Over the past year a striking number of Iranians, especially women and young people, have been saying the same thing, over and over:
We are not Islamic. We are not Muslim. We want to overthrow the Islamic State that rules us.
This sits uncomfortably in a Western political moment where many advocates, particularly on the left, have spent years insisting that criticism of Islam is inherently racist, that Sharia law is misunderstood, and that political Islam must be defended as part of anti-imperialist solidarity.
At the same time, Islamophobia and anti-immigration movements are rising – sometimes in cahoots with Nazis – and the two conversations have collapsed into one. Critique of Islamic authoritarianism is conflated with hatred of Muslims. Immigration policy is conflated with racism. Listening has become impossible.
The result is polarisation. Rigid camps on either side, screaming too loud to actually hear a damn thing – and in many cases spilling into outright denial, with Iran’s uprising dismissed as merely a Western or Mossad-engineered plot rather than recognising a genuine revolt against decades of escalating tyranny. The reality is simpler, less comfortable but more honest: it can be both, and one does not cancel out the other.
This article is an attempt to untangle that mess and to centre the people most often ignored in it: Iranians themselves.
When Iranians say it’s a misconception that they are “mostly Muslim,” they are not denying Islam’s history in Iran. They are describing life under state-mandated religious identity, where belief is not freely chosen.
Independent data sharply contradicts Iranian government claims about religious affiliation. Under the Islamic Republic religion is not private, it is a legal status. Shi’a Islam is constitutionally enforced, irreligion is unsafe to declare, and leaving Islam can be punished. When Iranians reject the label “mostly Muslim,” they are not necessarily making a theological claim.
This matters because for people who have lived under Sharia as state law, the issue is not just theology – it is coercion, punishment, and control enforced through violence.
Iran did not naturally drift into theocracy. It had strong secular, socialist, feminist, and democratic movements throughout the 20th century, beginning with the 1906 Constitutional Revolution. But those movements were crushed by foreign interference and authoritarian rule.
In 1953, the US and UK overthrew Iran’s democratically elected prime minister after he nationalised oil. Decades of dictatorship followed.
By the 1970s, political parties, unions, and leftist movements were destroyed. Mosques were among the only spaces left where dissent could survive – so religion became a vehicle for survival, not necessarily faith (sound familiar to some of those with Irish Catholic heritage?)
Political Islam did not rise because Iranians were uniquely religious. It rose because every other path to opposition had been closed.
The 1979 revolution was a mass uprising against dictatorship. The Iranian people did not vote for the lives they now live. They voted to end a tyranny, and watched another replace it.
For many Western progressives, the difficulty in engaging honestly with Iran is not ignorance – it is protective instinct.
After decades of Islamophobia, war, and racialised violence, anti-racism became a reflex. Post-9/11 backlash created a justified fear of empowering bigots and increase racist violent attacks. Criticism of Islam, even when directed at state power, began to feel easily misconstrued – and there is also a genuine fear of giving bigots and racists any more oxygen.
The cost of this fear-to-criticise or to be perceived as ‘imperialist’ is not just paid for by online debates and fellow keyboard warriors. It is at a cost to those who cannot opt out of religious rule: women, queers, dissidents, minorities, and the irreligious living under theocratic states. Western discourse insists that political Islam must be defended from criticism, while Iranians risk their lives protesting an Islamic state.
This contradiction is striking when compared to how many of the same advocates insist, correctly, on distinguishing Jewish people from the State of Israel, even as governments attempt to conflate the two by claiming anti-semitism at all critique or protest of Israel’s crimes against humanity. Separating faith, identity, and state power is not foreign to progressive politics – it’s birthed from it. However, now we witness a selective distribution of it.
Conflicts are sorted into moral binaries: where the State of Israel is cast as the singular villain, and Hamas therefore must be framed by some, as a legitimate expression of resistance of the Gazan people, rather than a theocratic militant organisation that has also brutalised, held hostage, and controlled its own population.
Rhetoric that would once have been recognised as authoritarian or extremist propaganda is increasingly tolerated, even normalised, in left advocacy spaces, either naively or justified in language of inclusion or anti-imperialism. Meanwhile, governments respond by going to the old how-to-control-dissidence toolbox and come back with oppressing freedom of speech and authoritarian tactics.
This is not an attack. It is an analysis of how good intentions, paired with good-guy/bad-guy or black-and-white thinking, can end up reproducing the very harm being opposed.
Anti-immigration protests are a symptom, not a solution
I don’t believe anti-immigration protests are the answer, and racism is never acceptable. However, dismissing these movements without understanding why they are growing guarantees their persistence.
Australian funny bugger–turned accidental political commentator Ozzy Man Reviews has become one of the few visible outlets covering the Australian solidarity movement.
In a Valentine’s Day reel from a Perth Protest, Ozzy Man posted with the caption:
Other than listening to the Australian-Iranians he interviewed, what stood out for me is how he handled an anti-immigration comment with more nuance than I’ve seen from any elected official. He named Iran as a warning about how Islamic extremism consolidates power, without letting the conversation slide into racism or turning immigration into the scapegoat.
Across his comments, he doesn’t dismiss concerns. He doesn’t punch down. And he doesn’t let the thread spiral into anti-immigration nonsense or bad-faith accusations. That ability to hold the line without turning people into enemies is rare – and it matters.
Because when people feel socially policed into silence, the conversation doesn’t disappear.
When legitimate concerns about religious authoritarianism, women’s rights, or secular law are treated as inherently racist or bigoted, they don’t go away. They come back stripped of nuance, sharpened by resentment, and carried by people far less careful with language or intent. That’s how extreme voices fill the gap and gain power.
The issue is not immigration. The issue is whether liberal democracies are willing to defend basic protections: gender equality, secular education, freedom of belief and non-belief, and secular law.
These are not expressions of “Western supremacy.” They are hard-won safeguards. A multicultural society can welcome people without accepting religious authoritarianism.
Confusing the two helps no one. Worse, it turns people fleeing oppression into scapegoats, into the “problem”, while ignoring the reality that those who have lived under violence do not instantly unlearn survival mode the moment they arrive somewhere safe.
The loudest voices insisting that any criticism of Islamic rule is racist are often the furthest from its consequences or they are naively (I hope) repeating the propaganda of those benefitting from it. If solidarity means anything it must begin with listening, especially when people are risking their lives to speak. Iranians are not asking the world to hate Muslims. They are asking for freedom from oppression. They are asking us to stop confusing faith with power, and silence with tolerance.
When everything is forced into black-and-white or good-and-bad categories, nuance dies and authoritarianism rushes in to fill the gap. This is how progressive societies regress into losing hard-won rights and legally embedded cultural-values in the name of freedom, democracy, social justice, or independence.
Iran didn’t choose tyranny in 1979. It chose to end one – and watched another take its place. That lesson is not ancient history.
Bambi Valentine performing BambiVora – Wonderful World, a political satire bubble act at Alias Cabaret. Photos by a Martian.
My heart aches in the face of hatred. There is a time for rage – a necessity for violence. But even when I, too, raise discord, I will not praise the sword.
I may speak with acidity, perhaps callous humour, yet my heart will not turn to stone.
I will not lose my humanity. I will not let their hatred defeat me. My life, my love, my place in this world means more than some maggot with a mic.
I do not fraternise with false niceties, but I will not lose my heart.
I will not become the picture they so viciously try to paint. If I raise the sword, it is with mercy and I pray the same is granted upon me.
The patterns of time scream torturous warning. I brace, armed with reason, And fire in my blood.
This time is wicked, and hatred can be vile… yet song, and wonder, and a child’s laugh will not allow me to reciprocate such cruelty.
Yesterday I wrote about the danger of letting fear and hatred blind us to our shared humanity, as “March for Australia” protests and counter-protests swept across the country.
Today, my friend’s car was vandalised with the words: “Go back to where you came from, Fucking Fag.”
His Indigenous and Trans ally stickers were scribbled out.
He is of Indian heritage, brown-skinned, openly allied with Aboriginal and Trans communities. His skin colour and those stickers made him visible as someone who believes in solidarity and inclusion – someone brave enough to live openly for what is right. That visibility made him a target. These vandals don’t see the warmth he brings to the world, the contributions he makes to Australia and the kindness he exudes in the work he does.
This is not just vandalism. It is a message meant to intimidate, silence, and divide. It is the real-world consequence of movements that dress themselves up as “ordinary Australians taking their country back” but are seeded with racism, white nationalism, and hate.
And here’s the truth: I understand and sympathise with the frustrations many Australians are feeling. We have fought hard – and still fight hard – for the values that became our privileges: civil rights, education, housing, welfare, a fair go… our larrikin spirit. I too fear these things being threatened.
But it isn’t immigrants’ fault.
This insecurity, frustration, and fear is what Donald Trump so cleverly harnessed. It is poor governance – delusion, false security, gaslighting its citizens. People see it, and they are rightfully angry. But it is our Government who must be accountable for defining and protecting the values we hold dear, and for expanding those privileges to all Australians.
This is what happens when hate is given oxygen. It’s not an isolated act of cruelty. It’s a symptom of something much larger taking hold in our streets, our politics, our conversations.
I keep thinking about 1930s Germany. Ordinary people, struggling, scared, angry, were handed a convenient enemy – immigrants, Jews, queers, “degenerates,” anyone who could be blamed for failures in war or governance. Fascism doesn’t always arrive in black uniforms with swastikas. It grows in the shadows of half-truths, tokenistic policies, and empty slogans.
We are living through what I call “fascism painted green.” On the surface it looks like inclusion, sustainability, progress. But when governments make symbolic gestures without structural change – rainbow flags in June while trans people are unsafe; Acknowledgements of Country while Aboriginal deaths in custody continue; “green” policies that privilege corporations while people can’t afford rent or food – it breeds resentment.
To “ordinary Australians,” all they see are tokenistic policies while their real needs go unmet. They call bullshit on governments that claim they’re “doing something” when nothing changes. What they see is endless talk of “inclusion” while their kids are bullied at school, their wages don’t stretch, and housing feels impossible. So they look at the slogans of “inclusive” politics and think: it must be the Indigenous, the Queers, the Immigrants who are benefiting.
But the truth is, they aren’t. Those communities are still unsafe, still discriminated against, still struggling. No one is winning here – except the politicians who get to pretend they’ve delivered change, and the top 1% who count their coins while the rest of us are kept divided. Everyone is being gaslit.
And resentment is tinder. It sparks the belief that inclusion is a trick, that equality means someone else’s gain is your loss. That’s the story the far-right is waiting to tell. And it’s the story too many people are starting to believe.
That resentment is weaponised. The far-right feeds on it. They take very real frustrations – about housing, wages, climate, cost of living – and redirect the anger away from systems of power, onto scapegoats: migrants, Blakfullas, queers. Hatred becomes easier to organise around than justice.
That’s how you get marches where neo-Nazis feel comfortable walking beside “ordinary” Australians. That’s how “taking our country back” becomes slogans sprayed on cars, fists thrown in the street, fear settling heavily in communities who already carry too much of it.
We have to name this for what it is. Fascism is gaining momentum – not in spite of inclusion efforts, but because so many have been shallow, tokenistic, and easily co-opted. On one side, the right exploits fear to scapegoat. On the other, the left too often retreats into symbolism and a culture of offence that alienates instead of uniting. Both extremes feed the fire.
And here’s the truth: we cannot fight fascism with slogans or symbolism. We fight it with courage. With structural change. With solidarity that costs us something. By remembering that difference is not a threat, but the very fabric of who we are.
So the question becomes: what are our core values as a society – and how do we protect them fiercely, without rejecting whole peoples and harming others in the process?
Because if we forget that, if we abandon humanity for the illusion of security, we’ve already lost the very freedoms we claim to defend.
The lesson of history is flashing in red. We ignore it at our peril.
My body became a shrine to survival; each muscle a memory, each pose a plea.
Applause became permission. Stillness became safety.
This body trained diligently – Muscle control. Focus. Engage. Hold form. Strong core. Soft face. Light arms. Poise.
Still body-fast mind. Fast body-still mind.
But trauma is stored. And an actor’s body is prepared for war.
Yet, performance is not peace.
I am unlearning the altar. Unlocking the gates to inprisoned secrets held in a tightly wound core.
Letting it return to its rightful rhythm. Un-conditioning my body – one trained to obey breath, correct form, engage centre, so acutely aware, not missing a beat. Ready! Responsive! Alert!
This is release. This is unfamiliar. Soft. Relaxed. Unveiling. A rush.
Bambi Valentine performing “What Keeps Mankind Alive”. Since edited, original photo by Nathan J Lester.
Activism is not immune to authoritarianism. When you shut down any opposing or critical thought of your view and/or punish the opposer for expressing them, it becomes tyranny. It is the same behaviour that puts communism into the hands of tyrants – it’s fascism painted in green.
I wrote an article that was critical of this behaviour, referencing a prominent Australian feminist. Despite acknowledging my agreement with most of her views and even supporting her strong work and advocacy for years, I was tagged in posts referring to me as a “Liberal White Feminist” who was aligned with “Genocidal Zionists.” I was accused of not being vocal about a range of issues – despite having no obligation to prove myself a “good girl” or a “good leftie” to any faceless person behind a keyboard – and trying, myself, not to replicate that same intellectual elitism when I internally dismiss them as an ignorant fool.
Not only does this redirect discourse away from the very cause they claim to fight for – it also trivialises and dilutes the actions of actual “genocidal zionists”.
The striking part was this: the very behaviour I was calling out, was the behaviour now being directed at me.
Despite an increasing number of far-left activists (whom I have and do largely align myself with) choosing an “other” then labelling anyone who dares display critical thought that “other” — they replicate a tactic long used by dictatorships and fascists: you pick an enemy, a “bad guy,” and anyone who disagrees or even questions you becomes that bad guy — or is accused of sympathising with them, regardless of their actual views or intentions.
Donald Trump’s administration conflates dissenters with being transgender, queer, woke, or Palestinian. Israeli lobbyists weaponise accusations of antisemitism. The Nazis targeted Jewish and LGBTQIA+ people, using slurs like degenerate, cultural Bolshevism, and Jewish intellectualism to discredit dissent and justify violence. This tactic dehumanises. It silences. It shames. It shuts down critical thought and poisons discourse — and ultimately, it paves the way for moral disengagement and the justification of harm.
Am I calling far-left advocates Nazis? No. That’s not my belief, my aim, or my point. But the behaviour I’m witnessing follows a recognisable pattern — and if we don’t name it, we can’t claim integrity in the fight against inhumanity.
It’s important to me to write this in the midst of such radical change and disarray in the world. You might ask – why this, and why now? When there are so many urgent, direct crises I could be writing about – and do. One reason is that there are others who can speak to those things more directly, and I’m committed to learning from, sharing and amplifying those voices. But another reason is this: I’m seeing harm within activist spaces that is not only blocking progress, but beginning to mirror the very systems we claim to fight against.
There is a very real and violent assault on precious lives happening right now. And it’s because the stakes are so high that I feel compelled to draw attention to what’s unfolding in our own communities. When we slander others – not because they have vastly different ideals, but because of how they approach the matter or how they understand a matter – Who is reading? Who is listening? Who is being empowered, and who is being silenced? What progress is being stalled? And how is this serving your cause – really?
It’s important to speak about this because so many people are afraid to talk about important issues. They’re not just afraid of far-right slander or sexism and racism. They’re afraid of getting torn apart by the people they’re usually aligned with. They’re afraid they won’t be backed up if they draw attention to an issue. Sometimes they cop more vitriol from their own than from the opposition.
This doesn’t progress a cause. It impedes it. It discourages awareness, conversations, strategy, and growth. We ridicule people for staying silent and upholding the status quo, but we also create a culture where speaking up imperfectly gets you dogpiled. Yes, we should call out when people shout over marginalised voices or perpetuate harm. But can we do it in ways that don’t replicate cycles of violence? That doesn’t humiliate, alienate, or silence?
It doesn’t mean POC takes a back seat. It means: educate, don’t humiliate. Call in before you call out. Yes, white feminist rhetoric can be problematic. Yes, we should name it when we see it. But my dear friend put it well the other day, when I was venting about an uninformed take that felt harmful:
“But no one has ever had their views changed or altered by being called a bigot, a homophobic etc. Doesn’t create a dialogue, doesn’t allow education. And it’s your choice whether you want to educate or not.”
To which I responded: “Fuck off.” (Okay, not really – I said something much worse, which makes me a hypocrite in this article. But hey, at least it wasn’t public and also… growth, right?)
There’s so much “no but-ing” and not enough “yes and-ing” in activist spaces. Horns locked. No progress. No room for pragmatic resolve.
There’s room for outrage. Hell, there’s a necessity for it. There’s a necessity to scream. But differing strategies matter too. These aren’t competing forces – they’re part of a larger ecosystem of resistance. Screaming works for some. Lobbying works for others. Organising, storytelling, policy-making, mutual aid – it all matters. Different people bring different tactics. Different people resonate with different voices. Different people connect with simple language, some with complex. That’s how we win.
Not everyone has the right words. Not everyone can “read a book”, let alone write one. Not everyone agrees or resonates with your method. But different doesn’t mean wrong. Different doesn’t mean less. And different definitely doesn’t mean fascist.
And all too often, I witness the hypocrisy – and dare I say, the immorality – of those who scream the loudest but lack depth. The banner-wavers who go quiet when it impacts them personally. Who disappear when it’s time to show up for someone vulnerable in their own community.
Meanwhile, people with the most day-to-day integrity – the ones doing the work in their own circles – often are people who speak imperfectly. They make politically incorrect statements. They don’t have the right words. But they care. They’re trying.
Dear Prime Minister Albanese and Foreign Minister Wong,
I write to you now from an Australian’s core values of kindness and decency – with deep feelings of empathy, grief and pragmatic concern.
Like many Australians, I have watched the escalating violence in Gaza with horror. I have also listened carefully to your statements. I understand that you believe Australia is not a “major player” in this region. But I believe we are still a player. And with that comes responsibility.
Even if we cannot unilaterally stop the assault on Gaza, we can do more to leverage our international partnerships to support life-saving humanitarian access – and we can stop contributing to it – directly or indirectly.
I urge you to:
Use Australia’s diplomatic relationships with the U.S., U.K., EU, and regional allies to push for immediate humanitarian access, the establishment of aid corridors, and monitoring of international law violations.
Respond to the humanitarian request made by Dr. Mohammad Mustafa, who has called for Australia to urgently support and help establish a children’s hospital in Gaza. This is a direct and actionable way Australia can contribute to saving lives, particularly among the most vulnerable. I urge the government to immediately explore and establish an emergency pathway to fulfil this request – and to publicly affirm our commitment to medical humanitarian support in Gaza.
Acknowledge and continue to speak clearly on violations of international law – including war crimes. I commend the government for the statements made so far, particularly those expressing concern over civilian deaths and the need for international law to be upheld. But more consistent and unambiguous language is needed, especially when grave human rights violations are being documented. The strength of our international stance depends on our moral clarity. Silence or equivocation in the face of civilian massacres erodes our credibility as a country that claims to uphold human rights.
Increase transparency around past and present defence export permits involving Israeli military or companies. This is essential for public accountability and democratic integrity.
Review all current defence exports to Israel – including those that are indirect, such as F-35 components exported through third-party countries. If these exports cannot be halted due to broader security, economic, or alliance concerns, we urge you to at minimum clarify their scope, seek restrictions on their use, and ensure they do not contribute to further civilian harm.
These are not radical demands. They are aligned with Australia’s obligations under the Arms Trade Treaty and our stated commitment to human rights and peace.
“No one left behind – because we should always look after the disadvantaged and the vulnerable.”
Anthony Albanese, 2022 Victory Speech
That sentiment resonated with millions of Australians, myself included. I urge you to carry that principle into this moment – to act not out of political convenience, but from the compassion and courage that leadership demands.
This is not about choosing sides. It is about protecting civilians. About aligning our actions with our stated values. About ensuring that Australia’s name and resources are not complicit in the death of thousands.
“We do not need to beg or borrow or copy from anywhere else. We do not seek our inspiration overseas. We find it right here in our values and in our people.”
Anthony Albanese, 2025 Victory Speech
We do not need to be a superpower to act with integrity. We only need to be brave enough to lead with principle – even in difficult times.
Respectfully,
Bambi Woodward
Canberra, Australia
Bambi-Rose Woodward
Please do download PDF to email to your local representatives, request a response, share this page, and/or tag. Thank you, kindly.
You can copy and paste the text below into the body of your message, and simply attach the letter (PDF) to your email:
Dear [MP’s Name / Minister / Prime Minister Albanese],
I am writing to share an open letter currently circulating among concerned Australians, calling for urgent and pragmatic humanitarian action in response to the crisis in Gaza.
The letter outlines specific, reasonable actions Australia can take — including diplomatic pressure for humanitarian aid access, support for a children’s hospital in Gaza as requested by Dr. Mohammad Mustafa, and greater transparency around defence exports.
It reflects the values many of us expect from our leadership: compassion, accountability, and a commitment to human rights. These are not radical demands — they are aligned with Australia’s international obligations and the moral leadership many Australians want to see.
I’ve attached the letter and respectfully ask that you consider its contents, raise these matters within your portfolio, and take action where possible. I would welcome any response or statement regarding your position.
Thank you for your time.
Kind regards, [Your Name] [Your electorate or location, optional]
A KREWD Chorale, You Are Here 2015. Photo by Adam Thomas.
Clementine Ford is a bully, and I’m calling it out. I believe in her voice and her voice matters – but so does the harm she’s causing.
And that’s hard to say because what she speaks about is important. Her voice is essential. She has contributed enormously to feminist discourse in Australia. Her words have shifted public conversations around gender, power, and violence. Her ideals are, for the most part, aligned with mine. I believe in her passion. I believe in many of her points. I believe she is often right, but I cannot excuse intimidation, bullying and harassment.
Because this isn’t about her beliefs. It’s about her behaviour.
Her platform isn’t being used for collective liberation, it’s being used to dominate. To shame. To punish difference, not just indifference. She doesn’t just disagree; she obliterates. She speaks with contempt. She controls the tone of the conversation through fear and superiority. And she has built a reputation that keeps people afraid to speak up, because they know what happens when you end up on her bad side.
That’s not activism. That’s not justice. That’s domination dressed in moral righteousness.
Her obsession with Abbie Chatfield has become disturbing. Abbie didn’t engage with the bullying. She didn’t retaliate or spiral into online warfare – she tried to keep her focus on her own work, in her own lane.
When I was critical of Clementine in a post she had shared about Abbie, she responded: “Your hero [Abbie] will survive being challenged, you may not be so robust.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck?!
Abbie – who is great, but let’s be real, she’s not exactly Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2 – can survive being challenged. But that’s not what Clementine is doing. This isn’t intellectual discourse anymore. It’s grown into relentless public shaming across multiple platforms. Clementine is sitting on a moral throne and unleashing the trolls – knowingly fuelling the far-left to join with the far-right trolls who already threaten, abuse, and harass Abbie regularly.
Now Abbie, someone who has publicly shared her experiences with ADHD and trauma, has been triggered and pushed into what looks very familiar to me as an episode of ADHD overwhelm and/or a complex PTSD spiral – crying, pleading: “Leave me alone! Please don’t do this. Please don’t stop me and other people talking about Gaza!”
And you know what? Valid.
The emotion is valid. The overwhelm is valid. The fear is valid. Because what’s happening here isn’t feminist accountability – it’s cruelty in activist clothing. The way she’s being torn to shreds and dehumanised is, quite frankly, disgusting.
Abbie will, of course, be ridiculed for “not being accountable” or for “ignoring valid criticism” or “putting energy into this instead of stopping a Genocide” – but that’s just textbook gaslighting. It reframes her explosive reaction as over-sensitivity or misguided hurt, instead of what it actually is: a human response to sustained personal ridicule, bullying, and harassment.
Is Abbie Chatfield perfect? No. None of us are. We shouldn’t have to be perfect to be treated with respect. Her imperfections do not justify obsession, endless ridicule, or public harassment. We have to hold space for imperfection within activism – or we create a climate where only the loudest, most aggressive voices survive – and they’re not always the most effective for change or recruiting allies.
Clementine is a black-and-white thinker. She seems to lack the one thing necessary for actual change: pragmatism. And this is the core issue.
When activism gatekeeps with intellectual elitism, it becomes inaccessible to some and alienating to many. When Clementine – or any intellectual – intimidates or shuts down anyone who doesn’t meet their bar or match their aggression, they climb up onto a moral pedestal (or petty-stool), and cut people down from it. It’s elitist bullying disguised as conviction. Yet it often silences the very people they claim to be ‘helping’ or ‘liberating.’
Sound familiar? It’s tyranny cloaked in activism.
When idealism burns so hot it scorches pragmatism, we risk losing the very change we claim to fight for. Her idealism is powerful, but power without care becomes control.
In our passion for justice, we can’t forget that pragmatism is what turns ideals into impact – not every path has to look the same to be moving forward.
We can disagree on tactics. We can approach the same cause from different angles. But if we abandon respect and turn on each other in the name of justice, we risk becoming aggressors ourselves – there’s room for different tactics without abuse.
Even I have been afraid to speak out about Clementine’s behaviour, me without a enormous platform. I do feel afraid that perhaps I won’t be so “robust” to “survive” a Clementine attack as she so curtly pointed out. I am vulnerable. I am a queer single mother, neuro-divergent, living with complex PTSD, and in active survival mode. I know how cruel and dehumanising her attacks can be, and I’ve watched how she goes after anyone who questions her methods. And still – my voice matters too and I believe it’s important to say something. Because until we name this behaviour, others will remain too scared to engage in activism at all.
There has to be space for people to use their privilege to speak about genocide, injustice, and harm – and to do so in ways they feel is safe for them and that they can sustain. It’s not accessible for everyone to march, shout, or perform public rage. Some are struggling to survive while resisting. Some don’t have higher education. Some are illiterate. Some can’t “read a book”. Some believe in other pragmatic ways of fighting systems that condone violence – or need to choose paths that feel safer, but not necessarily less effective.
This isn’t a takedown of feminism. It’s a call to protect it from the rot of ego and cruelty. We don’t all have to agree. But we do have to stop tolerating bullies just because they say the right things loudly. A politics that relies on cruelty isn’t justice. It’s just power, repackaged.
Giving evidence in a rape case isn’t a favour to the victim. It doesn’t prove your loyalty. It doesn’t make you an ally.
It’s about truth. It’s about justice for all the victims of sexual assault. It’s about holding a rapist accountable. It’s about integrity.
You wore the shirts. You chanted the slogans. You got your photo in the paper.
But when it mattered – when it was someone close to you – I didn’t count. It wasn’t the right kind of rape. I wasn’t the right kind of victim. It wasn’t violent enough, or clear enough, or traumatic enough for your comfort.
“At least it’s not as bad as being assaulted by someone you didn’t know. Like, you’ve been with him before.” Too many have said that – as if betrayal by someone I trusted hurts less. As if that makes it not real. As if the erosion of consent in love is somehow more forgivable.
You were tired of the cycle I was caught in, so you centred yourselves in my trauma. “It’s been hard for us too.” And suddenly, you decided I didn’t matter anymore. Suddenly, your comfort came before justice.
“I’m not going to be quiet, I’m not going to stay silent about this any longer,” “You can do it. It’s hard, but it’s ok. We all support you, will love you and will help you through this. It’s not your fault.” All just words. Your words. All just performance.
Support isn’t symbolic. Allyship isn’t aesthetic. And “but whatever, peace sign” isn’t neutral. It’s cruel. It’s taunting. It’s dismissive. It echoes violence. You’re not the victim in this, no matter how hard you try to spin it.
They keep saying, “It’s not about you” in response to my pain in my rape case. That’s not just dismissive – it’s gaslighting. You can keep shifting your discomfort from you to me – but silence, complicity, or cowardice rings louder – the alarm bells of failure in allyship, and betrayal of friendship.
I stood there, guts turned inside out, while you debated whether my trauma was inconvenient to your peace. Surrounded by people too busy making my rape about them, while I was left standing there – alone.
Delicate Feral – Bambi-Rose Woodward 