#FreeSaudiHeroes Solidarity Blog I’m sitting outside the Saudi Embassy on Fitzwilliam Square, live blogging. I’m thinking about Raif Badawi. He set up a blog in Saudi Arabia to write about life in Saudi Arabia, to start debates about social and political ideas. He was imprisoned in 2012 for ten years and received 1000 lashes. He’s currently on hunger strike in a Saudi Prison, and his health is in critical condition. Embassy officials are peeking out their windows, they’ve closed the curtains, two young transition year students have come along to join the live blog. If I was in Saudi Arabia, I could be arrested, flogged and forced to hunger strike for my rights just for doing this. SInce Raif was arrested, the Saudi Government has cracked down on other human rights defenders, women who protested against the guardianship system and the driving ban are still in prison, though they have reformed the laws, they haven’t dropped the charges. If Raif wasn’t in prison, he would be blogging about those women; Loujain, Iman, Aziza, Samar and Nasima. But he has been silenced, so this group who’ve gathered here today can their voice. Please Free these Saudi Heroes. 7 months ago

The shadow in my life: I don’t earn enough money… I often joke that I work full time at two jobs that don’t pay- art and activism. Of course, I get some pay off from it, or I wouldn’t be doing it! Nothing can beat the feeling I’ve gotten over the past ten years from saying “I believe you before you open your mouth” to 20,000 people at Stand For Truth, to hearing the hope in audience’s hearts after performances of HEROIN all around Ireland and Europe over the last 8 years to hearing the words of gratitude from women in our sector and gate employees after I wrote about my experience with Michael Colgan last year. From speaking the words of women forced to travel for abortion during NOT AT HOME, to listening intimately to Magdalene women at Dublin Honours Magdalenes and the feeling of satisfaction when something I’ve dreamed with a group of like-minded people comes true, like blocking the sale of the Sean McDermott St Magdalene Laundry, or Stand For Truth. I love the work that I do, I love the people that I get to meet, I do it because I have a vocation to change the power dynamics that exist in our country that feel unfair to me. There is a shadow in everything, and this time of year, Samhain, for me always comes with a warning; “everything in the shadow must be revealed”. This year, I am trying to embrace that head-on. The shadow for me in everything I do is that I don’t earn enough money to support myself. Of course, because its the shadow, I don’t want to acknowledge it. I get by pretending it’s not happening because I get so much energy and love and respect from what I do, but those things don’t pay the bills. The more I ignore it, the worse it gets. I am privileged, in that the projects I work on with THEATREclub, for the most part, get funded, but that is about an average of 10 weeks a year. The rest of the year, I work full time on creating the conditions for those ten weeks to happen, and on activist projects, responding spontaneously to the issues of our time. I live my life by asking God for my spiritual marching orders. I wake up and ask the Universe “Where do you want me?”. I trust the work I am doing now more than ever. I know I am on a good path, and for the first time, I am seeing real and tangible results. In September, I promised audiences around the country that by October 2020, how we view drugs and drug users would change. I believe that. I believe that I can be a part of that. BUT. I have learned in the last 5 years, that it’s fundamentally unethical for me to harm myself to help other people. Since then, I have been trying, (usually around this time of year!) to look at myself as my number one project. What is alive in me that I need to attend to? How can I advocate for positive change for myself? I need security to keep going. I took some time away and I genuinely thought about stopping it all. I explored the kind of 9 to 5 jobs I could get. I don’t want to quit. It would be a loss to me and from the encouragement, I have been getting from people lately, I believe it would be a loss to others. I have thought about other ways of making money, but in the past I have suffered from burn out and exhaustion from taking too much on. The truth it, I already have two full time jobs that don’t pay. I don’t wanna quit either of them. After seeking advice from others in my situation, I have launched a patreon page. I would really appreciate it if you would consider becoming my patreon. You can do it for as little as 4.27euro a month. The only way I can keep going is to trust that if people value what I am doing, they will support me, and if they don’t - I’ll stop. Something else will come along. I believe you Universe. Heres the link if you want to be my patreon, and keep my voice out there; http://bit.ly/gracepatreon If you can’t afford it, I totally understand. If you can afford it, but don’t want to do it, will you DM me and let me know why? Your wisdom would really help me. Thanks for reading this far, and I hope you have a great Saturday. 1 year ago

HEROIN 2018 We Need To Radically Shift How We View Drugs and Drug Users We’re moving now.

We’re moving. Tickets for “HEROIN 2018 - We Need To Radically Shift How we View Drugs and Drug Users” are on sale now. When we say we need help, we’re put on a waiting list.

When we do something wrong we are sent straight to prison. No waiting. I’ve been writing this play since 2008. It’s crushingly as relevant as ever, but a lot has changed for me and Rachael since it was last performed in 2016. Rachael and I have written a new decade to reflect that. We used to be marched on being addicts, now we march together in Recovery. Please come and have a conversation with me and Rachael Keogh so we all get off this merry go round. We’re heading off to Finland with it on Sunday, and we have The O'Reilly booked for 4 shows in Dublin before heading back to The Glens Centrein Leitrim. I really want to visit Limerick, Waterford, Cork and Ballymun with it too, so get in touch if you wanna help us out. I believe you universe. There’s a part of us that’s very well, and a part that needs to recover. Stay present. Stay connected. <3 http://bit.ly/HEROINTIX 2 years ago

Bring These Stories Home at 8 I’m reading all your posts about the referendum. I’m feeling the anticipation. I’m hopeful and nervous. I don’t know I will feel as a woman on May 26th. I don’t know yet. “It is the unknown that is frightening.” But I know myself. I trust my instincts and I have a strong instinct that ‘Bring These Stories Home at 8’ could be of use, could be helpful to us all right now. The Save The 8th campaign have been doing Pray for the 8th at 8am and 8pm every day for weeks. For the past three weeks, I have been on tour around Ireland with NOT AT HOME. I have been talking to people all over Ireland about how they are feeling about the vote. There is a lot of talking, thinking, it’s up in the head. Very few people have mentioned the women who have traveled. I haven’t spoken to one woman who has traveled face to face, but many have written their stories by hand and added them to our archive. Women who have traveled are the only ones who don’t have a voice in this referendum. They have been silenced by stigma and shame. “Ireland did an excellent job of making me FEEL as though I was the only Irish person to have an abortion even though I factually knew that wasn’t the case. By silencing us and pretending we didn’t exist, we were completely isolated and stigmatized.”



I have carried and continue to carry this shame 14 years later. I cannot now even give my real name. I have since been able to tell my sister and I have told my now husband and we have two lovely daughters. I can only hope that someday I will have the courage and not be afraid to tell my family and friends that I had to go through this and leave the country. Tonight on my way to a meeting at 8.15 I watched scores of people file out of a church in Wexford. They had all been there, praying together to Save the 8th. Whatever you think about religion - (I myself am a recovering Catholic) - I believe there is a power in that energy. If you want an outcome where women are heard after this referendum, I invite you to tune in. Play the stories out your window. Listen to these women, know that all over Ireland people are doing the same. Take a photo, post it in solidarity, for the woman, couple or family in your life who have traveled. # tag is #BringTheseStoriesHome- so we all know, just like those people knew in that church in Wexford, that we are together, in solidarity, listening. If you don’t feel comfortable playing it out your window, you can just listen in your home, bringing their stories, of being abandoned, of being alone, of being not at home into your own home will help. There has been a lot of talking. Now is the time to listen, and hold, with intention. I needed Ireland to take me into her arms and hold me and wipe my tears and tell me everything would be ok. But she turned her back in shame and wouldn’t even look at me, pretended I wasn’t there. The weight of the black secret that I have carried around ever since was made heavier by her disgust of me and her other prodigal daughters.

It might feel like you don’t have time. You don’t have time to have a conversation. You don’t have time to make a decision. The 8th amendment has rushed women, couples, and families into making big decisions since 1983. It has forced them into crisis mode. We don’t need to do that anymore. Let’s act as if we live in an Ireland where everyone has time to listen to each other, where women can bear witness to their own life experience, and be trusted and heard. Let’s start now. Listen. Stay connected. Tune in. Bring These Stories Home.

In solidarity, visibility, and love

Grace I’ll see you at 8am. www.bringthesestorieshome.com http://www.prayforthe8th.ie/



Quotes are from experiences submitted to notathomeireland.com You are invited to write your own story, anonymously or otherwise if you have traveled.

2 years ago

My speech at Irish Theatre Institute’s event “Speak Up And Call It Out” I am here because in October of last year I wrote a blog, describing an experience I had with Michael Colgan, former director of The Gate Theatre.

Today I am going to share with you what I have learned from the past few months, in the hopes that it will be useful as you consider the questions of today. I want to presence that the terrority we are exploring here brings up a lot of fear in me. I know a lot of people feel that way too. I want to acknowledge the courage it took everyone in this room, to come here, to start to face into this. I know that for some of you, being here will bring up painful memories of past hurts, or in present challenging situations. I am trying to stay with my fear. Not to fight it, push it aside or deny it. I believe that in the fear we will find all the wisdom we need. When I wrote my blog post it felt like I had thrown a grenade. People started to write to me and tell me their own experiences, of abuse of power, sexual harassment, and bullying. 311 people have written to me so far, their experiences are in media, politics, law and the overwhelming majority are in the theatre. I have discovered a lot about myself in the past few months. I have learned that when I feel fear, I try to control. At the height of all this, I wanted to know how to manage it all. I wanted to be able to fix it. I thought I could see a five-act structure for how it all works out, a way to bring all the characters in this story to a safe resolution. I learned that it would not be that simple. The more experiences I heard, the more I started to understand the complexity. I had to accept, that I can’t resolve this situation alone. No matter how afraid I am, I can’t control it. I met my own powerlessness. As theatre artists, we understand the complexity of human interactions. Our role is to explore relationships, to reflect society back to itself - and to ask questions in order to elevate consciousness. We know well how complicated human beings are. Faced with the task of establishing a code of behavior we know that it’s impossible to legislate for every scenario that could possibly come up when a group of people are making work together. For me, this brings up more fear. Fear, that there will be too much safety, that we could get to a place where we are so afraid of repeating the mistakes of the past that there is no artistic freedom. But the flip side of that is, as theatre artists, with our study of humanity, we are well equipped to innovate and find a way create enough safety that allows artistic risk to flourish. In our work, we stray away from black and white. We know how to hold opposing truths. The truth is we are not here gathered in this room because of behavior that is subtle or unclear. We are here because of behavior that has been widely known and acknowledged as damaging to the dignity of others, but yet has been tolerated and enabled for decades. So many of the people who wrote to me talked about “Having nowhere to go” Conversations happened, but there was no action. We filled the void created by the absence of structure, with gossip, open secrets, inertia, and inaction. I was told that I was brave hundreds of times after I wrote my blog. I don’t think publishing my blog was brave. I believe it was courageous. Bravery is doing something without feeling any fear. Courage is a state of mind which enables you to feel the fear and take action. Courage comes from the heart. People have said to me “I could never do what you did” I hope that nobody else has to. 13 of us spoke publicly about our experiences because we hoped it would make a difference. It was a sacrifice. I hope that today in this room, our sacrifice can lead to a culture where nobody needs to be so exposed to affect change; Where there is always, somewhere to go. For those 311 people who wrote to me, I was the place to go. They have each spoken up in their own way. Some addressed the people who had hurt them directly, some told another colleague, some went to boards, some made formal complaints, some went to the guards. They didn’t take this action straight away. It came from conversation and careful consideration. The behavior the 13 of us experienced was ouvert. But it gave a context to many to explore more subtle behavior they had experienced. They struggled to name it. They questioned, was that offensive? was that abusive? am I just being too sensitive? I couldn’t answer those questions for them. I told them they were the arbiter of what feels right for them. If you feel bullied, it doesn’t mean the person intends to bully you, but your feelings are no less real and no less true. Here’s where we need to hold opposing truths. This is all subjective. We have to own our right to bear witness to our own experience. Accepting that subjectivity throws up more fear. When I quoted Christine Buckley and said: “I believe you before you open your mouth”. This brought up fear. Do we just believe every accusation? In the absence of structure, there will always be fear. My question for today is this; how can we create structures that can hold these behaviors to rigorous account, while having compassion for both accusers and the accused within those structures? How could we build an open receptive structure where the accused and the accuser can trust that they will be both be believed? Where we all feel safe enough to start this name these behaviors? Can we condemn the behavior without condemning the person? When I think of the experiences I have heard It feels instinctive for me to go to black and white, thoughts of crime and punishment. I try to have compassion and empathy. Bullying and harassment are coping mechanisms. Bullying is not an identity, it’s a behavior. But when it is allowed to continue, with no structure to address it, it is too damaging to be tolerated in any way. As artists, we work under time pressure. We often feel like we need to get it done. We put the work above our own needs. We welcome vulnerability in the work, but sometimes we can’t hold it in real life. There have been many times, where I have felt like I don’t have time to speak up. I would rather get on with it and put up with it than call it out. I have learned that taking this action to speak up does not take away from the work. It is the work. Many of the people who wrote to me had experiences that happened a number of years ago. They were no longer working with the person or people involved. I encouraged them to get in touch and try to clear it. In some cases, other people might still be experiencing that behavior today. By having this difficult conversation, you’re helping yourself and you’re helping others, but you shouldn’t have to do that alone, there have to be structures to support you. I hope The Code being initiated here today will be a structure that can support and empower us all. I hope that structure will give us all the space to speak up and call it out, in our own way, in our time, with courage and compassion, putting our own self-care at the center of the action. I believe that these behaviors are part of our humanity. We can’t stop them from happening, but we can develop healthier ways to address them. I think the first step, is becoming comfortable talking about them openly. I have learned that having the conversation is always better than letting something go unsaid. Every time I have tolerated a behavior that doesn’t sit well with me It has been damaging. When I have found the courage to speak up and call it out, it has been healing. And equally, every time someone has come to me and expressed that my behavior had hurt them it was painful at the time, but I needed to hear it, I am grateful to the people who have had the courage to have that conversation with me. As theatre artists we are required to provide a risk assessment for the production if actors or crew are working from a height, or destroying the set with a chainsaw, or even if someone has to stand on a chair. There is an inherent psychological risk in making art with a group of people. What would a psychological risk assessment look like for the idea of a group of people going into a room together to try and make the impossible happen, over and over again, with not enough money, not enough time, working with their own histories, working with the collective unconscious, the shadow, trauma, completely venturing into the unknown in an emergent creative process with potentially no idea of what might happen? In every risk assessment, we state, that all we can do is mitigate the risks. We can’t control them entirely. No matter how afraid we are. If I stand on a chair, I still might fall. I had to learn this. I invite you to accept that no code, no toolkit will make you 100% safe. But we can take responsibility for ourselves. We all have power, and the ability to use it or abuse it. I think none of this will matter unless we can each look at ourselves and our behavior around power; when we speak up we become empowered, when we stay silent, we give it away. Informed by this experience, to take responsibility for myself, I have written my own code of behavior, it is completely unique to me; I am responsible for my own self-care I place my self-care at the center of my work It is not ethical, to hurt myself in order to help other people. I try not to create the conditions I am trying to redress I welcome all expression I acknowledge that I have the capacity to harm others and when I am wrong I admit it as promptly as I can. I take action, where I can, with courage I believe that there is wisdom in conflict If I feel hurt I try to name it I believe you before you open your mouth When I was writing my blog I was asked what outcome I wanted. I think this is an important question to consider before taking any action. There are two stories here, outlining different ideas for the future of Irish theatre. In the first story; there are bad people and good people and the bad people need to be stopped. We are outraged. In this story, we want punishment and sanctions for the horrendous people who have hurt us. We blame our artistic sensibilities. We emulate business people, in the private sector. If we make new rules, decide the punishment, everything will be ok and we will all feel safe. This is our perspective. There is only one. It is black and white. That’s the important part of that story. It gives us a way of feeling safe. That’s why we need it. When we feel fear, We try to control. In the second story, we acknowledge that we don’t just feature in our own story. We are all the protagonist and the agonist in the multitude of stories we appear in. We have the courage to look at our past mistakes and the wrongs that we feel were done to us. We acknowledge that just like anyone driving a car has the potential to cause harm, and the responsibility to do everything they can to avoid that; we as human beings attempting to make art together have that capacity and the responsibility. In the second story, our narrative can hold multiple perspectives. The outcome we want is restorative, not punitive. Our approach reflects and honors our artistic selves, we innovate, we create a new structure that can hold opposing truths. We expose the truth. We see that this is about power. We redress our past failures. We heal, collectively, from this hurt.. It won’t go in a straight line. We’ll move backward and forwards, we’ll make mistakes again, but there will be movement, action, change, flow. It’s difficult to hold opposing truths, it’s hard to stay with the fear. Courage is learned, it doesn’t happen overnight. This is a process. We will make mistakes. Ella Clarke wrote about the loss to the art form from these years of in action. The people who gave up because they found it too hard. That is what’s at stake here. That’s what we lose if we don’t evolve. There are two stories in the room, with two different ideas of the future of Irish Theatre. What future do you want? In the last few months. I met my own powerless. I learned that no one should do this alone. We all have to hold the power in order for this to change. Standing here I feel like I don’t have to do this alone anymore. We’ve already started to build the place to go. Look around you. We’re here. 2 years ago

“The stone in my shoe” ; Adrienne Corless, Nina Vodstrup Andersen & Caragh Smyth experiences at The National Museum… The #MeToo hashtag comes like a clarion call, reminding me that I don’t have to live in dismay of injustices done, clogging my step like a stone in my shoe.

It was a Monday morning, 6th of November, when I heard Grace Dyas speak on Morning Ireland, as she emphasized the importance of naming names, to remove the risk of speculation. That morning, I got up, got my kids to school, and sat with my baby in my arms and my phone in my hand to update the blog post I’d previously written, this time, naming the names. My story was told in three newspapers that weekend: the headlines and photos alone brought up heaves of revulsion: me, alongside horrible things that were said and done to me in my professional working life. I raised my head above the parapet, and I got overwhelming feedback: positive, supportive, yet still quite literally, overwhelming. And the unpleasantness of heaving this old mess up, vital as it is to do it, feels very dismaying all over again: because I did speak up at the time. I went through the channels, and I genuinely thought my harasser at least stood a chance of being fired: he was not fired. Dismaying, because I learn that not only do the hierarchies of public service workplaces serve predatory men at the expense of dedicated women, it would appear that the law of the land does the same: the National Museum of Ireland suspended Mr Halpin on foot of my blog post (even before I named him), and he is now suing them. It seems likely that the National Museum of Ireland will pay Andy Halpin handsomely for what he did to me. I went through the channels, I did what was right at the time, stressful and upsetting as it was to do. After the formal investigation, all the HR officers did was write me to say simply that my complaint was upheld. But my complaint about Mr Halpin had never been in doubt. As soon as I found my courage to speak up, anyone I had confided in an official sense had sympathized with me, felt awful for me, told me this happened before, and that people had complained informally, and that nothing could be done about him until somebody made a formal complaint. So I did. And for what? I phoned HR: “he’s not going to be fired?”

“Oh no”, they said. “We have implemented the disciplinary code.”

“What does this mean?” I insisted. They would get back to me. So a HR officer wrote to me, on 4 December 2007 (incidentally, two weeks before I went on maternity leave with my first child): “In accordance with Paragraph 8.16 of "A Positive Working Environment,” I wish to inform you that the disciplinary action approved by the Decision-Making Authority on 18 October 2007 in accordance with Paragraph 2 (1) of the Disciplinary Code has been implemented. Yours Sincerely" etc. This, of course, told me NOTHING. To this day, I have no idea who this faceless and nameless ‘decision-making authority’ is. I do, however, still have my copy of the Disciplinary Code, as rummaged out by me at that time from the bowels of the Museum’s shared online folders, so that I could find out what Paragraph 2 (1) referred to. Let’s have a look at Paragraph 2 (1): “For the purposes of this code, the term "disciplinary action” shall comprise:

(a) any of the following actions where such actions are taken by reason of or as a direct consequence of a finding that the officer concerned has been guilty of misconduct, irregularity neglect or unsatisfactory behaviour, the deferral of an increment, debarment from competitions or from specified competitions or from promotion for a specified period of time, transfer, the withdrawal of concessions or allowances.

(b) the withholding of remuneration in respect of a period of suspension in accordance with the terms of Section 14 of the Civil Service Regulation Act, 1956,

© reduction in pay and/or reduction in rank in accordance with the terms of Section 15 of the Civil Service Regulation Act, 1956,

(d) dismissal from the civil service in accordance with the terms of Section 5 of the Civil Service Regulation Act, 1956 So: Paragraph 2(1) simply outlines all possible “disciplinary actions” - including dismissal, which was available for the Decision Making Authorities (whomsoever THEY are) to choose, yet they didn’t. I phoned HR again. “I still don’t know what disciplinary action has been implemented,” I persisted. “All I know is, he is not being dismissed?” “Well,” came the awkward reply. “He’s had his increments stopped, and he can’t go for promotion, for a period of two years.” Paragraph 2 (1)(a) then, I was left to clarify for myself. The (a) detail is important: it meant he received the softest possible reprimand. A veritable slap on the wrist that I can tell you knocked no wind out of Mr Halpin’s sails: those two years came and went, and throughout it and beyond he continued to sexually harass women just as he always had. Two women, I didn’t know but who had also worked at the National Museum of Ireland reached out to me after I wrote my blog posts. Their words show that in no uncertain terms, Mr Halpin is a predator. He preyed upon Caragh Smyth before me, and despite what I had gone through to speak up and report him, he preyed upon Nina Vodstrup Andersen after me. Caragh Smyth’s account tells me that Andy regularly used her computer on lunch break to look up soft porn sites about tall women and Valkyrie, at her quiet, basement lab desk at the Museum in Kildare Street. Just as he did with my computer every day at my desk in Collins Barracks. Disturbingly, Caragh also describes an incident that is chillingly reminiscent of what he did to me: I was working on a project to produce educational CDs of the Egyptian collection at the time, sometime around 98/99. I was standing in the middle of the shared office talking to my boss and an Egyptologist from the British Museum. I was mid-sentence, when Andy walked past, arms swinging, and brushed his fingertips across my ass. As usual, something that could be easily explained away as an accident. And of course, a situation where I felt like I couldn’t react or do anything, mid-sentence with a BM bigwig and my boss (who I have the utmost regard for). But what clarified it in my mind and made it so obvious that he knew exactly what he was doing, was that he did it again a few minutes later. The exact same brisk walk by, arms swinging, fingertips brushing off my ass while I was mid-sentence. Hey, we’ve all accidentally brushed past someone at some point, but there’s no way it would happen a second time. You go SO far around them the next time that there isn’t a chance of it happening again! Caragh’s description of this incident made my skin crawl and demonstrates a pattern that shows a conscious and deliberate abuse of power and calculated physical harassment by Andy Halpin. Caragh also hit on a crucial element of Andy’s behavior: that it made women doubt themselves, so much so that they mostly did not speak up: “I have to admit, I do actually feel a bit silly writing this all down because it sounds so insignificant, particularly in comparison to others, but I guess that was the genius of Andy’s harassment – subtle, apparently insignificant, in the “you’re being melodramatic” realm. He knew we were young, fresh out of college, on internships or short-term contracts, and therefore vulnerable. I eventually left the Museum when I was 25 and changed careers entirely. But one other thing I remember is someone from the Museum called me a while after I’d left. Apparently, an intern had reported a member of staff. The incident was described to me without naming any names and I was asked whether I knew who it might be. I immediately named Andy, correctly, and then described what had happened to me. I was asked why I’d never complained at the time, so I just explained what I said above. We were vulnerable, wanted to renew our contracts, and he was chillingly calculating in how subtle he was, so we felt we wouldn’t be believed.” This last shows that Caragh did feedback to Museum staff what happened to her, even if it was after she’d left. Caragh apologized to me for what I’d gone through: that made me cry. I felt so angry that another woman had to feel she should apologize to me for what I’d gone through when she’d gone through it too. She wondered maybe if she had complained, would it have prevented it happening to me. It makes me wring my hands to realize: what good would it have done if she had complained at the time, or if anyone else this happened to had complained? It was known. It wouldn’t have prevented it happening to me. Because I complained, and yet still it happened to Nina Vodstrup Andersen. In fact, Nina’s story of her experience of working at the National Museum of Ireland as a whole makes for uncomfortable reading: “My name is Nina Vodstrup Andersen. At the age of 23, I moved from my native Denmark to Ireland to take up an unpaid internship in the National Museum of Ireland. At that time, I was finishing my Bachelor’s Degree in medieval archaeology and museology at the University of Aarhus, and this degree required that we students complete an internship in a museum to gain experience. The notion struck me that, rather than just applying at any of the small regional museum in Denmark, why not reach for the stars? So in a fit of youthful audacity, I sent off an application to the NMI. I never really expected to hear back. When I got the invitation to take up an internship with the NMI from July 2007, I felt thunderstruck by the sheer amount of good luck that had come my way. I packed my bag and set off for Dublin. On my first day of work, I was awestruck by the collections, the building itself, its history, the sheer amount of learning and research centre there, and I had to pinch myself that I’d been given this opportunity to briefly enter such a world. I was given a little desk in the basement, the storage area, and I loved it. I adored the work. Every day, I got to handle artifacts, to do work that no bachelor-student has any right to even dream of. My supervisor in the Antiquities Division was the best boss I’ve ever had, before or since. I’m still in awe of how much confidence and trust he placed in me, a hapless young immigrant. And I want to preface the following by saying that I worked with so many good people at the museum whose kindness, patience and good humor remain a fond memory for me to this day. But I quickly sensed that there were dark and uncomfortable undercurrents within the museum. A fearful sense of hierarchy seemed to loom over everyone, and there was a stifling sense of rivalry and antipathy between some departments and others, none of which I could comprehend. Tea breaks were an almost ritualistic part of the day in the museum. I never enjoyed sitting in the lofty cafeteria with all the staff in this sometimes strange, needling atmosphere. So I went outside to sit on the benches and drink takeaway coffees and chat with the other young interns, or the attendants. One day, one of the attendants looked at me and said gravely that I shouldn’t be out there with them. ‘You’re hanging around with the wrong crowd,’ he said, ‘you should be in there with the higher-ups, and make sure to sit at the right table.’ My unnerving sense that I didn’t understand the workings of the place grew, and I felt bewildered and lost in the organization as a whole, despite all the kindness of my supervisor. More troublingly, there was a pervasive culture of what some might prefer to call ‘banter’, but which to me felt horrendously inappropriate and frankly perverse. Just a few examples. One attendant kept singing Nina, Pretty Ballerina every time I walked past. Another sidled up to me to muse about what he thought my preferred mode of sexual contact might be. ‘I bet you like to just lie there, being caressed,’ he said. A researcher from Collins Barracks told me, for some unknown reason, ‘you know, you’re just too pretty for your own good.’ Another time, the director himself, Patrick Wallace, cornered me in one of the dim, narrow passages deep in the storage basement. He was leering maliciously at me as he asked why I was spending so much time with my supervisor. ‘Are you having an affair with him,’ he asked, drawing out the word in a tone of voice laden with sexual glee. ‘I know you,’ he said, wagging his finger and winking, ‘you Scandinavians are all the same…’ And with that, he strode off. But at least none of them ever touched me. None, except Andy Halpin. I worked with him only once, as I and a small group of other young interns were rearranging a skeleton on display in the Viking exhibition. He singled me out for inoffensive little jokes, and he kept laughing and repeating some of my words in a delighted sing-song voice and bumping into my shoulder a little. I thought it strange that such a senior member of staff would take delight in talking to a mere intern, and his manner was almost like that of a flirting adolescent. But I passed it off as friendliness and reminded myself that as a recent immigrant, I had to expect some cultural differences. Sometimes, I’d have to pass through Andy Halpin’s office on my way elsewhere. He’d occasionally look up and exclaim “Nina!” with such exuberance. I found it a little odd, but amidst all the other occasional strange behaviour at the museum, didn’t give it much thought. Then came the museum Christmas party of 2007. As an intern, I was delighted to be invited. The dinner party took place in a fancy restaurant in Merrion Row. We were all seated on benches along a long table. Suddenly, without having noticed, I found myself sitting next to Andy Halpin, with him on my right side. I thought that a bit strange since we didn’t work together. It was a snug fit to seat everyone around the table. Not long into the dinner, Andy Halpin leaned forward, speaking to someone far on his right. At that moment, I felt his hand clasp my thigh under the table, squeezing, just over my knee. I sat there like a pillar of salt. This is a decade ago, and I can still so clearly recall his fingers pressing into my flesh. What really struck me was that he wasn’t even looking at me. He was turned away, speaking to someone else. It seemed to me like a practiced, calculated move. I never told anyone about that incident. Frankly, it didn’t even occur to me to report it, just as it had never occurred to me to report how uncomfortable I’d been with the creepy remarks made by some of the attendants and by Patrick Wallace, whose stature in the museum seemed to me like that of a capricious, malevolent demigod. In the atmosphere of casual sexual ‘banter’ among some – but not all – museum staff, I honestly thought that I wouldn’t be taken seriously. Besides, I was an unpaid volunteer, and Andy Halpin a senior and respected member of staff. And quite apart from that, I thought I would appear either insane or downright evil if I complained about someone who’d seemed so friendly towards me the whole time. I continued working at the museum until May 2008. Sometime later, I returned for a visit. In the lobby, by complete coincidence, was Andy Halpin. He came hurrying towards me with a big smile, hugged me quickly, clasped my face and planted a big wet kiss on my cheek. I felt invaded by this overly familiar way of greeting. But all I did was freeze and smile stiffly, like some ingrained reflex. I filed all of this away for years – the grab, the uninvited kiss, the gross comments made by others at the museum. Just part of the ugliness you have to deal with in life, I told myself. I wanted to think of myself as a young researcher, not a ‘pretty ballerina’ who was ‘having an affair with her boss’ and ‘just liked to lie there and be caressed,’ and who was there for a little casual grab or kiss. But when news broke of the horrific treatment meted out against Adrienne Corless, I decided to finally tell my story in support of her. One detail in the reporting that struck me was that Halpin may have some particular fascination with tall girls and women. I’m 5”9. My story is hardly the most harrowing account ever given of workplace harassment. But it is one example of the many, many, many small ways that a certain type of man, unchecked by conscience or fear of sanctions, can casually strangle the self-esteem and ambition of women just starting out in the workplace.” Nina’s account made me feel sick. This horrible, predatory, and so-called senior man groped her thigh under the table, at a Department Christmas dinner, whilst talking to someone the other side of her. So subtle, and yet so devastating: this repulsive man who knowingly abuses his little bit of seniority in such a way that made her feel she couldn’t speak up. Just like that time Mr Halpin jabbed his left thumb in my right buttock, twice in quick succession, even though I very dramatically moved away from him the first time (he shuffled along the radiator he was sitting on so he could still reach me the second time) he kept talking animatedly as if nothing had happened. It’s what he did every time he appropriated unwanted physical contact towards me: he would keep on talking, whilst looking in the other direction. That time, I glared at him and made no interaction with his chattering, about organizing the Viking excavations stores. I was too stunned to find the words to protest, and this man was carrying on as if everything was as normal. Maybe I was too embarrassed to use the words about touching my ass. In fact, it appalls me right now to write it: the violation of my dignity. I remember so clearly that it was about 3PM: not yet time to go home, but I went home anyway rather than suffer the rest of the afternoon in a small shared office with him. Rather in shell shock, I gathered up my things. He watched me and asked me aggressively: “are you all right?” “No,” was my answer, and I signed off, sickened for the day. I examine this to emphasise how hard it was to speak up: and how this man knows to play to that. He did the very same thing to Caragh: arms swinging, brushed his fingertips off her, that time in company, where he knew she wouldn’t speak up. Like I said, violating the dignity of women is a game to Mr Halpin. And though I’m glad I complained about Halpin, for the record at least; I am beyond dismayed that my complaint did nothing to protect other women: as Nina’s account testifies, and as does the account of a woman, as recently as 2015, unknown to me but written about in the papers because it has been presented in the courts. I am in no doubt that the systems in place by the Museum’, with their Civil Service disciplinary code, are not worth the paper they are written on and are much more about pen-pushing tickboxing than they are about protecting staff from predatory men and other abusers of power. I suppose that Mr Pat Wallace, Director of the Museum, thought that the Civil Service systems in place would take care of the problem of Mr Halpin. He already knew ALL about him. He asked me, maybe a few weeks after I met him, if I was doing OK, sharing an office with Mr Halpin. What was I supposed to say? He didn’t say what he meant, and I was new to the job, I didn’t want to jeopardize my position, which of course Mr Halpin would have known and used against me, which is what he also did to Caragh and to Nina. I think I shrugged mutely and waited hoping against hope that Mr Wallace would say or do more. How foolish of me! Mr Wallace, a man who went on to speak to me and treat me abhorrently whenever he “hadn’t had his weetabix”, as the saying in the Museum went, actually half-admired what Mr Halpin did to me. As I related elsewhere, he chuckled to another senior manager that he never thought “Halpin would have had it in him” to sexually harass me as he had. Like he saw my formal complaint of sexual harassment as a badge of honour now. What hope had I, when Mr Wallace saw fit to demean me by shouting at me that it wasn’t his fault I’d gotten “up the pole”, when I phoned to discuss maternity leave. That got quoted as a headline in the Sunday Times, and even though I’d published it, on my own blog according to my own terms, and had agreed with the journalist to write a piece about it, seeing those words printed in black and white on the front page of a Sunday newspaper, that hurt. O yes, yet still that hurt. Because I had respected Mr Wallace. I had admired his larger-than-life personality, his acerbic wit, and his amazing photographic memory. He remembered faces and names, no matter who they were. He could be so personable, and yet so abusive of his position of power. That time he flicked through a consignment of 800 newly published books reporting on our project and discovered that the name of a contract photographer was captioned under every photo that person had taken for the book: any photos that Mr Wallace, or the author, or anyone else had taken were acknowledged in the same way. The thing was, the contract photographer had taken vastly more photos than he had, in this image-rich book, and so this person’s name was referenced in the book more than his was. So he was livid. And I quote: “this makes [name] more important than me! Who is this person? This person is a nobody and I am the director of the National Museum of Ireland!”

I reminded him that [name] was not a nobody, that [name] had been hired as a member of staff of the National Museum of Ireland, and that he as director was no more important than anyone. Further, the crediting of the photographer under each photograph was the convention.

“That’s NOT the convention,” he shouted, again spitting, this time on my notes, for which he apologised (the spitting; not the yelling), and he demanded that the books be pulped. We did not pulp the books. We published them as they were: beautiful, hardcover, color-illustrated archaeology books, the product of thousands and thousands of euro of public money spent on researching, illustrating, copy-editing and printing them. That was another day I signed off sickened and went home a bit early. The next day, two members of staff phoned to check on me, being so pregnant; they had heard him shouting at my colleagues and me through the walls. Whenever he was being abusive (those days ‘he hadn’t had his Weetabix’), I did speak up to him. It never made any difference, as he simply yelled me down, and speaking up against him made anybody else uncomfortable. There were three different occasions that I spoke to him after the fact, that I did tell him I had concerns for the working relationship: that he saw fit to shout, spit and curse at me. Two of the times, he was bemused and seemingly surprised, and uncharacteristically forgetful when I spoke about how he had behaved. “I cursed at you? Did I?” And he would chuckle, and light-heartedly promise not to do it again: except that he did. The third time I complained to him about his behaviour was after a meeting I attended after he and I had both finished at the Museum, and I never heard from him again. Reflecting on these incidents reminds and reinforces for me again just how little dignity I was afforded as an employee at the National Museum of Ireland: never mind as an employee; I was not respected as a human being. Note also the wider culture of misogyny, harassment and inappropriateness as described by Nina, and presided over by Mr Wallace. If the systems in place were not worth the paper they were written on, the legal system in this country does not fill me with confidence either: notice the most recent fallout of this mess, where the Museum got wind of the blog post I’d written, which draws attention to the menace that is Mr Halpin, and decided for once and for all to do something about him: but they stopped short of firing him, and so suspended him. And Mr Halpin in his entitled arrogance sued the museum for reinstatement and compensation. His argument is that he had done his time, however token was his reprimand. This case is ongoing: and it seems likely that the Museum will pay Mr Halpin handsomely for his harassment of me. Why not just fire Andy Halpin, dear decision-makers of the National Museum of Ireland? Then or now. Why this charade through the courts? You did the wrong thing at the time, by not firing him in light of what he did to me: and in light of his confession that he fantasized about teenage girls visiting the museum. Perhaps don’t stop there, senior managers, HR and the Board of the National Museum of Ireland: perhaps you should contact the Gardaí in relation to this menacing member of staff: why not this, instead of this circus in the High Court? And must I continue to live and relive the pain of my experience, the dismay and the indignity of how I was treated, with my photos in papers and my precious time and headspace given over to dealing with this, until I feel I am being heard and the right thing is done? It seems that the answer is yes, I must. I vow to continue to speak now, horrible and hard and slug-vomit as it is. I ask that women like me, Caragh and Nina continue to speak up, and if you haven’t spoken up yet, to do it now: email me or message me, or call me, and tell me your story in any way that you can. Speaking is healing and though healing hurts, it liberates: for me, it means walking without that proverbial stone in my shoe, and maybe celebrating and returning to all that is potentially great about the Museum. https://kettleontherange.com/2017/02/12/a-workplace-fable/ https://kettleontherange.com/2017/11/09/vomiting-slugs-to-tell-full-truths/ Museum employee 'obsessed with tall women with long legs’ 2 years ago

Ali White’s experience with Michael Colgan Ali was interviewed on October 29th for The Sunday Times about her experience with Michael Colgan, now, this is her full account. Ali is the 6th woman to share her experience on my blog, she joins myself, Ella Clarke, Annette Clancy, Ciara Elizabeth Smyth and Ruth Gordon. Seven women spoke to Laurence Mackin of The Irish Times. In total, 13 women have now spoken publicly about their experiences with Michael Colgan.

“In 1999 I was cast in Catastrophe and two other short plays, for the Gate Theatre’s Beckett Festival at the Barbican in London. We rehearsed in Dublin. As the Gate had produced this festival twice before, I didn’t have the usual meeting actors have with the costume designer; but I assumed it would be the medical white coat and court shoes which I’d seen in the previous production shots, and which I’d worn in rehearsal. I mention this, as what I was wearing had an impact on what happened later. Before a photo shoot for the London press, I was told to go to the Barbican wardrobe department. I don’t know who had given the instructions to the wardrobe staff, but the white coat was taken up and taken in, and I was given a tight belt, a push-up bra and hold-ups. I felt very uncomfortable. I was in a Beckett play, and I looked like an awkward Benny Hill Angel. I was due on stage and there was no time to discuss why the changes had been made. I went down to The Pit theatre where the photographers were waiting. Michael Colgan, the producer of the festival, was sitting in the stalls. At one point in the play, my character threw herself into a low armchair. Due to the alterations in my costume, this was now difficult/impossible to do with much dignity, but I did my best - at which point MC called out: “Close your legs – I’m a vegetarian.” It got a laugh. I’m no stranger to strong language, and I love a well-timed funny line, but I was appalled. I was at work and in the presence of the press. I felt humiliated. And more than that – I felt I’d been subject to “the special cocktail of venom and ridicule which is always tinged with the sexual threat” as Meryl Streep has so eloquently put it. Later in the Green Room, I told Michael that what he said had been out of order. He brushed it off - it was a joke. He invited me to go with him to a party at Paul McGuinness’s house. He told me it would be good for my career. I declined the invitation. Politely, of course. I didn’t want to jeopardize future work. Although I was called for a couple of auditions at the Gate over the intervening years and was offered a small part in a Gate production last year, which I was unable to do, I never worked at the theatre again. Since this incident happened, I had often spoken about it to friends and colleagues. I knew I was not alone in feeling compromised by MC’s behavior. I also, despite everything, had liked Michael. But after other women began to speak out publicly about his abuse of power, I felt it was important to add my voice to theirs.” 2 years ago

Waking The Media by Una Mullally For ages, I’ve been thinking about some kind of initiative to improve the working lives of women in the media industry. I have spent my career listening to women talk about the sexism they face, writing about gender and media, and having endless conversations about the same. Speaking to my friend, Jim Carroll, formerly of the Irish Times and now of RTE, he gave me - as he always does - invaluable advice: “focus on the micro. Do the small thing, and the big thing will come after that.” My “small” thing, after ruminating on elaborate and longterm plans, became Waking The Media, a forum I hosted at Project Arts Centre in November with my friend Suzie Bennett. I wanted women in the media industry to talk about their experiences publicly, and to develop solutions that we can present to media companies to demonstrate to them how they can make their organisations more hospitable environments for women. I am very much inspired by Waking The Feminists, and also by Grace Dyas’s fearlessness in calling out inappropriate and unaccountable power structures.

My experiences of sexism in the Irish media industry are multiple, ranging from the ambient patronising that colours many women’s careers, to gender-based abuse online, to offhand hurtful comments, to developing the tools to deal with environments that are often typified as “boy’s clubs” or “macho”. I want to stop using those terms, because that terminology masks what we’re really talking about: working environments in an industry that often marginalises women, does not afford them the same opportunities as their male peers, and condones atmospheres that are hostile towards women. Here, I want to talk about one example of the ugliness that is a consequence of how women journalists are told to “put up” with that culture. Earlier this year, I was asked to appear on the Late Late Show to “debate” political correctness. My position on the term “political correctness” is that of Sarah Schulman’s, that it is “the classic supremacy response to demands of accountability”. It’s no coincidence that Michael Colgan cited political correctness when he was given unchallenged space in the Sunday Independent to defend his disgraceful behaviour as artistic director of The Gate Theatre. When I was informed the other guest would be the Irish Independent columnist Ian O’Doherty, I told the Late Late Show privately that I had no interest in “debating” Ian, as he had a record of slagging me off, and that any interaction with him would end up in personal insults and confrontation. My prediction became acutely accurate when Ian took to Twitter to insult and abuse me, calling me a “fucking weak pissy little shrew” and saying “She bitched out. Demented bint.” Ian positioned me as pulling out of an item on a chat show when I had in fact repeatedly flagged to the Late Late Show that pursuing a “debate” between myself and Ian would end badly. His reaction and insults were so outrageous, I genuinely thought he had gone too far, that he could potentially lose his job, and that no television programme or radio show in their right mind would invite the guy on to discuss anything. Ian was subsequently booked on the Late Late Show again. I spoke with the producer of the Late Late Show John McMahon, with Ryan Tubridy, and with Channel Controller Adrian Lynch, who apologised for how the situation was handled. Ian has never apologised to me. The incident was typified as a “spat”, when it was actually a one-sided gendered attack on my professional and personal character. I have the utmost respect for the Late Late Show team, who are working in a high pressure environment and frequently face (often unfair) criticism. But shows like the Late Late Show - and they are not alone in this - continued to give Ian a platform, and thus endorsed misogynistic behaviour that is completely unacceptable. What message does that send? What does that say to me? What does that say to any woman journalist? What I think it says is that women in the media who are professional, smart, capable, and hardworking are “lesser than” when faced with bullying, disgusting behaviour from their male peers. It says to me that their male peer will be elevated, given a platform, and the fact that they spout sexist, misogynistic insults doesn’t matter, and that their female peers just have to put up with it. These kinds of things are not isolated incidents. For example, what message does it send to the industry when a presenter such as George Hook is given a new show on Newstalk screws up on air in the most horrible, sexist manner, and a presenter who was courageous enough to criticise him, Dil Wickremasinghe, loses hers? I’m citing this personal example because it occurs in a context. The Irish media industry is not immune to sexism, yet I see very little real will, not to mention action, from those in power in the industry to properly examine and address it. I’m pretty sure that nearly every single female journalist has a story about sexism, misogyny, harassment or worse in their professional career. I’ve certainly heard a lot of them. As the Weinstein Effect continues, several arts organisations in Ireland have taken proactive steps to condemn harassment from the outset, along with coming up with actions to prevent it happening in the future. Yet it is the media industry that is reporting on all of this and commenting on stories of sexism and harassment elsewhere. Where are the statements from media companies in Ireland? Why aren’t the channel controllers, station managers, and editors coming out and condemning harassment and workplaces that are hostile towards women, never mind instigating real action such as gathering their female colleagues to come up with solutions to tackle this culture? Maybe they don’t think it’s an issue for them. Or maybe they think that people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. At Waking The Media where over 80 women (and some men) gathered to discuss their experiences in the media industry and come up with ideas to affect positive change, we brought those conversations we have in pubs, or in our houses, or on WhatsApp, into a public setting. We scratched the surface. The atmosphere was tense. I think there were a lot of things that weren’t being said. The next gathering will be in January. I don’t know where Waking The Media is going, but I know that not talking about these issues won’t change anything. I am interested in an honest and open conversation, and I am interested in solutions. I want media companies and the NUJ and women in power and men in power to come on board. We have to start addressing this issue seriously. When we talk about the negative experiences of women in the media and other industries, we often hear discussions about inappropriate behaviour being on a scale, or how some people are worried about behaviour that isn’t deemed terrible being conflated with behaviour that is deemed terrible. I have some empathy for these concerns, but I also think it’s worth pointing out that while individuals can decide what inappropriate behaviour they want to exert, and make that “scalable”, for the victim, there isn’t an equivalent scalable reaction. What might be deemed as inconsequential to one person (being groped, or hit on when they don’t want to be, or hearing demeaning remarks, or whatever) can be very much of consequence to someone else. I also genuinely don’t believe that many people are “conflating” behaviours. We know the difference between a cat call and a physical sexual assault. I think people talking about “conflating” behaviours may not actually want to hear about any of them, or are attempting to impose a hierarchy of abuse which appears to reveal a belief that some level of discomfort for women in the workplace is actually the norm, or that some “lesser” behaviours are not that bad. It’s all bad. Yes, some is criminal and some is just creepy, but nobody should have to put up with any of it. Instead of things being on scales or being conflated, I think they are multifaceted behaviours and situations that are interconnected. Some are personal, some are structural, but there is for sure an abundance of things that women have to navigate and fight against in the workplace. There are also legacy issues that have not been addressed. These issues are often described as a “culture” that can be consigned to the past, but what that “culture” actually is, is a form of institutional gendered abuse suffered by women that should be investigated and redressed. Gabriel Byrne, speaking on Sean O'Rourke’s programme on RTE Radio 1 recently, detailed some of the terrible sexual harassment he knew of in RTE in the 1970s. Was this ever investigated? Surely if it is being brought to light now, it should be? Across the media industry there are incidents of sexual assault, harassment, bullying, sexist remarks, promotions that feel closed off to women, hiring practices that seem to magically favour guys, men holding the most powerful roles in media, the lack of women in particular departments or schedules, the gendered abuse that women get online and in comment sections, the male-dominated meetings. There are the work practices that insidiously discriminate against women, such as unsociable hours and demands that become very difficult for women when they have children, given that most women continue to shoulder the burden of raising children and of domestic work. There is the ambient sexism of off-hand remarks or the feeling that you’re not being listened to or treated with the same respect that your male peers are in the industry. There is the pushback from highlighting these things. There is the content of media itself, which can often be sexist. If we are going to have a media industry where women can fulfil their ambitions and not have their careers diluted by their gender, then we need to speak honestly and openly about women’s experiences, and people need to listen to them. We also need to talk about the mental anguish that this gender-related stress causes. I often wonder how much brainpower I could free up if I didn’t have to think about this stuff and if I could just get on with writing. I don’t want to be one of those women who “makes it” and then pulls the ladder up behind her, before going on about how her gender never had a negative impact on her progression. That would be easy to do, and it would also be extraordinary egotistical. I sometimes listen to women saying that kind of stuff (although I think it’s fair to say that narrative is fading), and wonder if they really think they’re so great that their singular, remarkable talent was impervious to the entire history of patriarchy and discrimination against women in the workplace? I also understand the impetus of spinning that narrative, because it is a narrative that gives one superb agency. It is upsetting and messy to admit and confront the levels of discrimination against women that occur in this industry, but we have to be honest about it. My experience is not based on a single newspaper or broadcaster. It is not based specifically on the Irish Times, or the Guardian, or the Sunday Tribune, or the Dubliner, or the Event Guide, or any of the other publications I have written for, or TG4, or TV3, or RTE. It is a collective accumulation of my experiences coloured also by my observations of things that have not directly affected me, along with the conversations I’ve had with other women who work in media. When people ask me “how do you deal with all the abuse you get?”, they’re talking about gendered abuse, and it’s a question I imagine my male colleagues are rarely asked. I always respond by saying that I don’t care, that I’ve developed such a thick skin that I am impervious to it. And in a way, I have. I have developed the emotional tools to be able to deal with it, to ignore it, and to respond with sassiness and humour. But why should I have to? And what about those young women journalists who can’t do that? The reality is, it does hurt. What Ian O’Doherty did was so hurtful. His Twitter meltdown happened when I was in a restaurant with my girlfriend for her birthday. Our evening was ruined. I’ve lost count of the number of days that have been wrecked by someone being a complete asshole to me just because I’m a woman. What was more hurtful, however, was to see how Ian was allowed continue as normal. While many of my colleagues in media lambasted him online, that was the end of his professional consequences from my perspective. As far as I know, just one person in the industry actually brought it into a media forum, Nadine O’Regan, when she wrote about it in the Sunday Business Post. I am endlessly grateful to Nadine for writing about it, because she called it out in public and made it real. This happened. I am no shrinking violet and I can keep up with the best of them. I criticise other journalists when I think they get something wrong. I believe my personal and professional resilience isn’t up for debate. I started out in music journalism when I was 16, but 18 years later, I’m having the same conversations with women in the media industry, who are expressing the same grievances, and coming up against the same walls. The reality is, when I say I laugh off abuse, or just get on with things, part of me isn’t being fully honest. It isn’t easy. It is hard, and it’s draining. What is also exhausting is the attitude of some male peers who think I’m “banging a drum”, as if I want to spend my career having these circular conversations. Let’s stop debating feminism or gender as if equality needs to be contested, and start making the industry better for journalists coming after us. If you’re uncomfortable with what I’m saying, examine the root of your response. This isn’t just about women either. Our industry is unrepresentative of many people across race, ethnicity, class, disability, sexuality, gender identity and so on. The criticism “mainstream media” is being met with is often hysterical, but there are very valid concerns regarding the demographics and perspectives within our industry not being reflective of our audiences, which is one of the reasons we’re actually losing audiences. Either we face this head on, and work to find solutions, and help each other create an industry where the women after me won’t have to put up with the kind of things the women now and the women before me have had to deal with, or we are doing everyone a disservice. If we don’t get ahead of this now, then as an industry, we are going to fall even further behind, and we also don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to criticising other industries for treating women poorly. It is not acceptable to me to continue to spend my career talking and writing about this issue. I have a lot more to offer. I have similar conversations with women in the media thirty years older than me and ten years younger than me. Things aren’t changing fast enough because talking isn’t enough. We need action. The issue is structural, and needs to be addressed at that level. What I think we need to do as an industry, is have an open and honest discussion about women’s experiences, their concerns, their criticisms, and also their ideas and solutions. We need to create the space for media companies to feel able and equipped to make industry-wide changes that give women equal opportunities and equal representation, so the best person really does get the job, and the most talented presenter gets the show, and the most quality journalist gets the gig. We need to create an industry that is free from discrimination and harassment. All of this will be good for business. No one will lose, and everyone - the workforce, the prospective workforce, the viewers, listeners and readers - will gain. If you want to help me achieve this, or if you have a story or solution you want to share, email wakingthemedia@gmail.com 2 years ago

#IBelieveYou Support Group #IBelieveYou Support Group The Irish media, entertainment and theatre industry has been rocked by the global #MeToo campaign. It is thanks to individuals speaking out and openly sharing their stories the Irish public has become aware that abuse of power, bullying, sexual harassment, and assault are pandemic in our society. Speaking out has come at a huge personal cost to those who felt compelled to act. Dil Wickremasinghe, broadcaster, and journalist, recently came forward and spoke out publicly against victim blaming and the misogynistic culture prevalent in the media industry. Just 2 weeks later her decade-long award-winning radio programme was canceled abruptly despite having positive ratings. This incident has highlighted just how vulnerable some individuals are especially those working in industries that thrive on an imbalance of power. This often leads to a toxic culture of inequality and secrecy that can in some cases result in exploitation and abuse of power. Inspiring Change in Self and Society In 2011 social entrepreneurs Anne Marie Toole and Dil Wickremasinghe founded Insight Matters to aid and support the journey of self-discovery, enhancing well-being and paving the way to living an authentic and fuller life. Together they hope to “inspire change in self and society”. Just over 6 years later the family-owned counseling and psychotherapy practice based in Dublin City Centre supports the mental health of over 350 clients a week with a team of 45 dedicated and talented psychotherapists and counselors. #IBelieveYou Support Group Insight Matters would like to offer a unique opportunity for people who are survivors of abuse of power, bullying, sexual harassment and assault in the workplace to talk openly about their traumatic experiences and explore their impact. The greatest barrier to survivors reaching for support is the fear of not being believed. Imagine if this barrier could be lifted to clear the way for countless others to step forward, speak freely, seek support and create lasting change. The purpose of this support group is to create a safe, confidential, non-directive and affirmative space where you can explore and understand how your experience has affected you. The group process rests on the belief that each individual has the inner ability and resources to move towards change and well-being. The positive aspects of sharing one’s experience in a safe and supportive group environment can help with feelings of isolation, provide emotional release, instill hope and ultimately heal. The weekly support group will be facilitated by 2 qualified, experienced and highly dedicated psychotherapists.

Start Date: Tuesday 9th January 2018 Time: 1230pm – 2pm, weekly Venue: Insight Matters 46, Mountjoy Square South, Dublin 1 Max participants: 15 per session Fee: Contribution of €20 per person - Tea and Coffee provided Book your place in advance by emailing bookings@insightmatters.ie 2 years ago