This week, the University of Otago was home to the trans/forming feminisms conference, Millie Lovelock writes.
The conference featured talks by academics and non-academic experts in their field, and engaged observers. While the focus was on gender and activism, the papers presented covered a vast range of topics, from women's writing in prisons to the cultivating of social media personas. I was lucky enough to be a part of the conference, speaking on a panel regarding the music industry and issues that arise as a woman who plays music.
While I enjoyed speaking at the conference, what was most striking to me was the immense feeling of solidarity among all of the attendees. Each presentation was met with critical yet respectful discussion. It was nothing but a pleasure to learn so much and to be around so many incredible individuals.
And yet, while I found solace and affirmation in hearing what other women and marginalised groups experience, I was also affronted by the disturbing similarities to be found in the maltreatment of anyone who isn't a straight, white, cisgender man who wants to work in essentially any field.
To give some context to this: I went to a talk about women in comedy and was appalled to hear how difficult and alienating it still is to be a funny woman trying to make her way in the performing arts. And again, at the panel on women in music, women with a background in the visual arts and academia observed that many of the challenges faced by women in music are similar, if not the same, to experiences faced by women in these fields. The same things were coming up again and again.
Women and other marginalised groups, such as people of colour, gender minorities, disabled people, are made to feel as though they are imposters on certain scenes because they haven't had the same access to information or resources. These groups are made to feel dismissed and as though they are inherently less because the playing fields are so radically different for those who are marginalised. When it comes down to it, if you feel you don't belong because as hard as you might try you still never find yourself on the same footing as those around you, then practising what you love is always going to be a struggle.
Often, sadly, this struggle is not worth it for the sake of your wellbeing, and so what happens is an endless cycle of marginalised groups trying to participate and finding it impossible, only to hear from privileged groups ''well, more women/people of colour/disabled people just need to try to be involved; it's not our fault if no-one tries''. The point is that if it's an uphill battle to even get into a certain field, then remaining in that field isn't going to be any easier. Not everyone has the capacity to participate in a field that is fundamentally draining and alienating. As a result, very few marginalised people make it through to a level where they are widely acknowledged and celebrated for their work, simply because so much is working against them. And what does it say to those hoping to work in music or art or academia when those they relate to had to fight tooth and nail for even a modicum of respect?
It is exhausting to be present and engaged in a scene that, at its core, doesn't make an effort to foster and support the work of marginalised people. It's a relief to know that we are not alone, and that there are so many people who understand and who desperately want for things to change. But it is so disheartening to know that recognition is apparently still so much to ask for.
Millie Lovelock is a Dunedin student.
