this is me begging.

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this blog comes with a trigger warning. 

this is me begging. for what it’s worth.

Eurydice Dixon is a person. And at the same time, she is not. She is more than a person. She is now a meaning. She is an impact.

I work not ten minutes’ walk for where this woman was found. And as people came in that day she was the unnamed name on everyone’s lips. The found woman. The dead woman. And she was  a whisper around my office that I could not give my full attention to. Because so long as she was a whisper? So long as she was a rumour? Then she was not real, then she was a story. Then she was a cautionary tale. She represented a horror I could hide from, ashamed and ignorant.

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Now she has a name. Eurydice Dixon. Now she has a face. And the minute I saw it, and heard it, my heart broke. Because she’s one of us. One of us weirdos. One of us artistic humans trying to change the world with laughter and enterprise. One of us promising, potential, pure people who could have been more someone than the someone they were. As a friend of hers cripplingly said “she had time on her side”. Another has confirmed her last text before enduring the unimaginable was to report she was almost home. She might’ve been a lot of things, but the thing she was that really mattered was that she was alive. She was one of our team. She remains one of our team. And in that pain I discovered how I had become desensitized, because no woman is just any woman; every woman who we lose in endemic proportions matters equally when their lives are lost at men’s violent hands.

I did what I think any reasonable person would do after they hear about someone they might have met, might have had the joy of seeing really change the world for the better be struck down by rape and murder.

I got roaring drunk.

I’m a man. I’m a man who doesn’t understand men. I’m a man who cannot comprehend why men would force their penis inside another human being and then kill them. Earlier tonight I sat in a bathtub moaning in pain, confused and spitting out bile onto my own penis because I cannot bear the truth. I seek no pity. I’m just making clear where I’m at because I’m hoping men might read this and feel sick. I’m placing all my bets right now on men one by one realising that you cannot blame autism or mental illness for the way we’re manipulated to perceive women’s worth. I’m telling all men that this is on you, because I’m a man and it’s on me.  I’m desperate to say the thing that will stop men in their tracks. I’ll say whatever it takes.

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My fellow men. This is me begging. Begging you to imagine how it would feel if it were done to you, and then – knowing how horrific it would be to feel and remember for the rest of your life – don’t joke about it, don’t consider it, don’t fantasize about it, and DON’T DO IT to someone else. If it’s about needing to be sexually gratified then there are other ways to access that than hurting and forcing someone. If it’s about the perverse excitement of forcing someone then please don’t take that pornography seriously because it’s not real. If it’s about hurting someone on purpose then you need to seek help and insight from a medical professional and there’s no shame in doing that, seek counsel. If it’s about being an incel then I don’t know what to tell you except if you refuse to see woman and non-heterosexual human beings as human then I challenge you to remove all bitterness and shame from your thoughts and actions before you think or act. If it’s about power, then I assure you there is no crime considered more cowardly than that which you are considering committing.

And if you’re sitting there reading this thinking “I’m a man too and I would never do that to someone”, that’s not the end of it. Tell your friends off, call strangers out, report the content, unsubscribe from the channel, call the watchdog, attend the vigil, listen to the experience, acknowledge that there are things you don’t know and seek educating. There is never nothing you can do.

gofundme
https://au.gofundme.com/princes-park-victim-fund

Women shouldn’t have to live a life where their whereabouts are policed by needing to check in with friends. Women shouldn’t live in fear. Men shouldn’t live in privilege.

There’s that part of the comic book, where Batman or Wonder Woman or Black Panther or Chalice goes home and think about those who did not survive. Those they could not save. That’s how I know I’m feeling right now. Like we weren’t fast enough, or strong enough, or loud enough. Like there was something we missed, and now we’ve lost an innocent human being who was just walking home from work. We failed. Eurydice was and remains part of that battle to make this world safe. And that moment Batman or Wonder Woman or Black Panther or Chalice go home and realise they’re not a superhero at all? That’s how it feels. That’s what it feels like to cry in your bathtub with the shower running, making inhumane drunken sounds from the depths of your soul in agony. That’s what it feels like to cancel your comedy show in honour. That’s what it feels like to fight the urge to call every woman you know to make sure she’s safe right now.

But at some point we will get up. And we will dry off. And we will put the suit back on in the morning. And be Batman, or Wonder Woman, or Black Panther, or Chalice.

Because we know Eurydice Dixon means far more than giving up now.

A vigil will be held Monday 18th 5.30pm.

If you are a man with concerns for the safety of the women in your life, please connect with support through a service like White Ribbon or Mensline. I’m begging you.

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consent IS about you. and the Spice Girls.

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this article comes with a trigger warning for discussing sexual violence.

The last time I was ever on Grindr, I got this message:
“I’d love to rape ur penis with my arse”
I responded “As someone who has been raped, I really hate people using that word so casually”
Then I got blocked. Then I deleted the app. Then I had a cup of tea.

Consent is a topic I find unites many people when they are willing to engage in conversation around it, but typically makes men uncomfortable. That may be in some part, speaking recently, due to #MeToo and #TimesUp giving voice to women who have experienced sexually harassing and traumatic events in what appears to be endemic proportions. Even before these movements though, discussions of sexual assault or rape perpetuated a pattern of women who can’t defend themselves against men who can’t control themselves. Mainstream media narratives, unforgivably lenient sentencing, and the current presidency of the United States of America have cemented this stereotype around the world. Where great strides have been made, backlash has brokered back ground, and outside of heteronormative discourse, silence continues to dominate and dismiss victims. Not only gay men and women, but also trans people, people born intersex, prisoners, trafficked people, recipients of foreign aid, single-sex private school children and many more examples outside those we hear most about.

Speaking into my own primary community of gay males, who are often thought of synonymously with promiscuity, I’ve found there is still much to learn and myths to be busted about how we approach sex in a respectful and safe way. So I’m going to attempt imparting wisdom with the help one of the world’s universal languages: the Spice Girls.

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Consent isn’t sexy
You know what they say about throwing the baby out with the bathwater? Don’t. What I find most people mean by this is that having to instruct or talk someone through sex, isn’t sexy. I can appreciate most people want to enjoy sex the way they’ve been brainwashed to enjoy it: post-verbal passionate pornographic moaning & groaning where each person is perfectly attuned to the others’ wants and needs, hits their G-spot on the first go and ejaculates within enough time to get sweaty, but not odorous. Now with someone you’ve slept with many times, built trust between and created an instinctive communication around? Sure that’s a reasonable expectation. But a guy you’ve only met once or twice, haven’t ever seen in full light, who you’re not even sure speaks English as a first language? It’s not fair to expect that person to know instinctively and intimately how to satisfy you without communicating.

Consent during sex isn’t as complicated as we’d like to believe; being caught up in our own enjoyment or nervousness during sex can make us less able to notice or interpret the other person’s signals, and being afraid of rejection can make us unsure of how to communicate during sex.

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You only need consent for penetrative sex
Once on another gay dating app, someone I’d been talking with for a while asked me to come over for some shared nudity with casual intimacy and I made the decision to ask “are you healthy?”
This is an insufficient question. He provided an insufficient response: “I’m on PrEP”
I said that PrEP only covered him for HIV, asked when was he last tested for any other STIs and let him know I would still prefer to use a condom.
He never replied. I felt bad for not waiting to have the conversation in person. Then I had a cup of tea.

Something I didn’t know about consent when I had my first sexual experience (aside from everything because they don’t talk about that stuff in Sex Ed), was that it only applies to the situation you believe you’re in. For example, ghosting, the practice of putting a condom on to gain consent to engage in penetrative sex then removing before actually penetrating, is rape. Plain and simple. Similarly, having sex with someone whom you have told you’re sober when in fact you’re on drugs voids their consent, as does saying you’ll use lubricant but not using it in case you lose your hard-on. There’s this attitude that you only need to put a condom on at the point of insertion. There’s also an attitude that you only need to put a condom on as an alternative to pulling out. There’s an assumption that saying yes once covers you for whatever happens in the next four hours. It doesn’t.

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Isn’t consent implied if he sticks around?
An Australian Football player made waves back in 2010 with the statement “When will you learn! [sic] At 3am when you are blind drunk & you decide to go home with a guy ITS [sic] NOT FOR A CUP OF MILO!”. There’s this idea, particularly among men, that the key to absolution from any compassion or consideration of another person’s engagement in intimacy is that they can put their hands up between you, say “Stop! I don’t like it!” as they were taught to back in kindergarten and then everyone will part ways as friends. The truth is that pretty much all of us would like to feel like we have the power and the right to do as Amber Rose saidIf I’m laying down with a man, butt naked, and is his condom is on, and I say ‘you know what, no I don’t wanna do this. I changed my mind’, that means no. It doesn’t matter how far I take it or what I have on. When I say no, it means no”. I’d even go a step further to if I say “ouch”, or “wait”, or “gently”, or “try this”, I should be able to expect any of those things to ensure you check in on me, and care about my response, and respect my enjoyment as much as your own without judgement.

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Someone on twitter made a comment that there’s a spectrum of behaviour, and that being catcalled, being groped and being raped are very different things in terms of how consent works. My response to that was that consent is like a joke, if no-one is laughing, it’s not a joke. It’s only consent if everyone is on board. If you feel taken advantage of, or coerced or traumatised, that’s valid and real. Then I wrote this blog. Then I had a cup of tea.


(this blog was not authorised by the Spice Girls)
Another great read on this topic ‘The But of Butts’.
take a peek at Project Consent for more information.
I talk plenty about consent in BURLESQUE BY FORCE which is showing in Adelaide Fringe Festival February 24-27. Tickets available here.