Saturday 28 October 2017

Trains, planes and automobiles

So, I am writing another blog post. Because probably about three weeks ago now, I told myself I would write about these things. Maybe two weeks – I’m not sure. I've lost track of the days and the weeks. I wanted to write about trains, planes and automobiles. Specifically my experiences on trains, planes and automobiles and my encounters with men on, in, and through these spaces. 

The stories

       Man on train:
I'm on the train to London with a good friend. It's the end of the day on Friday, we're pretty excited to go to a feminist talk and spend time catching up and processing all of the things. We've been at work all day - we arrive at the train station, head to the platform and the train is packed. Of course - Friday rush hour. We just about manage to navigate the carriage to find two seats semi-close to each other. Charlie sits down on one of the seats, but I notice that there is a thing in the way of the seat I had my eye on. A suitcase. Next to a man. Said man was sat in his seat (the one he presumably paid for) and his suitcase was occupying the space on the seat next to him. In my mind, I'm thinking 'oh god, here goes... do not apologise for asking to sit down, Tanya. Do not be sorry for your right to occupy the space that he thinks belongs to him'. OK, so I clear my throat, prepare myself mentally for the upcoming conversation, ready in my intentionally non-apologetic tone, and say 'is this seat taken?' (I know it's clearly not taken - it's taken by said man's suitcase, not a person who paid for the seat). He says 'no.' I say 'please can you move your suitcase then?' He says 'no'. I say 'I'd like to sit down. Could you please move your suitcase?' He says 'ermmm where to?' I indicate the above luggage rack looks pretty free to me. To which he kindly suggested that I should in fact, move it myself. At this point, all nearby women's eyes are on him, and eventually he sheepishly stood up, lifted his case, and awkwardly placed it on the luggage rack above. Of course the suitcase fits and it didn't seem heavy or a struggle. I take my seat, spread my stuff out, carry on with the journey.

       Man on plane:
I'm on the plane from Edinburgh back to Luton, to meet good friend (Charlie again!) – we had arranged to meet at the airport when I arrived because we had tickets to a Margaret Atwood talk. Everything from my whole trip in Edinburgh ran smoothly and on time, nothing went wrong (apart from one major thing but that's for another time). So I'm at the airport (in Edinburgh, about to come back) with enough time to buy a coffee and get myself through security. I head to the gate, get on the plane, take my seat (fortunately no suitcase blocks my seat this time!) but I quickly realise we're not setting off and time is passing and I am going to be late back. I texted Charlie something along the lines of 'I think I will be late, so sorry. Argh'. 20 minutes later, we get an announcement – it appears we're delayed because we're waiting for a man, who is running late. OK. So entire plane held up by a man. An hour later, man still hasn’t arrived on the plane, we’re still on the ground in Scotland and it’s looking very unlikely that we will make it to Margaret Atwood. Thanks, man (literally). You held an entire plane up. We missed the talk. I mean we did have falafel and gin and a good evening anyway, but that isn’t really the point…

      (Multiple) Men and automobiles:
OK, I got a new car and I can't even write properly about this just yet, because just no... I’m *still* waiting for things to be finalised. Because it seems like if you’re not a particular type of person, you don’t really get taken seriously when you’re buying a car. I know I am young and I know I am a woman and I know I come on my own, but none of those things mean that I’m not going to follow up with phone calls when you fail to do your job… That gets quite frustrating when it’s a common theme in your life. But also, when you book a meeting, to collect the car, you’d really hope that the salesmen (because I dealt with ALL men) stick with the time and that the car is actually there (they didn't - and it wasn't). I think I did that thing where I complained and highlighted a problem, but I then became a problem that they didn't want to deal with, so they passed me from man to man (all of them not helpful) and my car is great but just why does the whole process have to be a fight from beginning to end? I walked into the car dealership last week to follow up, and literally made the original salesman jump out of his skin. I didn't do that on purpose. But at the same time, I did find that quite entertaining. Especially after the text he accidentally sent to my phone saying ‘hey baby’, closely followed by ‘oh sorry. Sorry’ (and yes I intend to complain again).

This kind of thing is everywhere, but it's so subtle that we might not really notice. The problem when you notice is that it is literally everywhere. Kind of woven into the language we use, the structures we live in and the physical, relational and emotional spaces we work in. It gets to the point where I feel it when you call me 'love' or ask if it's 'miss or mrs' or assume that when I get my coffee I will have a student ID card. Then you feel awkward when I pull out my staff card instead (yup I’ve got my PhD student ID card, but that’s not really the point). I sometimes purposefully say ‘no’ when you ask to see my student ID card because just because I *look* young doesn’t mean you get to fill in the blanks for yourself.

This isn't intended to be a rant, it's kind of an accumulation of instances and moments that tend to build up and then spill out. Now they're spilling out in this blog and I'm trying to find a way to conclude or end but there doesn't seem to be a conclusion that fits. Perhaps that's because this sort of thing functions to create spaces in which some people fit, and others do not (the taking up space that isn't yours, spreading out, assuming the time and energy of others can be used and spent in a way that costs them, but you gain from it). There isn’t really a place to end, and I don’t really think there is an end.


I need coffee. Or gin. Maybe both. I’m writing as I’m in my flat on a Saturday night after another wonderful (4+ hour) coffee chat this afternoon with Charlie (again!)  - we drink these coffees and process some of this. I’m attempting to write more as a method of self-care, but also as a method of documenting the stuff. Otherwise it might just disappear in time, or stay in the spaces that we meet, inbetween the coffees and the office corridors and sometimes in car journeys. It is good (I think) to put words down and document the times of having to ask, by not asking, for something that is rightfully yours (a space, a seat, a meeting, etc…) in a time and space which may or may not be functioning to accommodate and/or hear you.

Right. No good at endings, and this doesn’t have an end anyway. That’s kind of the point… 

Sunday 1 October 2017

Anger is a thing

This post should probably start with a disclaimer. 'The Anger' is not directed to a person in particular, but it's something I wanted to start writing about. It's something important and it's something we don't talk about enough (also, maybe there are a couple of things on my mind).

I have been thinking about writing for a while (I should stop starting my blog posts with that phrase – but in my defence, it’s always true). I know this blog is shifting. In fact, I’ve gone from writing about day to day life and travels (when I started my undergrad and was modelling and travelling a lot - literally, sometimes I would write on a plane or train or at a casting or whilst I was having makeup done). It then became a little more reflective and then I carried on writing through my counselling training and during my MRes – though not so much through the last year of my counselling training and my MRes because my thoughts were more centred around particular issues I was noticing more and more. Perhaps I didn't really know how to write about them. I still don't really know how to write about them, but I also know enough to know that silence never helps. By 'issues', I mean inequities, inequalities, discrimination, casual sexism, racism, ableism, the use and misuse of power within relationships, workplaces, and social structures and spaces. I mean the way in which some are automatically more privileged than others based on nothing more than race, gender and the circumstances they were born into. The way in which these intersections work with and through each other within societies to enable some privileges which others don't have access to. The list goes on. The list is one hell of an exhaustive (and exhausting) list of broad and specific (and very real) issues. The more I’ve understood my experiences and moved away from efforts to disconnect from life, these issues have become harder to write about in a way that means something. This has meant that I’ve simply written less and less (well, I wrote my MRes thesis and now I’m doing a PhD… I just mean that I’ve written about *these* issues in this blog much less than I’d like to, but I'm going to start writing about the things that matter, and not contribute to the silencing of them even more).

I recently read Sara Ahmed’s Living a Feminist Life, which helped me to make sense of what’s happened here. Sara Ahmed wrote quite a lot about her experiences as a diversity worker, explaining that the more you raise a problem and bring it into awareness, the more *you* are positioned as the problem – as disrupting the calm - as an inconvenience. Literally, as the problem. I think this isn’t too dissimilar to what’s happened here. I haven’t wanted to *be* the problem, even though I know I am not. I am even aware that now I am justifying why I have chosen to write about anger, instead of just writing. I’ve surprised myself with how quickly that feeling and expectation is internalised, but then reminded myself that it hasn’t happened quickly at all. It’s a product of 28 years existing as a female. Even though I understand that, it doesn’t reduce (even in the slightest) that small thing of what I think is feminist anger.  

There are some blog posts that I read and re-read (OK that sounds weird – it’s only when they come up on my Facebook memories). When I re-read them, I can track where I was, how my thinking was changing and the sorts of things that I cared about (note: the things I cared about in the past are mostly still things I care about now!). Though I can usually tell if I care about something by checking how angry it makes me when said thing/issue is compromised or restricted in some way. Actually, I'm talking about people and not things. And because people are important, I decided I should write about being angry. I decided I should write about realising that hiding the anger, ignoring its existence, even masking it as ‘nice and polite concern’, is part of the problem. As women, who exist in mostly male dominated spaces, we are socialised to swallow our anger. To take it to the toilets at work if you need to let it out and cry. To grin and bear it, or to politely address what bothers you, but don’t be TOO aggressive or TOO assertive. Because then you will disrupt the calm – and we’d best not disrupt that calm. Like it is somehow *our* responsibility to maintain that calm. To soothe it. To nourish it.


I’m OK with anger, at least in some contexts I am. But I know anger is something that isn’t just about emotions and isn’t something that exists in isolation. Disrupting the calm can be good. Anger is relational (nope - we don’t exist in a vacuum), it is political (yes – unfortunately we do exist in a world very much dominated by Trump. Please - no more. I can't.) and therefore anger is a feminist issue. I think it’s time to open my blog up to this and start writing more again. Sorry, PhD - I'll be writing in here a little more I hope.

Note: I write this with Orange is the New Black on next to me, glass of wine comfortably in hand, and a copy of my half-read Feminist Fight Club (I’ve just realised my Pretzel Legs are even a thing. Even my clients know it's a thing and point it out to me!)