Bowing to internal pressure within the African National Congress, Jacob Zuma resigns as President of South Africa after nine years in power
South Korea hosts the Winter Paralympic Games in Pyeongchang
Hi Jeremy, hope you're well! Just checking in on this invoice; do you need me to provide any more info?
The Communist Party of China grants general secretary Xi Jinping sweeping powers at its National People's Congress, abolishing term limits constraining China's presidency
Vladimir Putin is elected for a fourth term in Russia's presidential elections, marred by claims of vote rigging, ballot stuffing and intimidation of voters
The 2018 Commonwealth Games are held on Australia's Gold Coast
Hey Jeremy, just checking back in on this invoice. Peta from Accounting just redirected me to you, which seems odd given that last email where you told me to speak to her? Sorry to bother you!
Raúl Castro steps down as President of Cuba, marking the first time Cuba has had a non-Castro president since 1959
Basque separatist group the ETA formally disbands, ending decades of armed conflict
The Eurovision Song Contest is held in Lisbon. Israel's Netta wins with "Toy"
Malaysia's Pakatan Harapan opposition alliance wins government, ending 61 years of Barisan Nasional rule. Opposition leader Anwar Ibrahim is released from prison and pardoned
Hi Adam, nice to e-meet you! I see from Jeremy's farewell email that he's off to explore new opportunities crawfish farming in Louisiana, so I'm just looping you into this thread regarding an invoice I sent through a while back. Totally cool if getting your feet under the desk is a bit crazy right now. Look forward to working with you!
The Velvet Revolution sweeps Armenia, triggering the downfall of president Serzh Sargsyan and the ascendancy of anti-establishment figure Nikol Pashinyan
Prince Harry and Meghan Markle wed in St George's Chapel at Windsor Castle, watched by an estimated global audience of two billion
Ireland overwhelmingly votes to abolish a constitutional ban on abortion
US President Donald Trump and North Korean Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un meet in Singapore, marking the first summit between leaders of the two nations. North Korea dismantles its nuclear test site at Punggye-ri
Hi Bethany, Peta's out-of-office redirected me to you while she sorts our her copyright dispute with David Foster Wallace's ghost. I've reattached my invoice here; could you let me know when I can expect payment? Just looking to get my finances up-to-date before tax time!
The Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia renames to the Republic of Northern Macedonia, resolving a 27-year-long naming dispute with Greece and potentially paving the way for the country's entry into the European Union
Canada legalises personal marijuana consumption, becoming the second nation to do so after Uruguay
Saudi Arabia allows women to drive, following on from its decision to open cinemas for the first time since 1983
Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan claims a second term in the first round of presidential polling, assuming broadened constitutional powers introduced by a controversial referendum in 2017
Hi Rachel, so sorry to hear about Adam's indictment. I hate to ask, but would you have time to approve this invoice if you're not too busy? It was on Adam's to-do list when they seized his work laptop, but I've looped you in with Xanthia, who's filling in for Evan while Bethany's at her hot yoga retreat in Boise. Hope you're well!
Despite Donald Trump being in the Oval Office and right-wing extremism being on the march, it has not been a good year for Milo Yiannopoulos. Once the darling of the ‘alt-right’, Yiannopoulos’ comments supporting paedophilia and his associations with neo-Nazis and white nationalists, exposed by BuzzFeed, saw him lose a book deal, his editorial position at alt-right portal Breitbart, his weekly Daily Caller column and the backing of right-wing billionaire Robert Mercer. His planned “Free Speech Week” at the University of California, Berkeley, fell apart, and being banned from Twitter has undeniably hurt him more than he’d admit.
But perhaps the most vivid illustration of Yiannopoulos’ year from hell is his Australian tour, Troll Academy, which has just wrapped up.
Watching Milo vamp his way around Australia’s largest cities, you could almost imagine he was on the way back to his glory days, when he captivated the American political and media establishments and rode the same wave that dumped Trump in the White House. Domestically, at least, he's stirred up a similar level of hubbub that used to swirl around him in the US. Media outlets have gifted him airtime, column inches and softball interviews, letting him perform his schtick while leaving his most recent controversies unmentioned and uninterrogated. His events have provoked the ugliness he delights in, with left-wing and far-right protesters violently kept apart by police.
But there’s a difference between his Australian jaunt and his heyday that’s impossible to miss: that of scale. Troll Academy is his past tours in miniature, delivered to smaller crowds, in a smaller country, over smaller stakes. It doesn’t help that Milo shares his name with a beloved Australian powdered chocolate milk, but his efforts to recapture the old magic Down Under just haven’t quite come off.
There’s an Australianism that captures the feeling: “daggy”. An old shearing term originally referring to the dried lumps of poo that cluster around an unshorn sheep’s rear end, “daggy” describes anything lame, uncool or out-of-date. Far from a comeback tour, the overwhelming vibe of Yiannopoulos’ strange attempted Australian renaissance is one of dagginess.
Dagginess has dogged Milo since the minute he stepped off the airplane. The first “controversy” Milo whipped up after arriving on Australian soil was calling the Sydney Opera House “ugly”, complete with posed photos of him giving the building a thumbs-down. Le Montage, the venue of Troll Academy’s Sydney leg, is a suburban function centre best known by residents of Sydney’s inner west for hosting an endless succession of Italian weddings, parent trivia nights and high school dances. Sky News, the pay-TV channel with a roster of right-wing talking heads that fawn over Milo at any opportunity, boasts a regular weeknight audience of roughly 30,000 people, most of them 55 or older.
Not helping matters is Yiannopoulos’ local cheer squad, an assortment of political has-beens and cultural never-weres even stranger and sadder than his American admirers. In Sydney, Milo sent the Daily Mail into conniptions by posing for kisses with Mark Latham, a former leader of the centre-left Labor Party who moved to the extreme right after retiring from politics. In 2015, Latham was exposed by BuzzFeed Australia as the person behind an anonymous Twitter account that regularly hurled misogynistic and transphobic abuse at prominent Australian political and media personalities. That even Sky News kicked Latham off one of their programs should give an idea of where he rests in the Australian political landscape.
Milo spoke at Australia’s Parliament House at the invitation of David Leyonhjelm, a self-described libertarian Senator who was originally elected by accident; people thought they were voting for the main centre-right Liberal Party, and mistakenly cast votes for Leyonhjelm’s miniscule Liberal Democrats party after misreading the tablecloth-sized ballot paper. Milo shared a kiss onstage at his Adelaide show with Tziporah Malkah, a ‘90s-era model best known now for her appearance on the Australian version of reality TV show I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!, as well as recent drink-driving offences.
Besides the $250,000 speakers’ fee he can’t charge anywhere else, promoters claim Troll Academy made around $1 million. But Australia gave Milo something more precious, to him, than money: a bygone taste of the outsize attention he craves and is now regularly denied.
Not to speak ill of my beloved homeland, but when someone from the outside world comes to town, Australia goes a little bit mad, showering C-grade celebrities with the adulation they can’t get from the rest of the world anymore. As a result, Australia – especially Australian television – has become something of a global orphanage for wayward and unwanted personalities whose star has long faded everywhere else. In heading here when his career got shaky, Milo followed in the footsteps of plenty of celebs who, rather than fade into obscurity, decided to be big fish in a small pond. Not because of who they are or what they do, but because they happen to be from somewhere else.
If you’ve ever wondered what Joel and Benji Madden, of early-00s pop punk outfit Good Charlotte, have been up to lately – and I have to assume you haven’t – their surreal, crushingly awkward acoustic set in the middle of a Sydney cricket match in 2013 should give you a good idea. Over the last five years, the Madden brothers have carved out a bizarre niche on Australian primetime television as guest judges on singing reality show The Voice Australia.
The Voice Australia and its various spinoffs have also provided refuge for singer Seal, UK performer Boy George, the Black Eyed Peas’ will.i.am and Boyzone’s Ronan Keating. LMFAO’s Redfoo, who guested as a judge on the rival X Factor Australia, was infamously “glassed” in a Sydney pub in 2014. (“Glassing”, for the uninitiated, is another Australianism describing the art of smashing a beer glass into someone’s face or head.) Chris Isaak and the Spice Girls’ Mel B also found temporary homes on The X Factor. I have a terrifying vision of Milo sitting in one of those swivelling judges’ chairs in ten years time, provoking rehearsed gasps as he dismisses a contestant for being too fat.
None of this is to say that Milo, or the cover he provides for bigotry, isn’t dangerous. Like the US, Australia is grappling with the global upswing in far-right movements, political parties and policies. That is a far more complex phenomenon than the career status of one of its public faces, and it won’t go away just because Milo does.
But there is something delicious in watching him act out the same tired routine to ever-diminishing interest. One of Australia’s running nationwide in-jokes is “the RSL circuit”; the succession of dingy, regional-town Returned Services League venues ‘80s hair-rock acts hit when they need to scrape some money together for child support payments. With Troll Academy, Milo is well and truly on the global RSL circuit.
The NRL grand final is here, and weird, invasive betting agency marketing campaigns are here with it. Because I'm a young male who likes rugby league and Googles "Josh Mansour beard pics" at least four times a week, betting firms have been flooding my social media feeds with ads urging me to spice up my Saturday afternoon footy with the possibility of economic ruin.
In the run-up to the 2017 season, bookie giant William Hill wheeled out an ad campaign that was especially eye-catching, though probably not for the reasons they'd like: a commissioned series of drawings of anthropomorphised NRL team mascots from Melbourne-based artist Grange Wallis Made. In the days before a game, William Hill would pair the mascots up in ads urging you to place a bet, and stick them in your Facebook feed if the targeting was right.
Here are those mascots. They scare the absolute shit out of me.
LOOK AT THEM. Really look at these things. I see these buff torments whenever I close my eyes. They're like monsters out of Greek mythology, if monsters out of Greek mythology had access to steroids and a VIP room at the Ivy.
Because I won't ever be able to sleep again until I do, I've decided to rank these mascots (which I refer to as "the Sixteen Miseries") in ascending order based on how much they make me want to call an exorcist. I've collected screenshots of them over the last six months, and now I can share my awful findings with the world. Ignore that 'March 12' publication date up the top; that's when I started this extremely bad quest. It has been a long six months.
I should emphasise that I'm not having a go at Grange Wallis Made. He had a brief and he filled it, and making money as an artist in Australia is a tough gig. He's got some ripper art on his site, which you can check out here.
But if William Hill's going to force me to constantly look at fucked nightmare creatures just because I like football, I reserve the right to point out that these abominations should be locked in a vault filled with grave dirt and buried under a burned-out church. Let's do this.
#16: The Warrior
This is the only mascot that doesn't fill me with deep, pelvic floor-weakening fear. It's a guy holding a football! Nothing scary about that. His arms and head are in proportion to his body, which I like, and there's very little about his vibe that shrieks "Eldritch horror". Once he's done playing flashy but inconsistent footy, you could probably go for a beer with The Warrior.
Wallis Made has also done his homework and made sure the traditional tā moko markings on The Warrior's face and arms, topknot, pūkana facial expression and greenstone necklace are culturally appropriate, which is nice, right? It would've been easy to copy the "tribal" tatt patterns you see down Bondi Beach on a sunny day, but putting in a bit of effort not to be a racist jerk is a thing that not-garbage people do. If it had been left to the NRL, The Warrior would've been Paul Vautin in blackface. Enjoy this moment, because things only get worse from here.
#15: The Raider
I have mixed feelings about The Raider. I get the impression The Raider acts really tough and talks a lot of awful shit around his peers, but is secretly a bit of a goof who gets slightly uncomfortable when everyone else gets rowdy. I appreciate the effort he puts into his braided green moustache, and I feel like he would be really hurt if you made fun of it. The Raider is a wayward kid who's hanging out with the wrong crowd, and hopefully he realises he's on the wrong path and works out what's really important in life before too long. None of that excuses his behaviour, but I'm rooting for him.
#14: The Titan
At first glance there's nothing that fearsome about The Titan. He looks like Jeff Goldblum's character in the new Thor movie, which is dope as hell, and his cape and golden bracelet things are off the chain. His facial expression is meant to be "I am a great and angry god," but given what's going on with the rest of his outfit it reads more like "I am on some good drugs".
That said, there is one very good reason to be afraid of The Titan, and that reason is his awful dick. I put it to you that the bulbous white orb The Titan is clutching at crotch height is not a football, but rather his terrifyingly smooth, misshapen dick. I know this in my bones with a certainty that chills me.
#13: The Dragon
See, now we're getting into some real shit. We can all agree that, despite the weird fiery halo, The Dragon is obviously Satan come upon us. When you trade your soul for pinpoint kicking accuracy, as Cooper Cronk did, The Dragon is who you have to play football against in Hell for all eternity. He will fly over you with his big disgusting wings whenever you try to tackle him, which is technically not against the rules, and you can't tackle him anyway because his neck spikes will impale your fucking arms like toothpicks in rockmelon.
#12: The Knight
The Knight definitely wants to kill you, but that's not why he's scary. The Knight is scary because you assume he's all-human, but that assumption falls apart when you think about it for, like, two seconds. We have zero evidence so far that the William Hill creatures obey any natural laws, and I feel like the helmet is a double-bluff designed to put you at ease before something really bad happens.
On closer inspection, the 'helmet' appears to be perfectly moulded to The Knight's skull, and continues down his neck and beneath his jersey. I put it to you that The Knight's helmet is actually just a really jacked-up metal face, which at least gives him a motive for being so angry. Lastly, I don't know what the weird raw patch on his forearm is meant to be, but I do not trust it at all.
#11: The Cowboy
The Cowboy gets a higher ranking than the rest of the human-only mascots because he's the one most likely to be real, and that terrifies me. The Cowboy absolutely lives in far North Queensland, and he absolutely votes One Nation. He is not a charming, folksy cowboy who would save you from a rogue water buffalo, like Mick Dundee. He is the sort of cowboy who would offer you a cup of Bushells tea with Rohypnol in it and hogtie you to a tree for the buzzards to eat, like Mick Taylor. I hate The Cowboy.
#10: The Bulldog
The Bulldog weirds me out in a slightly different way to most of William Hill's other abominations, because The Bulldog has an oddly curvy bod? Look at them hips! Bulldogs do not have hips like that. They're stocky little mailboxes with feet, whereas this guy has a kind of Shakira thing going. This is the first mascot that doesn't have legs so muscly they look like Brutalist architecture. There's a joke in there somewhere about not skipping leg day, but in truth every other William Hill beast should skip leg day every day for forever, lest they get swallowed up by their own mutant gams.
There is also a huge vein popping out of The Bulldog's bicep, which means my dude is absolutely on the 'roids and probably has self-image issues. Get off that stuff, Bulldog! I know your face looks like a soggy tennis ball that's been stuck in a rain gutter for fifteen years, but drugs are not the answer. You gotta love you for you.
#9: The Storm
I'm guessing The Storm was the most difficult mascot to conceptualise, but I'm pretty disappointed the artist didn't go for a big black cloud with a frowny face on it. This guy is just a wizard with a skin disease that makes him look like a ripped blueberry.
Still plenty of reasons to hate him, though! He obviously has god powers, and is in the final stages of an incantation that will burn you down to a subatomic level. He's also levitating, which makes me think he maybe fell into our plane from the Dragon Ball Z universe and is in the middle of one of those power-up phases that took up twenty minutes of each episode.
Come to think of it, that glowing golden egg in his right hand: actual Dragon Ball? It's sure as hell not a football meant for human hands. Maybe rugby league games in The Storm's reality end when the egg-ball hatches and Shenron devours the world. One for the CSIRO to puzzle out.
#8: The Panther
The Panther isn't the biggest or the most powerful Nasty Football Boy, but he is absolutely the most angry. Look at that scowly cat face. The Panther is every cat that has ever been mad at you shoved into one flesh-prison and sprayed with a hose. His fur is glossy and well kept, and his fancy golden boots are very fresh, which he gets points for, but you would not notice those things when you have to hide in a pool forever to stop The Panther from mauling you.
#7: The Tiger
The Tiger gets a higher ranking than The Panther because of how frighteningly jacked it is. If you don't look properly, the orange part of The Tiger's uniform just looks like fur poking out of a needlessly low-cut jersey, and that feels like a personal slight. The Tiger also has the most well-defined tongue of any of these awful creatures, and that cannot bode well given what we've been through so far.
#6: The Sea Eagle
I hate the Sea Eagle because he's obviously the preppy frat boy of the bunch. The Sea Eagle is the one most likely to pop his collar, or always have a possessive arm around his girlfriend at parties, or take a gym selfie that has a really obvious outline of his dick in it. The Sea Eagle will absolutely peck out your eyes, but then he'll probably make it even worse by saying something really homophobic about people with no eyes. The Sea Eagle votes Liberal, and probably has The Red Pill saved on a hard drive.
#5: The Rooster
Oh boy, ah geez, oh MAN. The Rooster. Okay. We're really getting into some rats-in-the-walls territory now.
The scariest part of The Rooster is none of the obvious things, like the huge red cheek-scrotums or the corn-chip hands. The Rooster's scariest quality is the eyes. Really stare into those dark-matter peepers. To use descriptors like "cold" or "dead" for The Rooster's eyes is to tacitly grant them a place in this Earthly realm that they do not deserve. The Abyss spat those little hell-nuggets out because they made The Abyss jittery. The Rooster's eyes are God's grave.
Also, turns out your typical rooster crest blown up to a human scale looks like a set of flesh bagpipes, so have fun knowing that for the rest of your life.
#4: The Shark
Firstly, why does a sharkman need little elbow-knives and claws on his awful webbed hands? He's mostly shark already, he doesn't need any more encouragement. Stop it.
The Shark looks scarily like Alan Jones, which is way too fitting to be an accident. He has an extremely wrinkly mouth, and looks like he's been photographed in the act of yelling at a brown person on a train station platform. The Shark is possibly the chunkiest of all the William Hill beasts, which makes me think he must be quite short and is really belligerent to compensate.
My main beef with The Shark, though, is that his tail is poking out the back of his little football shorts. How does he put those little shorts on with such a big tail? The Shark does not know. No one knows.
#3: The Bronco
I hate The Bronco with my whole body. I hate it extra hard because people have already spent thousands of years workshopping what human-horse hybrids are supposed to look like, and it's never been this bad. Centaurs have their problems, but they don't have quad muscles that are so big they form actual squares. I resent how the artist almost abandoned the hoofs-for-hands idea but not entirely, and compensated for that indecision by making The Broncos' hands needlessly shiny, like they've been bronzed.
Also, this feels like nitpicking at this point, but The Bronco has better hair than I do despite how obviously filthy he is over every single inch of the rest of his body. The Bronco clearly spends so much time snorting and huffing gunk all over himself with his giant gross horse nose, and somehow both his head- and butt-hair still stays shiny and silky smooth. I think about that and it makes me really upset.
#2: The Eel
Oh no. Oh NO.
The Eel actually makes me physically nauseous to look at, a bit. So much is deeply, karmically wrong here. The wrinkles over every available surface; the glassy, White Walker-esque eyes; the little wisps of what can only be hair around the chin and nostrils.
The worst part of The Eel, though, is what goes unseen. It upsets me deeply to inform you that The Eel has to have the weirdest, grossest dick of all these monsters. Going off the rest of his body, The Eel's dick is sickly yellow with blue mottled stripes, has been pickled in seawater for twenty years, and has a fin on it. I'm so sorry your grand final has been ruined by knowledge of The Eel's dick-fin. I really am.
#1: The Rabbit
I loathe The Rabbit. I hate everything about it. I hate how, if you cover up The Rabbit's head, it could be just a very buff man with extremely hairy arms. I hate its on-brand headband and mouthguard. I hate how, if The Rabbit could make a noise, the only noise it could make would be "REEEE! REEEEEEEEEE!". Most of all I hate the tiny, exquisitely detailed bottom row of teeth in its open, scowling mouth.
I hate The Rabbit. I hate him so much.
Thank you for coming with me on this journey through the sixteen circles of my own private hell. I am very sorry.
Senator Cory Bernardi’s announcement that he’s finally quitting the Liberal Party and starting his own conservative political movement has dominated news headlines and social media this week. The far-right Senator’s new Australian Conservatives party will attempt to capitalise on the rise in populist anti-immigration sentiment epitomised by Brexit, the election of Donald Trump and the domestic resurgence of One Nation.
Besides combating the prospect of same-sex marriage and campaigning to water down the Racial Discrimination Act, it’s likely the Australian Conservatives will have plenty to say on another of Bernardi’s favourite topics: Islam, or the supposed threat it poses to Australian society.
Bernardi has asserted that Islam is a “totalitarian, political and religious ideology”, called for the burqa to be banned as a “shroud of oppression”, and waged a long crusade against the halal certification of food. On Friday he’ll appear as a ‘special guest’ at a function thrown by the anti-Islamic Q Society, which has been at the forefront of efforts to stop the construction of a mosque in the Victorian town of Bendigo. In 2015 Bernardi alleged that terrorists could be among Australia’s planned intake of 12,000 Syrian refugees, despite all evidence suggesting such a scenario is extremely unlikely.
But even as Bernardi commanded the spotlight, far more concerning and devastating news has been coming out of Sydney, where the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse was beginning its 50th public hearing.
In her opening statement to the hearing on Monday, counsel assisting the commission Gail Furness, SC, revealed some of the Commission’s horrifying findings on the scope and severity of child sexual abuse within religious institutions, especially the Catholic Church. According to the Commission, 4,444 people alleged instances of child sex abuse against members of 93 Catholic Church authorities between 1980 and 2015.
Even more astonishing than the number of victims is the number of abusers, particularly in Catholic orders. Around 20% of the membership of two Catholic orders that run schools, the Christian Brothers and the Marist Brothers, were accused of crimes against children. In one order, the St John of God Brothers, more than 40% of religious brothers were alleged to have abused kids.
But one figure especially stands out, arguably the most horrific of all. 7% of all Australian Catholic priests since 1950 have been accused of child sexual abuse. That’s about one in every 14 priests.
It’s worth looking at how those numbers compare to Bernardi’s pet obsession, Islam and domestic terrorism. 476,291 Australians self-identified as Muslim at the 2011 Census. The exact number of Australian Muslims charged with terror offences isn’t publicly available for security reasons, but a widely-cited Monash University study from 2011 puts the number at between 20 and 33. That means around 0.0069% of Muslims in Australia have been charged with terror-related offences, at least as of 2011. One in every 14,000 or so Muslims, in other words.
Putting those two sets of numbers side by side raises some interesting questions about who we’re told poses a threat to Australian society, and who actually does. If 7% of Australian Muslims were alleged terror suspects, that would mean a massive 33,340 would-be Islamist terrorists were currently residing in Australia. To put that in perspective, imagine if everyone in the NSW town of Orange woke up one day and decided that, rather than throw an Elvis festival this year, they’ll all join ISIS instead. Bernardi would certainly have his work cut out for him.
Despite what Bernardi, Pauline Hanson and many others say, though, you could fit all the Australian Muslims charged with terror offences pretty comfortably in the back half of a tram. So which is the greater threat? One in every 14,000 Muslims? Or one in every 14 priests? And which will Bernardi’s new Australian Majority focus most of its attention on?
Given the timing, it will be extremely interesting to see if newly-independent Senator Bernardi says a word about the Royal Commission’s findings, or if he continues to talk up a comparatively miniscule threat for the sake of headlines and political capital. Given the Vatican has refused to hand over documents involving Australian priests accused of abuse to the Royal Commission, it will also be instructive to see if Bernardi feels compelled to demand greater accountability from the Church of which he is a devout member.
For the rest of us, it might be worth wondering why we obsess over threats that we rarely see and almost never directly encounter, rather than the ones right in front of us. If we’d spent the last sixty years paying even a fraction of the attention to child abusers in the Catholic Church that we devote to Islamist terrorism today, that 7% wouldn’t have been able to wreak the horrendous damage that they did.
Recently I've been thinking a lot about the national conversation around domestic violence, and what it means for men who want to be part of the solution, while not necessarily recognising ways in which they may be part of the problem. At the moment, individual 'action' for men consists of broadly positive, impersonal statements or sentiments -- it might involve signing a petition, taking a White Ribbon pledge, posting a selfie or going to an anti-domestic violence round of the cricket or footy.
These actions, while well-intentioned, miss an extremely important point that many men don't consider. The biggest and most immediate priority for men who say they're against domestic and sexual violence is to recognise that men they know and care about are entirely capable of being harassers and abusers, and that they have an obligation to proactively and vigorously confront those men -- friends, family members, coworkers -- on their behaviour.
That sounds easy, but it's not. "Saying no to violence against women" is easy when the guy doing it is some vague, hypothetical Other in your head, or a drunken yob who fits your preconceptions of what a violent man looks like.
But when you hear on the grapevine that a friend of yours creeps on women at parties, or that the girlfriend he's always fighting with has bruises, and you ignore it or make excuses like "but he's a really good guy," you are not being neutral or "staying out of it".
Because other men in your circle are doing it too -- defending him, saying "it's complicated", grimacing slightly before shrugging it off. It's the textbook example of how decent, regular people come to be supporters and protectors of abuse. Individual silences that coalesce into a larger unspoken understanding -- a conspiracy of collective inaction that acts as a protective buffer around a man's violent, criminal behaviour. That is not neutral. That is aiding and abetting.
As recounted late last year by Brydie-Lee Kennedy for SBS Comedy and Kara Schlegl for The Saturday Paper, a real-life example of this phenomenon recently played out in Sydney's comedy community. A successful young comedian, who is not named in either article, was known to his friends and colleagues as being a serial abuser of women, especially of Kennedy, his one-time partner. Those friends and colleagues -- all fellow up-and-coming comedians, self-styled 'aware' and 'progressive' young men who said all the right things -- ignored what was clearly going on in front of them, choosing instead to isolate, belittle and ignore the women their friend abused. Even when the situation came to light in Kennedy's piece, many refused to countenance the possibility that their friend was an abuser. Read those two articles for a better picture than I can provide here.
Clearly this phenomenon of men talking a big game about opposing domestic violence while simultaneously wearing blinkers to instances of it in their own lives is much more entrenched and pervasive than many men would like to think. The flipside, and the opportunity, is that collective silence relies on the continuing participation of everyone involved. Once someone decides to actively and forcefully confront that silence, and the people at the heart of it, the buffer is cracked. The first domino falls. Conspiracies of silence are much weaker than they appear.
Being that person will not feel good. It'll mean you lose friendships. It'll mean conflict and pain with, and among, people you care about. Worse, it'll mean admitting that for a while, you let your love and friendship with someone blind you to the fact of their abuse.
But if we're genuinely serious about calling out violence against women, we need to recognise that we are signing up for something difficult. Something that involves unpleasantness, inconvenience, discomfort. Sacrifice.
That's the choice men have to make, fully aware of what it entails. Consciously discarding the luxury of ignoring what does not affect you is much harder than it sounds, and carries consequences that will have serious reverberations in your own life.
That is the price of entry. You don't get to claim the kudos of being "one of the good ones" while shirking the burdens that come with it -- burdens that women who speak out against abusers bear unaided and alone, with none of the self-congratulatory back-slapping men are so eager to give themselves for doing substantially less than the bare minimum.
Talking about it doesn't involve saying "domestic violence is bad!" and basking in the applause. It involves confronting the people, policies and institutions that perpetuate it, and dealing with the backlash.
This has all been said by countless women countless times, and is usually met with indifference, dismissal or hostility. That makes the business of being an active male opponent of violence against women both more powerful and more complex. The brutal and sad reality is that, as a man, people - especially other men - are more likely to pay attention when you talk about this stuff than when women do, especially at an interpersonal level.
At the same time, that dynamic is part of the problem, and speaking over women relating their own experiences or those of their peers can hinder more than it helps. Instead, lend your strength to them. If you're not sure how you can help someone, ask them, and listen to their response. Defend and support women who speak out - in conversations, in comments sections, and in private. You can't erase or cancel out your privilege, but you can use it in positive ways.
Most men have good intentions when they say "I oppose violence against women". But on their own, good intentions are vastly overrated. When they're not accompanied by defined and ongoing efforts to turn that sentiment into concrete action, good intentions have a nasty habit of going quiet when the rubber hits the road.
There's much more that could be written on this, like the various governments that jump on the "domestic violence is bad" bandwagon when it's in the news while actively perpetuating violence against women through their policies (hi Peter Dutton, thanks for reading), but that's enough for now. I'd love to hear people's thoughts, especially on anything I've overlooked or mischaracterised.