Earlier this year I unpublished a story. It was the first and only time I have taken that course of action and I didn’t make the decision lightly. But it was the only decision to make.
The story was about American activist Rosa Parks and urged readers to consider whether it was time for Australian women to adopt the stance Parks took in the famous Montgomery Bus Boycott in 1955. The reaction to the piece was swift and definitive.
The implication that women in Australia faced a situation even remotely akin to the situation African-Americans faced in the 1950s was offensive. The implication that racism had been overcome by Park’s stance was offensive. It diminished the discrimination people of colour still face and it failed to recognise the double-whammy of discrimination that women of colour face.
That it was an otherwise thoughtful piece, written without any intention to offend, didn’t diminish the fact it was offensive. As soon as the feedback came in I saw it. That I didn’t see it earlier was a source of some shame; was I racist for failing to see it?
I apologised unequivocally to those who complained and unpublished the piece. So often I’m on the other side of that equation. So often I’m trying to explain why throwaway lines that others consider innocuous, like “girlie-man”, are unhelpful. Or why all-male panels are archaic. Or why the composition of leadership which excludes 51% of the population is flawed. This time I was on the other side. I was complicit in dismissing the perspective of another group. How could I not listen? How could I not respond?
The contributor’s piece was not intentionally inflammatory and certainly one could argue that freedom of speech ought to dictate its validity. But just because you are free to say, write or publish something, doesn’t mean it needs to be said, written or published.
Mark Latham and The AFR, for example, cling to freedom of speech as a justification for publishing his ongoing written assaults on women who dare to live their lives outside his preferred terms. Certainly he is free to say the things he does, but whether a national newspaper publishes them and lends the weight of its credibility to those viewpoints is another issue.
Women’s Agenda seeks to advocate for a more inclusive community in the same way we seek to be an inclusive community. But our version of inclusive, isn’t perfectly inclusive. Our version of inclusive is informed and limited by our own prejudices and privilege.
Shortly after I unpublished the Rosa Parks piece I interviewed Tara Moss about the Full Stop Foundation. I nearly dropped the phone when she told me that Indigenous women are 34 times more likely to be hospitalised through domestic violence than non-indigenous women. How could I not know that?
It was a moment of quiet shame but also clarity. I expect responsible thinking adults to consider the discrepancy in the distribution of power between men and women in Australia, as a matter of course. Why do I not expect the same of myself, and others, when it comes to considering the discrepancy in the distribution of power between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians? I saw my prejudice.
When we dismiss another group’s perspective and experience – wilfully or unintentionally – the result is the same. We exclude them.
This week Sydney AFL player and former Australian of the Year Adam Goodes has ripped the band-aid off racism in Australia. It has revealed a wound far deeper and far uglier than most of us would like to believe.
Is the treatment Goodes has received steeped in racism? Undoubtedly. Is that uncomfortable? Absolutely. Can it be ignored? Absolutely not.
If you haven’t already read Stan Grant’s piece in The Guardian yesterday, I can tell you how Adam Goodes feels. Every Indigenous person has felt it, read it now. Once you’ve read it stop and ask yourself if you realised the extent of the discrimination and disadvantage that Indigenous Australians live with.
There are two options. We contemplate the way we might contribute to that, even unwittingly, and recognise the need for change. Or we contemplate that, we accept that as ok and we dig our heels in. There is only one option.
This week for the fomer army chief Lieutenant General David Morrison said that once you see gender inequality, it’s impossible to unsee. And so it is with racism.
If you can’t see the racism in Australia this week, you’re part of the problem. And as uncomfortable as that might be, it’s worth thinking about. Because while there are extremes, it’s not only at the extremes that people contribute to the problem. We all can. Just as we can contribute to the solution. By seeing this problem for what it is, recognising whatever privilege and prejudice we hold, and asking how each of us can help change it.