itsarisingrage

[itsarisingrage]

A response to #MeToo

I have been feeling a white rage in my gullet about the stories  being shared by women about the abuses of power in the arts and elsewhere. The rage came up too quickly. It is burning my oesophagus and it will not fuck off. It is too readily available, that feeling of ire. It’s ready to bubble to the surface because it has been shoved down and ignored for decades. We all feel it, regularly and try to cool it with conspiratorial shrugs of ‘Ah he’s a perv’

‘Look you know what he’s like.’

‘I don’t think he meant it.’

‘Your man's a sleaze but I can handle him.’

But we can't handle them. No matter how brave and smart we are. Not without it leaving a mark.

It takes a toll, like  a cancer that starts when puberty comes knocking.It manifests in the constant hedging of our bets in public.

‘I want to say something to him but it’s not safe.’

We can’t say what we feel in a face to face situation because we are not safe.

The deluge of stories is unsurprising but it is horrific to read. The constant battle within me is of fury and empathy versus defeat and comfort. 

I have wanted to leave the arts a thousand times because of the way the industry makes me feel about myself, my body and my brain.

But strength can still outpunch the trauma so I want to name a few of the moments that have stayed with me from within this industry.

A director stroked my hair and face and told me I was not beautiful and was unlikely to get much work, despite being talented.

That same director sent me threatening text messages at 7am suggesting that my lack of sycophancy towards them would affect my casting in an upcoming play. They told me to ‘Be careful’. This came after my not stopping to speak them in a corridor. I was making a concerted effort to distance myself from their constant bullying of me and many other peers.

An adult stage manager kissed me hard when I was 15 and told me that if I stayed quiet, we could perhaps have no-strings sex on a regular basis.

A colleague told me to shave my face, ten minutes after commenting on how much better my arse was looking since I started working out.

A prospective agent told me that I would work when I was over 40 because then I could play the mothers and not have to compete with the really beautiful ones.

A headshot photographer told me that ‘even beautiful people’ get nervous about having their photos taken so not to worry.

At 26, a casting director told me that lipstick made me look really old and asked my agent to tell me to never wear it again.

A peer yelled down a crowded stairwell,  ‘I heard you like plastic’ in reference to my being in a relationship with a girl.

Too many people to count asked if they could ‘Get involved’, ‘Get in between’ me and my ex partner.

My ex and I had numerous arguments with theatre peers over their inappropriate homophobic comments, which because they were couched in comments about our ‘sexiness’, were supposed to be taken on the chin.

The list goes on ad nauseum. These are all different experiences and range from ‘almost harmless’ to ‘assault’ but they pile up inside you.

I am so painfully sick of talking about food and dress size and facial hair and shape and arses and casting. I’m sick of  hearing and saying ‘Well I won't get seen for that because I'm not pretty enough/ thin enough’. Many of my incredibly wise, sharp female colleagues hardly eat because they’re terrified of not working. 

All of this steaming up from the same heap of crap. It is insidious bullshit and it is ruining lives and stealing joy.The deep rooted scars of this day to day bollocks are changing the kind of artists we are, the way we speak or don't speak in rooms; if we can even get into rooms. We have to shrug so much off before we can even begin to do our work. We are often denied the chance to be epic, flawed big people.

I wanted to write something to show solidarity with all of the ferocious, vulnerable women who have spoken out against the abuses of power in theatre in Ireland and the UK but I couldn't find the words. So, I went to meet a pal in a local pub two hours ago and on my way there, a young man yelled something at me from a van, not sure if compliment or abuse. Then, as I stood at the bar, the young woman serving me was approached by a male customer who told her he’d like to see her shake that cocktail whilst wearing a bowtie. I didn't say anything to him. She said she was glad she wasn’t made to wear one of those and I said I was too and he went on his way, unscathed. I reached out to her and she told me she couldn't say anything to him because he's connected to her boss in some way. She sighed and smiled and gave me more wine than I had paid for. I was out of the house for 70 minutes in total.

I wanted to go over and say something to the man in the bar but the words wouldn't come. Just like the words wouldn’t come when a waiter shoved his crotch into my backside, during a powercut. The words wouldn’t come when sexual comments and suggestions were made in my workplace. They wouldn't come when I was demeaned so subtly I only fully realised afterwards but I was left with a need to quell my rage in order to get on with my job.

The words won't come when a man spreads his legs so wide on the tube that I have to pretzel myself tiny and drop my book. But I don't tell him to move, in case he punches me and I lose an eye, as happened to an old flatmate. 

The words didn't come in nightclubs when men grabbed us and put their hands up our skirts as we walked past at 16 years of age, 17, 18, 19 and beyond.

But the words are coming now. They are streaming out of brave, articulate women and men. We are forming an army of solidarity and honesty. The words are coming hard and fast and loud. They cannot be stopped by lawyers by liars or by power. The tide is turning and I am galvanised and sickened all at once.

Thank you, a thousand times to each and every person who has spoken out.

And to those women and men who feel like they can't speak on this, then don’t. Get in a blanket, listen to your sisters, write in your diary, seek help from the number listed below.  

I believe you before you open your mouth

With love and courage and a prayer that things really properly change, so we can get back to our work.

https://www.nhs.uk/Livewell/Sexualhealth/Pages/Sexualassault.aspx

https://www.nhs.uk/Service-Search/Rape%20and%20sexual%20assault%20referral%20centres/LocationSearch/364

Rape Crisis

Helpline: 0808 802 9999 (12-2:30 and 7-9:30)

rapecrisis.org.uk

National organisation offering support and counselling for those affected by rape and sexual abuse.

Victim Support

Supportline: 0808 168 9111