This week is a case in point. It began,as so many have,with a march – this time the March 4 Justice to demand women’s safety and rights. Again. I could describe it as Groundhog Day but that would trivialise the importance of our anger being heard.
But I feel I have earned blisters on my feet and fingers these past years,rallying with others on issues such as freedom,same-sex marriage,LGBTQI equality,gun violence,black lives,imprisoned refugees,veteran mental health ...and our voices seemingly falling on the deaf ears of those who could effect change.
Our Prime Minister,Scott Morrison,like so manyclueless male politicians in the past,declined to attend any of the marches this week because “when you’re Prime Minister in Canberra,it’s a very busy day”,relegating the needs of more than 12 million of the country’s population as unworthy of a diary reshuffle. It is yet another echo of ineptitude;one I am fed up with hearing and reporting.
Then there are the other many gatherings I have attended these past 10 years,events for innocent women lost to the violence of men,victims ofthe sickening statistic in this country showing one woman is killed every nine days by a male,usually a former or current partner.
These events are seared on my heart. You see,these were personal – not just because I am a woman and,as such,likely to be at the receiving end of male malcontent. It’s because these women were so relatable –Jill Meagher,Eurydice Dixon,Courtney Herron,Aiia Maasarwe;all the innocent sisters who dared to walk alone or love someone who hurt them.
In fact,one woman was actually my friend. Her name wasTracy Connelly and she was brutally raped,stabbed and left for dead, mere streets away from my home. Her vicious and still unsolved murderopened my eyes and heart and changed me irrevocably.