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Neopronouns and clickbait

Author:
clickbait

By Pip Williams

Content note: transphobia

An article from notoriously poorly-edited and sensationalist student news outlet The Tab somehow wormed its way onto my Facebook timeline yesterday. The article was titled “Oxford University students allegedly told to use ‘ze’, not ‘he or she’ to stop transgender discrimination”, and, unsurprisingly, the comments were a transphobic mess.

In recent weeks, The Tab has taken to sharing content centring around non-binary trans identities. A video by non-binary activist and Newcastle University Student Union Marginalised Genders Officer Saffron Kershaw-Mee garnered comparisons to cancer and paedophilia, prompting them to pen a follow-up article to a similarly unsympathetic response.

The Tab isn’t the only news outlet to capitalise on transgender identities for outrage-inducing clickbait. In July, national newspaper The Telegraph published an article titled “Boarding school teachers told to address transgender pupils as ‘zie’ in guidance on gender neutral terminology”. Whilst I was unable to source the official guidance from the Boarding Schools Association, LGBT+ news outlet PinkNews spoke with Alex Thompson, deputy chief executive of the BSA, to ascertain that the guidance had been provided at the request of teachers.

In conversation with PinkNews, Thompson explains how teachers felt “in the dark” when addressing pupils with gender identities unfamiliar to them. Far from instructing staff to use ‘zie’, the guidance provided the pronouns as an example of a neopronoun likely to be unfamiliar to staff. Neopronouns such as ‘zie’ are modern personal pronouns used in place of gendered pronouns such as ‘she’ or the widely used gender-neutral ‘they’. Many have been developed through discussion in online trans and genderqueer communities. Lists of neopronouns (such as this one) are one of the most widely available resources explaining their use. As such, it’s unlikely that the average cisgender schoolteacher would be aware of their existence. The aim of including ‘zie’ in the BSA guidance was, therefore, to demonstrate its use, ensuring staff would feel comfortable employing it if requested by a student – certainly not to say that everyone should be addressed with neopronouns, ‘zie’ or otherwise!

As with the Oxford University case reported by The Tab, The Telegraph chose to insinuate forced usage of neopronouns for all students. In the age of the internet, we all know how clickbait works. These false insinuations were intended to generate outrage, clicks, and advertising revenue – at the expense of trans people’s dignity and respect, and as we can see, this is an all-too-common theme.

I believe that The Tab’s article has been either amended, or deleted and republished without comment, since the release of Oxford University SU’s statement on the use of gender neutral pronouns proved several points incorrect. The statement outlines how “There is [a] possibility that our work and remit has been confused with the work of the wider University, whose Trans Policy and guidance does include a mention of neopronouns (pronoun sets like ‘ze/hir’, ‘ey/em/eirs’).” Again we see guidance on the usage of neopronouns in the context of trans equality exaggerated to the point of compulsory blanket usage.

The Tab article states – in a convoluted fashion – that “Claims were allegedly made in a leaflet given out by the SU says [sic] that deliberately using the wrong pronoun for a transgender person is an offence under the university’s code of behaviour”. Whilst we have established that the leaflets in question probably did not exist – at least not in any association with the Oxford University SU – this is a pretty standard anti-harassment guideline to promote trans equality in the student body. Sensationalising it in the news doesn’t change that most universities do (and should!) enshrine protection for trans students in their code of conduct.

I would also like to briefly touch on how the Telegraph’s headline stated that staff were “told to address transgender pupils as ‘zie’”. Whilst neither the BSA nor Oxford University SU were demanding the blanket use of neopronouns, it’s worth noting why this is a harmful concept in itself, particularly in the case of transgender students. For binary transgender individuals (i.e. trans men or women), using a neopronoun such as ‘zie’ in place of the gendered pronouns (e.g. she or he) they have requested is as much misgendering them as using the incorrect gendered pronoun. Whilst I would encourage people to use neutral pronouns on initially meeting someone (‘they’ is most common), it is important to be open to correction and respect people’s correct pronouns.

Young, not clueless

Author:
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By Bex Dudley

I need to preface this with a disclaimer. I am a white Brit and, for those reasons, this is not my story to tell. However, I am telling this because I am also a queer young person. My queerness means I feel at least a little of the pain the world is experiencing; my status as a young person, as I’ll explain later, is the reason I am writing this at all.

I want to tell you about the US Election Night as experienced at my uni.

I want to tell you about the weeks preceding. The Student Union at my university- a prestigious social and political sciences institute – decided to hold an event. Though we are, technically, an English university, holding this event was never questioned; partly because we have a high number of US students, partly because we are, by nature, all interested in politics and society; partly because why wouldn’t we hold an event? Of course we would.

Tickets to the event sold like wildfire. Often, the SU events are able to sell tickets on the door- but the Facebook page for this event informed us that this wouldn’t be an option, as capacity had already been reached. In the days before the event, that same page was filled with people trying to get tickets; they were selling for double the price on the day of the event. People were desperate to go to this – because we had all followed the build up, we all wanted to watch, to the second, what happened.

I want to tell you about the gathering we had- the ‘party’, as we called it – up until about halfway through the night. I wasn’t able to get a ticket for the SU event but, due to high interest, my accommodation- like many of the other accommodations at the university- held their own event.

We turned up for 9pm GMT, around 20 of us, probably more, with food and drink and blankets, ready and eager to watch. The atmosphere was good; we were happy, full of laughter and jokes. We cycled through the different news stations, banning Fox outright and eventually settling (somewhat dubiously) on CNN. At the SU, they had official political analysers; in halls, we picked each other’s brains, asking questions and debating answers.

We’d all done our research: we knew which states were important, and we knew how it was going to go. Ohio and Florida were key, we kept saying; and Hillary would get both of them. Of course she would. We had no doubt.

I don’t want to say what happened next.

I don’t want to tell you how the atmosphere slowly changed, as we realised that Trump was beginning to take Florida. We stopped asking questions, we stopped talking about much at all. Everyone had their phones out, looking for the latest statistics and percentages, trying to get up-to-the-second news, messaging people who might know a little more. I myself messaged people I knew at the SU. They said that the atmosphere there was similar- tense, sad, worried.

I don’t want to tell you what it felt to be like in a room full of a plethora of people, all of whom had their own reasons for dreading what was beginning to feel inevitable. The room was both still and restless; some people went to bed, or said they did- maybe it was just to get out of that room. People came back from their various nights out. One friend came back from a club, slightly tipsy- suddenly sober and full of disbelief when he looked at the screen. To one side of the room, a man in a smart suit rested his head in his hands, whilst the woman next to him paced up and down, swearing. That’s an image that will never leave me.

I don’t want to tell you how it felt to message my sleeping girlfriend, to try and break the news in a way that might not hurt too much. I found myself fixatedly scrolling through Twitter, watching as all the sadness and hurt and anger came spilling out. Having been up the whole night, the world seemed unreal- I chose to go to bed, feeling that conversation in lectures would revolve around one thing only, and that I couldn’t face that yet. I woke up at 2 in the afternoon, and that’s when it began to hit me – a heaviness, an emptiness.

I do not want to tell you how the next few days were: how it felt to watch the people I love and admire cry and hurt and rage. The people I consider strong, my rocks- they were all hurting too. There was no one to stand up and say this is what we do because there was too much emotion to do that, and, at that time, any suggestion of what to do seemed either impossible or pointless. The world, as we knew it, had collapsed: because, within that one night, everything we have been fighting became legitimised.

Back to the things I want to tell you. I want to take a step back. I want you to know three things.

Firstly, everyone in my account of the US Election- the people at the SU, the people in my halls, the countless stories I encountered on Twitter- were people incredibly invested in this election. Many people were incredibly academically clued up- Americans interested in their political system, politics students, economics students, social sciences students. Many more were socially clued up, painfully aware of the effects a Trump win would have for them- people of colour, migrant people, queer people, disabled people, every intersection of these.

Secondly, though I know that there would most likely have been Trump supporters, neither myself nor anyone I know came into contact with them. The change in the atmosphere both in my halls and in the SU strongly show that these were people who did not support Trump. The stories I saw on Twitter were anti-Trump.

Lastly, I want you to know that the majority- or, more likely, all- of those people could be classified as ‘young people’.

These three facts are important because, a few days after the election I saw a comment on Facebook, from someone claiming that ‘young people don’t have a clue’, the context of which implied that young people who didn’t want Trump to win didn’t have a clue. I am pretty thick-skinned. I can deal with a lot of things on social media- but this comment made me angry, because my experiences were so strongly the opposite.

I want to tell you that that comment is wrong. I want to tell you that I was surrounded by incredibly clued up young people, young people who academically or socially- or, most often, both– were incredibly aware of what was going on. I want you to know that these people were faced with the facts, and that, though I cannot speak for them all, overall, they strongly didn’t want Trump.

I need you to know that.

other people feel this too

Author:
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By Bex Dudley

I have been living in London for just over a week, now.

It has been a busy one. Perhaps busy is an understatement. In the last week alone, there has been tea, introductions, lots of walking, registration, induction, welcome events, a ghost bus tour, more introductions, library visits, ice skating, exploring London, a study tour, more introductions, more walking, the Tate Modern, charity fundraising, Freshers Fair, a rugby taster session, more introductions… I do not think that is even nearly comprehensive. It has been busier than busy, the type of week where you reach the end of each day and think back over it, then think that could not really have been this morning!

Freshers week, or at least, Freshers week as I have experienced it, has been a weird one. Full of people and socialising, above anything else- meeting people, chatting, the same conversations over and over as you try to navigate what seems to be a whole city of new people. What’s your name? Are you an undergrad? First year? What course? Halls? Which ones? Where are you from? It has also been full of a lot of happiness and laughter. There have been some fantastic things- ice skating, a Bake Off party, making dinner with my flatmate, chatting and laughing with new people who just seem to click. It’s been a great week, and I know that. However, there have been some darker moments too, and I think that’s what makes it so weird, because those times seem so at odds with the rest of it. There have been times- particularly the evenings/nights- when everything else seems to dissipate, leaving a wonderful mixture of sadness and exhaustion and loneliness and anxiety. I have spent so much time wondering whether I will ever really feel comfortable here, whether I have really made the right choice, whether the people I am missing could ever possibly miss me half as much as I miss them, whether it is worse when the people I am missing are sad (and I can’t hold them) or when they’re happy (and I can’t celebrate with them), whether this city will ever feel anything like home, whether I will ever stop feeling so tired, whether it is just me feeling this way.

It is because of this last one, I think, that I am so resolute in writing this blog post. Experience with mental health has proven to me, time and time again, that other people feel this too. So, although social media is full of happy smiling faces, I am guessing, there are other people feeling a lot like me, asking the same questions, curled up on their respective uni beds, feeling that odd sense of loneliness when one is surrounded by hundreds of people. To all those people, this is me saying, I am here. I am feeling this. And actually, I think this is ‘normal’. I think we are, probably, the majority- no matter what social media seems to be implying. And, I think, eventually we will be okay. We just need to make it through this bit, utilising whatever support and strength we have, focusing on the out breaths.

I think, too, it is important to say that Freshers is not a one size fits all experience. I have not been out clubbing once this week. I like it enough- but I do not always deal well with crowded spaces and dark lights and alcohol/hangovers and people I don’t know, and I need to be settled somewhere, and with people I know very well, in order to enjoy it. I have been feeling the pressure to go clubbing, because that has seemed to be the ‘point’ of Freshers. However, I have also been self-aware, and realised that clubbing really isn’t what I need right now. Maybe I am ‘missing out’, maybe I’m not getting the ‘true Freshers experience’. I’m not so sure though. I know I’ve had a great week, even if it hasn’t involved drinking and dancing every night. I’ve quite definitely had a better week than I would have had had I forced myself to do something I really don’t feel comfortable doing. This is another reach out, to anyone in a similar position, to say it’s okay. We’re okay. We’re making this work for us, and that’s more than okay, that’s beautiful, because we are beautiful.

I think, what I am trying to say, most of all, is that is has been a very brilliant week- but that there have been wobbly times too. And that is okay. You belong here, and everything you feel is okay.

This blog was originally published on Bex’s personal blog here: https://itsbexnotrebecca.wordpress.com/2016/09/26/other-people-feel-this-too/

Stories for summer

Author:
sophia3

By Sophia Simon-Bashall

Summer is upon us! Well…sort of, for those of us in the UK – but summer is rarely warm/dry/sunny here, is it? And it’s not summer in many other parts of the world right now… time is such a strange concept. And holy macaroni, I’ve just had an epiphany. TIME IS JUST A CONSTRUCT. TIME IS MEANINGLESS. TIME DOES NOT CONTROL YOU. Phew. I think my life may have just changed forever.

That aside, I am excited for summer, for the idea of it. Even though I’m not currently in education, summer still holds the connotations that it’s had in the past – the word still translates to one thing in particular: freedom. It’s swimming in an outdoor pool; the fresh air in my lungs as I come up for air and the sun shining on my back as I move smoothly through the water. It’s eating breakfast in the garden, starting my day with a sense of leisure, and making smoothies in the afternoon, then lounging on the grass, reading a book. It is, perhaps most of all, the books. Throughout the academic year, a large chunk of what we read is dictated by exam boards, by old white men who don’t know anything about what we’re interested in, let alone care. So every year, I look forward to the summer, to the freedom of being able to read whatever I want. I may not have had the external restrictions of academia lately, but old habits die hard. I’ve felt guilty every time I’ve gravitated towards a book just for fun, for escape, because I can’t shake the thought that I should be enriching my mind in an intellectual sense. I have felt shame every time I have given up on a heavy classic, because I should be stretching myself, because reading is supposed to be about learning. As if my break from academia isn’t about learning to relax, about letting myself breathe and having some fun. I know that as summer washes over me, this will become easier, that I will not feel quite so bad about reading solely for pleasure, because I have always associated this time with light and fun and I am used to giving myself permission to let go a little. I am very excited for the relief that it will bring.

If you are reading this, you are probably a bit of a book worm, like me. I reckon you probably share my excitement for summer reading, too. But if you’ve had your reading material selected for you all year, you might feel at a bit of a loss – what are you even looking for? Well, whether you’re off to the beach, in your back garden, in the car visiting country parks with your parents, or having to sneak-read behind the counter at work, I have a few fantastic recommendations for you:

If you’re starting university/college after Summer… Little Fish by Ramsey Beyer

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I read this graphic memoir whilst still at the Wrong University, and though I was completely distraught at the time, I was comforted by it. The protagonist, Ramsey, went to college in a completely new place, like me, and loved it, unlike me. Although I was bitter at the time that she got to enjoy her experience whilst I loathed it, I was also immensely reassured. It reminded me that it was possible. And whilst she loved where she went to school, it was clearly difficult for her, too. The workload, the navigation of a new city, the being away from home, the friendship anxiety… she was honest about that, which was so important for me. I needed to see that the people having a good time weren’t JUST living it up, it wasn’t ALL fun and games – that was just all I was seeing. I keep dipping into it again, and will certainly take it along with me when I go back to university in September, to soothe my anxieties. If you’re feeling stressed out about your move at all, I highly recommend Little Fish. Also, the drawings are so cute!

If you’re off on a road trip (or dreaming about one!)… The Disenchantments by Nina LaCour

Reading this will make you really really really want start a band with your best friends. Like, REALLY. But it’s not an entirely light-hearted read – it’s very much concerned with the question of ‘finding yourself’, and gets pretty profound in places. The thing is, it’s not predictable – self-discovery in YA can be fairly formulaic, usually revolving around the manic pixie dream girl trope, but LaCour’s writing is much too good for that. It’s subtly woven in to the fun and adventure, and to the touching moments between friends and family and strangers.

If you’re going to Summer Camp/working at Summer Camp/feeling nostalgic for Summer Camp… Honor Girl by Maggie Thrash

I’m ridiculously obsessed with Summer Camp stories for someone who was such an anxious kid that I was physically sick on the first night of every school trip or holiday camp I went on, and actually left after the first 48 hours one time. Alas, the idea of camp enchants me, and Maggie Thrash’s graphic memoir was wonderful for my obsession. The images are so beautiful, it’s easy to believe that some kind of magic goes into making camp happen. It is also a heart-warming tale of exploration, of the first crush and confusion that comes along with it. It shows how all-consuming it is the first time you fall for a girl, how you are overwhelmed by the girl but also overwhelmed in a scary way, overwhelmed by the fact that your desire appears to be unlike your peers. Perhaps most importantly, this book is an ode to the mystical, chaotic, insular world of teenage girlhood.

If you’re off to a music festival… Remix by Non Pratt

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Live music outdoors is one of the best things about Summer. FACT. And best friends are one of the best things about life. ALSO A FACT. Thus, Remix by Non Pratt? One of the best books in YA fiction. FACT FACT FACT. Seriously, nothing screams ‘TEENAGE GIRLS FOREVERRR’ more than this book. I adore that it is a dual narration, from both of the BFFs – Ruby and Kaz. Often when a book has more than one voice, it can lose depth, you don’t get to know the characters so well, but Non Pratt manages it perfectly. The emotions are raw, the love is real, and you can practically smell the mix of sun cream and vomit typical of a UK festival.

If you are really missing One Direction… Kill The Boy Band by Goldy Moldavsky

It is so rare to find representation of fangirls and fandom that isn’t condescending, that recognises the different dimensions of this whole thing. Goldy actually shows the more ridiculous side of fandom, the side that middle-aged men refer to as ‘hysteria’, but with humour, affection and compassion. Equally, she highlights the sheer brilliance of fangirls, how determined, quick-thinking and creative we can be. Most importantly, she writes about how fandom makes you feel – how you form friendships, feel an affinity with other young girls, and how the object of your devotion gives you blissful joy. I will leave you with this quote, which kind of sums up how I feel about One Direction, and made me cry, because I miss my boys: “Did I love them because they were the only boys in my life who consistently told me that I was beautiful? Probably. I loved The Ruperts for who they were, sure, but I mostly loved them for how they made me feel. Which was happy. The Ruperts made me happy. The simplest thing to be in the world. And the hardest.”

If you are mostly just furious and fed up with the white cishet patriarchal world… Juliet Takes a Breath by Gabby Rivera

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Queer People of Colour are simply not represented enough, but in YA fiction, it feels particularly problematic – this is a genre making waves, queer authors like David Levithan being some of the most prolific, and girl power trilogies such as The Hunger Games and Divergent being amongst the most successful. And yet, QPOC, particularly women, trans, and non-binary folk, are severely lacking. So along comes this novel, this outstanding novel, whose protagonist is a queer latinx young woman, and the book is blatant about that – the cover clearly and proudly depicts a woman of colour, and (not to stereotype, but…) she has an undercut, so clearly, she is queer (really, how many cishets do you know who have undercuts?). In moments the novel can feel a little bit 101 on intersectional feminism and being queer, but most of the time, the knowledge that is conveyed fits well. It’s about learning who you are and embracing that, it’s about the liberation that comes with finding your community, about respecting other communities, about challenging the norms and the crap you have internalised. It’s about a summer of discovery, and makes for a funny, emotional, and enlightening read.

If you want something to fill your heart like Perks once did, minus the manic pixie dream girl syndrome… Fans of the Impossible Life by Kate Scelsa

I can’t sing the praises of this book enough, and the thing that I want most in life nowadays is for Kate Scelsa to announce that it is going to be turned into a film, because I feel a physical NEED to see this adapted for the screen. It would have the best aesthetic. And I would also bawl, annoying everyone in the cinema. This was a book that I really connected to, it was the first time I felt like I’d read about being a teenager with depression and how it affects your life in a way that truly resonated. It wasn’t dramatic about it – of course, sometimes depression IS dramatic, but it’s so rare that it is written about in a non-dramatic context. It still gets intense, but it also gives a picture of a ‘regular’ life – Mira is depressed, and some days she can’t go to school, others she can. It’s a depiction of depression that resonated with me as I read the book, and I think is relatable for many. Beyond that, it’s a tale of friendship, and it is just so beautiful. It will make you feel ALL THE FEELINGS. I love these characters, I love their relationships with each other, I love the way they view the world. I’m certain that you will love it all too.

Hopefully, some of these books will take your fancy. If you’re not convinced, I dare you to give one a try anyway! I didn’t think that I was going to like Remix at all, for example, but after a glowing recommendation from a highly trusted friend, I picked it up – and I am so glad that I did. It ended up being one of my favourite reads of last summer! Read a couple of pages if you see a copy in your local bookstore, and I promise, you will fall in love with at least one of these beautiful stories. Then you can sit back, relax, and lose yourself in them. Enjoy your summer!

Work Experience at The Sun

Author:

folded-newspapers

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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