Are we there yet? The politics of calling out sexual assault and rape

In her speech to the Australian Press Gallery this week, Grace Tame explained the power of language in shaping community perceptions of sexual assault and rape. The acts of her perpetrator, she explained, were framed as, ‘maintaining a sexual relationship with a person under the age of 17’ as opposed to being, ‘ child sexual abuse’. The power of language in framing public understanding of rape and sexual assault continues to be wildly misunderstood.  Institutions of power position women as instigators of, contributors to, and agents in their experiences of sexual assault and rape, while the language around perpetrators commonly minimises their agency, the criminal nature of their actions, and their choices. Many feminists will be familiar with the work of Jane Gimore (Fixed It), who re-shapes newspaper headlines to appropriately describe crimes against women; we are desperate for public language to reflect the accuracy of our experiences.

As long as women as victim/survivors are vested with descriptions that imply our actions can ‘stop’ or ‘encourage’ criminal acts towards us, we will never achieve equality and safety. In this regard, we still have so far to go. Note advice from the ADF chief who counselled that especially ‘attractive’ first year cadets should not go out alone, after midnight, or drink heavily. Explained as well intentioned, these comments elide the fact that only perpetrators are responsible for their criminal behaviour in assaulting or raping women. Some private schools too have offered advice in the wake of prevalent reporting on sexual assault. Headlines over the past month have included, ‘Parents allowing drunken teen parties enable sexual assaults’ (Sydney Morning Herald) and ‘Sydney School Principal calls on parents to instil ‘self respect’ in their daughters (news.com.au). These types of advice are as sexist and insulting, as they are uneducated and dangerous. Parties and alcohol do not cause sexual assault. The only thing that enables sexual assault is perpetrators who cannot or do not want to understand consent. More troubling is the implication that the advice to avoid parties is motivated by a desire to help young men’s reputations (rather than women’s bodies) - as though a drunken party might ‘lure’ young men into criminal behaviour. Stopping a party does not stop the attitude or the behaviour; it merely stops one of many opportunities for perpetrators. If this is a proposed solution for change in the minds of private schools, it is no wonder that many young men in their care aren’t getting the right message.

The kinds of comments reported above show that what we say, and how we say it, is critical in the fight to change attitudes. Some time ago Germaine Greer, who has fallen out of favour in some feminist camps, penned an article that grappled with the question of rape’s seriousness as a crime. From women’s perspectives, the seriousness of rape is self-evident. Our concern is the degree to which our experiences are minimised; how frequently we are disbelieved, how few cases are prosecuted or successful before the courts. This might lead us to believe that rape is considered socially unimportant. However Greer hypothesises the opposite. Accusations of rape strike fear amongst men in a patriarchal culture, which might be central to the reason that women’s accusations and experiences are marginalised. Note the arguments about how allegations of sexual assault and rape alone can ruin a young man’s (or male politician’s) future. Like the other ‘r’ word in Australia (racist) the mere allegation of rape is considered outrageous, highly insulting, and permanently damaging (or unlikely). 

Greer received much criticism for her article because it was interpreted as diminishing the experience of rape; but this wasn’t her purpose. She was interrogating the elevation of rape as a crime of the highest order (despite the fact that other forms of assault can be damaging too) as a consequence of historical male privilege and property rights. That is, the reason rape retains a special status as heinous is not because society cares about women’s experiences, but because it cares about men’s. Across time and many cultures, women and children have occupied the status of men’s legal property, and woman’s marriageability has been tethered to our sexual status or perceived virginity. Any watcher of period drama knows the story; cue Daphne Bridgerton’s potential loss of suitors because she is discovered alone in the garden with the Duke of Hastings. A woman who is not a virgin, whether through her own agency or through the impact of a criminal act, cannot be given away by her father to another man. 

Greer reminds us that indignation at rape is still deeply connected with the ruin of women as men’s property. It is the impact of interfering with men’s property, rather than women’s lived experience, that underpins much of rape’s continuing social stigma. When cast in this light, the implications for women of the treatment of our rape experiences is even more outrageous. If a woman is raped, we are bombarded with messaging that encourages us to minimise the experience; she must have asked for it, she was dressed inappropriately, she was out late at night. In other words, it’s not that bad and if it is, we helped cause it. And yet, women should be careful about making the accusation for fear of how seriously it will impact a man.

Perhaps this is part of the reason many women felt so uncomfortable with Morrison’s comments about Ms Higgins’ experience last week. Taking advice from his wife that he should consider the impact of Ms Higgins’ experiences should they have occurred to his daughters, Morrison could not muster empathy or a sense of justice outside his patrilineal role as the guardian of girls who belong to him. This might seem quaint or loving; however it should not require thinking as a father to conceive of Ms Higgins’ lived experience as having legitimacy in its own right. The seriousness of Ms Higgins’ experience could not be conceived until it might impact the Prime Minister’s daughters. There remains a strong social aversion to use of language such as rape and sexual assault in describing women’s experiences, much like the use of climate change instead of global warning.  But as one caller to talk back radio pleaded this week, we need to stop tempering our language. Rape should be called rape. Sexual assault should be called sexual assault. Shying away from the language simply serves to hide or diminish the experience. As the #metoo movement has shown, and Grace Tame has ably demonstrated, there is power in publicly naming and sharing our experiences.

Who Counts in Covid: Abbott and the politics of acceptable losses

 

This week Abbott delivered a speech at the Policy Exchange think tank in London in which he laid bare his ideas on the relationship between public health policy and the economy during the pandemic. It's become an increasingly pointed debate; how should the loss of lives be weighed against the crippling impact of economic downturn on lived experience? How many deaths are too many? Which types of deaths are acceptable? This is commonly positioned as a debate between capitalism and humanitarianism, with both sides claiming its approach has benefits for the other. Abbott, in typical style, was not subtle; the economy is suffering (as are young people) so let's think twice about how many elderly people really need to be protected by public health measures. His view was reported by the press as the blunt force weapon that it was.

 

Perhaps the most offensive reflection in Abbott's speech is that this generation of young people complaining about lockdown should be compared with young soldiers in World War 2 who fought for Australia's freedom.  I'm not pro war, but even I find this corollary repugnant. He suggests that young people prepared to argue against or defy lock down are defending Australia's freedoms. What Abbott fails to mention is that these very same young people are unlikely to be the sacrificial lambs of the Covid-19 war; it's the parents, grandparents, teachers, and elderly loved ones to whom they pass the disease that will make the 'ultimate sacrifice'. In the same breath, mind you, Abbott also argues that these freedom fighting young people will become conditioned to welfare, unable to function as contributing citizens. The irony is stark; and his appropriation of young people to make any point of preference, morally shallow.

 

There has been an uncomfortable and bubbling public debate around the expendability of elderly lives in the current circumstances. These debates are often dressed up as more generous public concerns; but their logic is ill formed and their motives poorly disguised. For example, we are asked, what about all the extra people committing suicide? The pandemic has certainly caused significant mental suffering; financial pressures, relationship pressures, existential pressures. Increased suicides are noted during significant financial downturns, like the Great Depression. But what is the proposition for today? That the deaths of innumerable people over 60 are warranted to prevent an increase in suicides? In this equation, is the life of an elderly person worth less than the life of someone younger who takes their own life? These kinds of either/or propositions are rendered even more irrelevant by their hypothetical nature; at least in Victoria, the suicide rate has not increased since Covid-19.

 

Defence of opening the economy up is also often underpinned by a view that elderly people suffer from co-morbidities; and that the number of deaths from Covid-19 are far exaggerated. The nuts and bolts of this argument are, old people die, maybe some of them aren't dying of Covid-19, let's open up the economy. Most elderly people have co-morbidities - so is the argument that we should count none of these? They're also arguably closer to death than people who are younger; so should they not count for this reason too? I have no doubt there are some instances where elderly people have passed away for more than one reason; however to my mind, that's not the issue at hand. Did Covid-19 take their life earlier, or cause another ailment to bring about their death earlier than otherwise might have occurred? If so, then Covid-19 is the cause of death. To me, arguing that such deaths should count 'less' smacks of the shocking eugenics arguments often levelled after series of deaths in minority communities - Aboriginal deaths in custody; African American deaths; deaths of the drug affected in the absence of safe injecting rooms or health facilities; the deaths of women and children living in remote communities; homeless deaths - 'Come on - they probably would have died anyway' or, 'they would have died eventually.'

 

For those concerned about the mental health impacts of a poor economy, spare a thought for the mental health of those who have lost loved ones to Covid-19; relatives who cannot hold loved ones, be by their sides, comfort them. For the health professionals and their families watching the suffering of the ill and dying every day; in circumstances that are being directly mediated by public lockdown policy. A final red-herring argument that gets trotted out in support of opening the economy up (and not worrying too much about the elderly death rate) is the, 'this is just like the flu/look at last year's death rates/it's not as bad as it's being made out to be' argument. Some widespread reading, and a look at the Covid-19 stats in Victoria's recent aged care infection debacle, puts to bed that argument.

 

Ultimately, what proves most difficult to reconcile in Abbott's speech is his purported 'right to life' perspective (which includes bans on contraception, abortion, and life saving stem cell research) with a view about letting elderly people 'just die'. In the US, this hypocrisy takes the particular form of supporting the death penalty and nurturing a gun rights culture. Does the church in Australia share Abbott's view that the elderly should be left to languish to Covid-19? Who knows. But Abbott's inept use of a military analogy - 'defending freedoms' - illustrates his desperation to sound like the statesman he is not; 'sacrificing' the elderly in a kind of ‘survival of the fittest’ paradigm has no place in a humanitarian society. These are the very groups we should be using our collective rights to protect.

George Floyd, race, and Australia: The need for urgent change

The image of George Floyd gasping for breath is devastatingly brutal; it is frightening in its casual and public execution. Where do we start in articulating the number of repulsive elements to this murder? First, that a white police officer felt such a sense of impunity as to brazenly murder an already restrained man of color in public. Equally disturbing is that three of the officer’s colleagues participated. Floyd was dying slowly and at no point did anyone intervene. The public has generally expressed outrage at the video and consider the officer was in the wrong; they agree that racism is wrong and literally killing people. However it is our understandings of racism, and how to confront it, that causes a divergence in views. Some believe there are only a limited number of really hardcore racists, and that while we should weed them out, #notallwhitepeople are bad. This view holds that racism is limited to a number of abhorrent, overt, occasional acts perpetrated by a few ‘bad apples’. This way of thinking absolves most white people from the uncomfortable truths of racism. It is also extraordinarily self-serving for white people to believe that Floyd’s murder – and the murders of millions of other people of color – can be consigned to the actions of a few ‘bad apples’.

Racism discriminates against particular skin color and identities; it rewards some and punishes others. It is present in things we say and think; in systems of government; in community organisations. Racism is a system that operates in small and large ways across all facets of society. The small ways count just as much as the big ways, because the small ways are often invisible; cumulative; pervasive; and inflict death by a thousand cuts. It is experienced by people of color in their interactions with health systems, schools, social welfare, and democracy. It is expressed in comments of hate, behaviours of avoidance and exclusion, and through placing cumulative and irrational barriers in front of people of color. Racism is a form of systemic gaslighting that causes those who are its targets to believe that somehow they need to try harder, be less problematic; that they should reduce themselves and not make a ‘fuss’.

Racism is not some intangible experience that cannot be pinned down. It is lived and it is real. In the US, currently more than100,000 people have died from Covid-19, a disproportionate number of whom are African American, LatinX and other people of color. These are people whose suffocation from Covid-19 has been enabled by the broader system of suffocation in which they live; people whose health indicators and access to health care are worse than for the general population. People who work disproportionately in service industries and who are at the front lines of exposure, with less opportunity to self-protect. People who are more likely to be incarcerated, unemployed, undereducated, and homeless as a consequence of systemic racism. While George Floyd was suffocated to death in a matter of minutes by a representative of law ‘enforcement’, tens of thousands of people of color are literally suffocating from the arm of racism that exposes them to poverty, ill health, and now – under a President who does not consider Covid-19 to be a national emergency – death by pandemic.

It is interesting to observe some Australians looking across the Pacific, and opining that our race politics is not like ‘theirs’. However the color blindness of white privilege is not limited to the US. Australia has failed to act on almost all of the 330 odd recommendations from two commissions into Aboriginal deaths in custody (1987 and 1991). According to the Guardian Australia, nearly 40% of deaths in custody between August 2018 and 2019 arose from a lack of medical care being provided. David Dungay’s death – and his words, ‘I can’t breathe’ – are a chilling reminder that our own race politics bear a harrowing resemblance in some ways to those of the US.

There are still very strong taboos against calling out racism in white Australia. The booing tirade against Adam Goodes is an excellent case in point. In speaking about ‘The Final Quarter’, a documentary about Goodes’ treatment as a footballer, commentator Waleed Aly noted, ‘Australia is very generally a tolerant society, until its minorities demonstrate that they don’t know their place. And the moment someone acts as though they’re not a mere supplicant, then we lose our minds’. As Goodes matured in his football career, he embarked on a journey to discover more about his Aboriginal history, his sense of identity, and the operations of racism in Australia. His sin was to call out the racist comments of a young white girl attending the football, despite explaining that it wasn’t her fault and that her license to speak such words had been shaped by institutions around her. However large segments of the football attending public would only tolerate a version of Goodes that kept his place, kept his identity separate from his world of work, and who didn’t commit the ultimate sin in Australia; of ‘politicising’ football by bringing identity politics onto the field.

Floyd’s murder is utterly confronting, however bringing to justice the ‘bad apple’ police is only one aspect of the solution. What kind of police force enables and empowers four men to perpetrate this act? It’s the same kind of attitude that enabled New Yorker Amy Cooper to call the police on an unarmed and unthreatening black man in Central Park, believing she could act with impunity. It is the same kind of culture where more than 400 Aboriginal deaths in custody since 1991 have resulted in zero charges ever being laid against police officers in Australia. For people of color and indigenous peoples, racism is constant, ever present, around every corner. And while it may be predictable in its presence, the random nature with which it asserts and inserts itself in everyday lives, as it did to George Floyd, wreaks a perpetual state of trauma, havoc, and self preservation. As white people, we have an obligation to think critically, to examine our actions (and inactions) in an ongoing way, and to check our privilege; it’s a poison tree that grows bad apples, and we are responsible for the rot at its foundations.

Robin Williams and Human Rights

This week we learned that comedian and actor Robin Williams took his own life after a long battle with addiction and depression. It is clear from the reaction worldwide that Williams was a much loved individual and, from the obituaries published, that each person seemed to have his or her own 'relationship' with Williams. Some have written about the generous acts he undertook in support of individuals, friends, and causes (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/08/12/robin-williams-charity_n_5671209.html?ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000063  ). There are anecdotes aplenty about his approachability, kindness, and care. In themselves, these things would be enough to cultivate a sense of love and respect for Williams. My 'relationship' with Williams arose from the ways in which he used comedy and performance as vehicles through which to advance themes about human rights, agency, and the nature and vulnerability of the human condition.

Devastating as his death was, it is not surprising to learn that Williams battled with personal demons. His performances are inexorably underpinned by a depth of empathy, pain, and love that to my mind could not arise from 'good acting' alone. His choice of roles did not seem random. Given that he is commonly credited with ad libbing and improvising, Williams was more than the acting stereotype of a good 'talking prop'. He used scripts as tools with which to challenge audiences - his comedy was not for laughs alone.

I think I saw Dead Poets' Society twice in the week it was released. Saccharine as it was, I'm an educationalist and always a sucker for 'teacher as inspiration' movies. Stand and Deliver cemented my lifelong adoration of Edward J Olmos, just as Dead Poets' Society built my love for Williams. Dead Poets' Society was an exploration of the human soul - it illustrated the ebullient joy that can flow from the expression of one's passions and desires - creative, intellectual, technical - and the pain that can arise from social expectations of, limitations on, and darknesses in the soul. In characterising these experiences of the soul as a two sided coin, it is a poignant reflection of Williams' own struggles. Good Will Hunting was not dissimilar. When Williams lectures Hunting about his lack of life experience - the immaturity of Hunting's real world soul - we feel truly connected with the complexities of Williams' own experiences. During that beautiful speech we are brought face to face with the depth, humanity, and knowing only available to souls with passionate and tortured experiences. It has been opined that the brilliant, thoughtful, and creative are more likely to be tortured by mental illness than others. Perhaps it is because their ways of knowing and understanding sit outside the box. Perhaps it is because they feel alone. Perhaps it is because they inhabit experience in a different way to others. In the cross between his thoughtful mind, his complex heart, and his brilliant performance, Williams was just such an individual.

Humor was often a mechanism through which Williams delivered more challenging messages about the meaning of agency in ethically fraught or emotionally charged situations. In Awakenings and Patch Adams he cultivated a deep sense of empathy for the patient experience, challenging how we thought about institutional constructions of the patient. He cultivated our sympathy for the plight of characters who challenged the system at personal cost. Good Morning Vietnam delved into themes of war, politics, and McCarthyism. The joy and exuberance initially portrayed by Williams' Cronauer is contrasted starkly by the limitations placed on him in telling his truths. Cronauer's struggle with doing 'what is right' posed a personal challenge to audiences - how do we decide what matters and how do we weigh the personal cost of taking action or not against the greater good. Williams' portrayal of Mrs Doubtfire was also fabulous, posing serious questions about gender stereotypes through physical and verbal comedy.

Of most interest to me amongst Williams' repertoire are the themes raised in Bicentennial Man - one of my ten year old daughter's favourite films. Science fiction often deals with topics of agency, for example Star Trek's engagement with the human rights status of its android Data. In Bicentennial Man, Williams plays a robot who evolves beyond his programming to desire the experience of full humanity. The film tracks the evolution of his character, concomitantly through physical transformations and transformations of consciousness, reflecting on the responses of stakeholders around him. This film critiques the benevolent bestowment of rights by power, arguing that human rights are innate. It grapples with questions about the very nature of being human - consciousness, emotions, thought, pain, experience, love and perhaps the most defining elements of the human experience, birth and death. Ironically, in the context of this week's events, the Bicentennial Man argues for his right to die in order to be fully human. For the character, it is an expression mired in a joy and commitment to be fully human and to experience all that humanity entails. By contrast, Williams' death this week arose from a sad, isolating, and challenging experience of the human condition that continues to confront us and, quite frankly, demand more of us as a community.

Through his performances, Williams helped us grapple with the big questions. Instead of confronting us, he slipped beneath our defences with humour and good grace in order to make us think. I cannot imagine the things he was feeling on that dark day this week. It seems many of us wish we could have been there for him - the way he has been there for us.

A classic speech from Gillard

Gillard's speech to the parliament this week about Abbott's misogyny is a watershed in her leadership. It was an 'about time' moment, especially for many women listeners. It was 'about time' in that many media commentators have lamented the lack of 'real Julia' presented to the public, and 'about time' in relation to an increasing tirade of sexist and offensive comments that have been directed at the Prime Minister by fellow politicians, the media and the public.

I should begin by saying I am not a fan of Gillard's leadership. More than a decade ago I attended one of her early Emily's list fund raisers, excited at the prospect of a progressive female candidate making a bid for the Senate. She did not succeed on that occasion, but later went on to do so. I am not convinced that deposing Rudd was a necessary move, although I accept he was unpopular amongst party colleagues and that most leaderships are taken by force. I don't agree that the policy platforms on which Rudd campaigned and won by a landslide were likely to bring annihilation for Labor at the next election. More importantly, I consider the price of leadership for Gillard was too great; she made compromises with and through the faceless men leading to the abandonment of principled positions she had previously staunchly taken. Politics in high office always requires compromise; however I guess it is a question of degree. I don't accept Gillard's positions on same sex marriage, asylum, and a range of other matters. And I support the view of Stephanie Convery that feminist credentials require advocacy and support for women from all walks of life. On the same day Gillard delivered her feisty anti sexism speech, the government approved a bill to cut payments for single parents, 'a measure that will disproportionately affect [the most vulnerable] women'.

Despite my perspective on Gillard's politics, I think it is important to make clear that I abhor the misogynist commentary that has shrouded her Prime Ministership. I also understand the symbolic and practical significance of a female Prime Minister. I often marvel at Gillard's resilience, strength, and grace under the incessant pummeling of the Federal opposition, media, and segments of the public; she has a determination and personal strength of which I am in awe. I am also encouraged that as my eight year old daughter's awareness of the world unfolds, she sees on television a woman Prime Minister. Playing Gillard's speech on my computer this week, I could see my daughter edge over behind me with eyes wide open to listen; we were both captivated. It was thrilling to see such passion from Gillard about the issue of sexism, whether or not the purpose of her comments was ultimately politically expedient. Any woman who has experienced sexist comments or behavior in work or public life is likely to have felt enormously validated by Gillard's delivery. Abbott has suggested in the parliament that Gillard should 'make an honest woman of herself', invoking a sexist stereotype about the relationship between a woman's marital status and her character. Can we imagine the outrage in the US, for example, if a commentator invoked Obama's race to criticise his performance? It would be outrageous.

Until this week, Gillard has usually avoided direct engagement with the issue of sexist commentary relating to her Prime Ministership. Her responses to comments and incidents of sexism by Tony Abbott and Alan Jones have been innocuous and deflective; one might say 'statesman like'. Women in leadership tread a precarious line; we must be seen to succeed 'on the merits' without reference to the impact of sexism on our endeavours, or risk being construed as whinging incompetents and excuse makers. It is worth noting that despite the innumerable occasions open to Gillard for commenting about Abbott's sexism, especially in relation to her personal and unfair treatment as Prime Minister, she used the matter of the Peter Slipper affair through which to introduce the topic. In short, although she invoked personal examples of offence taken and poor behavior from Abbott, she raised the issues under a broader framework of the Federal opposition's motion against Slipper. She did not invoke the spectre of sexism to protest her own unfair treatment as Prime Minister (which, as far as I'm concerned, she would be perfectly entitled to do). Instead, she drew upon it to suggest that Abbott's 'road to Damascus' discovery of sexism was a tool to depose Slipper. From a gendered perspective, it was a politically clever move. Gillard was able to keep the faith with her political strategy of generally not invoking the gender card in her own defense, but was concomitantly able to introduce the issue of Abbott's misogyny in the Parliament.

Gillard's speech was reported internationally, including the US, UK, and Canada, as a bold and strategic act. Conversely, much of the local media, mostly it appears male commentators, labelled it a mistake.

http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/politics/we-expected-more-of-gillard-20121009-27bd6.html#ixzz28rm4pm00http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/politics/we-expected-more-of-gillard-20121009-27bd6.html#poll
Yes - her actions were part of a political strategy in the unfortunate Peter Slipper mess and yes, as I have acknowledged, a broad range of criticisms can be made of Gillard. However such local media analysis beggars belief; it was a politically powerful speech, in content, delivery, and timing, and will certainly be one of the most remembered moments of her Prime Ministership. During a week in which Margie Abbot was attempting to stem the hemorrhaging of women's votes from the Liberal party, Gillard pointed out just how far Tony Abbott was from having an interest or commitment to women's rights. She was careful to draw distinctions between her individual views as a woman (for example on the issue of abortion, a political hot potato with conservative electors, but also a non negotiable right in the eyes of most women's lobbies) and issues that could be seen as offensive to all Australian women. Her choice of Abbott criticisms was carefully sequenced, leading to a climactic admonishment of Federal opposition front benchers for remaining silent in the face of Alan Jones' grotesque comments about her father. It should not escape our attention that during the week Turnball spoke out strongly against Jones' abhorrent behaviour; and that it was he who graced a conspicuous place in newspapers some weeks ago offering his condolences to Gillard in parliament.

On a personal note, I was interested to note Gillard's choice of Abbott quotes. We have been told by the media that little of the 'true Gillard' is presented for public consumption; the implication being that she hides herself. Given the wealth of sexist Abbott material that might be drawn upon, it was all the more interesting to see what had riled Gillard. Further, it was possible to identify through the inflections in her voice, the issues and instances about which she was more angry than others.

The sense I've gained from women colleagues and friends this week is that Gillard's speech felt cathartic; it was a symbolic response to a growing disgust amongst Australian women (and many men) regarding expressions of patent sexism in the public arena. Recent examples range from the purile and degrading comments of Kyle Sandilands, to those of Alan Jones who said current women leaders were 'destroying the joint'. And while some might not consider Jones' comments about Gillard's father sexist (I do), they were nonetheless innately vile. In another sexist display, Lindsay Tanner, and especially Christopher Pyne, behaved appallingly toward Kate Ellis on last Monday's Q & A. The brazen attitude underpinning this behaviour is provocative; it is one thing to hear sexist comments in private, but to hear their unfettered expression by prominent public figures is another.

The Federal opposition is clearly aware it has a 'woman problem'. Whatever its views of Margie Abbott, the press was in furious agreement that her appearance reflected poor polling numbers for Abbott. And is it any wonder. As Ellis explained on Monday, neither she nor women voters need to be convinced of Margie's love for Tony. It is Abbott's position on women's issues and rights that worries women. This problem would not be fixed even if Wonder Woman was to stand alongside Abbott and proclaim his comfort at living among her sisters on Amazon island. History's greatest misogynists have lived with women - even 'strong women' - so this is no badge of feminism. Judgments of Abbott by women, and progressive men, is based on his past and present comments; his own words and deeds rather than constructions of them. And Gillard's passionate oration this week offered some salve to those of us who have screamed silently at the radio and television while the likes of Abbott and Jones set the equality cause back 100 years.

Reclaim the Night - Reconciling past and future practices

The death of Jillian Meagher has shaken and touched Melbournians. People want to do something with the grief, anger, and sadness they feel over the events of this week. It is a a testament to the beauty and strength of Melbourne's residents that most of that action reflects a desire to make meaning of things in a positive way; to stand in solidarity with Jillian's family and friends through flower tributes, moving prose and memorials, and by speaking out about the broader issue of violence against women. Numbers of marches and rallies promoting peace and the right of women to walk safely in the streets have been, or are being, planned. Among these is a Reclaim the Night march, drawing on a long tradition of marches that arose during the 'second wave' of feminism in the 1960s. Reclaim the Night marches are historically organised, run, and attended by women only. Their purpose is to assert women's equal human rights by laying our equal claim to the public space - without depending on men's permission. In 2012 - and in particular this week - large numbers of men have expressed a desire to participate in the foreshadowed march. It has been no surprise to me that almost all women in the generation below me think men's participation is welcome and imperative; however the historical exclusion of men from these events did not occur in some rabid feminist, male hating vacuum. Before considering how practices of the past might be reconciled with practices in the future, it is imperative to understand where women's only events and spaces originated from. 

When the second wave of feminism came about, women argued that they had been so dominated and suppressed in society that they wanted spaces where they could think through issues, find their own voices, and decide for themselves - without men driving the agenda. Patriarchy is a system that encourages a normative view which enables men to have power over women. This doesn't mean every man will exert that power in a negative way, just like it doesn't mean that every white person is evil in a racist world; however it does mean that all those who are privileged in the dominant social circumstances (e.g. men in a patriarchy) benefit from that system, while often denying its existence. There is a plethora of research from last century to show that in dual sex spaces (e.g. even in classrooms) boys dominat(ed) talk, ideas, and decision making. In a patriarchy, both men and women learn their roles. To a large extent, the second wave of feminism was about challenging these 'taken for granted' roles; including women's historical role of turning to men or the male space for 'permission'. In late 20th Century, women leaders wanted the chance to think out loud without the criticism of patriarchal institutions (such as the media) curbing their ability to define women's roles in new ways. But most importantly, they didn't want to have to seek men's permission to act in relation to issues which were about their human rights. It was absolutely critical that 'helpful' men didn't step in and drive and decide the agenda. Thus there were consciousness raising groups (where women discussed issues from the banality of housework to the labor of beauty regimes), many women's only spaces, and of course rallies like Reclaim the Night. 

Men were often offended and affronted by women's only events/spaces - after all it was women, not men, whose participation in public spaces had been highly regulated. Women's efforts to assert power over themselves and their own lives were undermined in myriad ways. Feminists were caricatured as man hating, hairy legged, abominations. The patriarchy told us there were 'good women' (who were heterosexual, adhered to proper beauty standards, were married or looking for a suitable husband,  and who 'waited' for their rights) and 'bad women' (who had taken things 'too far'). Our feminist fore-mothers fought the effects of patriarchy among both men and women; part of patriarchy's tactics was to divide and conquer, with 'good women' critiquing the behaviours of 'bad women'. It is in this context that women's only spaces took on such significance.

When movements of liberation are gearing up or occurring, the importance of separate spaces cannot be underestimated. Diasporic slave communities (like the African Americans), indigenous communities (e.g. Aboriginal Australia), LGTB communities - have all struggled to articulate, own, and represent themselves in ways that aren't invidiously influenced or straight out censored by dominant, white, straight, patriarchal agendas. That these groups might seek to direct and control spaces and events about their own issues is hardly offensive. These safe spaces have been used to think through and challenge ideas that have been sold as 'common sense'. For example, patriarchal ideology tells us that women invite attack, through their behaviour and dress, from men who cannot be expected to help themselves. Therefore it makes 'common sense' to counsel women that they can be 'helped' to live free from violence if they simply behave according to appropriate feminine standards. That women might wear short skirts and red lipstick, and march in the night time without male chaperons and male permission flies in the face of this historical 'common sense'. A further popular means through which patriarchal society tries to minimise the appearance that violence is one of its pervasive strategies is by suggesting that there are only a few 'errant' men who offend publicly (stranger danger) while the vast majority of men 'behave' - again, vesting blame with the women who invite attack from the errant few. Of course, we know that violence is a more institutional problem. Most women are violated by men they know in the private space. Reclaim the Night is about saying that women have every entitlement to public space, and that it is theirs to claim, without the need to seek permission or conform to a particular standard of 'appropriate' female behaviour.

So where might men's participation fit in a 2012 march? Much has changed in the past sixty years, including the attitudes of society generally and of many men. I would never argue, and think it is disingenuous to argue, that little has changed for women; my life, and the life of many of my friends, is a testament to that change. However change is slow and erratic; and it favours some over others. One thing that hasn't changed are the ideas that patriarchy promotes to undo feminist change. And among those ideas is a persistent claim that the battle has already 'been won'; that feminism is no longer necessary. Many of the young people with whom I've worked in higher education consider themselves liberated from gender politics and believe that violence against either men or women is the same kind of infraction. Yes - all violence is bad. However it is pivotal to recognise discourses of discrimination that systematically dis-empower particular groups through violence. Violence against women is disproportionately perpetrated by men. Violence against minority groups is a strategy to encourage individuals in those groups to self regulate - to be 'good women' or 'good migrants' or good whatever. Violence has been a tool for the subjugation of minority groups for eons; segregation was maintained in the US through lynchings of black men who didn't 'mind their place'. Aboriginal deaths in custody might also be seen as a case in point. In short, yes - all violence is bad - but to recoil from naming institutionalised, political violence (in big or small forms) that privileges some groups over others is, I think, to ignore social injustice. Gender disparity is effected through thousands of big and small acts every day. I have been lucky enough to grow up in an era where legislative inequality has been largely challenged (at least on its face). I've had the benefit of a quality education and I've made hundreds of choices that were not available to my mother; I have the women's movement and all the men who supported it to thank for that.  However continuing forms of oppression - unequal wages, a continuing gendered segregation of labour, the legislating of women's body rights, and violence and objectifying practices designed to keep women 'in their place', are keen reminders that gender inequity is social and institutional. It is not, as patriarchal ideology would have us believe, just in the minds of a few women who take things 'too far'.

Despite the importance of marginal groups claiming their own voices and spaces, it has always been the case (and still is) that individuals from more privileged groups have supported, assisted, and even sometimes given their lives in support of social justice causes. Personally, I feel humbled to see the number of men who have spoken up this week about the issue of violence against women and its unacceptability - it is definitely a different world to the one my mother grew up in. I think anybody who is prepared to challenge discriminatory social discourses, even if they are privileged by them, should be included in the movement for change. However participation, and entitlement, are two different things. Men should not be allowed to speak for women. For example, I do not think it is alright for the men interested in supporting a Reclaim the Night march to decide the parameters of the march, including  whether or not they should be allowed to march. Male marchers need to be respectful of the terms upon which women are marching. When I work and activate with my friends, loved ones and colleagues in Aboriginal, LGBT, or migrant politics, I recognise that I am being invited 'in'. I do not walk in their shoes and I do not speak for them. My obligation is to listen to the impact of their lived experiences and to privilege their understandings of those experiences. It is also to share whatever knowledge and skills I can in order to help bring about change. I consider it a privilege and a responsibility to create change in terms that respect their voices.

Reclaim the Night is a march with a particular purpose. That purpose has been debated, refined, and developed over decades by women who struggled to assert their rights in circumstances where they were characterised as 'bad' for doing so. Reclaim the Night is not about trying to 'protect' women, or demanding that a few rogue men should be put in jail; it is about highlighting violence as a social and institutional issue - as an exercise of patriarchal power.  It is about women marching to claim the public space, with men's permission or not. Very importantly, it should not carry messages that re-inscribe old fashioned stereotypes about women and how they should behave.  There is a real danger that, in their efforts to ensure male relatives and friends feel comfortable and welcome at the march, women will seek to promote a more 'general' message about non violence, and dilute down the fact that violence against women is a gendered issue and that most violence against women is perpetrated by men. Such a step would simply be 'permission seeking' in another form. However, if the core values of RTN can be maintained, I will be thankful, excited, and joyful to participate in a march with both men and women in October 2012.

A Matter of Opinion? Just what is meant by an 'Expert Panel on Asylum Seekers'

I was chatting with a family member over the weekend about climate change, which is never pretty as I try (often in vain) to compete with the Herald Sun. Nevertheless, being a researcher I felt it necessary to explain differences between opinion and evidence based conclusions. Don't get me wrong; I agree that even research is subjective and researchers must outline the methods and madness in their conclusions. I am also reminded, as I read Michael Chamberlain's book, that science is a human art. Nevertheless, I believe there is value in research method and so I leapt head first into my persuasive task. All major science associations in industrialised countries, I prosthelytised, and almost all scientists agree on three conclusions; that temperatures are rising, that humans are contributing to that rise, and that the long term consequences of this rise are pretty bad. Still, my relative replied, isn't that just 'their opinion'? Not in the world of research, I explained. Conclusions must have some kind of evidence base. We take years exploring a problem, gathering evidence, and writing it up. Even then, our work is not published until it is competitively scrutinised by a group of our peers to whom we must make available our raw data for inspection. We cannot imply causality if the evidence indicates only correlation. Add to this, I said, that in the field of climate science there are thousands upon thousands of these papers that have been published, across decades, in different countries, under different political and funding regimes. My explanation made an impact. However we are unlikely to hear these distinctions made by the Herald Sun or Tony Abbott any time soon. I agree that everyone is entitled to their own opinion; however, as the saying goes, everyone is not entitled to their own facts. And so it is that many readers of the Herald Sun without research experience are led to believe that an opinion column by Andrew Bolt is the same thing as the conclusions drawn by thousands of climate scientists around the world. To my mind, this is a sad thing.

The relationship between expertise, evidence, and asylum seeker policy in Australia has enjoyed its own set of difficulties. Notable academics, writers, and community sector leaders have consistently challenged misrepresentations of and inaccurate information about asylum seekers propelled by government, opposition, and the press (Clyne 2005, Marr 2006, ASRC 2012, O'Brien 2012). These misrepresentations have commonly served to dehumanise and delegitimise asylum seekers, leading to policy outcomes that circumvent or undermine their rights. The Prime Minister's recent appointment of an 'Expert Panel on Asylum Seekers' has only served to muddy the waters further. A significant base of independent and evidence based research about asylum already exists in the community, much of which supports policy outcomes antithetical to those that have been proposed by consecutive governments (see for example Pickering 2012, The Conversation 2012, submissions to the Expert Panel, etc). In this context, what kind of 'expertise' was it expected that a hand picked panel could bring. I should like to qualify my comments in this article by stating that I consider each of the 'Expert Panel' members to have unquestionable expertise in their relevant fields, as also recognised in their public honours. However I think it is incumbent upon us to interrogate the relationship between the kinds of expertise included on the panel, and the question of what kinds of expertise that might be relevant to resolving a complex policy equation around asylum seekers.

It is probably best to begin by considering the problem to which we must bring this expertise. In its terms of reference the 'Expert Panel on Asylum Seekers' was tasked with providing, 'advice and recommendations to the Government on policy options available, and in its considered opinion, the efficacy of such options, to prevent asylum seekers risking their lives on dangerous boat journeys to Australia'. This is one of many articulations of the asylum 'problem' over consecutive governments. Under Howard, and especially after 9/11, the 'asylum problem' was variously represented in relation to concerns about border control and security, in relation to individuals accused of disregarding the law (by being 'illegal'), by disregarding 'core' Australian values of fairness and civility (Clyne 2005), and as a concern about the affects of unsuccessful integration (Oxfam 2007, Caldwell 2007). The post 9/11 security frenzy around asylum seekers (being potential terrorists) ultimately proved to be a government beat up (less than 1% of arrivals have an adverse security report) and the concept of queues has been widely contested, although the exaggerated and xenophobic concerns about integration re-appear periodically. And it is never illegal to claim asylum as a refugee. Labor has sought to differentiate its articulation of 'the problem' from the Liberals. For example, it has placed greater emphasis on the demonisation and punishment of people smugglers (Aly 2012), much like punishing drug traffickers and pimps. But even the blanket demonisation of people smugglers has been criticised, as has been the rather tyrannical incarceration of the few low level and powerless smugglers who are caught. After Gillard's ascension, there was a noticeable change in articulation of the asylum problem to a concern about drownings.

Common to these diverse expressions of 'the asylum problem' has been the relatively consistent policy approach of 'deterrence'. The pursuit of deterrence has manifested variously in mandatory and remote detention measures, offshore processing, TPVs/restriction on family reunion rights, and limiting protection triggers, such as excising land from Australia's migration zone and turning boats around. This is notwithstanding some amelioration of the harsher measures by Rudd. My question is how such diverse articulations of a policy problem can seemingly result in such a consistent set of policy measures; how different problems all lead to the same answer. I am not the first to ask this question, and asylum is far from the first policy area to which it applies. The 'solution' of a US and allied invasion of Iraq was problematised first in relation to weapons of mass destruction, then the harbouring of Al Qaeda terrorists, then the importance of freeing Iraqi people from a dictator. It is easy to be cynical in such circumstances that some pre-ordained, politically popular solution takes first order over any perceived policy problem. Australian commentators have argued that asylum is a wedge issue from which neither side of politics can afford to recoil. Parties appealing to conservative voters poll better when taking 'tough' action against perceived rule breakers (e.g. asylum seekers, criminals, etc). In parliament this week, Melissa Parke MP lamented the current 'race to the base' by both sides of politics. 'I reflect with great disappointment that this area of policy has been dealt with  . . . in a way that represents a very low ebb in the tides of Australian politics and public policy. The discussion has often been so full of distortion and misrepresentation and fear mongering and point scoring . . . that it cannot be called a debate. And to the extent that we regard this outcome as a compromise, it is still a compromise at the lower end of what we are capable of as a nation'.

It is in light of this political context that the question of expertise and evidence must be examined - beginning with the government's choice of membership for its expert panel; Angus Houston, retired Chief of the Defence Force, Michael L'Estrange, Director of the National Security College at ANU, and Paris Aristotle, a founding Director of the Victorian Foundation for Survivors of Torture and Trauma. That an expert from defence was appointed to chair the panel creates a significant symbolic boundary around the discussion. Two of the three panel members bring expertise in security and defence. By virtue of the panel's membership, the problem of drownings, or solutions to it, are anticipated to require expertise in defence or security. This is not to negate any other skills and experience of panel members; nor to deny defence and security implications in the asylum debate. However Bacchi (1989) has argued that problem representation in policy - the likes of this panel's terms of reference - contains an implicit diagnosis of the solution. As Marston (2004: 93) puts it, 'The rationale for . . . reforms is constructed retrospectively to suit predetermined solutions, while at the same time contributing to the symbolic power of the State Government - a competent body of decision makers tackling hard . . . problems'.   I want to suggest that the Expert Panel's terms of reference and its membership imply a heavily bounded solution; and indeed, a solution consistent with government's previous penchant for deterrence.

In considering the panel's description as 'expert', it is also useful to examine who or what was absent from its membership and/or its radar. If some correlation can be drawn between panel membership and outcomes, then the 'solution' to drownings was certainly not envisaged in terms of human rights practice, international law, or other pivotal areas of practice in the refugee field. For example, it would surely make sense to have included a human rights legal expert, given recent success of the High Court challenge to the Malaysia solution. The panel could also arguably have benefited from a candidate with knowledge and expertise of the push and pull factors in asylum. Or one with operational and political experience drawn from working in refugee camps. Here I am not making specific recommendations as to omissions; rather it is noteworthy to reflect on the symbolic and, ultimately, the political power of those omissions.

Presumably because it found areas of expertise or evidence unavailable to it, the panel recommended that 'that the incompleteness of the current evidence base on asylum issues be addressed through a well-managed and adequately funded research program engaging government and non-government expertise' (Rec 22). Funding for more comprehensive research is of course a welcome finding. However there has been little recognition from government or the panel of an already existing body of knowledge. Experts on refugee matters from the academy and from the community sector have worked hard to share their findings in respected journals and various popular and online media. It would be fair to suggest that the settlement services sector has increasingly been influenced by, and availed itself, of research and research practitioners. The Conversation recently advertised an initiative to collate relevant refugee research in a database.  It is thus of concern that in assessing the relative influence of 'push' and 'pull' factors in asylum, the expert panel described its approach as 'more a matter of judgment than science'. All policy is premised on judgment, some moreso than others . However in a mature democracy one would hope that, amongst other sources of information, politicians would turn to their institutions of research and knowledge from which to garner evidence to inform their decisions. Not so where boat arrivals are at issue.

Recent governments have demonstrated an antipathy toward research from the sector where it conflicts with policy frameworks. I call this the 'Galileo effect'; that is, relevant research has at times been ignored, dismissed, or maligned when it does not conform with the hegemony of government policy. Take, for example, the work of Louise Newman, now Professor of Developmental Psychiatry and Director of the Monash University Centre for Developmental Psychiatry & Psychology. Professor Newman has spoken publicly about the pressure placed on her, and her colleagues, following their research into the negative mental health impacts of detention on asylum seekers (see for example Steel, ZP, Mares, S, Newman, L, Blick, B & Dudley, MJ, 2004) . Colleagues warned Newman that her field of study was the equivalent of career suicide. Her credibility and her methods of research were attacked during the term of the Howard government in a bid to undermine her findings. As Newman explained it, she was simply following the evidence; but, as Gore puts it, hers was an inconvenient truth. Consecutive governments have enthusiastically propagated disparaging representations of asylum seekers before seeking the facts or evidence (Riemer 2012). Throwing children into the water was a 'fact' until an inquiry drawing on meticulous research documented evidence to the contrary; although not until after Howard's re-election. Only this week there have been more unsubstantiated reports of aberrant asylum seeker behaviour. The inaccurate allegations were refuted and corrected  by the captain of the relevant vessel. It would seem that only certain types of expertise are desirable where asylum seekers are concerned and sometimes, none at all.

Most regrettably, the voices of refugees are relatively absent from this debate, despite its serious implications for their lives (and possible deaths); both government and the sector must continue to meet the challenge of self reflection and reform in decision making practices which exclude the very people for whom they are acting 'in best interests'. Why was there not a former refugee on the panel? (Gillard has repeatedly referred to Aristotle as a refugee when he is not). Or one might ask a woman, given that most refugees globally are women and their children? Whose experience counts in the government's decision making process?

How else did expertise figure in this panel's decision making? We know that the panel received over 300 submissions from individuals and organisations, many of whom have significant experience and expertise in the refugee sector. A list of those consulted by the panel is included in the appendices. Much of this expertise arises from individuals and organisations who have direct engagement with refugee communities; people working at the coal face with individuals and families who, over the past fifteen years, have been living with the consequences of the prevailing 'solutions' of deterrence. An evidence base that arises from case management provides a chilling picture of the very human effects of policy making; such specific knowledge was of course also vested with the third member of the panel, Mr Paris Aristotle. The pivotal and vanguard services of Foundation House, which address the mental health needs of refugees, are a continuing legacy of Mr Aristotle's contribution to the sector. Given his experience, Mr Aristotle was much sought after by the media  following delivery of the panel's controversial recommendations.

Despite his credentials, it would be inaccurate to suggest that Mr Aristotle's voice on the panel represented the preponderance of views from the sector. This is not to attack his motives, nor the drivers for his decision making (Gordon 2012). However the recommendations articulated in key refugee and human rights sector submissions (see for example ASRC, RILC, HRLC, RAN, etc) stand in stark contrast to the overwhelming number of panel recommendations; recommendations defended by Mr Aristotle. The absence of a submission to the panel from Foundation House, a key and long established refugee service provider, is also noteworthy. There could be no conflict of interest in such a submission, given the public nature of Aristotle's foundation role and directorship, and his being only one of a three member panel; although any contribution by Foundation House was unlikely to have materially affected the already bounded nature of the debate. The policy of deterrence was extended.

Appointment of the 'Expert Panel on Asylum Seekers' has proved a useful springboard from which to consider the issue of expertise and evidence in the asylum debate. Gillard's application of the term 'expert' to her panel was likely intended to convey a sense of 'competent' government tackling the 'hard problem' of boat people (Marston 2004); however the panel's regard for the current evidence base is unclear. It may well be that a greater body of evidence around refugee issues is required, for example in relation to refugee flows; however the evidence base around the affects of detention, for example, is already clear and compelling (APS 2012, AHRC 2012). One might be forgiven for thinking that the government tends to overlook expertise that does not suit its policy preferences (Riemer 2012). In the case of the Expert Panel, government has structured a process likely to deliver a solution of its anticipation; because frankly, to frame an inquiry in relation to preventing boat journeys, and then to resource it primarily with a defence and security expert, is to imply the solution to the problem (Bacchi 1999). Gillard may have appointed a panel with expertise, but its recommendations, by and large, did not reflect expert views from the sector.