On Catching My Breath

Well. What a summer that was! So much stuff to tell you. Good, bad, indifferent. Been a while since I blogged so gonna treat this like a bit of a catch up. Which to be honest it is for me too. Sometimes I need to catch my breath and reflect or I become overwhelmed with it all. This is me just trying to be whelmed.

So, where to start?

I got a new job. My dream job and I love it. I love not being micro managed. I love not having to split my time between Union Organising and a day job. Organising is my day job and I am being treated like a grown up by my colleagues and my manager. Things at home are even better as I am fulfilled at work and feel like I actually have something to say in the evenings rather than "well, I managed to put some washing on."

Been a bit of a trip getting here to be honest. After a job where the bullying was so rife that one of the managers is under investigation for falsifying documents about me in an attempt to strip me of my redundancy payment by sacking me, this feels good. Bit of a culture shock that I will have to get used to , but good.

Was weird when I left the old job. I was so mentally poorly and I had built up my LAST DAY as a thing that would fix all ills. I thought that once I was free that it would all be magically better. It still
took a good couple of months of wobbles and a couple of times not being able to physically move before I started to get back to me. One of those wobbles was at Glastonbury and I missed seeing Metallica because of it. Fuck you brain. That was mean.

Things have got better though. Just took time. I got a couple of tattoos and met The lovely's parents. I took my bestie away to York for the night and went on a ghost walk where I played the part of a menacingly shimmying nun. Was supposed to be shimmering, but the shimmying got more laughs. I do a great shimmy.

Not so great stuff was Reeva's killer being found not guilty of murder. Yes, I know all about the law and stuff but it just doesn't feel like justice you know?

Being at a point where I am not out at work again. I really hadn't realised how important this was to me till I changed jobs. So, new colleagues reading this, I am bisexual. If you want to know more then find my post on Three Little Words.

Other not so great stuff was my stupid brain trying to sabotage me now that I am really really happy. Had a dream that I had dreamed the past three years of my life and was still with the abusive ex. Even having a poo didn't help. My brain was like 'of course you would dream you poo. How else would we convince you it was real.'. Well fuck you brain, my life is real, it is wonderful and I do deserve it.

Other good stuff, learning to crochet. It is messy and difficult and the cushion cover I am currently working on is going to look JUST AWFUL but it is mine. And I am sure I will get better with practice.

Other good stuff. Learning to be more honest with my friends. Actually going out and doing stuff. Laughing. Crying. Cuddling. Turkish and Bricktop.

I'm still the angry feminist you all know, I even have "this is what a feminist looks like" tattooed on my foot (so it is the last thing misogynists see before I kick them in the face) and I am going to be ranting angry on here much more I expect, but you know what? I am more at peace with myself than I have been for a while.

If this doesn't scare you, you haven't been paying attention.

'Real' Women Quite Like Quiche

Just got back from Tolpuddle Martyrs Festival.

I am broken, recharged and excited about the future of trade unionism all in one go.

If you haven't been, you really should.  I had a great time. I saw bands I had never heard of, went to a great presentation on social media at the O Zone and survived The Great Thunderstorms. I met up with comrades I hadn't seen for a year, met new ones that I had only ever talked to on Twitter and got the coaches loaded and unloaded smoothly and with dancing and singing with the marchers.

And the Young Feminist session entered it's second year. So proud of the women who are working hard to bring the concept to the heart of Trade Unionism. SO PROUD.

But this is only peripherally a post on Tolpuddle. What I really wanted to talk about was the concept of 'Real Women' and who perpetuates the myth that they actually exist.

Real Women have thigh gaps is the latest thing I have heard. I have also read that Real Women have curves. Oh, Real Women are skinny too. Real Women don't diet and Real Women look after their men. Shit, Real Women do/don't do ironing. Real Women do/don't act like one of the boys. Real Women have it all! Real Women don't sleep around. Real Women have active sex lives. Real Women cook. Real Women....

FOR FUCK'S SAKE CAN WE JUST STOP WITH THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW!

There is no such thing as a Real Woman. There are just women. We are wonderful and flawed and come in all shapes and sizes. We have different views and different dreams.

And saying 'Real Women do X Y and Z' while holding that up as an example of solidarity is not only misleading, but sisters, it plays right into the hands of the patriarchal system of our oppression that LIKES to see us divided and playing women off against each other.

While we are fighting amongst ourselves we are not fighting oppression. We are calling each other sluts and judging each other on our choices, our body shapes and our clothing. We are buying into the idea that if we didn't wear heels/short skirts/get drunk/go out of the house/be so sexy all the damn time that we wouldn't get raped. We are using language that vilifies our sisters while patriarchy laughs at us and carries on as normal.

We do ourselves harm when we talk about Real Women.

So how about we change the conversation. How about this as a starting point.

Women are individual autonomous beings with their own hopes and dreams.

There. That wasn't so difficult was it?

Let's expand on this. Women are individual autonomous beings with their own hopes and dreams. We come in all shapes and sizes. Some of us were assigned the wrong gender at birth. Some of us have active sex lives. Some of us aren't bothered. Some of us go to work. Some of us don't. Some of us have children. Some of us don't want them. Some of us wear make up, some of us don't. Some of us are happy or sad, gay or straight or bi, fat, skinny, smooth, hairy, shallow, deep, kind, mean, money driven, poor.

There are no Real Women, just Women.

So when I am told I am ugly inside and out with a stupid hair cut because I expressed an opinion that Israel should stop killing children it doesn't bother me because a) I really don't give a fuck what you think of me as I do my hair for me, not you and b) bless you for thinking that that will stop me expressing my opinion.

And when a certain photograph of me with a bear goes viral and someone remarks sarcastically that I am a looker then fuck you too. I am not bothered.

You see I am a woman who denies the concept of Real Women and I don't need you to validate me thank you very much.

I am a woman. All of us who identify as women are women. And we don't need to be Real. We just need to stand together and be us.

Solidarity sisters!

Deeva xxx

On Choosing Trans* Inclusivity

Been thinking a lot about Trans* issues today.

First there was my post earlier on Leaving The House.

Then I read a blog which equated trans* women to middle class white boys with long hair.

Then I came across the #howtospotaCISperson hashtag.

I went through this thought process.

1. But I don't do that!
2. I'm a CIS person and would never dream of doing that.
3. NOT ALL CIS PEOPLE!!! 

Then I thought about it some more. I got over myself. And I thought that not all cis people sounded an AWFUL lot like Not All Men. And about how my stock answers to that are as follows.

1. If you are too busy being defensive rather than looking at what the problems are, you are probably part of the problem.
2. If you don't recognise yourself in what we are saying then we are not talking about you specifically.
3. Yes, I know not all men. But literally yes all women.

So this got me thinking that a reply to Not All Cis People should be literally all trans* people.

I like to think I am a good trans* ally and that I try and educate those who want to have a proper debate about what it means to be trans*.

I chose the side of trans* inclusivity long ago. I have never been shy of saying all women, regardless of gender assignment at birth are my sisters.

But I have decided that in every family there are members you just cannot talk to, just cannot educate and just cannot change.

So please do me a favour, if you are Trans* Exclusionary then please block me on Twitter, defreind me on Facebook and don't bother commenting on this post.

You hurt me when you treat trans women as chicks with dicks and I can no longer put up with it. I owe myself, my conscience and my trans* brothers and sisters (and daughter person) more than that.

And if you find yourself unable to assess someone's gender when you are out on the street and it confuses you then follow these three easy steps.

1. Get over yourself.
2. Don't worry about it.
3. Go about your day.

On What Happens When You Leave The House

Was scrolling through my facebook the other day and came across this from the awesome @BethanyBlack and it got me thinking.

"I write crappy joke, some arse hole goes "Oh no she/he didn't!" I explain why that's really not appropriate, he goes "I thought you could take a joke!" I explain that's not a joke, just bigoted abuse. He apologises, but adds a caveat blaming me for talking about the abuse I receive for being trans in my stand-up. I explain I'm highlighting the abuse I get and that doesn't give him the right to abuse me. He goes "Jeez, Touchy subject!"

I block him. I tell the rest of twitter about this. They react like this must be the only time I get stuff like this happening. I realise I've dealt with it every day for the last 14 years.

Sometimes it's such a daily part of your life you let the small stuff go and it's only when the big stuff happens, the violence, the assault both physical and sexual, the times when there's groups of people shouting stuff. You become so inured to it that it's "just part of what happens when you leave the house."

It made me sad, but like I say, it got me thinking. I have a very close family member who comes under the trans* umbrella but they don't get any grief for it in public as no one who doesn't know them doesn't know they identify as non binary.

But this is not a post about 'passing' or not (makes me feel sick even to type that if I'm honest) it is a post about what happens when you leave the house.

I have been suffering lately, not so much with feminist burnout, but with feminist overwhelming. There is so much to do, and it seems that every time we are finally getting somewhere that another atrocity happens. Two girls in India get raped and hung. A so called 'nice guy' shoots up some people because he didn't get his dick wet. Rape as a war crime is presented as not paying attention to the important stuff.

Worldwide my sisters are being assaulted, raped, murdered just for being who they are. I will continue to fight to make things better for them, but one thing we shouldn't forget is that it isn't just the incidents that make the news we need to care about, it is what happens to every woman, every time she leaves the house.

She get harassed in the street.

This weekend it was by a god botherer who got a look at my pentagram tattoo and decided I was worth extra allelujah points or something. I was wearing headphones and carrying shopping in both hands and STILL this wasn't a fuck off enough vibe for him. I tried to be polite and just say no thank you but the shit followed me down the road shouting about how he had to save me for Jesus. He even tried to 'lay hands' on me and had I not done a full on Matrix style swerve he would have touched me without my consent and would have been meeting Jesus a lot earlier than he planned.

But the bit that really got me is that this incident was at a busy shopping centre on a saturday afternoon and people just laughed and walked past me though I was obviously upset enough to use a gendered insult. It was just expected that this street harassment (loosely disguised as religion) is what we should expect when a woman leaves the house.

(as an aside, how fucked up is it that I feel bad because when he said 'Jesus loves you!' I replied with 'yeah but he thinks you're a cunt'. Seriously. I feel bad for using a gendered insult whereas I would bet my last pound that he gives not a flying fuck about harassing me.)

And now.

The World Cup is on and there are England flags EVERYWHERE. It's pissing me off to be honest as I no longer know which pubs are safe for me to go in as a Woman of Colour (WoC).

Usually flags flying out of pub windows is a way for me to know which pubs might just be EDL friendly and I can avoid them. Yes, every time I leave the house I risk assess which pubs might be safe by using flags. And I shouldn't have to do that. So, watching the match in the pub becomes impossible to me as I can never truly be comfortable.

I'll be glad when the whole thing is over.

Other things that happen when I leave the house:

I get men shouting 'BIG TITS' as if I have neither mirrors nor self awareness.

I go into hyper vigilant mode and cannot relax just walking down the street.

I end up calling someone out for being sexist/homophobic/racist/transphobic.

I wonder if this is the day I won't make it home coz some asshole who is made of entitlement thinks that today will be a good day to kill some bitches coz he didn't get laid. Or if I will be beaten because I am a WoC. Or if someone I call out will slap me down for being an uppity woman. Or if I will be raped and hung, because it is coming. In a country where we have laws against forced marriage and 'honour' killings but no one seems to be prosecuted, it is coming.

I am exhausted by it. It wears you down, but you can't let it win. I will continue to fight for myself and my sisters, and for the avoidance of doubt I mean EVERY woman, regardless of gender assignment at birth. I can't not fight because then I become scared.

Become beaten.

Become afraid to leave the house.

Fuck Off With Your Friendzone

Dear men* who would like to fuck me,

I know I am beautiful and strong and funny and intelligent and political and a dork and all of that stuff that makes me attractive.

And I know that not being a prick about all of those things make you want me more.

I know that you want to get in my pants. 

I know all of the above because you tell me. I have been hearing it since I was 14 years old. There is nothing new you can add.

However, I don't want to fuck you. I want friends of all genders and I want them to see me as a person first and a vagina and a pair of tits second.

I don't want someone who will pretend to be my friend to get into my knickers.

So, I'll break it to you like this.

It isn't me, it's you. 

It isn't that I have a boyfriend, though this is true.

It isn't that I am in a committed relationship though this is true also.

It isn't that if you were taller/shorter/more buff/had better hair that I would change my mind.

It isn't that I am a stuck up cunt.

It isn't that I am frigid.

It isn't that I am a lesbian.

It isn't that I don't appreciate nice guys.

You know what? You are not a nice guy.

You think that I owe you. 

You think I owe you sex because you have invested the time in getting to know me. 

You think that I owe you my time and my vagina because you have taken the time to get to know me and make me trust you.

And when I don't want to have sex with you, you say I have put you in the friendzone.

The friendzone, where all the nice guys languish because women just don't appreciate them. The friendzone where you have to watch us with other, brutish men and you just don't get it. The friendzone which is your booby prize, second place.

Well, it isn't me, it's you.

It's you with your outdated idea that you should have access to a woman's body just because you have been nice to her.

It's you with your sense of entitlement.

It's you with your nice guys finish last mantra and your sulks that friendship is all you are getting out of me.

It isn't me, it's you.

If you think that my friendship is the second prize you get coz I don't want to jump on your dick, then you will find yourself in the fuck off zone.

*women chat me up too but not one of them have ever sulked because I said no.

On Being Put Back In Our Place #YesAllWomen

I have just heard about the shooting in Santa Barbara and am writing this while dreadfully upset so apologies if it comes out a bit disjointed.

A man has killed seven women and injured seven more in 'retribution' for women not sleeping with him. He said he would 'slaughter' them and he did.

UPDATE: IT NOW EMERGES THAT HE HAS KILLED SIX. THREE MEN AND THREE WOMEN. THIS IS STILL MALE VIOLENCE PERPETRATED BECAUSE OF MISOGYNY AND HATRED FOR WOMEN.

Slaughter them. Like women are animals.

Nice guy.

Now, I know I should have a bit of perspective on this because this is at the end of the scale of male violence but fuck it, I feel unsafe again.

See, what happens is that we get into the habit of shouting back at street harassers. We shout back and we feel good. We feel empowered and we feel a bit safer.

We have a zero tolerance policy on sexism and harassment in our workplaces and we start to feel like we are making a difference. And it feels good.

We feel the strength of our sisters with us as we join arms and SHOUT THE FUCK BACK!!!

For a short time it feels like we are winning.

We get lulled into a false sense of security.

We forget that we have to fucking well risk assess going to the shop for milk.

We forget that at any time one of the men we shout back at could well turn nasty.

We forget our place.

And now we have been reminded. This 'nice guy' has reminded us that if we put them in the 'friend zone' we do so at our own risk.

We lose that sense of security. We will be extra vigilant. We will check what our nice guy friends are saying as we lose trust. Shroedingers rapist will become a thing again as we wonder if we will ever be safe.

And that is what they want sisters. They want us to know our place, to kowtow to them and allow ourselves to be owned by them, ruled by them, treated as if we are animals by them.

It'll be ok if we just fuck them when they want to be fucked.

NOT ON MY WATCH!

This has to remind us that we have to keep fighting. When our sisters get gunned down because a man didn't get his dick wet we owe it to them and to ourselves to keep shouting back. To keep asserting our autonomy, to keep wanting to be safe.

It may well be not all men who commit violence against women but it is all women who fear violence from men.

And it has to stop now. So I won't stop shouting back.

RIP sisters. I'm sorry this happened to you.

On Climbing Out Of The Conference Bubble For Good

Was my last time being a delegate to National PCS conference this week. I'm taking a voluntary exit and will no longer be eligible to be a member.

Been going to conference every year since 2006 and I have always loved it.

I started as an observer then went back as a trainee delegate. I went every year after that as a full delegate and always got up to speak. I was at home there. It was where I got shit done.

My twitter bio says conference geek for a very good reason.

The debate was balanced and fascinating. The President always let all the points get heard and she still does. Janice tolerates no shit and even if the speaker is talking absolute bollocks she will make sure they get to finish.

She may roll her eyes and pull a face but everyone gets their say.

We've debated some great stuff over the years and we have done so democratically.

I am proud of that. Very proud to be a member of a union that has annual elections, annual conferences and where everyone gets a say.

It isn't perfect I know. Fuck do I know. I haven't drunk the PCS Kool-Aid. I know there are things that could be better and I have tried my hardest to make them so.

Yesterday I spoke on the Scottish Branches' decision to have a 'PCS informs, you decide' neutral stance on the Scottish referendum.

I nearly slipped on the way to the podium on all the red herrings being thrown about.

HINT: wearing a t-shirt with ENGLAND across the front and spouting rhetoric that wouldn't be out of place at an EDL meeting is not the best way to make your point about rabid nationalism.

My contribution seems to have gone down well with the Scottish delegations and I have been offered a visa if they go independent. Free education, free prescriptions and no UKIP? You bet I'm on the way!

Today I seconded a motion in the affiliations section. I am eternally grateful to the SOC for moving this up the agenda so I could finally, after six years of trying, get PCS policy on extending the right to abortion to women in Northern Ireland.

There was a counter motion asking us to disaffiliate from Abortion Rights and predictably 3 men got up to speak to that.

Conference was not having it and we now have policy. I went outside and had a little weep while having my post speech ciggy. It had been a long old haul but finally we had done it.

It is one of my proudest moments.

I'll be greetin' agin in a mo. (if I'm going to go to Scotland I'd best learn the language)

So what were my other highlights and lowlights of National PCS Conference?

(will be dealing with Group separately and all the shit that went on there)

Definite highlight was the Unite debate.

There were three motions.

One was to go into talks without conditions, let the NEC bring an offer back to a special conference to see if we thought it could be put to the membership in a ballot.

The second one was pretty much the same only with a fuck ton of conditions that would have to be agreed before the NEC could even think of bringing it to us.

Third one basically said 'fuck it, walk away'.

Just about every argument and counter argument was had and I am STILL none the wiser as to why we should merge.

Is it because we're skint? Apparently not. We've pulled ourselves out of our black hole. Ok then.

Its because it would make us a great union who would be able to take strike action together!!!

But, said the opposition, we can do that at any time. We don't have to merge to do that. If we merged with everyone we ever took action with we would be a SUPER UNION WITH WINGS OF STEEL AND ELEVENTY BILLION MILLION GAZILLION MEMBERS!!

Give me a break.

DON'T YOU TRUST US???? the NEC wailed, and this seemed to be the entirety of their argument.

Seems that no, actually, conference didn't and their motion fell (after clearly being defeated in a show of hands and the chair calling a card vote which confirmed that) while the middle motion was carried.

Carry on talking with a fuck tonne of conditions it is then.

Other highlights include Francesca Martinez making me laugh so hard at killing babies with a fork (you had to be there) I spat vodka over me dad's back and Jeremy Hardy making a joke about how we should go to bed as we had to debate about gassing badgers in the morning and all of us pointing out that we had already debated that and him cracking up with loud, genuine laughter.

Getting to know some people better was also fabulously cool as was being able to catch up with my family for dinner (though I'm not sure Jake Wilde will ever recover from my mum chatting him up) seeing people I hadn't seen for a year and getting to spend time with my Mahanga.

Lowlights were the above mentioned speech by the wanker in the England shirt and running out of time so my motions on Nigerian schoolgirls and sex workers weren't heard.

I might put those speeches up on here at some point. The one on Nigeria was a doozy!

So how do I feel now, sitting on my train home knackered and wanting The Lovely, Doodlebug, Turkish, Bricktop and my own bed?

I feel good.

Better than that I feel complete.

I looked round the hall and saw the trainees I had taught over the years all go up to the podium to debate and speak with an eloquence that made me cry with pride.

I listened to people talk and swap ideas and talk about organising and class and intersectionality and campaigning and was proud of my input in that.

I saw faces determined not to let my going stop them taking these ideas forward.

How do I feel?

Like I have left a legacy to be proud of and that is all any of us can ask. Well, that and that you put my motions back in for debate next year.

Ta ra PCS.

Its been emotional.