will face gender-based street harassment by strangers in their life. Street harassment limits people’s mobility, and access to public spaces. It is a form of gender violence and a

human rights violation. It needs to stop. It is a symptom of rape culture and is about power and the notion of a man’s entitlement to public space. Each year around 75 shark attacks are reported, world wide. One out of six women are victims of sexual assault. Here is a fact that may be hard to accept: This is a reality for most women. To put it in context, each year around 75 shark attacks are reported, world wide. One out of six women are victims of sexual harrassment. Yes, sharks are terrifying, but so it that last statistic. When we walk down the street it is really, actually probable that women will be whistled at, told they’re a bitch, leered at, told to smile, or just generally have our appearance commented on. This shit really does happen. All. The.Time. Additionally, when we react, either aggressively or not, we risk further potentially unsafe confrontation. The “hey beautiful,” once rejected, immediately turns into “suck my dick, stuck up bitch.” Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to make personal remarks? “When we walk down the street it is really, actually probable that we will get whistled at, called a bitch, leered at, told to smile, or have our appearance commented on.”

BRF Bitchy

Resting

Face

illustration: Lara Hembrow

At times the comments are so subtle and insidious they don’t seem like a big deal, but they reinforce the ownership of public space, and an entitlement to judging women. Last year as I was walking home late one weeknight from the 24-hour gym, only minutes around the corner from my house, the streets were empty and suddenly an amplified voice from the heavens came down upon me: “You just been to the gym?...” I looked all around and decided it must have come from one of the high rise apartment balconies. Walking on without responding, he then - to my utter fistclenching rage, continued with “good girl”.

Is it your place to call out to a woman on the street? It might not seem like much, in isolation, but I don’t need your approval or disapproval. It’s patronizing and it makes me an object in your evaluation. It’s especially threatening when called out to a lone woman, from the darkness. New York based artist Tatyana Fazlalizadeh has been addressing her experiences with street harassment for some time with her campaign “Stop Telling Women To Smile”. Her website describes the project as follows: “The work attempts to address gender based street harassment by placing drawn portraits of women, composed with captions that

speak directly to offenders, outside in public spaces. Street harassment is a serious issue that affects women worldwide. This project takes women’s voices and faces, and puts them in the street - creating a bold presence for women in an environment where they are so often made to feel uncomfortable and unsafe.” So when you see a woman on the street who appears sad or pissed off, remember, it’s not your place to tell her to smile, we‘re not here to make you feel good, or to please or appease you. I am just trying to walk down the street. My face is my business. Anyway, I might just have Bitchy Resting Face.

WOMEN AGAINST FEMINISM

photo: @beyonce instagram

A FEMINIST RESPONDS Kat Induni, BA Arts/Law, Hobart

Tumblr. It’s where we go to share our feels. A world of online “activism” is at your fingertips. And so what? you might say - it’s not hurting anyone. Or is it? The Tumblr account ‘Women Against Feminism’ consists (mostly) of young women declaring they have all the equality they need, thank you very much, by sharing photos of themselves holding a piece of paper stating why they “don’t need feminism”. It‘s gained quite the following, rippling extensive concern into the feminist community. The ironic thing is, of the reasons why these ladies “don’t need feminism”, many are due to a misunderstanding of what feminists actually aspire to. A feminist is somebody who recognizes the equality of both men and women. Feminists are not man-hating women growing long hair out of every follicle and dedicating their time to ruining men’s lives. Perhaps part of the online media representing feminists as this crazy stereotype has convinced women to avoid feminism? Or perhaps these women really don’t understand what feminism is and why the world still needs it. Looking through the Tumblr, the majority of proponents, as young, optimistic women, may not have experienced some of the many consequences of sexism or a patriarchal society. Men still hold most of the higher leadership positions and make most of the important decisions. These proponents are yet to really experience the effects of the gender pay gap. Women earn, on average, approximately 17.5% less than their male counterparts in Australia. These women are yet due to worry if their job will be lost due to pregnancy, or lose sleep over the availability of income after the pregnancy – or the further loss to her retirement savings on top of her smaller pay check - let alone affordable and accessible childcare and combining that with working hours… then there’s missing out on promotions and career opportunities. These are among the many statistical realities that contribute to that 17.5%. These women are perhaps yet to develop inbuilt anxiety about walking down the street at night or sometimes even the daytime, keys ready in hand. They probably have not considered the many women trapped in violent relationships and those trying to access advice, shelter and protection

“THE IRONIC THING IS, OF THE REASONS WHY THESE LADIES “DON’T NEED FEMINISM”, MANY ARE DUE TO A MISUNDERSTANDING OF WHAT FEMINISTS ACTUALLY ASPIRE TO.”

to escape. What are you afraid could most kill you? If you’re a woman under 45, your biggest risk of death or injury is your current or former partner. Every single week, one or more Australian women die in this way. In May of this year Australian domestic violence groups declared that Australia’s problem has reached epidemic proportions. They called on the Prime Minister, and Minister for Women at large, to call a national summit for stakeholders. The ABC also reported that Australia’s domestic violence problem accounts for almost 40% of police time - an estimated economic cost of $13.6 billion. I get the impression a lot of these young women, when thinking of “feminists”, are informed by the classic (often negative) stereotype of the word – “crazy” hairy woman burning her bra and despising men. However this stereotype is false, and we need to remember what feminism aims to achieve. Women all around the world benefit from feminism, and in the true spirit of every-day equality, I believe that men benefit from feminism too. Breaking down gender prescriptions is for everyone. Just as not all women ascribe to feminine “ideals,” not all men are the “masculine ideal”. We can all benefit from relief of the stigma attached to mental health issues, and men who stay at home to look after their kids should not feel emasculated. We can all benefit from equal valuation of our work, our skills and our differences. Feminism has achieved so much. The irony is lost on some contributors. For example the woman in military uniform saying she is strong and therefore doesn’t need feminism. I want to shake her by the shoulders and remind her that feminism is the reason why she is allowed to serve her country in the first place, and that feminism is responsible for the campaigns to address the hidden plague of sexual assault in the military. If it weren’t 19

for feminism, women would not have the opportunity to vote, become educated and work. Unfortunately, most of this success has occurred in the West, and there is still a long way to go in the East. To the contributor who doesn’t want to “politicise her gender”, I’m sorry but you’re too late! Have you been under a rock and missed the constant global debates on contraception, bodily autonomy, paid parental leave and other issues? Lucky you don’t live in say, Egypt, or you’d have a 90% chance of having your clitoris surgically removed and your vagina sewn shut. Or in Saudi Arabia – hand in that drivers license please and all thoughts of autonomy of movement. Yes, we as Western women have come far, but there’s still a long way to go, Feminism promotes empowering women. Not prioritising them over men or “winning”, but enabling women with the same rights and choices. Giving a woman the option to further her career, become a stay at home mum, shave her armpits or not, have safe access to contraception or to fight for her country. When “Women Against Feminism” write about wanting to be a stay at home mum they do not seem to realise that feminism isn’t about forcing all women to work or be childless. It’s about giving women the choice: giving them opportunities that they simply did not have sixty years ago. Feminism seeks access to education and the Internet, so we can share our opinions on an equal plain - no matter how many things fly in the face of stated beliefs. The Women Against Feminism Tumblr raises one very important question. Why is feminism a negative label? As the great Ellen Page (aka Juno) points out: could it be any more obvious that we are still living in a patriarchal world when ‘feminist’ is a bad word? Or perhaps these women who “don’t need feminism” are a clear sign of how far we’ve come.

THE RED

20 photo: 123 RF

PILL The world of Men’s Rights may be alien to many. Why would men need activism for their rights when they sit at the top of the privilege pole? Despite this, the Men’s Rights Activist (henceforth MRA) movement is large, and growing. It is an attractive philosophy for angry young men, who, feeling displaced from society, may struggle with varying definitions of masculinity. They are generally looking for someone to blame. The number of people who believe that men are treated as second class citizens in society is growing. Feminism has created this inequality, apparently. The belief is that feminism has overshot its objective of equality, now having made society unequal for men. So, men are now victimised and disadvantaged. The great peanut gallery which is the internet has facilitated this exchange of ideas, based mostly in misinformation and misogyny. The men’s rights movement was thrust into the limelight recently when details emerged of the debate surrounding Elliot Rodgers –the mass murderer and apparent virgin-torturedby-women. As is often the case, the spotlight was not flattering. Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, MRAs cite statistics that supposedly support their claims. They claim that men have shorter life expectancy, higher suicide rates, higher workplace fatalities and lower rates of wealth, among other things. Because of women. Some of the common claims are true, on the face of it. When you don’t take into account the context in which they are made. Men have higher suicide rates, but women attempt suicide three times as often. Men are simply more successful at suicide. Men occupy the majority of dangerous positions in the workplace, which explains

Evan Miller, BA, JMC/SOC major, Hobart

the higher rate of workplace deaths. Men have shorter life expectancies - and always have - but women have higher rates of chronic illness. Men die, women stay sick. Neither is a particularly good outcome. It’s an easy thing to cherry pick statistics. A very popular offshoot of the Men’s Rights Movement is an infamous reddit forum - The Red Pill. Based loosely on men’s rights, pick up artist techniques and libertarian principles, The Red Pill is a “philosophy” that revolves around the idea that women have reframed society around a feminist ideal, and that this is harmful to men. They claim to see reality for what it really is, having taken ‘the red pill, as in the movie The Matrix - the one which wakes Keanu Reeves’ character Neo up to reality. Red Pill-ers claim that men need to play manipulative sexual games in order to counteract the ‘sexual framework’ that women have set up to ‘benefit’ themselves. The Red Pill is a particularly vindictive philosophy in which women are simply tools to be used. Women are referred to with dehumanising names such as “Snowflakes” and “Plates”, and other men who do not ascribe to their philosophy are derided as “orbiters”, “betas” or “Manginas”. It is true that there are some areas of society where men are disadvantaged. However to have a movement spring up around these relatively minor (especially in the face of what minority groups face) injustices is quite ridiculous. It would be like protesting that your pay rise is being considered in the context of an entire social group (read: half the population) who have been doing the same job for lower pay their entire life.

The Men’s Rights movement is a misguided attempt to right social shortcomings and adjustments. But attempting this by opposing feminism is counterproductive. The aim of feminism is also to right the wrongs that men face. These wrongs were not created by feminism - they were in place before feminism and many are the result of patriarchal systems. Child custody rates, for instance, are a relic of a sexist attitude towards child care that places the mother above the father at all costs. Feminism did not create this and in fact, gender stereotypes such as this are something that feminism actively opposes. Many social problems concerning men result from the attitude that men do not need help; an ideal that feminism opposes. Men’s Rights is not a movement based on righting a social wrong, it is a movement based in the opposition of feminism. This flies in the face of the way social movements usually progress. Normally a social wrong reaches a point where a movement grows around fixing that problem. In the case of the Men’s Rights, the wrongs were found to justify the social movement. The MRA is a movement trying to maintain a position of privilege, while simultaneously claiming persecution. Claiming persecution while in a position of relative privilege, waters down actual persecution. If you’re having trouble getting laid, the common denominator is probably you. Not “ bitches withholding sex for jollies,” – who seem to have a strange desire to not be groped or fornicated upon at-will. Equality helps all people. This is not a model to follow. * Disclaimer: Evan Miller is the voice behind the Togatus online series “Grumpy bearded man ramblings. ” He also does not identify as a “white knight” - a term levelled at men who are seen as incessantly attracted to damsels in distress.

Lara Hembrow

The Day After

Emma Skalicky BA, Major in Creative Writing

On the day after the day it was lost, we all met in a café down the street and ordered our drinks. “I don’t know how to be angry anymore,” says the old woman with her hands made of glass and her tongue as dull as the place where fire once was, “I don’t know how to be angry anymore, because everything I say comes out as past its use-by date. Anger is the afterglow, of the design of the newest trend. We wear it like Dior to reel in the poets and painters for dinner. Listen my dear, I am older than sound, I have loved hundreds And eaten hundreds upon thousands– I know all of the Blessings, and all of the faults of your body. I oversee the turn of the moon, and I have lived as many days as drops of rain have fallen on this earth. You are lucky, I would know,” says She with a heavy sigh and a curl of her painted lips, Her teeth are yellowed old bones – my Baba Yaga – like the chicken bones she plants in her shriveled old garden with her lover tied up in the dog shed.

It means nothing to me, the words are formless, vapor, they rise through my grasping fingers untouched. So, Lilith takes my hand, Wreathed in shadow and haloed by light. She is the white hot white of hell; Quartz, diamond, and marble skin. A-glow with incandescent stars, and And anger in her eyes, she says “On the sixth day we unfolded like blossoms from the damp earth. Standing taller than he, I demanded my due –my natural equality. But they cast me down beneath the deepest roots, so that my eyes were filled with mud and my mouth with sulphur. My blood was steam, and my skin was aglow with the blisters of hellfire. And still down, Down to where dignity cannot reach. Then I was given a marital bed of dry ice and they called me False Woman. So you listen to me when I say it is they who are dust.” But, my coffee is bitter, it is missing its sugar. I tumble and crash with the waves of my hollow pulse

My little Lolita does not drink her coffee she says she is watching her weight. “See here,” she demands, through gum stretched between teeth and lips smothered in blueberry Vaseline, “if you wanted to know about it, you should’ve come to me. I know everything there is to know about summer love and little dresses and teasing boys all the live-long day. If you wanted to know about hiding hickeys and kissing, and cider, and lipstick, and saying no – I’m forever fourteen and I’ve done it all, You should have come to me.” I nod, once, thrice, tug at my hair (which is waterlogged weed clinging to my driftwood skull), and wonder.

illustration: Milly Yencken

Her writhing hair tied up in a bun, smelling all of olive oil and cinnamon, Medusa presses her mouth to a napkin and frowns, “It was the boom that first warned me, the bitter sting of salt water in my eyes the flashes and crashes and cries waves like a vice on my forearms lightening burnt behind my eyes and when I opened them not Medusa. A monster. A thousand men, women, all, once came to me as lovers. Now they hold a mirror to my yellow-eyed faults and watch my love dry up like stone, you won’t miss much, I swear.” Where the stone floor is I see gravel pressed into my retinas, and the mud folded into my tongue masquerades as sweetness.

“I don’t know how you feel,” sighs Mary, Maria, Holy Mother – strawberry milkshake perched in her cupid’s bow. She picks at nicotine stains on her half moon cuticles “I had other children later, but no-one remembers them.” On the day after the day it was lost There was no fan fare, no chorus of seraphim, nor sirens No great, bold, printed front-page headline in every paper, saying GIRL, SIXTEEN, RENOUNCES GOD. I went down to a café on 4th street ordered a coffee and on an unstained napkin I wrote,

WANTED: a seamstress – to fix my party dress, an archaeologist – to pick apart this mess (will be paid handsomely for any skeletons found). A girl – with her heart in her mouth, so that she cannot say ‘fag’ when she looks at me. My brother – who never cared for politics, and my ‘miracle cure’ – dead or alive. and I thought, and I thought, and I finally said: “why is it that the love we try to feel in the the great big space in our chest cavity all but measures up to gossip, and coffee talk?” but no one replied, because nobody knew the answer.

illustration: Molly Turner

Penthselia i am often chosen to fight wars. summoned by a cry through the post, from more respectable girls "help me, help me, shut his mouth, stop his hands" i wrestle into the darkness. i put out fires. but i may choose to stoke the flames. musical fingers. i may ignite those-

i have

i am a lover and a fighter.i am no armourer. but i will fashion you body blows. give you daggers to feed him. we will live to be conquerors. i do not write in hexameter or pretend to be a teacher of love. my advice, for years have been lamentations. they have ached. they have been baying at the moon. but now, i want trumpets. women, assemble kingdoms and battalions around you. let your name ride the wind. be kind. make your thighs powerful. take up space with no apology. devour ideas. be angry. read dead languages, find the archaeologies of silenced ancient women. celebrate the ghosts, then learn how they died never make the same mistake twice love, often, in delirious patterns. let your heart burn for her. but cook her breakfast later. 26

NEVER GONE

INSTALLMENT 4 Joey Crawford

Bachelor of Business, Launceston

Therapy was on-going, and for a while, it helped. The soothing voice of my psychologist quelled my urge to kill. If I needed to, I knew I could, but I knew she was there for me to talk me down from the metaphorical ledge. She was my friend, or at least paid to be.

“Where were we after our last discussion?” She asked, settling into her plush chair. Everything was a question to her.

I think it became a moral imperative for her, I was a mission of sorts that she was going to succeed in. The more I thought about this, the more it disturbed me. I was not someone’s problem to solve. I was not a source of someone else’s feeling of worth. No one’s goal was me. I forbade it.

The receptionist began bringing coffees from the local café to our session. I was a regular and paid top dollar, I guess I deserved it. But why? Was this a tactic she used to breach my safety bubble? Caffeine acts as a gatekeeper which stops neurochemicals from passing through receptors, giving us a jolt of energy. Is that what she does to me? Does she stand in the way of my logical receptors and sneak in through the gates to absorb information I give too openly.

Every session with her I exposed myself a little more. I could not help it, she just had this way with words. She was almost an artiste of speech, like Beckham is to football.

It makes me uncomfortable that she knows. Everything. She could put me behind bars, or worse, in a padded institution. Where would I go? What would I be tried for? Does she

have the evidence needed? I could not answer these questions, so I stopped trying too. Once the receptionist left the room, I picked up a decorative candlestick and leaped forward without hesitation. I hammered her head impulsively with a mere piece of metal, subsequently watching blood fly. She had cameras, but they were not on, I made sure of it. The receptionist was next. She saw the blood on my suit and zoomed on her chair towards the exit. I was one step ahead of her, and she met a similar fate to her late boss. I put a sign on the door stating that the office was closed, locked the door, and left no trace of myself; erasing my files from the computer and her calendar. Even my coffee cup was gone. I was never there.

MUSIC REVIEW

photo: Katherine Tattersall

Ever get that looming feeling during winter in the Tassie bush? Some say it’s the echoes of our dark and gloomy history. You should trust your instincts, and listen to The Dead Maggies. Preferably while camped in some drafty shit box with whisky-tea, and a stew of sorts. This seven track debut album for the (aptly named) Dead Maggies is a footstompin’, head-danglin’, booty-wigglin’ delight that will leave you feeling a rather more Tasmanian than you started out. Fast paced and raw, Sing About Dead People retells the convict history of Van Diemans Land. You can toss your history books for 40 odd minutes and re-live the hardships of Truganini, William Carter, and the infamous man-eater, Alexander Pearce. The opening track is the story of Truganini of Bruny Island. It alludes to the brutality of colonial administration, with the tragic tale of her rape and murder. Definitely no shying away around the events that took place, which is why this album is just as important as it is enjoyable. The second track, The Farmer of The Hermitage is my particular favourite. With gravelly vocals, it might be the rawest-sounding of the collection. The pace picks up with the story of William

Carter at Port Arthur and his solitary confinement for committing bestiality. The contrast of fast pace and brutal stories makes you feel a little ashamed of dancing a jog to torturous tales. But you just can’t help it. A guilty pleasure perhaps. In George III Under D’Entrecasteaux the Maggies belt out some pirate punk, aspiring to something of a celtic nature with ye olde violin. This leads into another toe-tapping tune that is Heart Attack in Launceston. Banjo and sober violin introduce Thylacine Down Savage River, taking on the persona of the elusive Tassie Tiger, then the pursuant farmer.

This is a clever story of the relationship between Thylacine and bushman, and the killings which lead to its demise. Finally, the journey ends with perhaps the most exciting tale of convict Tasmania with Alexander Pearce on Sarah Island. Three words sum this up, and the rest I’ll leave to your imagination. Raw. Savage. Delectable. Get the picture? Listen to the album, or better, go see them live and get thrashy in the crowd. You won’t be disappointed! You can check ‘em at thedeadmaggies.com Caitlin Gregorette, BA

photo: Nathan Gillam

outside lazenbys 12noon Due to proposed state government anti protest legislation, rally30 while we can

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