Calling all queer film buffs

I wrote to the people running Out Takes to ask a question:

Dear Out Takes,

though I know this is a “Reel Queer Festival”, I’m not sure who is welcome at the “Lesbian Gala Event.” Is this an event for lesbians, for women loving women, for queer people of all genders? To be honest, as a bisexual woman, going to something called a “Lesbian Event” feels disrespectful and invisibilising. In the past, I’ve just chosen not to go to that night.

This year I’d like to ask whether I’m intended to be welcome. If not, that’s fine, and I’d ask that you run nights specifically for other queer groups in future years – “BiNight”, say.

If so, then can you please change the name to reflect who is actually welcome?

Thank you

They wrote back, very graciously:

 Hi, thanks for your message. The name ‘Lesbian Gala’ primarily reflects the theme of the Gala night film, as well as the fact that the Gala concept was founded by the Armstrong and Arthur Trust for Lesbians. It is not meant to reflect who is welcome – each year queer-identified women and people of other genders attend the Gala, as well as some straight allies, and we hope to provide a welcoming environment for all.

We are constantly looking for ways to include broader content, and adapt our festival to suit our audience. So we need to hear about films being made that people want to see, and we need the input of people like you who have ideas! We’re only a small voluntary committee, and we’d love to get new members on board. If you’d like to help us make changes, please consider joining the committee!

This isn’t something I have the time to take up, so I said I would pass on the invitation.  If there are other queer people who would like to be part of the “Reel Queer Film Fest,” get in touch with Out Takes – and let’s set up events which are named to make sure we all know we’re welcome, and show films which reflect the diversity of our lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and intersex communities.

There’s a line-up of great films to check out if you’re in Auckland or Wellington over the next week or so.

The problem is violent greed

Not for the first time, the genius of Jacky Fleming shows how skewed our world becomes when we focus on the wrong end of power and oppression:

Since coming into power, this National government has been near obsessed with blaming beneficiaries and the poor in general for all manner of wrong-doing.  Apparently cutting benefits is the “kick in the pants” some need to take responsibility for other taxpayers (my emphasis).  Paula Bennett has been quick to tell people claiming benefits – even ones she previously accessed herself – that “the dream is over.”  If you have to visit a food bank to have enough to feed yourself and your family, it’s because you’ve made “poor choices.“

And step out of line if you dare, because Paula Bennett will release your personal details to the media as “a bit of a lesson for what happens if you go out there and put your story,” even if that does breach Privacy Commission ideas of fair practise to the tune of $15,000.  Nope, it’s beneficiary bashing all the way, thanks.

You could be forgiven for assuming beneficiaries and the poor are sucking up resources unfairly, completely to blame for our economy stalling and many New Zealanders feeling frightened and even so hungry they eat pig scraps.

But what happens if we focus on the wealthy?

Firstly, they are doing pretty well under National, as this handy graphic from the Green Party shows:

And they are doing pretty well at the expense of everyone else.  Just 9% of New Zealanders are in the top tax bracket, so those tax cuts really were just for a few of us.  And while our median income is falling, our average income is increasing, which is just maths geekery for saying rich people are getting richer even in these belt-tightening times.

We don’t spend enough time talking about greed in this country, because National has us bashing people with very little.  It is greedy to make sure those with lots of resources have the chance to create more and more and more, without thinking of other taxpayers (my emphasis).

If we focussed more on stopping those determined to create unnecessary wealth at the expense of everyone and everything else – the greedy 1% – and less on judging and punishing those with very little, our world would be a very different place.

Now I just need Jacky Fleming to write a cartoon about it.  Oh look, she has.

To grieve (visibly) or not to grieve, that is the question

I’ve been thinking about how we talk about grief and death.  By “we” I mean Pakeha New Zealanders, I know I’m not well qualified to explore this for anyone else.

Dad and I were in Christchurch over the weekend, celebrating his 70th birthday with our extended family who’d rocked up from all over the place.  The last time we were all together was my mother’s funeral last year, and the reason Dad and I were in Christchurch was to make sure his first birthday in 44 years without Mum would be surrounded by love from other family members.

It was, and the fact that Dad and I frequently talk about Mum in the ordinary day-to-day living thing was not that big a jolt for my family, most of whom began to do that too.

Now I still have moments of rending grief about my mother’s death, times where I cry and feel like my insides are twisting so tightly I can’t breathe.  Part of that grief is much less tidy than “wish Mum was here to talk about that”.  Sometimes I grieve aspects of mothering which Mum found difficult, and the pain I hold around that as her daughter.  I talk about that grief with close friends, not my family, with the exception of my brother.

What triggered this musing on grief was visiting my grandparents graves in Christchurch with Dad.  It reminded me of the day of my grandmother’s funeral.  I was eight, and none of the children had been allowed to go, because that’s one of the ways my family did grief then, out of sight of the children.

I’m not sure I really understood what had happened.  I remember watching my mother cuddle my father when he came home from work and she told him about the earlier phone call.  I remember she was crying and Dad wasn’t, and I wondered if he ever cried.  I remember neither of them actually told us what had happened, but we travelled down to Christchurch knowing Nana was dead a few days later.

After the funeral I guess, we were in a very packed car, and we pulled up to a place with rose bushes and grass.  My cousin and I wanted to get out and play, we were bored and crammed in.  When I asked Mum if we could, she yelled at me and told me I was selfish.  No doubt she was embarassed that her heathen child was asking such an inappropriate question at what I now know was the cemetery.  I felt ashamed, and because I didn’t know why I’d been selfish, I felt sure I’d done something wrong.

Trying to talk about grief differently now feels a bit like that, all the time.  I’m aware that when I bring up my mother’s death with people who don’t know me very well, that those who respond without discomfort are almost without exception Maori.  The exceptions, interestingly enough, are people I know through work who are experts in trauma and able to sit comfortably with others expressing pain.  Most people either ignore what I’ve said, or look horrified, or struggle for words.

And I wonder about my responsibility.  Is it to stop other people feeling discomfort?  Or is it to tell my truth about grieving when it’s relevant to me, rather than when it fits Pakeha social norms?  If I’m sad at work one day and I’ve been crying because every single reminder of mother’s day this year was torture, do I say that?  Or do I pretend everything is fine?

Unsurprisingly given my almost pathological honesty (you’ll have to trust me on that), I’ve been choosing to talk about it.  And if I’d been my mother that afternoon in the car, I’d have said “No sweetheart, you can’t play here.  This is a special place for nana and other people who have died, and some people would be upset if you were playing.  Maybe we can go somewhere you can play later.”

The silent B in Pink Shirt Day

In 2006, the bisexual poet and musician Hinemoana Baker and I were profiled by Maori Television in Takataapui, discussing discrimination and prejudice against bisexual people within the queer community.  Amongst other things, we were asked to respond to these:

Sadly this Takataapui episode isn’t available online.  Which does save Hinemoana and I from the real possibility of being bullied on the grounds of a series of poor hair choices over the years.  TVNZ’s slightly earlier “State of the Queer Nation” – which is online -  wasn’t actually about the queer nation. No (out) bisexual, transpeople or intersex people; no bi, trans or intersex issues – or even people – mentioned.

Bi people have been organising against biphobia around the world since at least the 1980s.  We need Pink Shirt Day not just because we have same-sex attractions – we need to stop bi-specific bullying and invisibilisation related to negative stereotypes because it has negative impacts on bisexual people.

Bisexuality is explicitly named as a grounds for discrimination in the Human Rights Act, after a long and sometimes bitter fight by bi people leading up to 1993.  Despite continued attempts to exclude us from the Act’s protections the Wellington Bisexual Women’s Group rocked up at a celebratory event in 1993, flushed with bi pride at our inclusion. When the approved lesbian speaker outlined the Act’s protections but repeatedly left us out – not for the first time – our slightly tired response was to heckle, shouting “and bisexual” as needed.

We got up to speak collectively, ending with a waiata.  Fortunately for negative stereotypes of bisexual people, I was able to clasp Hinemoana’s hand tightly, so I could mouth our waiata and allow the audience to enjoy her gorgeous voice without noticing mine.

Aroha mai Hinemoana – this apology for appropriating your musical genius is long overdue.

This Pink Shirt Day I’m going to share some link love for bi people, and those interested in challenging biphobia and biphobic bullying.  I’m not including generic queer groups as too often those groups have a silent B (and T, let alone I) when it comes to LGBTI issues and communities.  Feel free to add more links in comments.

The Wellington Bisexual Women’s Group continues, eating and talking our way to bitopia.  Members have also lobbied for queer rights legislation, contributed to queer rights legislation and created resources to challenge discrimination.  Most recently this included suggesting significant changes – all of which were accepted – to the Human Rights Commission chapter on the rights of sexual and gender minorities.

Secret Love is a short NZ film featuring Hinemoana’s music and story which opened the queer film fest a few years back.  And if you’re wanting bi anthems, her song “I’m Free” was written in response to someone in her family telling her being bisexual was just a phase.  Other bi anthems here.

The best resources I know of online are the US based Bisexual Resource Centre and the wonderful Boston Bisexual Women’s Network.  They  produce regular newsletters and the only resource I’ve ever seen which explicitly names bi-specific experiences of domestic violence.

I’ll leave those interested with eight BBWN tips on how to be an ally to bisexual people.  Pink Shirt Day is a great day to start:

1. Believe that I exist. Despite ongoing scientific research that seems so determined to disprove the existence of bisexuality, plus the general lack of interest by the greater gay and lesbian community to acknowledge us, we really do exist.
2. When I tell you I’m bisexual, please don’t try to talk me into redefining my identity into something more comfortable for you. Please don’t tell me that if I haven’t been sexual with more than one sex in the last three, five, or ten years that I am no longer bisexual.
3. Celebrate bisexual culture along with me. We have a vibrant and rich cultural history within the bi community — from Sappho to Walt Whitman to Virginia Woolf to James Baldwin to June Jordan, we have many daring voices that have expressed love beyond the monosexual confines.
4. Please don’t try to convince me that people who lived bisexual lives in the past would have been gay if they had lived today. You don’t know that, I don’t know that, and your insistence that it is true says that you believe that people were bisexual only out of necessity, not by desire.
5. Validate my frustration with the gay and lesbian community when they ignore or exclude bisexuals. Please don’t try and defend an action such as a keynote speaker who is addressing a LGBT audience but consistently says “gay and lesbian” when referring to all of us.
6. Ask me, if appropriate, about my other-sex relationships and my same-sex relationships. Bisexuals live our lives in multiple ways. Some of us are monogamous and we would like to discuss that relationship openly with the people in our lives, no matter whom it is with. Some of us have more than one relationship going on and we’d like to be able to share that with others without feeling judgment.
7. If there is some sort of bisexual scandal in the news, don’t use it as an opportunity to make derisive remarks about bisexuals generally. As we know all communities have examples of “bad behavior,” and painting everyone with the same brush doesn’t create much understanding between us.
8. When I’m not around, or any other bisexual, speak up when bisexual people are being defamed or excluded. It’s great when we can witness your support, but I’d love to know you are helping us even when we are not looking.

Doing Harm

There is an awful, awful case going through Court at the moment, for the second time.  Charlene Makaza, aged 10, died in 2007, from injuries the Crown say were caused by sexual violation.  The man accused of sexual violation and murder is her uncle, George Gwaze.

We know from the early Court reports on the retrial that the Crown is arguing Charlene’s anal and vaginal injuries caused her death, and that because Mr Gwaze’s semen was found in her underwear and bedsheets, the Crown believes Mr Gwaze caused those injuries by sexually assaulting her.

We also know that the defence for Mr Gwaze maintains his semen ended up on Charlene’s underwear and bedclothes in the washing machine, and that her injuries came solely from her positive HIV status.

I would be interested in this case anyway – it’s an occupational hazard – but because the medical advisor to Mr Gwaze in the first case was Felicity Goodyear Smith, I’m more than interested.

After the case was first trialled, Dr Goodyear Smith obtained a platform in the Sunday Star Times to explain why this case was not really sexual abuse.  I believe this was written by Donna Chisholm (though the article no longer names the author online), the same journalist who later wrote a North and South article so glowing the men’s right website Menz scanned the pages to put them online.

So Dr Goodyear Smith has her admirers.

She also has her critics, because she has a longstanding history of arguing that “adult-child sexual contact” is not always harmful to children, including in her 1993 book “First Do No Harm.”  This book also talks about false allegations of sexual abuse being common in child custody cases, and “false memories” being to blame for other allegations.

“False memory syndrome” is one of the great media beat-ups.  It does not exist.  The term was invented in 1992 by the False Memory Syndrome Foundation in the USA, a group of parents, mainly fathers, accused of sexual abuse.  They included Ralph Underwager, who was quoted in a Dutch paedophile magazine as saying sex with children was part of God’s will;  Pamela and Peter Freyd, whose adult daughter Jennifer told the media about her sexual abuse, believing her parents were doing unquestionable harm to abuse survivors; Paul and Shirley Eberle, who edited a child pornography magazine in the 1970s with explicit photographs of children and features like “Sexpot at five” and “My first rape, she was only 13.”

Dr Goodyear Smith is in frightening company in arguing that “false memories” are the cause of sexual abuse allegations.  Not surprising when you realise that her husband, John Potter, was imprisoned for indecently assaulting two under-age girls at Centrepoint.  John Potter runs the Men’s Rights website Menz (where they publicise campaigns like “Kill the Family Court”), and is the son of Centrepoint founder Bert Potter, also convicted for sexual crimes against children.  Dr Goodyear Smith was Centrepoint’s doctor, and says while she was aware of some “sexual contact” between adults and children at the commune, she wasn’t aware of the extent of the child abuse.

She is also the founder of  COSA, Casualties of Sexual Abuse, a now defunct organisation that wants to see fewer convictions for sexual violence crimes because it argues many of those convicted are innocent.

I’ll be interested to see if Dr Goodyear Smith gives evidence in the retrial of Mr Gwaze.   In describing her role as medical advisor for the first trial she said:

“It looked very damning, and very difficult. But when I went through it bit by bit and produced a timeline it all fell into place and then it became incredibly compelling that there was actually no crime. Even though there may be strange coincidences, there are explanations for all of it.”

Will the doctor who didn’t notice the sexual abuse at Centrepoint, who believes sexual contact with children isn’t always that big a deal, who is anxious to stop the flood of false complaints imprisoning innocent people, win in court? We’ll have to wait and see.

STOP: National Party press release: Vasectomies and limited liability

A new policy to address government spending has been announced, and while it may court controversy in some corners, John Key is personally championing the initiative.

“It’s time we stopped irresponsible and violent men from increasing the burden on the taxpayer,” said the Prime Minister.  “We’ve been too timid to go there before, but this government is making available vasectomies to men we believe should no longer be reproducing.”

Of course Mr Key has first-hand experience of his reproductive capacity being curtailed, and speaks highly of the choice.  “It’s been nothing but wonderful for my sex life,” he smiles.

The government plans to offer vasectomies to all men convicted of domestic or sexual violence, and these offers will take place in prison.  “We know those men make poor fathers, and their children are likely to need more support from the state than other children, so let’s just cut our costs.”

“But we’re going beyond that too,” Mr Key said winningly.  “We’re targetting those deadbeat dads who leave women and children to fend for themselves.  They cost us billions, and it’s time we put a stop to them having more children.”

These men will be offered the opportunity to control their future reproduction for free by IRD employees as part of the Child Support changes proposed by National.  “It’s a win-win.  No more unsupported children, and those guys will get to have as much fun as I do,” said the ebullient Mr Key.

“National are more and more interested in limiting reproductive liability for the state.  This proposal should ensure the taxpayer pays only for important things like new roads, maps to facilitate the oil and mining industries making profits, subsidies for industries we support, and contracts for consultants for the public sector.  Alongside our plans for increased tax cuts for the productive members of our country, vasectomies may just be the pick-me-up our economy needs.”

The new government policy will be trialled over the next twelve months.  Mr Key says if it’s as successful as National hopes “We’ll be making vasectomies available to more and more groups of men from communities which cost taxpayer dollars.”

PRESS RELEASE ENDS

Is there choice hair?

When we discussed women’s pubic hair a while back, there were lots of interesting comments from people with very diverse views on the subject.  So you can just imagine my excitement when someone sent me research which asked female students to grow their body hair – legs and underarm – for 10 weeks and record reactions from others and their own feelings in diary format. 

The 34 participating students were all under thirty, mixed racially (41% non-white) and mixed in terms of sexual orientation (70% opposite sex attracted; 18% both sex attracted; 12% same sex attracted). They did not have to disclose that they were growing their body hair to anyone else, or discuss it if they did not wish.

“Choice” is such a contentious term in feminism.  I am not down with giving women a hard time about any choice we make about how we present ourselves or live our gender, whether that means rebelling, subverting or conforming to traditional ideas of femininity.  But finding ways to consider how our choices are constrained and enabled I find endlessly fascinating, and I’m often frustrated when attempts to discuss this turn into “all choices are equally fine.”  Because while they might be equally fine in the choosing, they are certainly not equally fine in the consequences for women.  Which is why, of course, we all pick our battles around rebellion, subversion and conformity, based on energy, desire, analysis, capacity, access to resources etc etc etc.

For me, feminism is about a whole heap more than getting to do whatever I want because “it’s my choice.”

Back to body hair.  Women participating in this research talked about a cluster of concerns the researchers call “heteronormative social control” and “gendered anxiety” while watching their leg hair lengthen.  They were worried about receiving homophobia; being seen to be queer; or if queer, being outed when they did not wish to be.  For many women, this included being scared about physical violence:

I keep worrying that it’s not just fun and games having body hair. Maybe some guy at a bar will see my armpit hair and think I’m a lesbian and he’ll round up a group of guys and attack me. I have heard about it happening to women who are perceived as dykes. I’ve seen guys harass women who don’t want anything to do with men.

Lots of women also talked about the social controls they experienced around suddenly not being seen as “real women” or male.  One woman’s mother told her that her legs looked like men’s legs now; others had people in their lives asking if they were wanting to become men.

 I was asked a question by a male coworker if my husband and I have sex during my body hair growth. I replied by saying yes. He asked if my husband thought he was having sex with a “dude.” I told him, “Why would he think that, the rest of my body is still there, I still have boobs and a vagina. I’m still the same person as before, I just have some hair.” I have really enjoyed making the guys at work cringe.

More than half the women talked about feeling “on display” during the assignment, having their underarm hair paraded by others as a “tourist attraction” or “circus act.”  There was no question they were breaking gender rules.

The final cluster of concerns women shared in this research was to do with women’s bodies and male possession.  Nearly all partnered heterosexual women were asked if their male partner approved of them growing their body hair.  Many women also talked about ongoing social expectations that they should get their body hair under control in order to be attractive to men.

My fiancée told his father about the body hair thing I’m doing. He was very offended by it. The first thing he asked was, “Did she ask for your permission first?” I was so offended by this. As if my fiancée is in control of what I do to my body! I don’t need anyone’s permission for anything I want to do with my body. And if my fiancée said absolutely not, I would do it anyways and probably wouldn’t be marrying him right now. I guess his dad went on and on about how women need to have smooth bodies, that he couldn’t be with his own wife if she didn’t shave. “Women with hairy legs, it’s just not right!” Guys like him are the reason why I was so obsessed with shaving my entire body. Those guys ruined my self-esteem, my self-worth, and my confidence. Body hair isn’t gross. Men like him are!

This research is interesting because it questions the idea of choice explicitly.  Can we “choose” not to shave body hair?  Without punishment?  Or when we call some things “choosing” are we glossing over social controls and constraints which are ultimately harmful to all genders?

I stopped shaving my legs when I was 18, and my underarms when I was 21.  Both were feminist decisions about wanting to explore why body hair on women was unacceptable, and how my body would feel and look if I broke those rules. 

My lovers have only ever expressed support and desire around these choices; no doubt potential lovers who haven’t approved have gone elsewhere.  There’s also no doubt I’m not interested in being sexual with anyone who doesn’t like my body. 

None of my family have ever commented, except for my mother who despite shaving herself explicitly supported me choosing to abstain and said many times she wished she had never started shaving.  But as with the women in this research, there have been a multitude of ways I’ve been reminded over the years that this “choice” is deviant by others – that, I’m afraid, is another post entirely.