Upcoming in July

Politics of Pot Holes

Being at a demonstration is like entering Narnia when you live in Cheltenham; and to be in the company of a quarter of a million people, all of whom care about something greater than pot holes or municipal flowerbeds, is thrilling.  Of course, some of the causes that people were there to further at yesterday’s anti-cuts demo had a tenuous link to austerity.  From a misguided one woman ‘Free Assange’ protest to animal rights activists dressed as badgers*.  Nonetheless, all of us there yesterday were united through caring about something bigger than ourselves, and of course, in hating the spiteful privileged elite who rule us.  

I learnt a powerful lesson from the anti-war demonstrations I used to go on in my early twenties; namely, that however earnest you might be, and however pure your intentions, stomping around with a placard won’t change a fucking thing.  For me, that’s not the point; demonstrating isn’t just an academic form of direct democracy, being in the company of other people who want change, reminds me that I’m not alone.  That feeling of solidarity re-ignites my commitment and strengthens my resolve.

We marched, chanted, danced quite badly, and picked-up as many flyers as we could.  We entertained ourselves by with a game of ‘Greenie or Gay,’ inexcusably making judgements about women’s sexuality based-upon the unerring formula of waterproof, to dodgy-hair cut and sandals (as a bisexual ex-crusty I feel I’m allowed, though I am a little ashamed... ahem).

We reached Parliament Square and after hovering around for speeches we couldn’t quite hear, we sloped off & merged with the crowds of tourists crossing towards the Southbank.  En route, we stopped to pay our respects to Boudicca.  

I love the Southbank Centre; it’s sort of how I imagine the post-revolution arty utopia to be.  Queen Elizabeth Hall is a 50’s temple to the people, where Guardian readers like me can roam free and graze the plethora of organic food stalls out the back.  I cringe at what a stereotype I am sometimes.  Anyway, I digress.  At the Southbank Centre there were stalls and a celebration of the contribution that refugees and migrants have made to the UK.  This is part of the Southbank’s Festival of Love.  Unashamed to link politics, art and emotion, the exhibition ‘Adopting Britain’ explored the experiences of migrants in the UK, exploding tabloid myths and giving voice to real people’s experiences.  It seemed like a fitting end to a day of loving counter culture and Tory-hating.

Sitting on the coach travelling back home, I began to reflect on the events of the day.  I was thinking about the exultant chants of ‘power to the people’ and ‘we are the 99%.’  Then I remembered that sinking feeling, when watching the country turn blue I realised that most people have no idea that the 99% includes them.  A diet of being drip-fed bile from the tabloid press led the great British public to vote based on fear, hatred and parochial, misplaced self-interest.  

The anti-austerity demo was big, and inspiring to be part of, but ultimately it represented the interests but not the will of the people.  The brutal truth is that people have the power; we’re just too scared to know what to do with it.

I was sent a letter the other day inviting me to sit in a church hall whilst disgusted local residents vented their tales of parking woe at some put-upon bod from the council.  At about the same time, my partner and I desperately tried to coax, cajole and emotionally blackmail friends & family into joining us at the Yarl’s Wood demo, to show imprisoned women refugees that they hadn’t been forgotten.  Three of us went from Cheltenham; I believe the church hall was packed.

Sometimes giving a damn feels futile and thankless, but by showing that we care, and being in the company of others who do, we remember why we’re fighting and realise we’re not alone.  

*For the record, I like badgers. Whilst the cull is doubtless evidence of this bastard Tory governments’ massaging the oily palms of landowners in the Shires, it’s not the badgers that have had their benefits cut. 

Plodding on

Glos Plod have made leaps and bounds, at least superficially, with their website  & the support they claim to give to women victims of violence.  Nonetheless, the communications they send out are shocking.

In response to the tweet above this was sent to Martin Surl, the Police & Crime Commissioner for Glos, and Chief Constable, Suzette Davenport.

Dear Martin/ Suzette,

Gloucestershire Police – Victim Blaming on Social Media

I follow Gloucestershire Police on Twitter. On 24th May a tweet was sent out that ‘urged vigilance’ after reports of a man in the Montpellier area ‘sexually touching’ women. The tweet linked through to a Facebook page, with guidance for women advising them how to avoid being the victim of a sexual assault.

Firstly, I would also like to take issue with the language used to describe the attacks; to my knowledge ‘sexual touching’ is not a crime, though doing so without consent is sexual assault. It is vital to draw a clear distinction between the two. Language is a powerful tool in framing how both individuals and the society we all comprise view the world, and the phrase ‘sexual touching’ almost implies that the author of the piece has the same mindset as the perpetrator. It may just be a poorly chosen slip, but it is deeply troubling that this important distinction isn’t apparent to those we may turn to if we do become victims of sexual assault.

Secondly, directing advice to women about how sexual assault can be avoided puts the onus on the behaviour of women rather than perpetrators. Whilst I have no doubt that this was done with the most noble of intentions it is at best unhelpful and at worst victim-blaming. As a woman in a same sex relationship, would Gloucestershire Police suggest that my partner and I avoid displaying affection in public in case we are the victims of homophobic abuse? 

Implicitly, in focusing on what women should to minimise their chances of being the victim of a sexual assault , Gloucestershire Police are perpetuating the unhelpful narrative that women are responsible for the violence enacted against them. This should perhaps been seen in the context of the most recent ONS social attitudes survey which found 

one in twelve people thought that the victim is ‘completely’ or ‘mostly’ responsible for someone sexually assaulting or raping them when they were under the influence of drugs (8%),by someone they have been flirting heavily with beforehand (7%) or while drunk (6%)

Gloucestershire Police need to clearly take a stand, ensuring that any communications circulated make perpetrators think about their actions rather than making all women consider theirs.

As you are no doubt aware, attacks in public spaces by strangers are rare though make interesting copy for media and as such, tend to be more widely covered than intimate partner violence, which is much more common. It would be more constructive if Gloucestershire Police were to place more emphasis on educating people about domestic abuse and intimate partner violence rather than giving undue weight to the minority of cases where the perpetrator is unknown to the victim. 

I do think that Gloucestershire Police have made a huge amount of progress with regard to victim-blaming; I am delighted to see that your website now has a progressive and up-to-date pages with advice about sexual assault and domestic violence. I hope you will consider the points raised above, and would be interested to know what actions will be taken in light of this. Perhaps it might be useful for the person who sends your communications to undertake some training, may I suggest a course with Everyday Victim Blaming.

I look forward to seeing further communications from you that put the blame for sexual assaults where it should be, with the perpetrator.

With kind regards.

Yours sincerely,

Beyond Barbed Wire and ‘The Usual Suspects’

I’ve spent more than half my life venting righteous anger at demos, and am well-practised at spotting the protest-stereotypes.  I know the public school socialist workers who rant in faltering mockney, and the wonderful, indomitable veteran granarchists in their sensible shoes and tie-dye.  Of course, they were all present at Yarl’s Wood yesterday and gloriously defiant, but this was first a protest of people who had directly experienced the pain and the injustice they were there to fight against.

Yarl’s Wood is a detention centre, where some of the world’s most vulnerable people are held in a faceless secure institution, behind two 20’ fences topped with barbed wire.  They have not been convicted of committing any crime, and yet their freedom depends upon convincing a bureaucrat in Croydon that they have been raped, tortured or persecuted.  Women for Refugee Women, the inspiring organisation behind the demonstration, empower women who have sought sanctuary in the UK to speak out about their own experiences.

About nine months ago I listened with horror to the news that Operation Mare Nostrum was due to be scrapped.  Apparently it was costing too much to save lives.  This was immediately followed by a moving tribute to Nicholas Winton, the man behind the Czech arm of the Kindertransport, the means by which so many Jewish children were rescued from Nazi Germany.  

The irony of this was painfully apparent; 75 years on it seems the British Government has abandoned the notion of universal human rights in an attempt to pander to the baying tabloid press.  Far from being ‘flooded,’ the UK takes in a tiny proportion of the world’s refugees, the vast majority of whom are supported by countries with far fewer resources.  

It seems those who have been born outside of Europe, often in countries where European nations have had a hand in stirring conflict, do not deserve compassion.  It is as if they are not fully human.  Yarl’s Wood is monument to state racism and stupidity.

Being disbelieved and made to feel responsible for actions committed against you is something familiar to many women.  Ultimately, I might expect this, but on fleeing from a persecutor, I would not expect to be imprisoned.  I am ashamed to live in a country that routinely compounds the trauma of refugees by imprisoning and subjecting them to treatment that is otherwise reserved for convicted criminals.

As we processed to Yarls’ Wood itself, the spectacle of demonstrators in the bucolic Bedfordshire countryside was as jarring as the emotions evoked.  Loitering at the edge, feeling a bit awkward and not quite clapping in time, there was a sudden cheer from the crowd.  Unable to fully open the small mirrored windows, the women detained in Yarl’s Wood shouted encouragement and waved whatever they had to hand to show us they were there.  At once I knew why I was there, and I felt privileged to be so.  There in a field in Bedfordshire, removed from the dinner party discussions of lawyers and the paper-pushers sitting in Croydon, nothing was more important than to show these women that they hadn’t been forgotten.

I don’t want to dwell on the stories that have brought the women detained at Yarl’s Wood to the UK, they are not mine to tell.  The women at Yarl’s Wood are not faceless victims, word-fodder for bleeding heart journos, they are powerful and courageous women.

Were the UK to recognise and learn from their resilience and tenacity, we would not only be a more tolerant nation, but also a stronger one.

The sting at the end of this bittersweet day was when we all began to drift home; meandering back to cars and coaches, chatting about the election and the fight for social justice.  Absent-mindedly letting our hands touch, my girlfriend and I glanced back at the dwindling crowd.  We tried to make sense of the guilt and gratitude we felt, because we were free to go home.

Join us at Yarls Wood on 8^th August.  We’ll be organising transport, so get in touch for details:

Email: cheltfems-1@yahoo.co.uk

Facebook: bit.ly/cheltfems

Twitter: @chelt_fems