May 16 2013
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Guest blog Gallery

Guest Blog: Probably the most inspiring thing I have ever received, from a very articulate 16 year old young woman.


 

548435_4720225293690_391985871_nFrancesca Stocker, responded with a guest post to the article “ You read Heat Magazine . You are not a feminist” (all I can say is watch this space for more writing from her…and thank you)

 

After reading your recent blog post ‘You read Heat. You are not a feminist.’ I felt a strange connection and I had to jot down my thoughts. I am currently a student who, in the midst of GCSEs, prefers to spend her remaining free hours of the day typing ‘feminism’ into Google and clicking on the links. I refer to this as my “research to broaden my mind”. Yes, I am a young feminist and I am still figuring out all about it. Compared to other articles I have read, your blog posts have offered the right balance between humour and opinion along with a realisation on my behalf.

 

I guess I just have to come out and admit it: Daily Mail is my guilty secret. I am somehow infatuated in celebrities’ lives for no apparent reason. I can relate to reading of the badly written articles and the endless pictures and I don’t know why I do it. My general opinion in terms of feminism is that we are all entitled to equal opportunities and our gender should not hold us back. I believe that society and the media have corrupted women across the world, forcing them to be something that they are not.

 

If the previous statements are what I refer to as my current beliefs, then why am I reading about Cheryl Cole and her boyfriend? Actually I’m not even reading, I’m just looking at pictures. Thanks to your blog post, it really brought home to me the fact that I have to practice what I preach. I can’t be going on angry rants to my friends when they cry out for legs just like Barbara Palvin when I am secretly scrolling through the Daily Mail website and mocking Kim’s pregnancy body. Especially when I have my first public exams waiting for me. I just want to slap myself awake and say “Hey! This isn’t what you believe in. Stop it! You have a Chemistry exam to revise/cram for.” So I have officially decided to say NO MORE to the Daily Mail. I vanish that squalor from my sight and will stick to just reading BBC News.

 

I find that at my current age of 16, it is very difficult to have a conversation with my peers about feminism and you have brought a sliver of light into my life –I apologise for the cheesy metaphor but it is the poet inside of me scrambling out- which now means that I can share my interests with someone.

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May 16 2013
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Being 20 something... Gallery

People hate it when you are good.


Ever get the feeling that when something is going well or when you have achieved success that utter catastrophe is around the corner?

Perhaps it’s because we are battered round the head with ‘what goes up must come down’ theology as though it’s gravity that will inevitably humble us with a reminder that our achievement is not as good as we think.

Alas, I’m here to tell you. It’s not gravity or God. It’s them and quite possibly, you. The insatiable desire some people have to infect you with their own self-doubt and the expectation that jealousy is a bad, unmentionable thing is just plain silly.

Sometimes, in life people are good, are better than you or are just plain luckier but hitting them with a metaphorical, or very real, stick won’t improve your chances of winning life.

Isn’t it better to just be honest? An honest voice of “OMG I am so jealous I need to go and be sick so I can return and be thrilled for you” will probably make everyone’s life a whole lot better.

Now admittedly, this is a lesson to be learnt. There have been times where I have NOT been thrilled or told said ‘life winner’ I wanted to be sick/poke them in the eye…but I like to think I’m growing.

The reason this has spun my head of late is that I’m realising it’s actually a very female trait to contribute to the “people hate you when you are good” situation.

Guilty. I will admit that personally, I thought it was impolite to be chuffed with your self.

If you put down your own achievements then quickly call your mum to declare “Mother. I’m mint” then you have gone some way in being both humble and singing your own praises, right?

Wrong.

Unless you speak up no one will actually know how good you really are. There ARE exceptions to this rule. The one nice boss everyone is afforded in their lifetime might actually drag out your colours and fly them for you or you might be the lucky person that is SO GOOD that they can float through life bashfully dismissing any compliment that comes their way.

For the rest of us, we have to try and learn that being good is great and when your rummaging nervously in your ‘I am awesome’ bag, toes curled and bum clenched, trying to awkwardly drag out your colours post flying and some envious douche bag pulls your pants down and laughs…just turn to them and say:

“I know you are so jealous you want to be sick. I feel like that too sometimes. Now go vomit so you can return and give me the congratulatory hug you REALLY want to give.”

Problem solved.

Originally posted on: http://www.caitlinmoran.co.uk/index.php/people-hate-it-when-you-are-good/

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Apr 28 2013
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Feminism Gallery

You read heat magazine. You are not a feminist.


heatThe other day on a rather long car journey my sister and I were eloquently addressing the issues of children and gender stereotyping- whilst utterly confusing my brother in law (who is about to have his first child)

We were debating gender neutrality. My sister, a teacher and I, a big time feminist obviously had some strong views which were pushing the driver over the edge.

Suddenly, out of the silence, my boyfriend burst out with the following comment that has been lingering in my thoughts for the past few days:

“You know what? I don’t understand how you can talk about this stuff and call yourself a feminist when you read heat magazine.”

TRAITOR.

Although, his revelation had NOTHING to do with the subject at hand and heat magazine was part of my secret bath time behaviour only known to him as my co-habiting partner, he had a point.

(Don’t tell him.)

I protest The Sun’s Page 3, I am baffled when I see Nuts magazine left on the coffee table at work and I’m very vocal about the objectification of women in the media.

Yet, here I am reading a magazine that’s front page circles unsuspecting female celeb’s less-than-perfect body parts…or just weird moments caught on camera. Like when a woman might appear to have 3 dots of cellulite. (Even though it’s just a shadow we readers rejoice. FATTY!!!)

Now I have to ask myself “why do I read it?” How annoying.

Well, here is what happens, my little secret ritual:

I have a shit day. My brain is fried and I do NOT want to think about digital strategy, to have an analytical debate or to read the feminist manifesto weighing down my handbag. I’m tired of everyone else but most of all I’m tired of myself. My inner monologue can shut the hell up.

I sneak to the shop on my route home, buy heat magazine and then I have a bath. I sit in the near to boiling water and stew in my own filth whilst reading trivial, utter crap shoveling 4 maybe 5 fruit pastels in my face at a time. GOD I’m so sexy.

My brain no longer wurrs and all I think is ‘oooo Miley Cuna-mawhatsherface has a slightly bloated face on a morning…MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH!”

I then go downstairs, glare at my boyfriend who hands over the remote and watch Keeping up with the Kardashians. YOLO I shout.

I go to bed and awake in the morning back to my old self. Thanks heat.

Alas, my secret is out. No longer am I an anonymous consumer but I’ve admitted to being a sad Bridget Jones -style crazy woman with an “inner monologue” (yes and I just quoted myself) and a total hypocrite.

I slap the back of the heads of people reading the woman-hating Daily Mail yet I am finding solace in reading something worse. A publication which openly calls anorexic size 6 women “curvy and proud”.

I base my protesting feminist theories on the fact that the press and media influence perceptions of women to the unsuspecting public. Am I so informed that I am immune to such messages unlike everyone else? How wonderfully arrogant.

It is now apparent that I am making myself feel better looking at and fueling the objectification of women. The shame.

Rarely one to admit I’m wrong. I’m wrong.

So dear boyfriend, you win. I will no longer read heat magazine but, for ruining bath time, I will like you a little bit less.

*Picks up Stylist Magazine and feels better*

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Mar 09 2013
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Views on News Gallery

Are senior posts appealing to the women of tomorrow?


Prime Minister David Cameron is met by Theresa...

Prime Minister David Cameron is met by Theresa May on his first visit to the Home Office (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Over the last few weeks Britain has been digesting it’s exposure to the realities of the digressing female representation in British Politics. The Counting Women In campaign released a damning report not only revealing decreasing or barely moving stats on women in Politics but touched upon all industries ranging from the Police and the armed forces to the Media.

The results of the Sex and Power 2013: Who runs Britain? report are in and it doesn’t look good. Only one in four MPs are women. In comparison to our European counterparts Britain comes in a tragic third from bottom, with only 22.5% female representatives. Women make up just 5% of daily national newspaper Editors and only 10% make up the CEO’s of our banks.

Last week Women’s Views on News reported on the shocking statistics and reminded its readers of David Cameron‘s pledge that 1/3 of his ministers would be women by 2015. This pledge seems more like a distant promise judging by the Who runs Britain? research not to mention the latest reshuffle which saw more women axed from positions of power.

There are many things to be done such as positive discrimination and support for the women of tomorrow. Yet what hasn’t been asked in any of the media surrounding the report is, are any of these senior posts appealing to the women of tomorrow?

Looking at the working culture of Britain today we witness a strange hypocrisy peppered across the working life of a woman. As young women we are told to reach for top. We respond by making up the majority of UCAS applications and step into the world of work with better grades.

However, once the prep work is over here we stand in the promised land of employment and we are met with not only cultural disparities which have followed us throughout our young lives, such as the uncensored sexualisation of women in the media, but laws and processes which are representative of a bygone society.

It feels like women are being set up to fail as parental leave, childcare and flexible working for both men and women are slow moving and make equality a harder choice thus pinning Britain to the bottom of the European league table once again.

It’s true we CAN have it all. No one is telling us we can’t but who wants it when modern women appear to live in limbo hovering in a state of dissatisfaction as they are now expected to do it all or drastically sacrifice personal success in order to become, professionally, who they want to be.

This isn’t just a problem women in Britain face. American COO of Facebook, Sheryl Sandberg, continually reels off statistic after statistic demonstrating that modern women face a cultural working hurdle. Sandberg points out that from being trained to self-deprecate and attribute success to others rather than ourselves to working the same hours as men do yet completing most of the house work and child care means we are working harder just to achieve equality.

For the women of tomorrow the picture society is painting of women in power actually becomes a deterrent for aspiring women to reach the top of the career ladder thus leaving the situation unchanged as our needs are unrepresented where it matters.

To address the issues raised in many a statistical report we must address the cultural attitude and laws, which at present are not creating an appealing picture for future leaders. Quite simply, if they go on unchanged we will see the numbers continually decrease.

 

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Mar 06 2013
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Guest blog Gallery

My submission for ‘The Worst Date Of The Year Award’…


donnaThis is a blog by Donna Amey. Donna is the Social Content Creative at Big Fish and self confessed ‘general winner.’  In this blog she talks about a story which leads her to believe she stands a good chance of winning the ‘The Worst Date Of The Year Award.’  Yes, its hilarious but it also is even funnier because I can confirm that each detail is true.

For more lols form Donna follow her on Twitter: @Doonkris 

 

Before I start telling you this, I will warn you that whenever you think this story is over, it’s not. If I ever tell you this story in person, it involves me saying AND THEN a lot. Unfortunately I can’t sensor my repetition very well in when speaking aloud.

I’m a firm believer in doing things you don’t want to do. It doesn’t mean that I actually do this very often – as I am in general incredibly lazy, but a challenge is good – I’d say that’s a fairly universal fact.

It’s this mantra that resulted in me attending the most ridiculous date in modern day history. Dates are generally pretty grim – I’ve not actually been on many. They are in my opinion like interviews with the extra pressure of looking sexy. Well actually that’s probably not the reason I haven’t been on many, I’ve pretty much gone on every date I’ve been asked on. So four.

This date was the result of a Halloween soiree I shouldn’t have been at. There were drinks, high jinx, and lolz in abundance, and to be honest with you; I was loving life. I have a few vague memories of the party, including giving my number to at least one person. I also arrived at the party with a bag full of Halloween accessories and paraphernalia – I left the party paraphernalialess. Actually one of my last memories of that night was seeing a middle aged woman walking out the door wearing a really cool set of Hobbit ears I had bought only the day before.

I received a text in the week, would I like to go for a drink? It asked. It was from a man I had spoken briefly to at the party. My initial thought was no – as I mentioned, dates are like even worse interviews. But you don’t often get asked on one, so best just get it over and done with. I had a few reservations, including the fact I didn’t know what this man looked like – he was wearing full fancy dress make-up at the party.

From what I could remember there was a high possibility he was a goth. Not really my thing, but who am I to judge? I accepted the date invitation with the smug feeling that no, I do not judge a person by what they look like. I’d give anyone a chance; looks mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Strong relationships are not founded on perfectly symmetrical faces

After texts tooing and froing, we agreed to meet on a Friday night. He told me he was already meeting some friends so I said I could just come along too. Actually this could be better than the tradition interview style date format I thought.

I turned up at the bar with literally no frame of reference to who I’m looking for, other than the fact he has described the jumper he is wearing. I find him, exchange greetings and he’s actually a lot more attractive than I was expecting. He was also Scottish; Glaswegian. For references sake, we’ll call him Scott for the remainder of this story.

Stereotypes and generalisations are pretty much always a negative thing. However, I’m yet to witness a highlander to buy the first round/ not go to the loo when it’s their turn at the bar. However I am aware that tartan is very expensive, and I don’t personally have that regular outgoing.

I asked if he wanted a drink, he said no so I ordered myself a wine. As everybody’s glasses got awkwardly empty I asked around to see if anyone else would like something, and got a round in.

I noticed his friends were all quite flamboyantly dressed, and they all had an over-.friendly quality. Rather than me describing each of them, I’ll just say that they collectively reminded me of the bohemians from Baz Lerman’s Moulin Rouge. One of my all time favourite films so for me, this was not a negative.

I’d spent some time chatting to different people in his friendship group, when Scott asked me if I’d like to come outside for a cigarette. I’m not a smoker, but thought as I was on a date with him, I should probably at least go and chat.

We did the usual small talk, and I asked him to remind me what he did for a living. He explained that he had a coaching business, where he helped people to have confidence with various parts of their life. It could be making business contacts, it could be saving their relationships, and quite often it was talking to members of the opposite sex.

At which point I had a flashback to the party at which I met Scott. Someone said to me ‘Be careful of him, he’s really in to The Game’.

So he coached people on how to be more confident, using a lot of the teachings from the famously shit book The Game. One technique is ‘Peacocking’, which is wearing unusual or flamboyant clothing to encourage woman to speak to you. Of course this was a fairly big a warning sign that this was potentially going to be an extremely strange evening, but I was willing to ride it out.

Everyone decided that they wanted to go to a different bar. There was just one other girl in the group, and we got chatting while we walked to the new venue. We were also walking with a gay guy who had only just joined the group after a play rehearsal. His outfit was particularly eye-catching, being a fan of animal print in myself, I complimented him on his silver snakeskin t-shirt in a way that you compliment someone on something not because you like it, but because it’s so over the top it would be weird if you didn’t mention it. He teamed the number up with red corduroy flares, brown leather jacket with more than it’s fair share of zips, Dalmatian print brothel creepers, topped off with a leopard print trilby. Like a really crap Cruella De Vil.

The conversation between us was pretty deep and intense for people who had just met. It involved one of us saying something like ‘I like your [insert item of clothing here]‘, and them replying that the other person is just so gorgeous they can’t bear it. It went on like that for longer than you’d think exactly the same pattern of conversation could go round in a loop, when the gay guy said to the girl…

‘So are you and Scott going out now?’

Scott who I was on a date with. To which she replied…

‘No he has a girlfriend’.

Again, referring to Scott that I was on a date with.

I was obviously a bit confused, but I was interested to see if he would tell me – so I carried on to the second bar without saying anything.

Scott asked me if I fancied a cigarette. As I mentioned before, I don’t smoke. However I was a non-smoker who still hadn’t been bought a drink so I took him up on his offer and just took a few puffs before stubbing it out as I knew that would probably be quite annoying.

‘Now would probably be a good time to tell you something’

‘You have a girlfriend don’t you’

‘Yeah, but hear me out – she’s Asexual, so she’s got no sex drive or interest in sex. She knows I meet other girls. So it’s totally up to you if you want this to go further’.

To sum up what happened here, Scott told me had a girlfriend but then said I could still have sex with him if I wanted before he had bought me even one drink. It was midnight, and I think I’d just bought my third round. He hadn’t actually even given me a compliment; it wouldn’t have even had to be a good one. Something about my personality would have done.

I was feeling lucky, lucky, lucky, obviously to be given such a tempting proposition. After all, it’s not many men who will offer to have no strings attached sex with a 25 year old girl. A chance in a lifetime for me I expect. But I managed to turn down this one opportunity to have meaningless, pointless sex with this charmless philanderer.

I finished my drink, and then headed back to the safe company of animal print loving gay. We got chatting and realised we lived really near each other, he said he knew this amazing coffee shop he’d take me to, and asked for my number. 100% not wanting to give it to him, he seemed like the type to prank call me to check I’d given the right digits – so I just cut my loses and punched my number into his phone. The more we continued to talk, the closer he got into my personal space. I realised he was actually trying to snog me. Alarmed, I mentioned to Scott that I thought his friend was a bit in my face – to which I found out that he wasn’t actually gay. He came across literally gayer than anyone you can ever think of. This put everything I ever believed to be true in a quandary.

The bars closed, so I headed to get my night bus. Scott said that he was hungry; I said I wasn’t and was going to head home. He insisted that I went with him to get Chinese, so I ended up accompanying him to a 24 hour Chinese restaurant in Soho. We sat down; the waiter told us there was a £10 minimum spend per person to sit in and eat. He tried to insist that I ordered food, to which I refused and just asked him to order me some prawn crackers. He requested the food to takeaway, as he wasn’t prepared to pay £20 to stay in the warm. Once the food arrived and I’d managed to salvage my prawn crackers from his takeaway back and dug in he said…

‘So, am I coming back to yours’?

SO HARD TO RESIST but I did. We said our farewells, pretty sure he paused for me to offer him money for the prawn crackers but I managed to ride that awkward moment and slide off. On the way to the bus some Swedish tourists asked me what I was eating, so I gave them a cracker to try and they bloody loved it. They asked where I got them from, but it was too exhausting to explain so I gave them the rest of the bag. A drunken good deed benefiting some weary travellers – I feel like if that happened to me, I would have marked the night as a real success. For that reason, I shall mark it as such.

The end.

Actually, not quite. The next day I got this text.

Hey puppy eyes- thanks for the drink last night.. Can I return the gesture with a coffee in Hampstead ? Guy with nice lips lol

Must have told the-not-gay lurker he had nice lips. Winner.

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Feb 21 2013
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Creative Writing Gallery

Short Story: The Journey


The grey, empty platform looked hostile. Her eyes scanned hurryingly as though her panic would manifest into a person, there to greet her. There was no one. She needed to move, this was her stop. This was her time. “Come on!” she thought “move, you idiot.” Suddenly, in one swift breath she grabbed the bags and launched herself from the train.

Two minutes passed as her feet were rooted to the ground, her gaze intently transfixed to the back of the train. She waited for the train to disappear as though she needed to be sure; certain, that it had left. Her eyes closed as she felt a surge of triumphant relief. “Step one, complete” she thought.

The rain which had been making sporadic appearances throughout her train journey had now made itself known. Beating down on her neck she barely flinched as the cold beads ran down her back. Sweeping her dark, thin hair from her face she carried her three bags to the cash point under the small shelter of the station.

Sliding her debit card from her battered purse her hand trembled as she looked down at her card. There she read her name over and over as her eyes blurred from the rain drops trickling into her open eyes. Kate Lynne Myers it read.

As Kate stood with her back turned she was oblivious to the stranger watching on from inside the station café. Kate had always been slim but her frail figure now hunched over the cash point as she stared down. She seemed consumed with something the stranger thought. She turned but not before hiding the money in the sleeve of her coat, an old habit which she hadn’t tired of.  She looked up and caught the eye of the stranger who now sat peering curiously at the woman in the rain. Their eyes met. Kate’s eyes where a mist of blues that fought through her pale skin and dark hair which was now clinging to her face. Quickly, Kate looked down at the floor seemingly alarmed by the strangers gaze.

She hustled her bags to the side of the road and tapped on the glass window of a taxi.  “Where to love?” said the driver barely even looking up from his paper “Erm, to this address please. Do you know it?” Kate replied handing him a sodden bit of paper, now only barely legible. “Aye, I na that road. Jump in pet” he said in thick Geordie accent.

In the back of the cab Kate felt her hands warm as she listened to the driver complain politely about the sudden downfall of rain. “You brought a storm with you” he laughed. Kate smiled apologetically at him in the rear view mirror and began to feel comfortable for the first time that day. “So” he continued.” What’s your name then?” Slightly shaky but without hesitation she replied “Kaitlin”

“Sorry love?”

She cleared her throat.

“Kaitlin“ She repeated, smiling with surprise as though it were no longer her own voice she was speaking “My name is Kaitlin Pitchford”

Nearly forty minutes passed and the small talk trailed off to the mummer of the car heater. Kaitlin felt her eyes shut involuntarily as she struggled to stay awake. In her half sleep she observed the driver through her squinted eyes. She watched how his chubby hands rustled in the in the sweet packet and how he burped continuously into his fist after every gulp of coffee.

The coffee smell filled the taxi as she allowed her mind to wander momentarily. She was at home, in the kitchen. It was morning and the kettle was boiling. The noise of the bubbles put her on edge as she winced in its last few seconds, switching it off at the plug before it had chance to click. Impossible silence was now something she chased

“Hello? Hi? That’s thirty three quid pet”

The driver brought her back. She was there, finally. Slipping the money from her sleeve she didn’t notice the drivers puzzled look as she smoothly revealed the roll of money. Hovering in wait of the change she was owed Kaitlin peered through the misty glass out onto the street. She could see a red door. Number 26.

“Dodgy area here you know” said the driver flatly as he watched Kaitlin pick every last coin from his hand. “I’ve seen worse. Much worse” her reply was serious and for the first time she looked the driver in the eye.

“Well goodbye Kaitlin.” He said smiling, searching her face to see if she too was impressed that he remembered her name. Kaitlin smiled impishly at hearing her name out loud and cautiously stepped out of the taxi.

She made her way down the garden path clutching onto an envelope. She hadn’t opened the envelope yet. She knew what was inside. It didn’t have an address on the front or a letter inside, simply a key. It had been handed to her in a hurry, crumpled in the sweaty palm of the giver and delivered with a whisper.

She got to the door and placed down her bags looking behind her. She opened the envelope and took out the key. The metal felt cold and hard in her hands. She opened the door slowly.

“Hello?” she coughed.

No one was there.

“Hello?”  the no one didn’t answer.

Satisfied she exhaled as she stepped into the house closing the door behind her. She stood for a moment observing the quaint cottage hallway. The staircase curved up towards the sole bedroom of the house its handrail wooden and worn.  She turned back to lock the door and as quickly as she felt the door lock click she knew.

The hairs stood up on the back of her neck as the slow realisation brushed over her. Her eyes closed as she moved her head back in despair and acceptance of the pain that was about to follow. The crack of her skull echoed as cold metal hit the back of her head, her face slamming into the door. Her arms didn’t attempt to break her fall as she hit the ground. Drowning into darkness she looked up at the black figure standing over her. He was smiling.

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Feb 21 2013
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Feminism Gallery

One Billion Rising & Why the awkward dance is imperative…


obr_logo-web

My friend and I managed to get the afternoon of 14 February off work and we signed up to one of the many  One Billion Rising  Facebook events organised by local women.

Supporting the aim of Eve Ensler’s  V-day event – to raise awareness of the 1 in 3 women worldwide who will be victims of rape or violence – we skim read the day’s requirements of wearing red and black and joining in a protest to Dance! Strike! Rise!

Simple enough, we thought, and on the day we find ourselves in the office bathroom running late and questioning if our protest themed  outfits were “black and red enough”.

The answer is of course, no. They are not. My friend was in something maroon and I in a compilation of dark blues.

We decided the best course of action was to wear red lipstick, and off we trotted to the London Eye to meet with the other two hundred women who had signed up to the protest.

We arrive- late, approaching a crowd of about one hundred people ALL in red and black holding banners and awkwardly buzzing around as a tragic little CD player hummed in the background.

‘Oh god. AWKWARD’ I whispered to my friend as we arrive at the group.

We simultaneously whip out our phones to give our awkward hands some sort of purpose  –  we also need ‘evidence’ for work to prove we didn’t just take our free charity afternoon off and head straight to Topshop (which at this point seems a risk I’m willing to take)

A few seconds in and about fifteen women and children started doing ‘the dance’ which we clapped along to to avoid participation.

It soon fizzled out and I spotted a few friends making a beeline towards us, obviously feeling as awkward as we did.

Our small group consoled ourselves that not one of us had learned the associated dance to the protest theme tune of ‘Break the Chain’, and we followed the smaller than expected protest as we moved along the riverside towards the South Bank Centre.

“Guys we are going in and doing the dance!” shouted the leader as we milled around the entrance.

“Are you ready to break the chain?” she asked.

Silence answered.

Heads down, we walked into the centre. Visitors trying to enjoy an afternoon drink looked on apprehensively.

We found our place in the middle of the centre and suddenly camera crews and photographers appeared from nowhere as we set up the little CD player.

Guilt washed over me as I realised that by not joining the enthusiastic few, we were making their impact futile and our attendance at the whole thing pretty pointless.

“Sod it!” said my friend, clearly thinking the same thing, and we joined the group preparing to bust some moves. As the music started the cameras began rolling and the photographers moved in for a shot.

As we didn’t know the dance (guilty) at first we just did a sort of rocking dance whilst randomly holding hands and laughing like we were in a much dreaded aerobics class.

We couldn’t sing along, having not memorised the song, but we started ‘whooping’ as the noise rose, spurring on the other dancers and drawing more attention to ourselves.

We began catching on to the choreography managing to appear as though we had attempted to learn it and were just unfortunate dancers rather than slackers improved the guilt.

Three minutes in and we had a crowd, our cheeks were flushed and I couldn’t stop smiling.

Bouncing up and down I started to feel like it was all happening in slow motion.

I looked at my friends as they smiled back and I realised that although we looked like utter planks we were actually making a difference.

We looked ridiculous and I started to sweat but we were over the awkwardness and now this protest, the cause and the dance, mattered.

I started to think how relevant this small experience was.

I knew I needed to be there, I knew what is happening to women across the world isn’t right and that society for too long has allowed the atrocities that women face go on – but why?

Maybe it is because until someone actually points out that there are approximately one billion women who will indefinitely suffer at the hands of rape and violence, some of us haven’t been able to find the bravery speak out, or even listen.

This lesson was more powerful than the message itself.

That awkward dance reminded me that I needed to overcome the awkwardness and surpass my own fear of being a lone voice.

Because really, all it could take is that one voice, one dance or one protest to raise awareness and put a stop to the impending violence and rape of one of those billion women.

This realisation spurred me on and I danced harder and more ridiculously than I ever have.

Sitting in a coffee shop afterwards, I saw one of the younger protesters setting off to trudge home with a smile on her face still holding up her banner and i thought, you know what…

Here is to awkward dancing! Here is to breaking the chain.

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Jan 31 2013
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Guest blog Gallery

Guest Blog: Faiths in non-religious schools, a teacher’s story.


A secondary school teacher contacted me about her new role in a school where the majority of students are Muslim. Here, she describes her struggle to balance the schools rules with the varying cultural differences. What role does religion play in a non-religious school?

For privacy reasons she remains anonymous.

“Last summer I had an interview for a teaching job at an all girls’ school and was thrilled to be offered the place. The school is very different to other schools I have taught in with the main difference being that about 90% of the students are Muslim.

On being offered the job the thought that this might be quite challenging didn’t cross my mind. The fact I didn’t possess this religion as my own faith didn’t faze me at all. Probably, the reasons being, that I have experience teaching a multitude of students with varying faiths, I have Muslim friends and I’d therefore like to think I know quite a bit about the religion.  So off I went into the job with a very open mind.

That’s not to say I didn’t worry at all. A few days before starting my new post I started to think about how this may be a challenge after all.

What if I can’t relate to these girls? What if I offend them? Am I supposed to plan my lessons differently to ensure their culture is not ignored? Will I be able to express my own opinions and beliefs?
Within my first few weeks I spoke to many teachers who had taught there for years, all willing to tell me stories of how they have dealt with such a different group of students. Stories that all seemed to revolve around the girls falling into what I perceived as cultural and religious stereotypes.

The stories were shocking but I tried my best to keep an open mind, get to know the girls and their parents so I could form my own opinion. I did however notice changes in myself. I found that I was not expressing my opinions as much, I was careful about what I incorporated into lessons and when the students became inquisitive about me personally I was much more reluctant to reveal details  about myself that I may have shared with students in the past.

It began to play on my mind so much I became frustrated. All of this because of a fear of offending? I was not just cautious of offending the students but terrified of offending their parents. I am even writing this post anonymously for fear of offending people.

At school, I am still very cautious about giving out detentions as I worry the parents will get angry as maybe I should know that the students should be at the mosque or have family responsibilities. The same goes for asking students to stay after school or come in on Saturdays for catch up sessions.

I am pleased to say that for the majority of the time this is a rarity for me the parents are generally very supportive but yet, due to some of my more challenging experiences and the experiences of other teachers in the school, I am still cautious.

Analysing my own worries, that are sometimes unfounded it seems, I am worried about my own lack of knowledge of their culture and rather than teaching in a way I believe best I am altering my own behaviour because I don’t want to upset anyone.

If I am honest it is the cultural differences that I see, which I believe, are I forced on the girls that upset me. The school doesn’t allow religious attire and is not a religious school yet day after day more pupils show up in religious garments which they know they shouldn’t be wearing. Here, what am I supposed to do?

Ignore it? Accept it? Or teach them that rules are rules?

In my short time here I have not come up against some of the challenges that other teachers have. When it comes down to it I would like to think I would stand up for what I believe in and support the rules set out by the school because at the end of the day I care about the students and if I believe that something is wrong and a student is being treat unfairly because of religious, cultural or even family reasons I’m not sure I could hold back.”

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Jan 17 2013
3 Comments
News, Views on News Gallery

Why women are #Shoutingback…


There’s a huge lack of awareness about just how serious street harassment is.

The Everyday Sexism Project, set up by English writer and activist Laura Bates, exists to ‘catalogue instances of sexism experienced by women on a day to day basis’.

The hope is that soon everyone using Twitter in the UK will have at least heard of@Everydaysexism.

Via twitter and their blog the project aims to document stories of sexism from the normalised, through the minor, to the dangerously offensive.

One stand out topic relating to street harassment has now taken on its own twitter hashtag: #Shoutingback.

Within 24 hours of its creation thousands of female tweeters were contributing to the host of stories revealing incidents of street harassment.

Interestingly, many of these tweets made reference to the recent gang rape and murder of a 23 year-old student in the Indian city of Delhi. Tweeting that rape and harassment is not confined to India.

“There is nothing ‘Indian’ about street harassment”. Tweeted feminist writer, Soraya Chemaly.

There is a misconception that regular harassment and rape is a foreign problem, but endeavours like The Everyday Sexism project are bringing to light the fact that we need to wake up to the harassment  and fear women experience every day all across the globe.

If you’re still not convinced then take a look at the stream of stories and support from both men and women generated by the hashtag.

Speaking to Stylist Magazine Bates said of the #Shoutingback movement: “One of the big problems with street harassment is that if you don’t experience it, you rarely see it, so there’s a huge lack of awareness about just how serious the issue still is.

“Many people have no idea how extreme women’s daily experiences are – how they are made afraid simply for leaving the house or having the audacity to walk unaccompanied down the street.”

Originally published by http://www.womensviewsonnews.org/2013/01/why-we-need-to-start-shoutingback/

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Nov 29 2012
1 Comment
Views on News Gallery

Women Worldwide, ready to launch.


New forum-based organisation hopes to raise awareness and find effective solutions.

Women Worldwide is a new up-and-coming organisation created to host experiential conferences to empower and inspire women.

Founder Susan Ma left her full-time job as a Specialist Investigator to work as a freelancer and set up the organisation which she hopes will “join people together to create solutions for global gender issues”.

Like many similar organisations, Women Worldwide aims to raise awareness of 21st century gender-related issues such as sex slavery, maternal mortality, domestic violence, honour killings, pornography and reproductive health.

However, Women Worldwide hopes to provide an additional layer for the women attending these conferences by tailoring the focus towards a more forum-based format.

The conferences will create an experiential experience so that women at all levels can collaborate by creating solutions together where everyone can contribute from the key inspirational speakers and organisations to those simply wishing to donate their spare time.

The type of solutions supporting individuals and organisations may create can be as basic as “volunteering their time and donating” to looking at how their own particular specialism could be transferred to supporting these causes.

The conferences will be focusing on combining their audiences with brilliant thought leaders to create an environment where solutions can take a real effect by directly helping women at home and abroad.

The first of Women Worldwide’s conferences will be a full one-day conference launching, appropriately, on International Women’s Day next year – 8 March 2013.

Speaking to Women’s Views on News Susan Ma said: “Our first conference will map the key issues, identify and highlight good current initiatives with a view to actively promoting projects that are actually effective in the field (the amazing grassroots charities).

“The conference will also provide a format which every person attending may say how they might become actively involved.

“In short, it will be an inspirational event that calls for action.”

Women Worldwide is currently recruiting speakers and sponsors for the event.

If you want to get involved, or would like more information, you can email them directly and sign up for the Women Worldwide newsletter.

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