Ignore Them, And Watch Them Come Back For More

So, Caroline Criado-Perez did a lovely thing: she campaigned successfully so that when the British bank notes change face next, they will feature Jane Austen on the ten pound notes. This is significant because women are rather unrepresented on bank notes, rather suggesting that in this nation’s history is devoid of important females to choose from, with the exception of Florence Nightingale, who doesn’t even appear on bank notes anymore. Some people have tried to claim that the campaign was a bit of a PC agenda, and ultimately pointless, since a woman appears on every single banknote, presumably missing the point that Queen Elizabeth appears as the monarch, not an honorary female, and will, with the best will in the will (and, one would expect, with literally the best will in the world) not be on any fresh bank notes printed in, say, fifteen years time.

This wasn't enough, though. Quite soon, Perez was subjected to a genuinely horrific torrent of abuse, most of it within a 24 hour period, and mostly, it seems with the sole intention of shutting her up, just for having an opinion. Apart from anything else, this must be simply frustrating as well as depressing and at times threatening. To have abuse thrown at you when  nobody knows who you are, but to have it again (and magnified) when you are successful and established must be suffocating: ‘What the hell do you guys want?’

This has in turn prompted people like Caitlin Moran and others to ask exactly what twitter is doing about online abuse, particularly the threats of rape and death directed at women. Whereas facebook does have a resource for reporting on stuff you’re not happy with, twitter does not. Granted, facebook doesn’t always get it right (too many pictures of new mums breastfeeding get nixed, for instance), but it’s arguably a faltering step in  the right direction. When officials on twitter were asked what they were going to do about it, they battened down the hatches and made their accounts private (ironically, citing online abuse as the reason). It’s now been suggested that high profile account holders on twitter abandon the site to its own devices (and the trolls) on August 4^th – a so-called ‘trolliday’.

If I’m honest, I think that the Troll-iday will achieve very little, in actual, practical terms. The idiots and the bullies won’t really notice what’s going on, or they’ll simply sneer and declare loudly (and correctly) that such a boycott won’t really make much difference. And, to a very great extent, they’re exactly right. It’s already been argued that trolliday won’t silence the bullies, but actually make them bite harder. But like most protests, I suspect it isn’t the event itself that’s so important, as what it represents, and the reams of newsprint that will be (and have already been) devoted to the cause will argue. This isn’t about getting the trolls to shut up. It’s not even about ignoring them. It’s about something a lot simpler and more elegant. It’s giving us a chance to grow the hell up.

Let’s be clear here: this isn’t infringing on anyone’s freedom of speech. A ‘report abuse’ button on twitter (or any other social platform) does not – and should not – stop anyone from arguing, say, about the amount of benefit-swallowing immigrants swarming into the country every hour. That opinion, in of itself, is not actually offensive, although it’s arguably ill-informed. And indeed, it in theory leads to what twitter should excel at: two differing opinions smashing into each other (in 140 characters at a time), at the end of which, hopefully at least one person learns something they didn’t know before. If they were listening.

Many people argue (and quite loudly, ironically enough) that it’s pointless to draw attention to the troll – that such attention is exactly what the troll craves. It’s gone as far as to create a piece of advice that sounds like it was originally penned by the Brothers Grimm: ‘Don’t feed the troll’. It is, of course, an entirely meaningless and selfish bit of advice, which even this second someone is typing out on twitter. Hopefully, the trolliday, if nothing else, will go some way to dismantling that most insidious of pointless advice: ‘block and ignore’. This is the latest version of the idiotic demand that we’ve been handed down across the years, starting at school when we’re told to ignore the bullies, and they’ll go away, to questioning why the girl who was attacked was dressed like that and out so late, to sneering at celebrities who plead for privacy from the tabloids. Not only does it – unforgivably – blame the victims, it feeds an everlasting lie: that, if you (yes, you, not them) alter your behaviour, the bullies go away. But that’s not true. It was never true, and it never will be. The bullies don’t go away. Best case scenario: they simply turn their attention to someone else. But even that isn’t the problem with ‘block and ignore’. I’m sure that there are a few people who have given that advice in a well-intentioned manner. But they are presumably unaware of what that advice actually means. It means exactly the same as ‘just ignore then and they’ll go away’ always meant. The translation, if you don’t know what it means (and, don’t lie, you do know, you always knew what it meant) is simply this: Oh, please fuck off. I really don’t care enough about your unimportant problems. I don’t want to stand up for you, I don’t want to draw attention to myself. If I attach myself to you and your needs, I might get contaminated by whatever the bullies have smelled on you. You’ve probably done something to deserve the abuse you’re getting, because I really can’t be bothered to consider a world in which bullies will threaten rape and death for no good reason whatsoever. Just keep quiet, and it will go away. Or, at the very least, hopefully you will go away, instead. Either works for me. Just as long as I don’t have to help. Ignore them and they will go away.

Of course, that’s completely in the wrong. But not, actually, for the reasons that those who say ‘just block and ignore’ think. There’s a reason why this is a particularly hot topic at the moment. If you disagree with me on any subject – like, say, that the last Spiderman film was an entirely pointless if pretty reboot – then you would be perfectly able to disagree with me, and voice your disagreement firmly. You might even get a bit sweary, and call into question my intelligence and basic eyesight. None of this would fall into the realms of abuse, because it’s significantly unlikely that you would claim that the reason I disliked the last Spiderman  film was just because I was fat/ugly/had childbearing hips. (I don’t have child bearing hips, by the way. Those twigs would snap in a matter of seconds).  I’m not particularly fond of the often mis-used ‘check your privilege’ line, but its undeniable that I am pretty privileged: as a white male, my opinions are not going to be dismissed just on the perceived value (or lack thereof) of my gender. Indeed, if anyone calls me a fucking idiot, it’s because they have enough respect to honestly think that I am indeed a fucking idiot.

I know it’s a cliché, but having thought about this a bit, I can’t think of a better reason: the torrent of abuse that gets chucked at high profile, successful women online is borne of one thing only: fear. Sweaty-eyed, gibbering fear. If I talk about ‘a person going into a bar’, our default reaction is to assume that I’m talking about a man (and a white man, at that). The thing is, when you occupy a default position, you don’t have to do a hell of a lot to keep on to your crown. When intelligent, dynamic women are changing the world without having to change their hemline, others get confused and – yes, scared. If the trolls want attention, then, by all means, lets give them all the attention they can cope with, and more. You remember what it was like in school, or when you or your friend was in an abusive relationship. The bully thrived on silence. Not speaking up supports the bully. ‘Block and ignore’? How dare they. How dare we. It’s time to shout back. 

Tuesday 8 January 2012

I first heard about it on Radio 4. There was this almost unbridled sense of glee as we were told that, for the first time in ten years, Bowie had released a new single. Or maybe it was Bowie, rather than Bowie. In all the excitement, there seemed to be even more than the usual two ways to say the name. ( it's pronounced Bowie, by the way). Over on Twitter, the delirium was at fever pitch. It was all tears, Oh My Gods, and tweets delivered mainly in CAPS. There didn't seem to be one negative tweet. There wasn't even one of those tiresome ones where the person doesn't care at all (but nonetheless feels compelled to tell everyone that they don't care).

What everyone enthusing had in common, it seemed - apart from, obviously, their enthusiasm - was a certain lower age limit. It was tough to find anyone under the age of, say, 35. Not that you'd know it from the levels of near hysteria that were bubbling over the Internet like boiling milk in an ignored saucepan (no, I have no idea where that metaphor came from, either). It didn't seem that much different from the sort of reaction you'd get if Justin Bieber had announced a new song, or different haircut, or maybe a safety guard for paparazzi. Alright, maybe not that last one. But you get the point. And whereas the tears and screams that attend a Biever news story seem worthy of some kind of derision, it appeared that to cry on hearing the new David Bowie single for the first time, as many claimed to do, was much more socially acceptable. Part of the reasoning behind this is somewhat obvious (it's Bowie, duh), but you do wonder if all the kids are looking at the 40 year olds with the tight lipped tension that is usually reserved for when you see your dad dancing to Ultravox at your cousin's wedding.

Anyway, it's good news, and certainly a better twitter trend than Justin himself was having this week: #cutforbieber is as depressing and horrifying as you think it is. Bowie remains someone who is innovative and inspirational, which sounds an easy and lazy comment to make until you consider how uneasily embarrassed people appear to find themselves with Macca lately. It shouldn't happen - he's a freaking Beatle, for cryin' out loud - but when he closed the Olympics, we all felt confused and upset: this should have been the gig of a lifetime. But oddly, it just felt like your aging Music teacher attempting to play the cool card by doing a mash-up of Gangham Style and Smack My Bitch Up.

Nanowrimo, Day 2: Heading For A Wall

All throughout today, I've felt exhausted. Like I just want to fall asleep. And it's not even as if I've had a long day at the office. I just met up with a friend who, incredibly, I hadn't seen since about Feburary. We chatted about that, about love lives, and about green eggs and ham (not because we were at a Dr Suess convention, but because it was on the menu, and neither one of us have had it before). And, of course, we talked about nanowrimo. It's inevitable, now. People are going to often ask me over the next 29 days how it's going, and if I've hit today's word count. This is what happens when you constantly put your word count up as your Facebook status update, or on your twitter feed. 

And that, of course, is the whole point. 

I'm about to hit the the first bump in my story. I know what will happen in, say, twenty, thirty or maybe even fifty pages time. At least, vaguely. But I have no idea how to get there. I have no idea ow my character is going to get from where she is right now to the next set piece. Now, given today's exhaustion, this would be the point at which I'd normally decide to sleep on it, and get caught up on some box sets that I still haven't gotten around to watching yet. And that's where the whole insanity of nanowrimo really comes into its own. There's no hiding place. There are thousands of people all across the globe all hacking out their little novels right now. As you read this, there's probably someone within ten miles of you who should be finishing chapter 3. There's every chance that that someone should be you. Normally, if writer's block (which is sort of what I'm about to hit) trips you up, then that can be as good a reason as any to throw in the towel for a couple of days. But then a couple of days can very quickly become a week. After all, real life is very good at getting in the way. But with nanowrimo, if you tweeted that you'd delivered a 1,000 words on day 1, and 700 words on day 2, followed by a storming 3,000 words on day 3 .... Well, people are going to notice if your word count suddenly goes quiet for a day or so. It's sheer ego and embarrassment that can galvanise you to keep up your count. Let's face it, the whole producing a novel in thirty days is a plan of infinite stupidity in the first place, so it can be quite chastening if, once you've committed to it, you then bail out after only a couple of days. Everyone will know. And from now on, whenever you respond to the question 'so, what are you doing at the moment?' with the reply 'well, I'm working on that novel', you will have to accept that your companion is going to smile politely, nod, and change the subject to something else. Like how they're getting promoted. You know, like a grown-up. 

I've already hit a minor bump in the story already. Same problem - I didn't know what my character should do next. That time, it was an easier solve, since I simply wrote my inability to progress the story into the narrative: in other words, I had my character realising that she didn't know what to do next. That clicked something, because she went to ask advice from an old friend (who turned out to be a burlesque dancer, which, a, is so something that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't had a mild case of writers block, and, b, probably indicates something about where my mind wanders if it doesn't have something to occupy it). I don't want my character to be constantly not knowing what to do next, however - that makes her passive, and she's certainly not that - so I can't use that trick again. One of the major challenges is that I don't yet know why the major incidents of the novel have occurred (there's some Big Bad in the background, but I don't yet know why my characters are mixed in events), but I'm trusting that I'll work that out as the month / novel progresses. 

As to what happens to my main character right now - or what she makes happen - I still have absolutely no idea. I guess there's only one way to find out .. 

Word Count: I forget. But currently I'm ahead of schedule ..

NaNoWrimo : Day 1

Had a Ghostwalk tonight (well, last night, now) that was particularly well attended despite the appalling weather simply due to the fact that it was Halloween. I was a little nervous because a couple of friends were in the audience (friends always seem to rock up to the Ghostwalk exclusively on the nights that the weather is bad), but it all seemed to go pretty well, people seemed to enjoy themselves, and there were enough skull shaped lollipops to go around. 

It being Halloween, the Ghostwalk was later than I usually do it, and by the time I got home, it was already past the witching hour - in other words, November 1st. While this meant that there was no immediate need for me to start shaving (more about that another time), it meant that before I was going to go to sleep, I could already get started on my NaNoWriMo novel. To have any chance of completing 50,000 words by the end of November, I need to be logging about 1,700 words on a daily basis, which I'm already fairly confident that I'm going to fail miserably at. But it's only the start of NaNoWriMo right now, which should mean that I'm more able to hack out a few hundred words than I will be ale to in, say, two weeks time, even if those words make absolutely no sense whatsoever. 

While I have a rough idea of what's going to happen when in my story, I haven't really thought about it too much in advance, preferring to write it out almost as free form association. Tonight, that was the right thing to do, although obviously it may not work that easily for the rest of the project. I'm already aware that in the 2 or 3 pages I hacked out tonight, there are some terrible turns of phrase, and occasionally (on more than one occasion, in a piece of prose that lasts less than 4 pages), I'm jumping rather too suddenly from one subject to the next in order to make a point. 

Refreshingly, however, none of this seems to matter. All the prep and pep talks on twitter right now, which are mainly on USA time (where NaNoWriMo won't kick in for a couple more hours) cheerfully remind you that whatever you've written in a month's time, won't be ready in any way for publication. This month is just to get the damn thing (in this case, the damn thing being a very first draft) down on paper. I'm fairly confident that there will be at least 200 times in November where I'll really regret signing up for NaNoWriMo, and that anything I write is truly dreadful. What's comforting, though, is that by hacking out a thousand words tonight, I've already had that reaction twice already. Which means I've only got to go through it 198 times more. 

NaNoWriMo Wordcount: 1,177.  

Take A Joke. Just Don't Tweet It.

So, the other day, I responded to a tweet from Mock The Week. They were asking for gags, specifically Unlikely Complaints To A TV Channel. By the time I saw the tweet, it was about twenty hours old, but I threw a gag or two their way anyway, confident in the assumption that whatever I came up with would've been done already.

Initially, I tried to do a joke about Mock The Week itself, and it's notoriously low number of female comedians on the panel, but I couldn't see how to do it without coming across as overly combative. Not under 140 characters, anyway. I briefly considered some joke about Frankie Boyle being trapped in a car crash, but it just sounded like I wanted Frankie Boyle to be in a car crash (not actually true), and anyway, the man hasn't even been on the show for about three years.

In the end, then, I went for the second most obvious gag: suggesting that it was annoying that there was no TV channel to watch old episodes of Mock The Week. A weak joke, I know, but the only one that occurred to me at the time. After a couple of hours, however, Mock The Week re-tweeted the joke. It must have been a slow night.

It occurred to me then, of course, that a lot more people would now see my tweet than would normally be the case if it had just turned up in the feeds of my 'followers'. I assumed that the worst that would happen would be that a few thousand people would see my joke, tut, think 'that's not funny', and go about their day. Perhaps a few of them would feel compelled to tweet me personally to tell me that my joke was not in any way amusing. Or maybe I was being too hard on myself: maybe one or two people would actually find the gag at least mildly amusing. What I didn't expect, however, is what actually happened.

Over the next few hours, I got a reasonable amount of unreasonable tweets. Some derisive (you could say mocking), some actually angry. But all of them linked by a common thread: they all seemed to genuinely believe that I hadn't heard of the TV channel Dave. Even though that was the point of the joke.

I tried to remain open-minded about it all. Possibly, as naivety was the foundation of my joke, perhaps my respondents were playing along in the same spirit: pretending to honestly believe that I was hunting furiously for year old repeats of MTW, but didn't know about Dave. But the tweets were too bitchy, too teasing, too ready to take the mick. Even the ones who were nice clearly thought that I was being sincere, including the lovely lady who pointed out that the previous weeks episode often appeared on YouTube (but, as she pointed out, in two parts). I guess I was just startled that so many viewers of Mock The Week were unable to understand what a joke was. (insert your own punchline).

In other news, there's now about four weeks to go until the performances of Three Kinds Of Me. In an ideal world, we'd be rehearsing every day of the next month. As it is, time and constraints limit us to a few evenings and some Sunday afternoons. We have a kind of technical meeting tonight, where our lighting & sound designers and operators are going to want to joe exactly what it is I want. And I, like the most annoying and unprofessional director ever, am going to have to declare that as yet, I'm not entirely sure. I'm very lucky in that I have a designer that can be both pedantic and patient (usually, you have to settle for one or the other, and the combination of both is a startlingly valuable commodity), and who can usually decipher what ill-formed (and ill-conceived) ideas I'm struggling to come up with. We're halfway through the play now (in terms of pages rehearsed), and I'm hopeful that we will pick up pace even further in the next week or so, giving us a comfortable amount of time to run the whole thing over a few times. Anyway, that's the plan. As I've mentioned, it'll be on next month at the New Venture Theatre in Bedford Place, Hove, and tickets (already selling) can be booked via http://www.ticketsource.co.uk/newventuretheatre/ .