A week in which sexism was showcased to be alive and well in Australia there was a shining light on the hill.
The week that was will go down as YET ANOTHER shocker in revealing just how far we have to go to eradicate deeply entrenched unacceptable levels of sexism in this country. A few weeks back it was racism’s turn. Quite frankly I’m getting tired of it and it’s getting as boring as it is demoralising. Can everyone just grow up?
It started earlier in the week when a grossly sexist, offensive menu from a Liberal party fundraiser surfaced which had a dish titled “Julia Gillard Kentucky roasted quail” with “small breasts, huge thighs and a big red box”. Later in the week she endured a radio interview in which she was asked if her husband was gay because he was a hairdresser.
Are we done yet? Now? NOW?
It does not matter what your political persuasion. This is the Prime Minister of our country. Pull your head in and put your manners back on.
Just for a moment imagine such a thing happening to a male Prime Minister or even a male politician? Tony Abbott gets about in his red budgie smugglers enough for many a shot across the bow but one has never, that I can find, been fired about the size of his penis or the colour of his pubic hair.
A friend posted a comment on Facebook about it all that had a ‘get over it’ feel about it and I stopped. And said ‘no’. Too often we excuse away sexist comments or actions with a slight of hand, or “it was a joke”. But you know what happens when you do that? You end up with someone thinking it’s OK to put on a party fundraiser menu references not only to the Prime Minister’s body and genitalia but their size and colour.
You end up with a radio presenter thinking it is OK to ask the Prime Minister if her husband is gay.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” is a big fat lie .
Felix asked me about it and asked how someone would think either example up there was OK. We had a long chat about how things that are demeaning, sexist (or racist) and offensive are often excused away as a joke.
I explained to him that people in positions of power and authority are held to a higher standard because they set the benchmark for what is OK and what is unacceptable. If a politician does something morally repugnant – like hold a dinner in which a dish refers to the PM’s genitalia or asks the PM about the sexual orientation of her husband – there are huge repercussions not only because they should know better, but because it gives a tacit approval to others in the community that to think like that is OK. “It was just a joke” is not an acceptable excuse anymore.
That could not have been better proven by the revelation on Thursday that ANOTHER scandal about systemic sexism in our armed forces was revealed.
But a week peppered with such a remarkable number of brain-snapping incidents of sexism was kicked to the curb when this came along. It was as if the week was a slow crescendo to it. Incident upon incident building upon each other until it all came crashing down in a voice saying ‘not on my watch’.
From 1:13 is particularly good. As is from around 1:40. Hell, the whole thing is awesome. What else is awesome is that it is coming from a man, and indeed a man in power who clearly has integrity. It feels like there are so few of them around. Oh yes, women can quite easily stand up and defend themselves, say enough is enough. But that stance can, by those who most need to hear it, be denounced as shrill and uptight. “Chill out lady”, “it was just a joke”, “calm down”. So yes, men need to stand up, they too need to say enough is enough. Chief of Army Lieutenant General David Morrison says it for all of us.
The time I became fundraising BBQ coordinator for our local rugby club.
It’s been a while since there’s been any news from the sidelines but believe you me it’s only because I’ve been too slack to write it up.
Let me fill you in on just one component. There are many. I know, even I’m waiting with baited breath.
BBQ Coordinator.
Think Field Marshall meets Iron Chef and you’re getting close. Who am I kidding, it’s a glorified sausage sizzle but I’m determined to make it fabulous… with hotdogs and rolls, not just bread. Kicking.all.the.goals.
I ended up ditching the FNL reference and upping the biccie price. After all they were the size of a small child’s head and I did make them…
Every year the U14s go on a father son trip to Fiji. One of the fundraising activities that gets them there is the Friday Night BBQ at the clubhouse. You get all the littlies and their families coming up after training and then the crowds who roll in for the handful of games that are on that night. From where I sit it can be quite the money spinner. Well, I’m going to make it as such. Just you wait Henry Higgins just.you.wait.
Blessedly this year they decided the job needed to be split between two people – that one person has run it solo in the past is knowledge that does little to alleviate my anxiety. So me and Matt are the 2014 U14s Father Son Fiji Tour BBQ Coordinators. I’m contemplating getting cards made.
Friday was our introduction and a gentle one at that – just training, no games. We not only earned enough for a working float we made a profit.
My onions were much better than Matt’s although curiously he disagrees.
The hardest part of the gig is ensuring the families rostered on to help out actually turn up. But I have my charming albeit slightly threatening and definitely guilt-inducing way with words to make.it.happen.
The power, I can taste it.
This week we’re trialling chicken burgers.
That’s Felix to the left there, he manned the till all night – voluntarily and with enjoyment!
Gluten free grain bread, toasted, with tahini and Maggie Beer’s seville orange marmalade (as opposed to mine, it was a gift) (and apparently I’m a hippy now)
Crisp crystal clear days
5am walks with my friend B
My new Elk Accessories boots (last season’s, half price, knee high, suede, like butter) (I really wanted them in sage but they were not available in my size so I settled on the black)
Watching Felix morph into a teenager – turning 13 is really like a light switch in terms of change in a kid
Grover learning to read (watching your child learning to read never gets old)
Jasper’s burgeoning love of creative writing (he has a wonderful teacher and is having a fantastic year)
Oscar’s teacher who rang me this morning, at 7:30, from home, still in her pjs, after seeing my email about an incident on the bus yesterday afternoon that left Oscar inconsolable and incredibly reticent to get back on the bus this morning (the result? A behaviour contract for the offending child and a plan for Oscar to help develop his resilience skills – because he’s such a nice kid he’s a bit of a target for the not-so-nice kids) See also: School of Awesome.
My hair – I’m growing it out for reasons I can’t recall. At the moment I’m channelling Conan O’Brien or Kramer.
Hate (for a moment)
The boys fighting – it’s not a patch on what it used to be, which means when they do it really jars with me
SSRI drug withdrawals – my brain and body are currently trying to decide if they feel drunk, that they’re going to faint, or maybe fall over
Mental instability
A recalcitrant thyroid
An insatiable appetite for eating crap
The resultant expanding waistline (see also: drug side-effect, mental instability, recalcitrant thyroids)
Money – the lack thereof
I pick at my cuticles, I’ve picked the one on my left thumb so deeply it is constantly paining and if I bump it I see stars. If Chef read my blog I would be able to hear his eyes rolling from over here. He hates that I pick my cuticles.
My hair – I’m growing it out for reasons I can’t recall. At the moment I’m channelling Conan O’Brien or Kramer.