Misogyny

Open Letter to Edinburgh Rape Crisis Staff and Trustees

Posted on by Claire

With thanks to Jean Hatchet for her feminist documentation and transcription work. This one is for Sally, and all the other women in too vulnerable a position to publicly advocate for single-sex services.

Dear Edinburgh Rape Crisis,


My name is Claire Heuchan. I’m a survivor of men’s sexual violence. And I’m writing this letter to express concerns about the troubling implications of comments made by your CEO, Mridul Wadhwa, at a recent event with SayiT Sheffield. This letter is in no way intended as an attack on Edinburgh Rape Crisis; I have the greatest respect for your organisation, and believe you do lifesaving work. The recorded incidences of rape and attempted rape in Scotland continue to skyrocket, yet the conviction rate is among the lowest for any type of crime – which means that you are, unfortunately, more necessary than ever before. But women who have survived horrific acts of male violence are going without support, self-excluding from your service and others, because these spaces are now mixed-sex.


That’s not an untruth, exaggeration, or story made up to fit a particular agenda. It’s the reality here in Scotland; a reality acknowledged directly by your CEO. Wadhwa admitted that “in Scotland, where you have large groups of survivors, some are not using our services because they see us as trans inclusive and feeling that they may be exposed to an issue that they are not prepared to deal with.” But women aren’t self-excluding because “they may be exposed to an issue.” They’re self-excluding because they may be exposed to males in the aftermath of surviving male violence. Any trauma-informed service – as ERC claims to be – must have the capacity to acknowledge why that is problematic.


Wadhwa recognises that survivors are self-excluding from mixed-sex services. But frames the attitudes of women who have survived male violence, as opposed to the mixed-sex spaces, as the problem. These comments were made by the CEO of ERC – someone with the power to shape the ethos of your organisation and survivors’ experiences within it. Wadhwa’s words have consequences, as does the attitude they embody.


The feminist policy analysists Murray Blackburn MacKenzie “wrote to Scottish Women’s Aid to ask whether they were aware of any work undertaken by any of the violence against women and girls organisations in Scotland that sought to quantify the scale of potential self-exclusion by women from both specialist and mainstream services should they admit transwomen.” They received no response. Transparency and public accountability would both go a long way towards resolving the conflict of interests where self-ID is concerned.


Therefore, I would like to know: has Edinburgh Rape Crisis undertaken a change impact analysis or any other study into the consequences of making your services mixed-sex spaces? And, if so, will the findings be made public? In the absence of data from Rape Crisis or Women’s Aid, Women and Girls Scotland undertook their own research. And this is what they found:


“A majority of women (80.1%) said that female victims of male violence should be able to access female-only survivor support services and refuges, and a majority (71%) said that if they had reason to use survivor support services or a refuge, they would not be comfortable if the service was inclusive of trans-identified males.“


Since 2018, Women and Girls Scotland have pointed out to both Rape Crisis Scotland and Scottish Women’s Aid “that failures to be clear regarding whether or not their network of providers will offer their services on a female-only basis for those who need it, has led to women self-excluding from their services.” I don’t know how many women have self-excluded from Rape Crisis or Women’s Aid services because they are mixed-sex. Apparently, nobody outside of these organisations does. But I would argue that if even one woman self-excludes from these services, that is one woman too many.


No woman is disposable. And it is nothing short of Orwellian that women are now self-excluding from services because of policies made in the name of ‘inclusivity.’ It’s not inclusive if it doesn’t work for women. And ‘women supporting women’ was a banner founding members of Edinburgh Rape Crisis marched under. It was a founding principle of your organisation. Nobody says it better than Caroline Burrell, who led ERC before Wadhwa:


“Edinburgh Rape Crisis Centre was founded by a group of women who wanted to create a safe and confidential space for women who had experienced sexual violence.”


Burrell’s successor has deviated from these principles, arguing that “being really radical in our inclusion of those who are marginalised does not discriminate against those who have relative privilege in our society.” But what “privilege” does this mean, when at least 1 in 4 British women will experience male violence? Two women a week are killed by a current or former (male) partner in England and Wales alone; and approx. 85,000 women experience men’s sexual violence every year. Male violence against women and girls happens at a similar rate in Scotland – and, indeed, around the world. No other demographic is assaulted and killed on this scale; not in Scotland. Therefore, I’m concerned that ERC’s CEO seeks to create a hierarchy of survivors by positioning women and girls as an advantaged party.

Edinburgh Rape Crisis Centre: Women Supporting Women


When it comes to male violence, women as a sex class are the least ‘privileged’ demographic on the planet. Yes, the vulnerability of some women is heightened by race, class, migration status, disability, faith, or sexuality. And specialised services do vital work, with significantly less funding than mainstream organisations. But sex is the commonality between women’s experiences of male violence, and feminist analysis must reflect that.


Wadhwa also suggests that “organisations might… have open conversations with survivors if they wish and are willing to engage around what equality and diversity means.” But the women’s sector exists to support women through the aftermath of male violence, not do EDI training with survivors.


The SayiT Sheffield event is not the first time Wadhwa has advocated services carry out a form of EDI training with survivors. Speaking on the Guilty Feminist podcast, Wadhwa stated that “sexual violence happens to bigoted people as well. And so, you know, it is not a discerning crime. But these spaces are also for you. But if you bring unacceptable beliefs that are discriminatory in nature, we will begin to work with you on your journey of recovery from trauma. But please also expect to be challenged on your prejudices.”


As Raquel Rosario Sánchez points out, this directly contradicts ERC’s claim that your services are “trauma-informed” and “non-judgemental” through “judging victims by informing them that they had to ‘reframe’ their trauma so they could overcome the entirely natural fear and distrust that male violence induces on victims and survivors.” Somehow, it’s never men that are asked to do the heavy lifting in terms of trans inclusion – even though they perpetrate the violence that put women and trans people both at risk. But, in this case, that work is put upon women who are trying to make sense of perhaps the worst trauma they will ever experience.


I am far from the first feminist to highlight this issue. For Women Scotland described Wadhwa’s Guilty Feminist appearance as “a masterclass of gaslighting”; and they’re not wrong. FWS have also been consistent in championing survivors’ right to access single-sex services in the aftermath of male violence, and – if the content of this letter has not already made it abundantly clear – that’s a cause I will support until my dying breath. Without a trace of shame or regret. But Wadhwa accuses women who want single-sex services of “associating with fascists and those who would want to eliminate anybody who is not cisgendered and white in our society.”


To whom is Wadhwa referring? Such unsubstantiated claims and veiled comments only add to the toxicity of gender discourse in Scotland. Lorde knows I have little time for the single-issue Gender Critical crowd. But, to the best of my knowledge, not a single woman among them has given even tangential support for the genocide of people of colour and/or LGBT people. And Wadhwa’s claim pours gasoline on a public discussion that was already explosive.


I advocate women-only space as a Black lesbian feminist. And in so doing I would much sooner stand beside Women and Girls Scotland (spearheaded by working-class feminists) or For Women Scotland than a Rape Crisis CEO who prioritises their own interests above the needs of survivors. Some may point out that these WGS and FWS are new and relatively untested, to which I would say that grassroots feminist groups emerge from need – in this instance, a need that is not being met by established and government-funded feminist organisations.


In her book Feminism for Women: The Real Route to Liberation, campaigner Julie Bindel warns against the dangers of “femocracy”; the corporatisation of the sort of feminist activism that built the women’s sector from nothing. When feminist organisations “became fearful of offending their stakeholders”, Bindel argues, “the form of feminism they espoused became tamer and less threatening to the establishment.” And as I read these words for the first time, I thought of Edinburgh’s feminist organisations – was this why you stayed unanimously silent when Julie was attacked in your city after giving a talk about male violence against women?


More to the point, I wonder: is it fear of public retribution that led to Edinburgh Rape Crisis shifting towards a mixed-sex team and spaces? Is it fear that you will lose your funding? Or a combination of the two? I am not without sympathy. The cost attached to advocating women-only space is now disproportionate as it is vicious. And generations of feminists fought tooth and nail to build the women’s sector into what it now is – if defunded, that infrastructure is not easily replaced. Especially not while the politics of austerity govern Britain.


That being said, what about the women self-excluding from your service and others? When are we going to have an open discussion about the consequences of making services mixed-sex? Where is the research into the efficacy of mixed-sex services? These are all questions in desperate need of an answer.


Edinburgh’s feminist organisations have demonstrated an unwillingness to engage with women’s concerns about self-ID or the Scottish Government’s proposed reforms to the Gender Recognition Act. In this, Edinburgh Rape Crisis is certainly not alone. Engender were scheduled to hold a meeting about the GRA and women’s rights. It was postponed… indefinitely. And I still wonder, if they’d held that meeting, how might gender discourse be different in this country? Let’s face it, this conversation can’t get much uglier.

Engender’s cancellation statement


I think that if Scotland’s feminist organisations had facilitated open and mutually respectful public discussion around this subject – instead of leaving two marginalised groups of people to get locked into a cycle of conflict over social media – we might have reached something close to consensus by now.

But instead we are here: where women self-exclude from a Rape Crisis service, and the problem goes unaddressed. Something has clearly gone wrong in the Scottish women’s sector, when the CEO of a Rape Crisis Centre can repeatedly make comments such as Wadhwa’s without reprisal; especially when, as Wadhwa recognises, some women choose to carry trauma alone rather than accessing support via that service. But it is fixable. If I didn’t think this problem could be resolved, I would have spent my Saturday swimming and reading lesbian books instead of wading further into a public discussion that is utterly thankless and, frankly, excruciating.

I’m writing this letter because I believe it is possible for there to be a range of services that meet the specific needs of women and the specific needs transgender people both; and that, one day, we can build a world where neither set of services is needed because patriarchy has been dismantled. And in the short term it is my hope that these words will open up the space for discussion; between Edinburgh Rape Crisis staff and trustees; between Edinburgh Rape Crisis and the women alienated by the actions of their CEO; perhaps even between Rape Crisis centres across Scotland. The herstory of Scotland’s Rape Crisis movement is one that we can all be proud of; that herstory does not need a “wash and clean”, as Wadhwa suggests, but rather a radical reclaiming as women build this movement’s future.


One last point. Several feminist organisations seem to have taken the ostrich approach to public discussions around sex, gender, and women’s spaces. But this approach relies on the assumption that it will all blow over sooner or later; that we women who want single-sex spaces and services will simply give up and decide not to make a fuss. But that’s not going to happen. Too much is at stake. #WomenWontWheesht. And we’re ready to talk when you are.


Yours in sisterhood,


Claire

Further Reading

Shonagh Dillon (2021). A Scottish Sister Speaks.

Karen Ingala Smith (2021). Counting Dead Trans People.

Karen Ingala Smith (2019). Counting Dead Women – and counting people who identify as transgender

Eileen Maitland (2009). Woman to Woman, An Oral History of Rape Crisis in Scotland 1976-1991. Hampden Advertising Limited

Women and Girls Scotland (2019). Female Only Provision: A Women and Girls in Scotland Report

Keeping Faith: Towards a More Compassionate Gender Discourse

Posted on by Claire

This is the ninth part in my series of essays on sex, gender, and sexuality. It’s dedicated to my dear friend Rosa Freedman, as thanks for our wonderful conversations about feminism and faith.

I’ve been thinking about faith recently. Faith means a lot of different things to different people. When I think of the word faith, it’s Red Dead Redemption 2 that springs to mind first – specifically, the outlaw Dutch Van Der Linde screaming at his followers to “have some goddamn faith!” as he makes increasingly erratic decisions that jeopardise their lives. But for my grandmother, a committed Catholic, faith has a wildly divergent connotation. She doesn’t think of a video game, she thinks of church.

Faith has, at times, been a point of tension in our relationship. When I left the church aged twelve, against her wishes; when I came out in favour of abortion at fourteen, beginning to develop feminist consciousness; again, when I came out as lesbian in my early twenties, expressing the view that same-sex couples should have the right to marry. She’s a devout Catholic. And I’m a radical feminist. We do not see eye to eye on many social issues. But we don’t have to in order to hold love and respect for one another, or to connect in a meaningful way.

Faith has brought my grandmother a great deal of comfort over the pandemic. She livestreams mass from her younger sister’s church, and often calls me over to catch a glimpse of the aunt for whom I was named. There is also an adorable little Black girl being fostered by members of the congregation – not knowing her name, we refer to the child as “that wee cutie” – and the sight of her often prompts my grandmother to share her recollections of when I was small. These are not unpleasant experiences, despite her belief and my lack of it. Listening to the priest in the background as I go about my about my morning is akin to ASMR. It’s relaxing, so long as I didn’t listen too closely to the sermon’s contents.

I don’t agree with the beliefs or tenets of Catholicism. Yet I still set up mass on YouTube whenever my Nana asks. Every Sunday without fail, and on a number of week days too. Why? Because I’ve long outgrown that puerile Richard Dawkins school of atheism that dictates every mention of organised religion must turn into a debate. But also because I’m a grown woman who recognises that different beliefs – even when contradictory – can peacefully coexist. Maintaining this belief in the current political climate has been a challenge.

With Stonewall pedalling the line of “no debate” when it comes to gender identity, and the Scottish Government having abdicated all responsibility to facilitate open-spirited public discussions around their proposed reform of the Gender Recognition Act, the situation only ever seems to get uglier. In England, academics such as Rosa Freedman and Jo Phoenix “have been threatened with violence, disinvited from speaking and even blacklisted” for the supposed thought-crime of “asserting that there are two sexes — male and female — and for insisting that some spaces are legally allowed to be organised according to sex and not gender identity.” Selina Todd, an academic specialising in feminist and working-class histories, needs security to attend her place of work after threats made in the name of transgender rights.

Here in Scotland, the poet and programmer Jenny Lindsay has been subject to a sustained campaign of smears and targeted harassment. That her latest collection explores themes of menstruation and sexual violence was – in the eyes of some – sufficient evidence for Jenny to be condemned. Joanna Cherry – an openly lesbian politician opposed to self-ID – was threatened with corrective rape by a young man belonging to her own political party, the most extreme example among the tide of abuse she has received. Despite urging from 120 SNP women, First Minister Nicola Sturgeon failed to publicly condemn the targeting of Joanna Cherry.

Ann Henderson – only the second woman to hold the position of Rector at the University of Edinburgh – spent most of her tenure being slandered by students after sharing a tweet encouraging legislators to attend a Fair Play for Women meeting on her personal Twitter account. And Julie Bindel, when she spoke about women’s rights at Edinburgh Uni, was attacked as she left the premises. We had an hour-long security briefing before that event. And only the intervention of security guards prevented Julie from being beaten. Edinburgh’s vibrant community of feminist activists, organisations, and commentators remained almost entirely silent on the matter.

“There had been a protest outside earlier, but that had gone so he was obviously waiting for me. He was shouting and ranting and raving, ‘you’re a fucking cunt, you’re a fascist bitch, you’re a fucking TERF’, and the rest of it. We were trying to walk to the cab to take us to the airport, and then he just lunged at me and almost punched me in the face, but a security guard pulled him away. I got my phone out to film him for evidence and he went for me again. It took three security guards at this stage to deal with him.”

Julie Bindel, in The Scotsman

I could go on. The list of women deemed hateful and therefore hate-worthy for acknowledging the consequences attached to our sex only ever grows. And it is always women. The beliefs of a left-wing woman who believes that sex is the material basis of her own oppression are met with stronger backlash than the views of a right-wing man who actively upholds the oppression of women and trans people both. And I do not think that is a coincidence. Who wins, when feminist women are so viciously targeted? Patriarchy, of course.

I do believe that a better discourse around gender is possible. And perhaps maintaining that faith is foolish, given all the evidence to the contrary. I have lost a great deal more than I have ever yet publicly admitted because of my contributions to gender discourse. But radical feminism is fundamentally a politics of hope. So, I will continue to write, to speak, to connect the dots between how all of these women have been mistreated and the wider socio-political context of patriarchy. And I will do it in the hope of reaching some point of connection with people whose views on gender do not align with my own, so that these words might serve as a bridge towards mutual respect.

Faith is a word that crops up regularly in gender discourse. More specifically, whether an argument is made in good or bad faith. I promise that every word I have published or spoken on this subject is made in good faith. I also recognise that there are bad faith actors on both ‘sides’ of this discussion, which is why some may be reluctant to believe me.

On one hand, there is an extreme fringe of Gender Critical women who believe that trans-identifying people are predatory fetishists. On the other, there is an extreme fringe of transgender rights activists who persist in framing women they deem so-called ‘TERFs’ as legitimate targets of violence. In my previous work I have drawn a connection between “punch a TERF” rhetoric and physical attacks made against Maria MacLachlan, Helen Steel, and Julie Bindel. I will not rehash that argument (though I do absolutely stand by it). What I will say instead is that the extreme fringes of both ‘sides’ of the schism surrounding gender do more harm than good, bringing cruelty and prejudice to a public conversation that is already fraught with tension.

The bad faith actors do so much damage because they intentionally stand in the way of any shared understanding being reached, or consensus being built. For example, when writing about radical feminist responses to gender identity, Sara Ahmed claimed that “there cannot be a dialogue when some at the table are in effect or intent arguing for the elimination of others at the table.” Similarly, in an open letter to Mary Beard, Natacha Kennedy expressed the view that “one side is effectively being forced to argue for their entire existence against a group of people… who would like to see us dead.” This hyperbole is as extreme as it is dishonest.

No radical feminist would ever advocate violence against transgender people. I believe that people identifying as trans deserve to be treated with respect and dignity, to live free from discrimination and male violence. And I have never met another radical feminist who would say differently. The radical feminist goal of abolishing gender is not a call for the “elimination” of anybody, as Ahmed describes it. Nor does it involve, as Kennedy tries to make out, wishing harm on anybody. Quite the opposite. Radical feminists want a world without gender so that everybody – whether they’re female, or someone who identifies as transgender – can live a full life that is unblighted by male violence.

When I say that I wish we lived in a world without homelessness, I am not suggesting that all homeless people should be exterminated. Rather, I am calling for the provision of good quality social housing that is freely available to all who need it, including migrants and people seeking asylum; a welfare system that allows every single person to live in dignity and comfort; a dismantling of the class hierarchy that forces people into abject, inter-generational poverty then treats them as disposable.

Similarly, when I say that I wish we lived in a world without gender, I am not calling for the elimination of people identifying as transgender – or women, for that matter, who are also gendered subjects under patriarchy. Rather, I am calling for an end to the brutal system of oppression that exists as both a cause and consequence of male violence. The UK femicide census shows that 1,425 women were killed by men in the space of a decade. That’s what gender does. That’s what gender is: hierarchy that places men at the top and women at the bottom – costing us our safety, our freedom, our bodily autonomy, and even our lives.

Having survived more than one brush with male violence, I would much rather live in a world where it did not exist. On that, Ahmed and Kennedy and I should all be able to agree. Should being the operative word. Both of them chose hyperbole over truth. There is far more common ground between those who do and do not believe in gender identity than the people making these bad faith arguments would have their readers know.

Another example of a bad faith actor is Bex Stinson – Stonewall’s former Head of Trans Inclusion – who published an extraordinary piece on the charity’s official website claiming that “some people simply don’t believe trans people exist.” Her argument is fundamentally dishonest.

Of course people who identify as transgender exist. Nobody disputes that reality, which is proven by an abundance of empirical evidence. Some people, however, question the orthodoxy that dictates people have an innately held gender identity – as Stonewall states in their glossary of terms.

Stonewall’s definition of gender identity

In a way, the concept of gender identity is rather like a faith. I will use the example of Catholicism, because it is the church in which I was raised and the only organised religion on which I am qualified to comment. Some people believe that we all have an innate gender identity, just as some people – like my grandmother – believe that the Eucharistic elements turn into the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ. Other people believe that gender (to borrow Raquel Rosario Sánchez’s brilliant definition) is the social construction of sexist stereotypes, just as there are people who – like me – believe that the wafer and wine are unchanged in nature by the priest’s consecration.

I recognise that the bread and wine exist, just as I recognise that people who identify as transgender exist. While I may dispute the nature of that existence with theologians or queer theorists, I recognise it without hesitation. One need not ascribe to the theories of transubstantiation or gender identity to recognise that the people holding both sets of beliefs deserve to be treated with respect and compassion.

Yes, differences in faith can be a source of conflict. The west coast of Scotland continues to be divided by sectarianism. I grew up hearing nasty rhymes about “Cathy cats” and “Proddy dogs”, malicious comments about “Fenians” and “Huns.” Boys from the local Catholic school and non-denominational (unofficially Protestant) school would constantly fight. And those boys grew into the kind of men who rampaged through Glasgow last month, spreading unrest and violence under the flimsy pretext of a football match’s outcome.

This division based on religion reminds me of nothing so much as the schism around gender. People have done all kinds of ugly things in the name of faith, convinced that they will be remembered on the “right side of history.” Men in particular. That is the commonality between the divides around religion and gender: the conflict in our lives is almost invariably escalated into abuse by violent men.

I am beyond tired of the extremism within gender discourse: of women being hounded out of opportunities to speak or publish, being denied academic freedom, losing out on their livelihoods, needing security guards to do their jobs, being threatened with rape or murder. It is wildly irresponsible to position feminist speech, as opposed to male violence, as the root of harm against those identifying as transgender. And it is unacceptable that the violent misogyny women are now subject to is being reframed as a form of protest. Protest is a resistance of the dominant, patriarchal culture – not a recreation of that culture.

The blame for violence against women and trans-identifying people both lies squarely with the perpetrators: men. And the sooner we recognise that truth, the sooner we can stop wasting vital energy on this conflict and resume the urgent work of dismantling patriarchy. A better, kinder gender discourse is possible. One build upon a foundation of mutual respect. We only have to keep faith. As Angela Davis said: “You have to act as if it were possible to radically transform the world. And you have to do it all the time.”

Bibliography

Ann Henderson. (2021). Reflections on the University of Edinburgh. IN Woman’s Place UK

Jane Clare Jones. (2015). ‘You Are Killing Me’: On Hate Speech and Feminist Silencing. IN Trouble and Strife

Jenny Lindsay. (2020). The Anatomy of a Hounding. IN Dark Horse Magazine, Issue 42

In Praise of Older Women: A Love Letter to My Big Sisters

Posted on by Claire

A disturbing trend has been established over the last few years – implying that, as women within the feminist movement age, they become less relevant. It is not simply unrepentant misogynists airing this view – although they are responsible for starting it – but rather relatively young and often liberal women who openly describe themselves as feminists. Kaite Welsh of the Telegraph branded Germaine Greer a “dinosaur”, suggesting that she “face[s] a slow and painful extinction.” Similarly, Jessica Valenti used her Guardian column to lament when older feminists “lose their way“, the implication being that doddering old dears like Susan Brownmiller are no longer fully aware of the world around them.

I do not dispute Welsh’s right to critique Greer’s perspective on gender. Valenti’s objection to Brownmiller’s comments on sexual assault is, in my opinion, perfectly reasonable. That being said, these criticisms should not be couched in ageist language. As Lorde says, “the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” In using ageism to reproach older women, younger feminists give tacit permission for men to do the same. There is nothing revolutionary or progressive about employing the same misogynistic tactics used to silence women.

Across Twitter, older radical feminists are slammed for being “anti-sex”, “fossils”, and “pearl-clutching prudes.” In addition to perpetuating ageist misogyny, these phrases are also symptomatic of intellectual laziness – challenge the ideas of our older sisters, not their right to participate in public discourse.

Susan Brownmiller quite literally wrote the book on rape culture. Without her contributions to feminist theory, ongoing discussions about male sexual violence and the patriarchal society that enables it simply wouldn’t have evolved to their present format. Irrespective of the controversy currently surrounding Greer, her writing and activism have proven hugely influential in critiquing social models built upon male dominance. She was a pioneer and deserves to be acknowledged as such. We know that trashing our fellow women gets us nowhere, let alone anywhere in the direction of liberation, so why do so many of us still fall into this trap? When women are pitted against women, we are fighting each other – not patriarchy – no matter how progressive we are told this in-fighting makes us.

Disagreement is not justifiable cause for demonising someone. Older women receive a disproportionate amount of flack in this respect, perhaps from women who haven’t yet realised that in twenty or thirty years time their youth will have faded and they will be in the same position. If we’re being honest, I used to oscillate between dreading middle-age and thinking I would, somehow, prove an exception to the invisibility of older women. Now, having spent time with and listened to so many amazing older women, I’m looking forward to it. I’m looking forward to being bolder, wiser, and stronger than my 23 year-old self with the same enthusiasm I once anticipated evolving my Pokémon.

Taking off the blinkers and really looking at older women has filled my world with positive role models. With this in mind, here is a letter of love and gratitude addressed to my older sisters.

Dear Older Feminists,

                                           I am writing to thank you for the battles you fought before I had ever even heard of feminism, and for continuing to fight by my side to this very day. We have a long way to go, there is no doubt, but it all seems much less of an uphill struggle when we stand together. That sisterhood is a nourishing, sustaining force. Without it, I might easily have given up or stayed silent in favour of an ‘easy’ life. But, as Audre Lorde pointed out, our silence will not protect us. Every time my mentions are flooded by trolls suggesting I kill myself or “go back to Africa”, your fortitude and support are what inspire me to carry on with activism.

Even when we disagree, and it does happen (e.g. some of you are strongly pro-Hillary Clinton, and I am not), you acknowledge my stance and treat my voice as significant in itself. You have encouraged me to write, to speak out, to stand up for myself – even when the you are the people I’m disagreeing with. You have built the communities and spaces where I now flourish. You have taught me my own worth. By seeing my skills, knowledge, and creativity, you made it possible for me to see these things too. You have also given me plenty to aspire towards – keen cleverness, intellectual rigour, unerring kindness, awareness of others, steely determination, the strength of will to change the world.

All the traits I most admire are the traits I find in older women, older feminists. After years spent drinking the patriarchal Kool-Aid, and then trying to be the “right” sort of feminist, it was something of a revelation to find that both older and radical women are nothing short of [s]heroic. Your campaigns to support women, to end violence against women, to offer women the space to grow and learn, really have made this world a better place. How my life would have gone without your encouragement and enthusiasm doesn’t bear thinking about. It is thanks to you that I have purpose, determination, conviction, belief in myself – in short, all the tools I need to change the world as you have done, as you continue to do.

Yours in Sisterhood,

Claire