All this doesn’t necessarily mean that classics isn’t relevant, however. Apart from the huge influence that Greek and Roman history has had on the West’s legal, philosophical and scientific systems (I could go on), you can also find some direct parallels to social values and ideologies still held today. This semester I’ve noticed this especially by studying Cicero’s Pro Caelio.

As a feminist, studying the Pro Caelio is as rage-inducing as it is fascinating – mainly because, to put it bluntly, it’s blatantly and unapologetically misogynistic. It is, after all, a product of its times. And in the Roman world, being a woman wasn’t exactly the greatest thing to be, unless you happened to be very wealthy and in exceptional circumstances.Even then, you weren’t safe.

For some context on the speech before I continue talking about Clodia, my three sentence summary of the speech would be something like this: Caelius, a young man, has just entered public life, but is brought to trial for generally stirring up trouble. This is a non-issue though, Cicero argues, because boys will be boys, and they still turn into perfectly good statesmen even if they stray a little in their youth. So Caelius can’t be punished for this even if it were true (because that would be an attack on the whole institution of growing up as a Roman, gasp!) – and besides, the whole charge has just been made up by a rich woman called Clodia who acts like a prostitute and refuses to be a Proper Roman Matron.

What makes Cicero’s extensive attack on Clodia most interesting is that the sort of arguments he uses against her are exactly the same arguments used by the patriarchy today: that she’s a slut, and that the only way she can wield any sort of power is through her sexuality.

Let’s start with the first parallel: that Clodia is a slut, and that this is why all the generally good, but slightly naive young men are being led astray and victimised. Right at the very start of the speech, Cicero makes it clear what the real issue is: that ‘woman’s passions must be checked’ (Cic. Cael. 1), because then this whole court case wouldn’t need to be happening. He implies that she sleeps with her brother, (Cael. 32), that she can have her pick of any young man in Rome (Cael. 36), that she lives a life of debauchery, lust and luxury that could not possibly be spoken of in decent company; where even slaves are privy to her most guarded secrets – servi! servi inquam! (Cael. 57). He openly calls her a meretrix (prostitute) with increasing frequency as the speech progresses.

Most importantly though, Clodia is a ruiner of men’s lives. Cicero basically tells us that anyone who falls for her charms or becomes entangled with her can’t be blamed for anything, because what else do you expect from a woman who consciously refuses to act like a virtuous wife? (Cael. 38, 42, 47, and especially 49). If a woman acts like a slut, then she’s only getting what comes to her, and the men who were involved with her can never, ever be blamed.

Sound familiar? While it’s sometimes more carefully veiled in our own society, those same ideas still ring true. Were that girl flirting with too many people in that bar, or wearing a top that was too revealing, or a skirt that was too short? Well, men can’t be blamed if they make unwanted advances on her. Was she drinking too much at a party? Well, then it’s her own fault that she woke up next to a stranger, was assaulted, was raped. She shouldn’t have been drinking or wearing those clothes or making out with someone. Sadly, these sorts of ideas still pervade our media and our way of thinking, as you can see in the recent Stubenville rape case. Victim blaming galore, and then a huge outcry at the lives of young men being ruined.

The second parallel between Cicero’s portrayal of Clodia and the way patriarchy views women in our own society is in the way Clodia exerts her influence and power, which is (you guessed it!) through her sexuality. Women had no claim to legitimate power in Roman society, save for their position in the household. Clodia however, can exert huge influence with her sexuality, so much that she can turn decent men into subservient slaves (Cael. 67). Unlike Agrippina the Younger though, Clodia’s seductions and liaisons have no ulterior motive of acquiring power – she seems to see her promiscuity and the havoc it causes as a goal in itself. And so it happens that Cicero incredulously asks whether the jury expects Caelius’ youth to be sacrificed just to satisfy the ‘wanton whims of a woman’ (Cael. 70) used to getting her way through her sexuality.

Again, we can see parallels in our own society. There is still a strong view that women, particularly women with a high level of social visibility, are only worth anything or able to achieve anything through their sexiness. From sexist, objectifying advertising to quotes that Angelina Joelie’s recent double mastectomy was a sad day for fans to the sexually explicit invective against the Prime Minister (NSFW), women are still reduced to their sexuality as their only means of getting anywhere or being worth anything. Women might be able to vote, to work, to be politicians and hold legitimate positions of power in our society, but we still can’t escape the idea that women and sex go hand in hand.

There are far more parallels between the classical world and our own than just the Olympic games or the concept of the legal speech. In the case of Clodia those parallels are rather depressing, but looking at gender relations in the ancient world helps us to understand where our own values and ideas come from. And understanding where something comes from is the first step in changing those ideas into something more productive and suited to the times. Feminism and classics aren’t so incompatible after all.

Season four – where my enjoyment of the show started to fade – coincides with the introduction of Amy Farrah-Fowler, the eventual love interest (if you can say that) for Sheldon Cooper. While Sheldon largely gets coded as asexual, Amy has come to be portrayed in more and more of a sexual way. I’m in two minds about Amy as a character, really. I liked Amy in the beginning for her I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude towards things that are stereotypically seen as girly. Amy is a scientist and a brilliant one, but more and more her character seemed to be overshadowed by writing that tried to reinforce that underneath her science-y exterior, she was just as driven by hormones and lust like all women are perceived to be in the TBBT universe. But that is another story.

Sheldon and Amy’s relationship seems to confuse people, because it doesn’t go where we generally expect relationships to go. Relationships on television, especially sitcoms, tend to follow formulaic patterns – boy meets girl, they date, they argue, they kiss, and everything culminates in sex. Sheldon and Amy don’t follow that path, and more often than not, this fact is turned into the joke of the series – as Amy rightly and explicitly points out in the most recent episode, ‘The Love Spell Potential.’ We’re meant to sympathise with Amy, who wants progress in their relationship along socially-expected lines – in other words, she wants their relationship to involve physical intimacy of the sexual kind. We’re meant to feel her frustration that Sheldon isn’t giving her what she wants, and as such, this gives us another situation that cements Sheldon as socially inept and ‘other’ in our minds.

I would argue that Sheldon has always been coded as not interested in sex: it’s not something he needs, wants or expresses any sort of desire for. Another recent episode ‘The Cooper/Kripke Inversion’ showed a side of Sheldon that hadn’t been explored before: when Penny asks him directly whether he will ever have sex with Amy, Sheldon replies that perhaps one day, he could be ok with the idea, given enough time. It was seen by commentators as a major progression in Amy and Sheldon’s relationship, but I would question the use of that phrase. The tendency is to think of Sheldon and Amy’s relationship slowly become more normal, more socially accepted, and I think that really de-values the relationship they have.

Similarly, reactions on Tumblr and by TV commentators to ‘The Love Spell Potential’ have similar issues. Of course, shippers will be shippers – but the most recent episode actually proves that there is more that Sheldon and Amy’s relationship can show us than the fact that they’re ‘finally getting somewhere!’ Indeed, the ‘finally!’ mentality does just what Amy points out – it makes their relationship as it has stood for three years seem trivial, and now that they are approaching more sexual territory, their relationship suddenly becomes more legitimate.

However, I don’t think that was where the show was going with this. Though I definitely see how the writers of TBBT have been using Sheldon and Amy’s relationship as comic fodder in the past, the last episode shows a shift in direction, with some actual communication and negotiation between the two characters. When Amy asks Sheldon if their relationship will ever become intimate, Sheldon replies that for him, it already is extremely intimate (and more intimate than any other relationship he has on the show). To Sheldon, intimacy isn’t defined by sex, and with that explicit statement, the show starts to take their relationship seriously.

Sheldon and Amy may have very different stances on relationships and romance, and intimacy and sex, but their relationship is just as close as any other relationship depicted on the show. The real character progression in this episode isn’t about Sheldon and Amy ‘finally’ engaging in something sexual together (although how sexual it is depends on your own personal perspective) – it’s about recognising that their relationship is legitimate and that no-one can tell them how to negotiate it except themselves.

Relationships are the work of two people, and Sheldon and Amy engage with the sorts of issues that many sexual/asexual couples in real life deal with. Negotiation and communication are essential in any relationship, but especially in one where each partner’s outlook on sex and relationships is so different. Sheldon and Amy’s relationship exemplifies this: we see boundaries being set and behaviours negotiated so that both parties are comfortable with where they are going. Amy’s frustration that Sheldon isn’t more sexual is often made quite obvious, yet they are still together, perhaps because Amy realises that sex is only one part of the equation. And that equation isn’t the same for everyone. The negotiation works on both sides as well, because Sheldon has already shown that although he probably doesn’t desire something himself, he is willing to extend his own boundaries for Amy’s sake.

If one day Sheldon and Amy decide that they want to get more physically intimate in their relationship, then that will be something negotiated by them on their own terms, and not something that should be viewed as them ‘finally becoming more normal’. What makes a relationship valuable and legitimate isn’t the fact that it involves sex – but that it’s a partnership between two people, who can choose to define or negotiate their relationship in whatever way they see fit. Sheldon and Amy remind us of that. It’s ever so heartening to see their relationship being taken seriously.

(Edit afterwards: I just realised that this is my 100th blog post! Whee! I feel very accomplished. I shall make a special 101st post post. )

Hypatia (from the film Agora)

I actually just watched this movie a few days ago, and one of the things that struck me was Hypatia’s representation as quite clearly asexual. Though there’s little historical evidence about Hypatia, her character in the film has dedicated her life to philosophy, learning and teaching, and doesn’t seem interested in sex, romantic relationships or marriage. Despite this, she manages to have a close relationship with Orestes (who is admittedly in love with her, but she doesn’t return his affections). In one scene in particular, Hypatia somewhat wistfully tells Orestes how even her father had a lover once, but that she has never loved anyone. But instead of going on to say that she feels incomplete without love, she looks at the sky and says that if only she could come a little closer to figuring out the stars, she would die a happy woman. I loved Hypatia’s character in this film, and could really relate to her pursuit of learning, and her frustration at not understanding it all.

Poppy (from the TV show Huge)

Poppy is one of the few characters on TV that actually self-identify as asexual. She’s a counselor at a weight loss camp for teenagers (this sounds really bad and un-feminist, but Huge is actually one of the best TV shows I’ve ever seen, and actually portrays fat teenagers as real, multidimensional people – the main character is even proud of her fatness!) The show doesn’t make much of a fuss about her asexuality, which is really great. The scene where she comes out to another of the counselors isn’t melodramatic or inaccurate – it’s just matter of fact, and it’s accepted without drama, for what it is. Poppy is also adorable, caring and somewhat hyperactive, so I like her character a lot. Unfortunately, YouTube doesn’t have a clip of the scene where she says she is asexual, otherwise I would link to it.

Poppy from the TV show Huge

Antimony Carver (from the web comic Gunnerkrigg Court)

Antimony Carver (or Annie) isn’t named as asexual, but she’s never seemed to show any interest in dating or romantic relationships (unlike her best friend Kat, who has a new crush every few chapters, it seems!). Which means that in my brain, I choose to think of her as asexual. However, Annie does have a lot of really close relationships with all sorts of people and creatures, and some of the recent chapters have made me think of her relationship with Kat as a queerplatonic one. At the very least their relationship is characterised by a strong sense of intimacy and platonic affection, like you can see in one of my favourite panels with both of them below (it makes my heart melt a little). One of my friends think Kat is totally into Annie, but I guess that remains to be seen. I don’t particularly think Annie is into Kat in a romantic way. Now I’ll just have to hope that Tom Siddell agrees with me, because I find their relationship beautiful and meaningful the way it is.

Scene from Chapter 41: Changes

Plotina (From the book Memoirs of Hadrian by Marguerite Yourcenar)

Plotina (wife of the Roman Emperor Trajan in the early 2nd Century AD) is only a very minor character in this book, but I was struck by one little passage on her, as described by the Emperor Hadrian. The historical record indicates that Hadrian and Plotina got along very well, and Yourcenar imagines their relationship as a very close, intimate platonic relationship, but without a sexual component:

Friendship was a choice to which she devoted her whole being; she gave herself to it utterly, and as I have done only to my loves. She has known me better than anyone has; I have let her see what I carefully concealed from everyone else; for example, my secret lapses into cowardice. I like to think that on her side she has kept almost nothing from me. No bodily intimacy ever existed between us; in its place was this contact of two minds closely intermingled.

I have never been to a fan convention before, mainly because I live in Australia and have very little money to spare. I knew the basics of how things would work, and that you could get photos and autographs of actors and actresses (and writers and artists). I desperately wanted to see Alex Kingston in real life, to talk to her and admire her hair. So I went along with two friends, and got crazy excited, and got photos and autographs and briefly was able to talk to the actress who plays my favourite television character. And it was amazing. Absolutely amazing. Alex was wonderful and stunning, and cheerful and she asked my if my middle name was Steven Moffat when I told her a theory I had about Madam Kovarian and Melody Pond, and she gave me a hug.

At the same time, it made the feminist in me uncomfortable, and it wasn’t until about three-quarters through the day that I realised why (probably because the feeling of wrongness was masked by my utter excitement before). I knew that it wasn’t possible for people to actually interact with Alex for a while, and that everything would be very “hello – goodbye” in terms of getting photos and autographs and actually being able to talk to her. But after a while, it hit me just how commodifying the whole process seemed, how objectifying. You pay your $50, line up for an hour, you hand your bag to a volunteer, you walk into the photo background, say hi, someone snaps a photo, and you’re out. You jump up and down in excitement and then go get your photographic evidence that you stood next to someone famous. And the famous person stands there and has hundreds of photos in a row taken, with hundreds of people who just wanted proof of a brief encounter with someone on TV.

I know that no-one forces celebrities to go to fan conventions and sign autographs and pose for hundreds of photos. But at the same time, I felt like I was contributing to a process of objectifying someone, of turning them into a product or a commodity. And in the end, that feels wrong to me, no matter how excited I was or how amazing I think Alex is. I don’t want to be someone who reduces a person to a name or a status icon or a product to be consumed. That’s kind of important to me.

So while I was waiting for an autograph and the chance to tell Alex my wild theory (a few hours after having my photo taken), I decided to do what I could to make the situation a little more feminist. I thanked Alex for coming all the way out to Australia and said how much I appreciate her being there today. She seemed to appreciate that, which was nice. I asked if I could have a hug instead of just assuming it’d be ok. I’m not sure if that makes any difference at the end of the day for her, but I felt like I needed to make sure that I thought of her as a person like me first, instead of just an icon with awe-inspiring hair and a gorgeous voice.

So thank you, Alex, for the chance to talk to you, however briefly. I’m so happy I came to Supanova to see you, because it was truly amazing and probably a one-in-a-thousand opportunity. At the same time, I’m not sure I’ll go to similar things again, now that I’ve been there, got the T-Shirt, and had the chance to think about it properly.

It’s changed a lot over the past few years as well, which is why I thought I’d post about it today. It’s quite funny how hair can be a marker of lots of different things, including major life changes. For me, confidence has been one of the things my hair has helped me with.

As a teenager, I’d always had long hair. It was blonde and down to my waist and puberty made it go wavy and frizzy, whereas it had always been dead straight before.  There was a lot of it, and it was hard to look after. Once I got head lice, as you do in school. It was a nightmare, and luckily I’ve never had to go through that again. As it happens, I ended up wearing it in a plait down my back most of the time, or in a bun, because wearing it out was simply too impractical.

At the same time, wearing my hear out was the only way I could make myself feel beautiful as a teenager – so I really didn’t feel pretty much. Some people hide behind their long hair, but I never got the chance to, even though I hated the way my face looked. I couldn’t smile for photos, I thought I looked boring. I was shy and a bit stand-offish as a younger teenager, and that didn’t help either.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t loathe looking at myself in the mirror or anything. I didn’t really care what I looked like most of the time because I didn’t care about other people much. But I still managed to internalise that prettiness is something to aspire to, and that somehow I didn’t fit into that concept, because my face was so boring. I didn’t hate myself, but I wasn’t really very confident about myself either, at least not in this respect.

When I was seventeen, in the middle of my final HSC exams and in a bad place emotionally for other reasons, I chopped it all off.

I’d been playing with the idea for a few months, but was too scared of losing the one thing that allowed me to feel secure in my appearance every now and then. But then I got myself into the weird state of exams and finishing school and generally being a teenager having an existential every three days, and chopped it off. Not myself, I actually went to a hair-cutting place. But then one day I showed up at home with hair just below my ears, and it was so different that my younger sister thought I was some new girlfriend of my dad’s from afar.

The difference it made was amazing. Suddenly I had all this hair around my face, that I could leave out and not have to tie back! (It was actually too short to tie back, so I had no choice.) People were complimenting me on my new hair cut! I could look into the mirror and not grimace, because the short hair suddenly made my face interesting instead of boring! It seems like such a shallow thing, but the boost in confidence I got from cutting my hair short was incredible.

So I travelled around in my gap year, and worked, and then started uni, always keeping my hair shorter, and even experimenting with it rather than being afraid to touch it. One time I went into the hairdressers at uni and just told them to do whatever they wanted with it. (It ended up being two centimeters long at the back of my head and longer around the front, which was cool.) I even started taking pictures of myself!

Yup, and after a while, I even started pulling my hair back again, because I wasn’t actually afraid of my face anymore. Or of looking at cameras.

And now, I feel confident enough to even grow my hair out again, even if I’ll end up wearing it up more. I’m more confident now, and less insecure about the way I look. I’m less concerned with my own thinking about appearance – because while I care even less about the way I look to other people, I’ve also realised that wanting to look pretty isn’t in itself a bad thing. And I want to be able to recreate Agrippina the Younger’s hairstyle.

So the moral of the story? Maybe I just grew up. But sometimes, hair and confidence can go hand in hand. And then, eventually, you realise that you don’t need the hair to be confident anymore.

But then I was reading a blog post on street harassment the other day, and I realised just how many times in the last two months I’ve been harassed while out on my bike. I ride to uni and back every day along quite busy roads (much faster than catching the bus from my house!) and often take it shopping as well, lacking a car. Sometimes I ride in the dark and late at night, if I’ve stayed at uni for choir, or am coming home from a night in the city. Sometimes I ride in skirts and dresses, because I refuse to wear lycra.

You’d think it wouldn’t be a big deal to see a person on a bike. But once I started counting it up, I realised that hardly a week goes by where I am not harassed in some form or other, just because I happen to be riding a bike, in public, while female.

People – young men – yell out at me from their cars. Often I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I bet it’s not asking me how my day was. That happens every few days. It’s just enough to make me pedal a bit harder and want to give to yell back at them, which I don’t.

People race past with an inch to spare, speeding up just as they pass me. Two weeks ago, a bunch of young men had their windows down and one of them tried to grab at me. Luckily he didn’t succeed, because I there’s a good chance I would have ended up under their car, or at least sprawled across the side of the road. That one got my heart racing.

Last week I was walking along a quiet street on my way home from the busway station in the evening and two men on bikes thought it would be hilarious to ride straight at me and swerve away at the last moment. That incident made me feel particularly vulnerable, because for once I wasn’t on my bike and wouldn’t have been able to get away quickly.

And why? Is it that hilarious to yell out at women, to grab at them, to make them feel vulnerable? Does it make them feel more masculine, like they’re only worth something if they can show they have power over me? Does it remind them that this is still a patriarchy and anyone out in public while female is fair game? Or that women are only really second rate people? Is it just a bit of ‘harmless fun’ to make women feel threatened?

I refuse to believe that this is just the way the world is.

As such, I thought I’d take the opportunity to share some of the things I’ve learnt in my twenty-one years in this world. I’m not so sure if they’re useful to anyone other than myself – but so much of these things I have learnt from my family, my friends and my mentors, so I’d like them to know that they have, indeed, taught me a lot.

I’ve learnt that family isn’t always perfect, and sometimes takes you to places you never thought you would end up. It can be hard and painful and distant, and even though you can’t really say it was worth it, you end up wiser and more appreciative in the end. I’ve learnt that you don’t stop being part of a family when you move out of home, and although the physical and emotional spaces you occupy change, they never stop being there.

Family doesn’t have to be blood, either. It’s who you open your heart to and make your home, and who does the same for you.

I’ve learnt that you can live without friends and be happy on your own, for a time – but in the end, having friends is one of the most wonderful things about life. I’ve learnt to love making friends and keeping them, to enjoy having people in my life, especially since starting university. I’ve learnt that I can be a good, loyal friend, and that being someone’s friend is just as valuable and wonderful and someone being my friend. I love knowing that I have people I can invite to birthday parties and special events in my life, people who will make an effort.

Friends are worth it, and I have them.

I’ve learnt that love truly does surprise you. That you fall in love when you really are expecting it least, and where you’re expecting it least. Most importantly, I’ve learnt that there are so many more ways of loving and being loved than we’re lead to believe. Love is bigger and broader and more wonderful and more varied and encompassing. No-one can define it for you but yourself.

I’ve learnt to stand up and be heard, to be passionate and dedicated, to fight and feel strongly and unashamedly. I’ve learnt the value of compassion, and opening my mind, and accepting other people’s experiences. I’ve learnt to be an activist.

I’ve learnt that people mess up as well – that I mess up and that it’s not the end of the world. That it’s ok for me to admit defeat or walk away from something, to conserve energy for something else, to prioritise what to be passionate about and what to dedicate time to. I’ve learnt that not always being able to help myself doesn’t mean that I feel less strongly about it, or that I’m any worse a person.

I’ve learnt that I don’t always have to be the rock. That it’s ok to feel anger and sadness and vulnerability and insecurity. That I don’t have to push things aside rather than deal with them. I’ve learnt – slowly and recently – that talking about things sometimes works a lot better than hiding from something, even if it is a lot harder as well.

I’ve learnt that if you love something enough and dedicate yourself to it enough, you can generally make it work out for you. I’ve also learnt that that’s an incredibly privileged way of seeing things, and that it’s not that easy for everyone, because we don’t exist in a vacuum.

I’ve learnt that society tells you a lot of stuff about how you’re meant to live, who you’re meant to love, and what you’re meant to think. And that most of that is ridiculous and prescriptive and confusing, but powerful. And when you open your eyes to it, the whole world becomes endless with possibility.

Most importantly I’ve learnt that you learn things imperfectly, and you don’t ever stop.

And finally:

I’ve learnt that you don’t have to grow up entirely. You can still run around in circles and pretend you have wings and roll in the grass when you’re twenty-one. And that dressing up will always be fun.

Recently there has been a lot of talk about rape culture on the internet and in the media, especially in regards to the Steubenville rape case. You don’t have to look far to see some of the responses to this – both horrible, victim-blaming, rape-apologising responses, and some excellent ones too, looking at the pervasiveness of rape culture and the need for people to start blaming rapists and not victims.

All this resonates with me particularly at the moment, because over the past week there have been several accounts of men attacking women and trying to drag them into their cars in my suburb. And yet when these attacks are being reported, all that is being said is that ‘women should be more careful in these areas at night.’ The same sort of thing happened recently with the murder and rape of Jill Meagher and the group of men who abducted and raped a Sydney woman just recently.

I’m asking the same question that many people have been asking of late: why does the media seem to think that assault and rape is something that just ‘happens’ to women? Why are women being told that we need to be more careful? Why is no-one telling men* not to rape women?

There are several different issues at play here that aren’t being addressed, but they all link into the overall picture of rape culture.

First there’s the idea that rape and assault magically happen to women when they are walking down the street at night. I’m not even going to waste much breath on this one, because it’s ridiculous. Women can’t be raped unless someone rapes them. End of story.

But wait – what’s this ‘walking down the street at night’ business? Because if we believe the way rape is talked about and reported, it seems to be the most common way that women are raped or attacked. The idea that most acts of sexual violence occur by strangers who just happen to make you their target is pervasive, but completely inaccurate. According to one set of statistics, only around 4% of rapes are committed by strangers. That means that 96% of rapes are being committed by people the victim knows. In 46% of those cases, a victim is raped by someone they love; in 22% of cases by someone they knew well, in 9% of cases by a spouse, and in 19% of cases by someone who was an acquaintance. Those are scary statistics.

But rapists only come out at night, right? Why else would women still be constantly told that they need to be more careful when they’re out at night? That somehow, if they’re just careful enough, they can avoid ‘being raped?’

To be honest, the idea that I’m more likely to be raped inside my own home that outside it, by someone I know, is pretty scary. More scary than walking home late at night. 96% more scary.

So when the media talks about women taking preventative measures to stop rape, it’s actually not dealing with the issue at hand very well at all – it’s only taking a tiny percentage of rapes and assaults into consideration. It’s telling us that if we just act ‘more carefully,’ we can stop being raped. With the implication being that if we are attacked, well, we obviously weren’t being quite careful enough.

What does being careful mean, anyway? Does it mean that women should make sure they’re not drinking, they’re not walking alone at night, they’re not wearing anything that could be considered ‘provocative?’ Those are some of the most frequently advised ‘precautions’ again rape. We’ve already established that being out alone at night actually means you are less likely of being raped. Last time I checked, alcohol doesn’t mean you automatically consent to sexual activity, or that you somehow deserve to be attacked. As for clothing? Well, the idea that certain clothes cause rape (or make it more likely) is a complete and utter fallacy.

And here’s something people don’t seem to be taking into account when they make statements saying ‘women should be more careful and then they have less chance of being raped:’ we are careful. Because of the way our victim-blaming culture works, this message has been drummed into us over and over again, from primary school to university, by the magazines we read, but the news stories we see, by the people we talk to. And so we are careful. We make sure to keep our keys in our hands if we’re feeling threatened, we spend extra money on getting a cab home late at night instead of taking the bus. We text our friends as we’re walking home, we’re constantly scanning our location and making sure that no-one’s following us or approaching us. Because we’ve internalised the idea that if we’re just careful enough, we can avoid being raped.

And that’s a lie. Because the way we’re presented with us, it’s not actually possible to be careful enough. Not unless we hide under our beds, lock our doors and never go out or let anyone in.

So-called ‘rape prevention’ that puts all the burden of ‘not being raped’ on a woman or on a potential victim doesn’t work. If it did, we’d see less rape happening, less women being attacked. But you know what has been shown to work? Education and prevention aimed at perpetrators (or potential perpetrators).

We need to teach rapists not to rape. We need to teach people what rape is. Rape isn’t just stranger-on-the-street-at-night rape. Rape is date rape, marital rape, ‘having sex’ with someone who is asleep or too drunk to know what’s going on, pressuring someone into having sex even though they don’t want to. Rape is sexual activity without active, informed consent by both parties.

The success of the ‘Don’t Be That Guy’ campaign in Canada shows that rape prevention aimed at rapists works. And it works a whole lot better than telling women to be careful. Why can’t we jump on board this train rather than the one that makes women responsible for not getting themselves raped? It’s about education and understanding consent and understanding when it isn’t there. The sort of changes that need to happen here to make women more safe from sexual violence are to social values that are systemic and deep-seated, and they can’t be fixed with surface treatment that says ‘well, men will be men, and some men will be rapists, and there’s nothing we can do to change that, so all you women just need to be more careful.’

But make no mistake – they can be changed. Once we start teaching people not to rape.

*I realise that people of all genders can be rapists and can be victims of rape. However, statistics is Australia show percentages of male perpetrators at around 99%, and it is always women who are told to be more careful in the media. This is why this post will be focused on men who rape women.

Edit: since I wrote this I’ve found some Australian statistics on sexual assault by strangers which puts the percentage at around 20%. Whether this is because of cultural differences or because of an issue in how sexual assault is reported, I’m not certain. I should also say that it’s not my intention to marginalise those who have been assaulted by a stranger at all. (25/3/13)

Over at my university’s student magazine, it seems that people think feminism is about swinging those Chanel totes and denigrating women who don’t dress to be attractive to men. In the Women’s Collective, we beg to differ. Check out the wonderful reply the Collective put together!

Whether you are five, fifteen or fifty; whether you are just starting out in life or have many years behind you. Whether you are gay, straight, bi, trans, queer, asexual, poly or elsewhere in the alphabet soup, whether you are white or a person of colour, whether you are married or single, whether you are religious or non-religious:

You are spectacular.

Whether you are the Prime Minister of this country, or a corporate lawyer, or a teacher or a nurse, or a shelf-stacker at Coles, or a stay-at-home mother; whether you have a PhD or never finished high school; whether you can buy yourself a new car every year or are struggling to pay the rent each week:

You are smart and capable.

Whether your body is fat or thin or tall or short, whether your hair is red or black or blonde, whether you whether you wear make up or refuse to; whether you have a disability that’s visible or hidden; whether people ogle you in the street or sneer at you, whether you consider yourself sexy or don’t want to be sexy, whether you’re confident in your body or not, and whatever the length of your skirt:

You deserve to be respected.

Whether you have experienced violence and abuse, or whether you have been sheltered from it; whether you have been discriminated against and fought back or stayed quiet, whether you are an activist fighting the patriarchy, or whether you are sometimes swallowed by its overwhelming power:

You are strong.

And when you are angry rather than happy, and when you aren’t feeling strong, or respected, or smart or capable, and when you really aren’t ok and wish people would stop telling you that you need to be ok:

You deserve to be listened to and not patronised.

Happy International Women’s Day to every woman in the world!

(Or at least, every woman who reads this blog.)