On Sunday night I appeared on a television program called Paul Murray Live on Sky News. I was invited, as the acting editor of Women’s Agenda, to be part of a panel to discuss the weekend stories.
I haven’t done much television before, but when I have, I’ve found it helps to just pretend it’s a regular conversation and forget that it’s being filmed. But, because it’s live television, for this to work, I obviously have to be completely comfortable with the content of the conversation. Which is why, on Sunday, I anxiously waited to receive the topics we’d be discussing.
I read all the weekend papers back to front, I scoured the web and then, when the topics came through, I knuckled down and read the 12 or so stories that were listed. The issues ranged from Tony Abbott’s sleeping quarters in Canberra, to Julia Gillard’s essay, to Syria, to gun control, to the Labor leadership, to lowering the legal age for teenagers to serve alcohol. It was a mixed bag so I read and thought and read some more. Throughout the day, whilst wrangling our daughters and going about our Sunday, my husband and I debated the various topics at length. I wanted to be prepared.
My biggest fear was being asked a question and not having a reasonable answer. I knew my views would not be the consensus among the panellists which is why I was particularly keen to have reasonable responses at the ready. I didn’t set out to necessarily change anyone’s mind but I wanted to be informed, measured and rational. Aside from not wanting to humiliate myself on television I wanted to make it difficult for my point of view to be dismissed out of hand.
It turns out I worried about the wrong things. I didn’t worry about being called a ditz, or a bitch, or unintelligent. I didn’t worry about my boss being told to ‘be careful’ when she stepped in to the fray on Twitter to defend me. I didn’t worry that my parents or my husband would watch the discussion on social media in horror. I didn’t worry that my cousin would receive a message saying someone would rather get AIDS than read my blog as he suggested.
I sat on the panel and argued my point. I was almost always in disagreement with the three men I sat with but neither the host Paul Murray, nor my fellow panellists, were nasty to me. They didn’t agree with me, they talked over me and some, almost all, of their opinions grated on me but they were warm and welcoming. Two even sent sincere apologies after learning of the nastiness that flooded Twitter during my appearance on the show.
It was an interesting experience. I left the studio oblivious to the vitriol, albeit warned by Murray to ignore anything ugly on Twitter. I haven’t ever been the subject of anything vicious on social media but I have seen how awful it can be. Even still I, naively, doubted my appearance on the show would generate any discussion. I was only on the screen for an hour and it’s not as if I was being abusive so why on earth would anyone abuse me? It seems I underestimated some people.
It was only when I was driving home that I learned how ugly things had been. My inbox pinged with message of support and after speaking with my husband and my mum I realised why they were sent. From the moment I appeared viewers apparently pounced. Who’s the chick with the ugly earrings? Clearly not up to the regular guests’ standard. Take a bex and lie down babe. Get a grip and GROW UP. I was a chick, a babe, a bitch, a ditz. Where did I come from? Who did I think I was?
Thankfully I was saved from seeing the worst of it. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the show’s Twitter stream and they later removed the most offensive material. So it was only the people who took the time to include my twitter handle whose feedback I actually saw.
When I got home my husband and I laughed about it. He was flabbergast that anyone would even take the time to hate a stranger on their television screen with such gusto. Such is Twitter, I explained and promised I was not taking any of it to heart. I wasn’t because, by luck or design, I realise derogatory insults from strangers aren’t a particularly valuable barometer of my self-worth. Haters will always hate.
But later that night I lay awake, unable to sleep, with all of those vicious thoughts swirling through my mind. Not because I thought they were true, and not just because they were aimed at me, but because they came from actual people.
They might be anonymous, they might have nothing constructive to say and they might have very few followers (the classic traits of online trolls) but that doesn’t change the fact they exist. They might hide behind a computer screen to fling their insults but they are still real people. Real people who live beside us, work among us and constitute our population. And, as far as I can tell, some of them really hate women.
There were four people on that television show on Sunday night but only one was the subject of a barrage of abuse, most of which was sexist. Is it a coincidence that the anointed person was the only female? I can’t tell you how much I wish that it was but I’m genuinely struggling to conclude otherwise.
It was my views on another female, Julia Gillard, that sparked the bulk of the hatred in the first-place. Admittedly Gillard is polarising but, more and more, it is harder to divorce that fact from the fact she’s a woman.
Sunday night upset me hugely. Not because so many people were quick to insult me – though that obviously isn’t heart-warming – but because so many people were so quick to insult what I am: a woman with an opinion. And let’s be clear – I am not making this about my gender, they did. The comments did not come in the form of respectful disagreements, rather, they came in the form of insults that, more often than not, referenced my gender. Derogatively.
I can put my hand on my heart and tell you that of all the things I worried about, in the lead up to Sunday night, that was not one of them. I did not for a moment expect the overwhelming reaction to my appearance on a television program to be based on my gender. There I was thinking that the merits of my argument would be the focus. And yet?
I am lucky to have grown up surrounded by supportive men. On Sunday evening my phone beeped with message of support from my grandfather, my brother, my father and one of my male cousins. Between them they cover a variety of political perspectives and I can assure you they don’t all agree with me on everything. We can – and do – disagree without denigrating one another, and certainly without reference gender. I tend to assume that’s the same the world over but apparently not.
If you, like me, still occasionally wonder with some disbelief why, in 2013, women are not treated equally, unfortunately the answer is plain to see. And it’s ugly.