Milena Popova

So Amazon has decided to boldly go where... quite a few people have tried to go before actually, in its recent move to try to monetise the creative talent (or otherwise) of the fanfiction community. If you hang around fandom long enough, you realise that roughly every seven years someone pops up who thinks there's a pot of gold at the end of the fandom rainbow, with this most recent effort very likely prompted by the success of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy which started life as a piece of Twilight fanfiction.

Read more at ORGZine.

So @drcabl3 asked the other day if the structures of the internet (TCP/IP, http, physical layer, etc.) were inherently patriarchal. This is what I ended up writing about that.

I suspect this is a question you can answer either way based on your definition of terms. I'm also not convinced that it's a testable hypothesis. Is the Gherkin phallic? Hell yes. Would female architects free of millennia-long oppression design yonic buildings? Pass. So as a first answer, I'm going to go with mu.

I'm not a fan of attaching inherent moral value to scientific concepts and technologies. Is nuclear fusion evil because of Mutually Assured Destruction or good because that massive fusion reactor in the sky keeps us alive? Or possibly even evil because the massive fusion reactor keeps us a live and we as a species are a blight on the face of the earth? Mu. In much the same way I'm not convinced that a data exchange protocol can be inherently patriarchal.

Now, our use of technologies, and the social structures we build around them can be patriarchal. Technologies can be used to perpetuate unearned privilege for one group while oppressing others. With the internet, I'd argue that's not been the case so far. I'm biased and Evegny Morozov will almost certainly tell you I'm wrong but I'm inclined to believe that the Internet and the Web have enabled a much greater plurality of views to be much more visible in our society. They have enabled oppressed groups to bridge the chasms of geography, organise, and start making their voices heard. Yes, of course there are forces acting against that in the form of state and other censorship and surveillance, but by and large, so far I'd say oppressed groups have done rather well out of the internet.

Having said that, I see three challenges with how we've structured the technology and how we are using it that could in the end lead to perpetuating oppression.

1. Ownership structures: One of the things that worries me the most is that our entire communications infrastructure that we use for all this wonderful political activity - from the undersea cables to applications like Twitter - is in the hands of private companies. With the exception of a couple of community-run efforts of varying quality and independence (Wikipedia, Mozilla, Dreamwidth, the Archive of Our Own), our entire infrastructure is subject to the whims of the invisible hand. If Twitter decides there's money to be made in suppressing political discourse, or folds because there's not enough money to be made from our updates about sandwiches, we lose a huge amount of investment we've put into it in terms of community building, and we lose access to an absolutely vital piece of infrastructure. If BT decides to throttle the bandwidth of people downloading documents from WikiLeaks (or for that matter people who think Julian Assange should stand trial for rape in Sweden), we might be free to switch ISPs; if the consortia running the undersea cables decide to do the same, we're rather more screwed. I have two partial answers to this challenge - one for the capital-intensive infrastructure like undersea cables and hardware and one for applications and platforms. Net neutrality, ideally enshrined in law and international treaties, is absolutely vital when it comes to the former. Supporting community-run platforms like Dreamwidth and identi.ca and putting in place the right governance structures around those has to be one of the ways we approach the latter.

2. State control: This is of course the Evgeny Morozov side of the argument; that as well as presenting us with unprecedented opportunities, digital technology gives enormous amounts of power to the state. Surveillance has never been so easy - permanently attached to our mobile phones, we carry our very own digital spies in our pockets. Put a little pressure on Google and see search results related to, say, student protests or rape culture disappear from its pages. And yes, some people would notice, and a few would know how to get around that, but the jury's out on whether those would be enough to form a critical mass and inform the rest. This is where digital rights campaigning is vital. You all know the organisations I'm going to direct you to next: the Open Rights Group, the Electronic Frontier Foundation, EDRi. They're absolutely vital in setting the boundaries for what the state can and cannot do in a digital world, and we need to support them and remain vigilant on that front.

3. Who has the skills/access? And how do we define access? The technology and telecomms industry, as well as certain online spaces, continue to be notoriously male-dominated. Yes, we are making some progress in fixing that, but we are also experiencing significant backlash. Hardware manufacturers still see women as decoration. Anita Sarkeesian dared to imply that she might have an opinion about the representation of women in video games. Only 14 women applied to study Computing Science at Oxford last year (and the success rate for women was less than half that for men). What all of these illustrate is that women are still not quite equal on the internet - either in terms of technology or in terms of the perceived validity of their opinions and experiences. There are two things we've got to do in this area. The first is address the massive problem technology as a sector has in attracting and retaining female talent. That's not a problem with TCP/IP. It's a problem with our education system and media which continue to send the message that what is valued in a girl is pretty passivity, not smart activity; and it's a problem with our technology industry which takes every opportunity it can to snub women as both consumers and potential employees. The second is that we need to admit to ourselves that if women and other minorities are repeatedly and deliberately silenced and dismissed by abusive trolls, we have a massive free speech issue in our community. It doesn't matter if it's the state doing the censoring, or Facebook, or the trolls who tell women they deserve to be raped or killed - the effect is the same. That's not a problem with TCP/IP either - it's a problem with people. Access is not just about having the skills, the hardware and the internet connection. Access is also about feeling safe to speak out. And it's our responsibility to enable that.

Science and technology don't have intrinsic moral values. I find they rarely take sides. It's people that do, and it's people we need to work with to address that.

drcabl3 has since written a response to this arguing that technology has moral and ideological values attached to it. I owe him a reply.

So on Saturday I spoke at ORGcon about worlds colliding; about issues in digital rights that are grey areas; where I have skin in the game on both sides of the debate. I argued that we all have such issues - issues where being a digital rights campaigner doesn't sit quite comfortably with something else in our lives; and that those are the issues where we are in a unique position to really make a difference. I also challenged the digital rights community to become more diverse and more inclusive, because that would bring in more people who ask difficult questions on things that to us sometimes seem a no-brainer and who can help us find solutions that work.

What I didn't say in my talk is that sometimes, when your worlds collide, it feels very much like you're fighting a war on two fronts. Yes, you can see both sides of the debate, you can see the potential for pragmatism and compromise, but the more entrenched arguments from both sides can sometimes really wear you down.

Less than an hour after my ORGcon talk, I found my worlds colliding quite spectacularly. Prompted by a question from the audience, closing keynote speaker John Perry Barlow referred to the rape allegations against Julian Assange as "ungentlemanly conduct". Faced with that, I found myself unable to remain in the room and walked out in protest. One other person challenged Barlow on the remark but their comment went unanswered; several others walked out.

This should go without saying, but in my experience unfortunately it doesn't: I don't know whether Julian Assange is guilty of rape and sexual assault. That is for a Swedish court to determine. What I object to is the gross trivialisation of allegations of rape in any context, not just in the Assange case: comments like "It wasn't rape rape", "Oh, but she was totally asking for it", and in yesterday's case "ungentlemanly conduct" and "He upset two women". "Upset" and "is alleged to have sexually assaulted and raped" are different things.

Come on guys, do I really have to explain again the endemic nature of violence against women in our society? Do I have to tell you again that one in two women in the UK has experienced rape, sexual assault, domestic violence or stalking? Do I really have to explain the effect persistent trivialisation of the kind we heard from John Perry Barlow has on women's ability to report and deal with such violence; on our efforts to put a stop to gender-based violence? Really?

When a high-profile speaker at an event I'm attending makes that kind of comment and it goes unchallenged, here's what I hear. I hear that this is a community that doesn't value women. I hear that should I ever have a problem in that community, my complaints are likely to be trivialised and dismissed. I hear that I am not welcome.

Which, you may note, is the exact opposite of what I challenged the digital rights community to do.

John Perry Barlow did not go unchallenged. Enough of us - men and women - walked out, tweeted in disgust, or in the case of one person for whom I have boundless admiration, challenged him in the room, that it should be clear that he does not speak for the digital rights community in general. All these people have my deep gratitude and deserve yours too. Within a couple of hours of the incident, the Open Rights Group issued a statement saying it "does not agree with or endorse statements made at ORGCon diminishing the charges against Assange" and that it "supports due process".

If you are part of the digital rights community and want to do your bit in making it welcoming and inclusive, speaking up about such incidents is a damn good start. If you're looking in from the outside, wondering if we're the kind of community you might want to join, know this: No community is perfect, and neither are we. But there are enough of us who will have your back, who are prepared to make you feel welcome, and who are determined to ensure that the digital rights community is as welcoming, diverse and inclusive as possible.

I am one of those people. If you have any concerns, drop me a line, find me at the next event, get in touch.

Below is the text of my talk from ORGcon. Some of you may know that worlds did end up colliding, and I'll write about that later, but for now I wanted to let this stand on its own. It comes with a trigger warning for discussion of violence against women.

I've been in digital rights - one way or another - since the late 90s. I came to the field through 3 things

• Free software, which I continue to use and passionately support for ideological as well as practical reasons


• Piracy - which I have more or less stopped committing as I have found other ways to engage with culture and artists


• And fanfiction - which I do still occasionally commit.

What these have in common is that they're, broadly speaking, intellectual property issues. And intellectual property issues for me are a complete no-brainer - I know exactly where I stand on them, which is firmly on the side of users. (Hold the rotten tomatoes.) We, the users, have the right to run a piece of software; we have the right to access the source code and change it as we wish, etc. We have the right to format-shift our music collection rather than buy everything again the next time technology changes, and we have the right to access, remix and transform our culture. Simples. (I said hold the rotten tomatoes.)

It is probably worth noting at this point that the sum total of my own cultural and creative output is a meandering political blog and some rather dubious fanfiction. Hardly anything I'm going to make a living from by insisting no one copy or distribute it without paying me.

If, on the other hand, you're a musician sitting in this audience with that rotten tomato, or an author, and you've been listening to labels and publishers tell you how the Internet is killing music/publishing for the last 15 years, it's not really simples, is it? Because even if you firmly believe that we should not be disconnecting people from the internet for file sharing; even if you firmly believe that copyright should not be abused to justify censorship and surveillance; even if you firmly believe that artists and rightsholders should not be suing fans into oblivion - even then you still want to make a living out of your art and hard work. And suddenly, unlike me with the corporate day job, your worlds start colliding. You have skin in the game on both sides of this debate, and things start getting a bit hairy.

Which is not only perfectly fine - it is to be encouraged. So what I want to talk to you about today are some more examples of issues where worlds collide - for me personally and for digital rights activists in general. I want to talk to you about the grey areas where things stop being a no-brainer and start getting really difficult. And I want to talk to you about how, the harder you personally are finding a particular issue, the more likely it is that you will have something incredibly valuable to contribute.

We've already established that I have hardly any skin in the game when it comes to intellectual property. Where as a feminist and digital rights activist I do have skin in the game though, is when it comes to the fine line between free speech and hounding women off the internet through bullying and threatening behaviour. Let me tell you a bit about the dangers of being female on the Internet...

Chat users with female-sounding usernames get 25 times more malicious messages than those with gender-neutral or male-sounding names. That's on average 163 times a day that some random stranger will ask you if you're feeling horny, tell you to get your tits out, or suggest that their dick and your pussy will make a great pair.

Online gaming is a particularly nasty corner of the internet if you happen to be of the wrong gender. There's a couple of websites which curate the gems of creativity male gamers hurl at their female counterparts. Here are some screengrabs from a blog called Fat, Ugly or Slutty. From telling women gamers they should "get back in the kitchen" to "am gonna slit your throat you fucking slut", it's all in there.

A special sort of hell is also reserved for women who dare to express an opinion online. Female bloggers, prominent and otherwise, are regularly told, often graphically, that we deserve to be raped or killed (and raped, before and after). This kind of thing is so common that a female blogger's first "fat and ugly" comment is practically a badge of honour - a sign that we've truly made it. Oh, and here is my very first rape threat.

Incidentally, while the anonymity of the internet probably exacerbates the issue, this is not a phenomenon confined to online space. In meatspace, we call it street harassment, and it's just as problematic. But in meatspace no one calls for laws to make TfL hand over all Oyster Card data so the police can track down the guy who groped me on the tube. In meatspace, politicians don't jump on violence against women as a reason to legislate for more surveillance and censorship - at best they ignore the issue, and at worst they make it worse. In meatspace, you generally have to bring out the big guns like terrorism to package up your horrible, illiberal, rights-infringing legislation.

And so when feminists start calling for police powers to track down trolls and play into the hands of the censorship and surveillance lobby, I do a double-take and have to ask myself which side of this debate I'm on. And it's a tough question - but ultimately I'm not interested here in slogans and soundbites and kneejerk reactions. I'm interested in finding solutions that work, so I'm not going to bang on about the principles of free speech or - valid though it is - the concept of rape culture. I'm much more likely instead to tell you that there is existing legislation and police powers that can be used for truly threatening behaviour.

But I'm also much more likely to challenge the silent male majority in online spaces to make it clear that threatening and harassing women to hound them off the internet is not okay. That it is, in fact, also a free speech issue when women's voices are silenced in this way - because it doesn't matter if it's the state doing the censoring, or Facebook, or a bunch of trolls who make you feel unsafe about speaking out - the effect is the same. So if you truly care about free speech you'd better be prepared to help find a way to let those voices be heard.

Let me give you another example: the Great Porn Firewall of Britain. We've had report after report describe the harmful effects pornography is having on children and young people. Stories vary in quality and sensationalism. Hordes of 10-year-olds addicted to porn? Check. Porn used to groom children by sex abuse gangs? Check. Porn to blame for the shocking rate of intimate partner violence among teenagers? Check. And you know what? Some of these things are probably even true. And as someone who was abused as a teenager - though porn had nothing to do with it - if there's anything we can do to spare even one kid that experience then it's worth doing.

But when Claire Perry and Ed Vaizey propose the Great Porn Firewall of Britain, as a digital rights and queer activist I look at it and go "WHOA! Let's slow down a little here!" Because not only is there incredible potential for abuse in the technology, not only do the proposals contain absolutely no democratic oversight, but it's simply not going to work. Yes, it looks good in the headlines, but children will continue to get exposed to porn while we're all congratulating ourselves on having fixed the problem and look the other way. And not only that, but more likely than not, kids are going to lose access to vital resources on sex education and sexual health. LGBTQ kids in particular are likely to lose access to safe spaces online, spaces where they can be themselves, where they're not being told their entire existence is wrong, spaces which can and do save their lives.

And so, faced with the Great Porn Firewall of Britain, as a digital rights and queer and domestic violence activist, and as an abuse survivor, I'm going to start asking difficult questions. I'm going to start asking why the education secretary, every time sex and relationship education is mentioned, sniggers like a 12-year-old behind the bike sheds. Why the department for education has half-arsed and buried campaign after campaign against abuse in teenage relationships. Why we are failing to teach kids about consent and respect and communication in relationships. And I'm going to ask for the evidence that blocking porn a. stops kids from watching it and b. has any actual positive impact on what really matter like abuse and violence in relationships.

These are the issues where my worlds collide. They're the issues where digital rights for me become really, really difficult. I hope there are areas in your lives where you feel the same. Areas where being a digital rights campaigner doesn't quite sit comfortably with something else you're doing. Issues that make you want to ask the really hard questions. To go beyond the soundbites. To find solutions that work. Because those are the issues where you can contribute the most. Where you can challenge both sides to get off their high horses and actually talk to each other. Where you can really make a difference.

And I also hope that this has convinced you that we need a more diverse digital rights community. Because we all have blind spots. We all have issues that to us are no-brainers. And the more diverse our community is, the more likely that someone will say, "Hang on! What about this?!"

So there are two things I want you to do when you leave here today. One: I want you to start asking the really hard questions. And two: I want you to think about how we can reach out beyond our bubble of geeks in black t-shirts and make this a welcoming community for everyone.

For the sake of completeness, I'm quoted in this Guardian piece on bisexual issues in the workplace.

The perceived trade-off between freedom and security has been a defining feature of the early 21st century. With "terrorists" allegedly lurking around every corner, a number of governments, including successive UK ones, seem to have taken a "legislate first and ask questions later" approach. Add to this the revolutionary effect of digital technology and the Internet in particular on the relationship between the state and the individual, and worrying trends begin to emerge.

In the US, the Patriot Act gives authorities the power to, for instance, demand that individuals and organisations hand over vast amounts of communications and transactional data, while at the same time prohibiting anyone receiving such a demand from speaking about it. Statistically, between 2003 and 2006 one in every 1500 Americans received such a demand. In the UK, the Terrorism Act of 2006 prohibits something it vaguely calls "glorifying terrorism", while the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act (RIPA) - also originally intended for use against serious crime and terrorism - allows councils to spy on people suspected of breaking the smoking ban.

The Draft Communications Data Bill, which was last year shredded by a Joint Select Committee and yet is about to make it back onto the government's legislative agenda, proposes to significantly extend existing police powers to monitor our digital lives. If passed into law, the proposals would allow the government to compel telecommunications operators - anyone from Royal Mail, Internet Service Providers and mobile operators to Google and Facebook - to retain and collect transactional data on their users: who they spoke to or emailed and when, where they were based on their mobile phone location, even which websites they visited. While some data is already being retained for a limited time period with the intention of being able to reconstruct a suspect's activity for criminal investigation purposes, the new proposals go several steps further. They include the creation of entirely new data sets and the powers to "data mine" - investigate the data for conspicuous patterns even if no crime has been committed.

Given well-documented abuses of existing powers and legislation, civil liberties and digital rights campaigners like the Open Rights Group are raising a number of concerns about the Draft Communications Data Bill. The potential for abuse of such powers - both by those authorised to access the data but also by malicious individuals for whom the simple existence of such a data set is a target - is staggering. Even without knowledge of which websites someone has visited - which automatically gives you access to the content they have accessed - it is remarkably simple to make conclusions about the content of a conversation by cross-referencing different pieces of information such as where an event took place, who was there, or the time of day when it occurred.

In some ways, however, the problem with the Draft Communications Data Bill is not so much the potential for extreme abuses of these powers - though that too is a concern. Rather, this is another step in a gradual but fundamental shift in the relationship between the state and the individual. Digital communication has given individuals unprecedented freedom to associate, exchange ideas and power to hold governments to account. At the same time, digital data processing creates the potential for government to spy on our every move. Never before - not even in totalitarian states like the Soviet Union and East Germany - has the state had the power to map and examine individuals' lives with such a level of detail.

The challenge here is the insidious nature of mass surveillance - the danger that with every new set of powers the state grabs for itself, every restriction on our freedom and civil liberties in the name of some abstract concept of security we just begin to feel that this acceptable, normal, expected. Just as we hardly notice CCTV cameras anymore - we just assume they are there - will we in future assume that a database is storing our every move, a computer analysing all the data and flagging up when we walk out of line?

We need to start asking the questions and having the conversations before legislating. We need to ask ourselves if we want a state where the police and security services have the power to spy on all of us. Who benefits from such powers and who loses? If we do want to give the state such powers, what safeguards should we put in place and what governance structures? These are debates that we as a society are currently largely failing to have. The Open Rights Group's campaign against the Communications Data Bill is a good starting point. Write to your MP. Join the debate.

The feminist movement in the UK has been tearing itself apart recently over questions of intersectionality, with luminaries such as Helen Lewis having to take a break from Twitter over an arguably ill-considered post on "correct language". Amidst all that, it is refreshing to see that some people do actually get it - even in the most unlikely corners of the world.

Allow me to introduce you to Tyler Seguin, a talented, 21-year-old player for the Boston Bruins (that's an ice hockey team for those of you not into North American sports). Last night Seguin posted the following tweet:

Much like when we feminists get our language wrong, that didn't go unchallenged on Twitter, and even drew some attention from the You Can Play Project - a campaign for better inclusion of LGBT athletes with strong links to and support from the National Hockey League.

So what did Tyler do? Get into a massive Twitter fight with his critics, explaining how the homos should cut it out? Declare us all to be the thought police? Flounce off Twitter? Nope. He had the guts to apologise.

You know what feminists? We've been outclassed. Let's try harder.

I wasn't in the UK when Margaret Thatcher's policies wrecked this country and sowed the seeds of many of the problems we are facing today; which is not to say that the Iron Lady's reach did not extend beyond the Iron Curtain. I was slightly taken aback by Angela Merkel's praise for Thatcher who, in Merkel's words, "recognised the power of the freedom movements of Eastern Europe early on and lent them her support"; until of course I remembered that as an East German Merkel's experience of the fall of the Iron Curtain would have been very different to mine.

West Germans to this day pay the Solidaritaetszuschlag - a tax earmarked for the economic development of East Germany. Where East Germany saw a rise in unemployment, Bulgaria and other countries of the Eastern Bloc saw complete economic collapse. State assets were stolen by those in power or sold off to the highest bidder. As a nine-year-old I fought grown-ups in the supermarket over a bar of soap. I did my homework by candle light or scheduled it around the timetabled blackouts. I stood in endless queues for bread and meat, only to watch as they ran out before I got to the front. Even after we left I watched friends and relatives have to make choices between heating their homes and eating, as their money got so devalued it was only good for burning anyway.

No, the fall of the Iron Curtain wasn't all velvet revolutions, sunshine and rainbows. While in the long run even countries like Bulgaria may find true democracy and prosperity, it's been over 20 years now, and we're still not there. The supremacy of the market advocated by the likes of Margaret Thatcher is maybe not the sole cause of Bulgaria's continued misery, but it's certainly a factor.

So while I wasn't here when Thatcher was in power, I am hardly untouched by her policies. And more to the point, I am here now, and her legacy is still very much alive. I am not celebrating Thatcher's death, nor am I passing judgment on those who are. But I am hoping to make a small contribution to the death of her legacy. Prompted by this, I am therefore going to donate money to four charities tomorrow, in memory of Margaret Thatcher.

Newcastle Women's Aid

I live in the Northeast, an area with a proud mining heritage brought to its knees by Thatcher's policies. The current government's cuts are also hitting the region disproportionately, and a worsening of economic conditions often brings with it an increase in domestic violence and abuse. At the same time, the government is cutting funding for domestic violence services, putting thousands of women and children and risk. My first donation is therefore going to Newcastle Women's Aid in the hope of easing the suffering of some of those affected by the cuts locally.

Terrence Higgins Trust

Given Thatcher's treatment of the LGBT community, it is important to me that some of the money donated in her memory should go towards some of the damage done to that community. The Terrence Higgins Trust is not an LGBT-specific charity; but given the disproportionate impact of HIV on the LGBT community, vastly exacerbated by policies like Section 28, I feel it is a cause worthy of support.

Broken Rainbow

Silencing the LGBT community has unfortunately also exacerbated domestic abuse issues within it. When teachers are not allowed to talk about the kind of relationship you might be in, when service providers refuse to acknowledge that the person who beat you black and blue was of the same sex as you, when an opposite-sex partner has the power to out you as bisexual in a society that won't accept you, when as late as the early 2000s you had no legal way of getting your gender recognised and even today you can only do so with your spouse's consent, the whole community suffers. Broken Rainbow, of which I am a trustee, does vital work as the only national LGBT domestic abuse helpline and will also be receiving a donation in memory of Margaret Thatcher tomorrow.

Brook

Finally, Brook, the young people's sexual health charity, will also be receiving some of my money. This government is trying to take sex and relationships education back to the 1950s, trying to do to the young people of today what Section 28 did to the young LGBT people of the 1980s and 1990s, all while Michael Gove sniggers like a 12-year-old behind the bike sheds. Not on my watch.

While our government spends £10 million on the woman who thought there was no such thing as society, let's all show them what society looks like; and let's remember, come 2015, what they chose to spend our money on, and what we would choose to spend it on.

I wasn't going to talk about Thatcher, but the Daily Mail today is treating us to a spectacular trainwreck of a headline: "'They danced in the streets when Hitler died too': Drama teacher who organised Thatcher death parties remains unrepentant as it's revealed she had NHS breast implants"

To which, I must admit, my first reaction was "Surely Maggie could afford to go private".

If Daily Mail editors read more material that involved long passages of exposition talking about two people of the same gender (slash fiction for instance), they would be aware of the pitfalls of connecting the wrong subject with the wrong predicate in a sentence. Frivolity aside, though, it strikes me that this particular crash blossom is more likely to have its roots in our culture's assumptions about who holds power rather than in the dubious reading habits of Daily Mail staff.

As a former Conservative Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher may have had the "body of a weak, feeble woman", but I rather suspect that in the minds of the Tory faithful she had "the heart and stomach of a king". I'm not sure it even occurred to the poor sod who wrote that headline for the Mail that Thatcher, too, had breasts.

I may be reading too much into this, but I do think it illustrates quite nicely that for many in our society those in power and those with female bodies are still two very separate groups of people.

When you ask me the above question, here's what I hear:

• I think I am funny and original. I live in a bubble so privileged and sheltered from the real world that I cannot even imagine that at eight o'clock in the morning on March 8th I'm not even the first person to ask you that question.
• Despite this International Women's Day clearly being a thing, I have never even given a single thought to why it might be a thing; why people feel there may be a need for it; how women's lives are different to my own little bubble of privilege.
• On a day deliberately designated for the celebration of diversity and inclusion, I can't be bothered to take a second to think about whether my behaviour and comments are inclusive, or within the spirit of that day. Let's not even talk about all the other days of the year.

When you ask me the above question, here's how it might make me and others around us feel:

• Dismissed and trivialised. It's bad enough that there were cupcakes involved.
• Put on the spot. I can either stand up to you and be a role model to those around me, at the price of some significant personal discomfort, or I can not look in the mirror for the rest of the day. Either option will upset me sufficiently to distract me from doing my job.
• Disappointed. Because really, you should know better, and there is no way in hell that I should have to deal with this.

And when I finally answer the above question, here are some things you maybe shouldn't do:

• Be surprised that I spoke up for myself.
• Look at me like I just kicked your puppy for telling you that "That'd be all the other days of the year."
• Tell me you don't think that's quite true.

Just some food for thought.