Contextually fine | Ally is (still) a verb | Governance mentions | Taking the lead |
And another thing about board solidarity and your last chance to catch me at TedX Castemaine this month
Contextually fine
Just over a year ago, I was in holiday in Tasmania with my beloved and besties, and pretty bloody happy about it.
It was early September 2023 and I was hanging and chatting with one of my pals in an outdoor hot-tub another had coaxed into warmth with a smokey wood fire. I felt safe and peaceful and surrounded by love. There may have been wine.
We were talking about my poetry book, which had been out in the world a few months. My spa buddy asked, given my creative practice had taken place almost exclusively online for over a decade, how I had fared with the more dangerous sides of digital space – trolling, censorship or other forms of abuse.
At the time, I replied, aside from the everyday misogynies of being a woman in the world (including the digital one), I had actually been extraordinary lucky – undoubtedly due to my whiteness and privilege. Other than run-of-the-mill sexism or the odd Invasion Day retort, the trolling I’d experienced was mostly people telling me my poems didn’t rhyme.
A few weeks later, that all changed, when I started a series of posts advocating for a ‘yes’ vote to the Voice referendum. A few weeks after that, I made my first post about Palestine (republished again here) – and my 15+ years of relative safely online was officially and irrevocably over.
Floods of negative comments, name-calling, personal slurs and bad faith arguments from peers and anonymous online trolls, and even critiques of my decision to unfollow those not advocating on social media. With Palestine, of course, this behaviour also moved offline, including getting shirt-fronted at writing workshops for showcasing Arab poets, scolded by strangers for wearing a keffiyeh or Palestinian flag, or directly lobbied after being named in a now-infamous WhatsUp group for my work on Palestine as a governance issue).
Yet through all this, I have still been protected by my privilege. First Nations people, Arab-Australians and people of colour in general have been disproportionately targeted on- and off-line. This isn’t about me. It never was. This last awful year has also provided a masterclass in international law and human rights abuses (including those we in Australia support – with our tax dollars or with our silence).
Because of that privilege, and because awareness begets awareness, a year ago I also didn’t know much about Sudan or The Congo, Tigray or Myanmar, West Papua or Kanaky/New Caledonia, or any of the other global horrors that have preoccupied our heads and hearts over the last 12 months. Since then, things have also got worse for people in Lebanon, Yemen and Syria, Afghanistan and Ukraine, as well as women, children, First Nations, LGBTQIA+ and disabled people, refugees, students, protesters and even shoppers here in Australia (and more).
Those naive and peaceful hot-tub times seem like a very long time ago. Since then, the best I’ve been able to get to has been ‘contextually fine’. Though, given everything going on in the world, I’m actually contextually fucking amazing – in spite of almost-daily grief and disbelief, and almost-unprecedented exhaustion.
I can’t remember when I’ve been more aware of my privilege or safety, or another time in my life when I’ve thought of them every single day. Even in the midst of moving house, because of the privilege of moving from one safe place to another. Even when sick with Covid (again), because of the privilege of being sick in secure housing, with access to good food and medicine, and with someone to care for me. Even when grieving the loss of a friend, at a time when so many are grieving entire families, entire bloodlines.
I also can’t remember being more aware of the responsibility that comes with that privilege. Sending postcards, esims or making donations costs very little to make a big difference. Boycotting, contacting our government reps or superannuation providers, or attending protests are free and easy ways to help through the helplessness every day – and surely, the least we can do.
Ally is (still) a verb: some thoughts on colonialism and care (REPOST)
One year ago in Tarntanya/Adelaide, a blood test took me over the road from Pirltawardli (Possum Park). In need of some nature, I attempted to walk the edge of one of three golf courses in that part of the city. Ten minutes later, I left in tears. The glaring normalcy of the scene, of exclusively white golfers in a privileged place of safety and leisure, felt surreal and gross in a week that the world is in literal and metaphorical flames.
Like so many of us, my head and heart are full with thoughts of colonialism right now, of the parallels between the ongoing invasions of Australia and Gaza – the violence and misinformation, the whitewashing, and the power of colonisers over the colonised. Neither theoretical or historical. Both very real and happening right now.
Like so many of us, I am in a state of overwhelm, filling sleepless nights with thoughts of the Voice, of Israel and Palestine, of worry for strangers and loved ones and humanity itself.
This isn’t about me. I have never been more aware of the cis, white, Western privilege that has protected me from feeling these things always, that is why I’m so bludgeoned by what so many are feeling right now. The culpability of bearing witness: to Australia’s ongoing colonisation, to the apartheid and genocide in Gaza, of the way they’re both framed as debates rather than human rights abuses and war crimes. Yet, I also know I’ve never felt this way. Such awfulness and unfairness. Such fury, helplessness and grief.
Golf isn’t the point, of course. Conflating golfers with no-voters and Islamaphobes is neither true nor fair. Don’t come at me with #NotAllGolfers. Self-care comes in many forms and I hope you’re finding yours.
Sometimes that looks like stepping away – like many First Peoples of these sovereign nations are doing in the week of silence after the Voice. As allies, when what little we can do seems to make such little difference, it’s understandable to feel like we can't even to do that much.
Which may be why this from Tasbeeh Herwees hit me so hard: ‘I do not envy those of you with the ability to look away, to ‘log off’, to prioritise your ‘mental health’ over bearing witness to genocide. One day you will be in the position to tell someone where you were when all this happened, when an entire people were wiped off the map – what you said, how you reacted, which [government representatives] you called to help stop it, and you’ll have to tell someone – a daughter, a grandson, a niece or nephew – that you couldn’t even look, that you couldn’t even give those people the easiest thing you could give them, which is an eyewitness testimony of their pain, their suffering, and the denial of their freedom.’
So I’m trying to bear witness – for First Peoples in Australia and Palestinians both – and trying to find the balance between being there and burning out. I’ve written to the PM and my local politicians. I’ve donated. I’ve tried to make sense of my feelings through these words. I’m amplifying the voices and messages of people with much greater right and wisdom to speak on these issues (see below). And I’m having conversations – like this one – to encourage loved ones and strangers to do the same if you can.
My thoughts and care are first foremost with my First Nations, Palestinian and Jewish friends and colleagues and their communities. If there is anything more practical I can do for you, I’m here. My thoughts are with my fellow allies too. It’s right that our grief isn’t centered right now, but it’s grief all the same. Go as gently as you can.
Lifeline: 13 11 14 | 13YARN: 13 92 76
Governance mentions
If you liked my recent article on ‘the statements we make’ in Overland, you’ll love the thoughtful, transformative and straight-talking condemnation of Australia’s cultural infrastructure and cultural failure from Andy Butler in the latest addition of Meanjin Quarterly (which is worth the cost of subscription alone). Thrilled to get a mention in this vital report from the artistic front line of our sector’s fumbles, fails and institutional silence over Palestine.
I was also delighted to find my governance work referenced in Heather Robinson’s latest for The Conversation about the recent spate of arts leadership departures in Australia, and how arts, cultural and for-purpose organisations need to get better at walking the talk of their organisational values.
(Still) taking the lead
On a completely different topic, I was beyond proud to get a mention in Emma Bennison’s powerful address to the United Blind Leaders forum last month.
‘In 2012, I was Chair of Arts Access Australia, an organisation that advocated for people with disabilities in the arts sector,’ Emma said. ‘At the time, our CEO [that’s me] was non-disabled, and very publicly, she made the courageous decision to step aside to make room for a disabled person to lead. It was an act of allyship, but it also exposed the deep-seated biases that exist within our society. Concerns were raised about whether we would even be able to find a disabled person capable of doing the job. Some people, in their ignorance, asked whether the current CEO would consider poking her eye out or chopping off a leg to qualify. Yes, that was actually said. Others questioned why it mattered at all if the CEO was disabled.'
When Emma stepped down as Chair and was eventually appointed to the role of CEO, this pushback continued, which she spoke about in the short video we made in 2012 about our handover.
All these years later, I am still gobsmacked by the things people said about our leadership transition. And still disappointed that so many non-disabled leaders of disability service and advocacy organisations are still failing to step aside to let disabled people lead.
And another thing… on board solidarity
Boards speak with one voice (except when they don't). Unfortunately, not only are we witnessing failures from boards not speaking up about the multiple, massive issues currently affecting their teams, orgs or sectors at the moment, but board members leaking confidential information, or bringing outside agendas into their meetings in an attempt to sway the actions of their boards or the orgs they oversee.
We're also seeing board members resigning in protest at board decisions or processes (which is absolutely fair for them to do) but then immediately forgetting their duty of confidentiality doesn’t end when their term does (which is not).
My latest ‘and another thing’ vlog covers the tricky legal and ethical terrain around board confidentiality and solidarity. Check it out on my website.
These vlogs are usually exclusively for my Patreon followers. You can access the full version and archive by joining me as an advocate, ally or accomplice from just $2.50/month on Patreon).
Reminder: TedX Castlemaine on October 26
I am looking forward to being part of the line-up for TEDxCastlemaine at the Theatre Royal on the morning of Saturday 26 October, with my provocation on: why (nearly) everything you thought you knew about boards is wrong. Tickets are still available from the TedXCastlemaine website.
You can also meet some of the speakers and other incredible arts leaders at an informal social gathering at Shedshaker Brewery from 2pm. It’s free but you can RSVP online.