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No More Page 3

An Interview With Eva O’Flynn

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By Anna Hill

I was really inspired by a speech that Eva made at a no more page 3 protest (the full text of which you can read here), where she talked about how the campaign had given her a voice, and empowered her to act, not just for NMP3 but for other important issues too! In response I thought I would interview some of the voices that are important, honest, hard working and inspiring in current UK Teen Girl activism. Who better to start with than Eva herself?! (more…)

I won’t be Jumping on the Brand-Wagon

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By Cora Morris

“It is an incredible time to be alive.”:

A phrase that seems to flash across my brain all the more frequently at the moment, in quiet moments of humbled acknowledgement. Indeed I see it elsewhere too. It’s chucked around incessantly at rocket launch after rocket launch, called out when another medical breakthrough hits the headlines. With each and every flashy new gadget, we are reminded of the wonders of human achievement, and it is brilliant. I am as glad of these things as the next person, they delight me. But, in all truthfulness? (more…)

Chalk and Cheer for 44 Years

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By Jess Hayden

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Today marks 44 years since The Sun started having a topless woman on Page 3. This means that, for 44 years, The Sun have sexually objectified women to the point where the easiest way for a woman to be in the newspaper is to stand with her breasts out. What does it teach people – of all genders about women, if the biggest photo of a woman in Britains most popular “family” newspaper is a topless one? It teaches that women exist purely to be looked at.

At No More Page 3, we say this is 44 years too many. So, to mark the anniversary, we decided to protest yesterday outside of The Sun HQ near London Bridge. Chalk in hand, we stormed the square and wrote messages on the floor and walls for The Sun workers to read on Monday morning. Loudly, we sang “shove it up your bum old Rupert Murdoch”, to which The Sun’s security sang along. It was a great day, and PBG editor Yas did a great job talking to the police officers and using her charm to let us continue.

After hours of chalking and singing, we retired to the pub only to see cleaners take to the square to try to remove our artwork. We made it as difficult for them as possible. We lay down on our artwork, stomped our feet and sang as loudly as we possibly could. Soon, the cleaners gave up. Our artwork remained there for editor David Dinsmore and co. to read in the morning.

After all, we do strive to be as big of a nuisance as possible. I think we’re succeeding! Help us out by tweeting using #44YearsTooMany and urging everyone you know to sign the petition at change.org/nomorepage3

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Could this be the end of Page 3?

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By Jess Hayden

Recently I chatted to a bunch of lovely women about the No More Page Three campaign. I was near the end, and was about to crack a great joke about John Snow telling the news topless, when I saw a hand rise in the fourth row. A woman, who I estimate was probably in her forties, said “I’m sorry, but what is page three?”

I was fairly shocked. I guess I had just assumed that everyone had seen it, or at least heard about it. It made for a great discussion though. I explained that Page Three was a feature in The Sun, a newspaper who label themselves “family friendly,” and is made so that the average 8 year old could read it, but also shows a woman with her boobs out on the third page. I reckon this woman’s reaction was the best part of the whole talk.

“Seriously? How long’s that been going on for?” she called from the audience.

“It started in the 70s,” I replied to her.

“That’s disgusting. I can’t believe that’s allowed in a paper,” was her response.

It was like I had paid her to ask the question, it gave me the perfect opportunity to highlight the ridiculousness of Page Three. It’s worth noting that the whole audience were quietly giggling and tutting at how completely stupid Page Three sounds when you explain it to someone who’s never seen it before.

It was not until a few days later when, on a train journey in to London, the very woman who had raised her hand Tweeted me to alert me of a Tweet sent by Murdoch.

Murdoch Tweet

I literally gasped for joy on the train and just wanted to tell someone, anyone, about is. I can’t explain what a great feeling it is to know that something is changing, and that I am a part of the reason why. Hours of writing, days of protesting, months of campaigning, years of hoping were finally paying off. I had this instinctive reaction of “this is it” and I really just wanted to cry. Page Three, the single thing that had succeeded in destroying my early teen years, was going to be no longer. Finally, there would be No More Page Three.

My excitement doubled when Alison Webster, the official Page Three photographer, tweeted this:

Sunphotographer

In the space of a night, it seemed the end was near. For some people Page Three might only be a page in a newspaper, something they’ve been lucky enough to be able to turn a blind eye on, but not for me. Not for 206,000 other men and women who have signed the petition. Not for the many ex page three models we have in our campaign. For us, and each for our own reason, this was the end of the suffering.

Page Three still exists though. The next morning, my hopes were somewhat dashed when I saw Kelly, 19, from Brighton stood in her knickers. I must point out that I don’t buy The Sun, but checked if the Page Three feature was there on this day. Somewhat naively, I had expected a revolution over night, but sadly this was not the case.

Help us defeat Page Three. Sign the petition. Have a conversation about it. We know people are talking about us since #nomorepagethree was the third biggest trending topic on Twitter the last month. You’d be surprised at how many people support us. Get involved, and join the only revolution where #pyjamaactivism is a key concept.

We are closer than ever. The time for change is now. And with your help, we’ll get there.

Work Experience at The Sun

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The author of this piece has asked to be kept anonymous.

It was 8.55am and I was relieved to have arrived at reception with five minutes to spare. I felt feelings of excitement and trepidation; with budding aspirations to be a writer and journalist, securing work experience at the biggest read family newspaper in the country was a massive deal – especially as my previous journalistic endeavours had remained in my local Essex Chronicle. As I smoothed out my newly pressed trouser suit and pinned back my flyaway hairs, I felt the image of professionalism, ready to start my first day of work. The receptionist assured me that a Reporter was on his way to collect me. With that I waited.

Until 10.07am

‘Hello love, sorry for keeping… my Christ, aren’t you a pretty little thing? Can I offer you a drink?’ Considering the fact that I had already had four lattes to pass the time, I thanked him and declined.

As we got into the lift, a series of standard questions ensued. He seemed surprised that I wanted a degree from King’s College London: ‘I doubt a Russell Group university would offer a hairdressing degree,’ but I was quick to correct him that English Literature was my chosen subject. Of course, he didn’t mean it (or that’s what he assured me); I should learn to have a sense of humour rather than being so sensitive, he said.

It was when I admitted that I was born and raised in Essex that his eyes returned to their previous, opportunistic readiness: ‘Wheyyyyy we have an Essex gal in the office? Shame, I expected you to be caked in fake tan and eye lashes. You don’t even sound like you’re from Essex! Regardless, you will fit in perfectly on the Showbiz desk. Rewrite this Cheryl Cole interview in Heat if you will. Make it seem as if we did the interview. Thanks love.’

Simultaneously flustered and disheartened at my position, I asked if I could tour the other departments – a choice that did little to salvage my enthusiasm. Sport seemed full of boisterous footy fans, the News Desk yielded such basic grammar that my own sixteen-year-old intelligence felt insulted and finally… we came to Page 3.

I could not believe my eyes at the room of ‘journalists’ enlarging, shaping, and photo-shopping the topless glamour model photos to portray a picture of sexuality and seduction. I remember thinking for a split second how unusual it was that I could not hear more vulgar, derogatory comments being made about the images – I suppose that if your job was to airbrush and edit a woman’s naked body every day, all day, the novelty wears off in time.

Needless to say, my judgement had been made too soon. Sure enough, a voice hollered: ‘Her tits are bigger than melons’ and ‘Who hired her? Her face looks like a horse. Can we edit out her face?’ My fears had been confirmed.

‘Whose that?’ questioned one of the reporters, turning to me. ‘Just the work experience girl,’ replied my mentor, ‘She’s from Essex you know.’ Why my birthplace was of such amusement continued to baffle me. ‘Wheyyyyy an Essex girl!’ was the unsurprising response as he persisted: ‘Well, I hope you enjoy your time. When you decide it’s time to get a boob job then don’t forget to contact us… just joking love! Got to have some work banter to pass the time in the office!’

BANTER. A JOKE. Of course it was. I should learn to get a sense of humour right? It’s only harmless! That’s when I went to the loo and cried.

It was then and there that it dawned on me. Until that point I had been a naïve sixteen year old believing that sexism was a thing of the past. I now had experienced first-hand that the media is dictated for and consumed by men. We breed a culture that thrives on propelling the view that women are commodities for male entertainment. It was no wonder that The Sun was one of the most widely read newspapers in the country – it was certainly not relying on its grammar or news coverage, but its vulgar headlines and naked women. Why is an image equivalent to those found in ‘lad mags’ available at child’s-eye level? An image that feeds our young boys that this is women’s purpose: to be a man’s play-thing and object. An image that feeds our young girls false ideologies that sex sells and is a wise move if one wants to be successful in a culture of patriarchal hierarchy. As I contemplated these harsh truths, I wanted to shout at my colleagues that these pornographic, derogatory images are not harmless, nor are they just ‘banter’. I wanted to answer back to the room of misogynistic men that I did have a sense of humour, but there is quite frankly nothing hilarious about the exploitation of my gender. These images compound on real women’s wellbeing, safety, behaviour and education. I wanted to question why these ideologies were still prevalent in the 21st Century. I wanted to say all of this, but felt powerless to do so at the age I was.

I finished my work experience in silence and walked out the door vowing never to return. Five years on, nothing has changed: The Sun continues to be produced with the Page 3 image. This is the first time I have spoken about my experience, in hope that someone will listen. If a naked woman’s body can be used as such a vital component to media consumption, it is about time that a woman’s voice should become the vital component to stamp out media sexism. That’s why I am shouting back and supporting the @NoMorePage3 campaign. Its #TimeForChange don’t you think?

 

To read PBG’s statement of support for the No More Page 3 campaign, click here.

To sign the No More Page 3 petition, click here.

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