Safety – NOUN

1. The condition of being protected from or unlikely to cause danger, risk, or injury.

1.1 Denoting something designed to prevent injury or damage: ‘a safety barrier’ ‘a safety helmet’…

Or a Safety Map…

What are we talking about when we discuss safety and when we create a safety map exploring LGBT hate crime in a city? I approached this weekend with hesitancy and apprehension, not wanting to engage in a process that was going to spread or escalate fear amongst a community, not fully sure how I felt about the police and their role in this; and I leave it with questions and complexity surrounding visibility and risk, and a greater understanding of the need to raise awareness of hate crime.

The task: to ask people to mark on a map places where they don’t feel safe, or where they have experienced something negative like anti-social behaviour or hate crime (red threads); to ask them to mark places where they do feel safe/positive spaces (gold threads); and to find out about the LGBT history of Brighton and mark some places on the map that aren’t their any more (grey threads).

It was important to me to ask people about the positive sides of the city as well as the negative. It we were just to build up a map including all of the places where something negative has happened to an LGBT person would this increase safety? Perhaps we would have a wider awareness of the scale of harassment in Brighton. The police would gain information for their records, which would hopefully lead to greater protection for LGBT people. But what does safety mean to the individuals. What is at risk? What is the danger?

It worries me that many people live everyday hiding parts of who they are in public, perceiving this to be important for their safety. But is this kind of life and way of living a dangerous one? When we are denying ourselves the right to be who we are in public, are we risking happiness, fulfillment, the opportunity to flourish?

“When one lives as a body that suffers misrecognition, perhaps insult or harassment, cultural prejudice, economic discrimination, police violence or psychiatric pathologisation, that leads to a derealised way of living in the world, a way of living in the shadows, not as a human subject but as a phantasm. Someone else’s phantasm but you’re living it.” Judith Butler talking at Gender Trouble, Teatro Maria Matos, Lisbon, June 2015.

Where do we draw the line between visibility and risk? Between self expression and safety? How is this different for different people? How is it different for each of us at different times, depending on how we feel, where our confidence levels are, where we are in the world, what time of the month it is, what happened to us last time we went out in public, how long we have been presenting ourself in a particular way, who we have around us etc etc etc…?

Visibility, fear, risk and safety weave a tangled web in public space for many people who have non-normative identities. And with this I am purposefully talking about a very broad category. Through my practice with my performance Walking:Holding, I recognise that there are many people beyond LGBTQ+ categories who feel that they don’t fit in with what society deems as normal, who suffer ‘misrecognition’ or cultural prejudice, and find public space tricky territory as a result.

https://rosanacadedotcom.wordpress.com/projects/walkingholding/

For me personally, holding hands with my female partners in public is incredibly important and something I try and do no matter where I am. It is about so much more than sharing that intimate moment with my partner, it is about declaring that the space I am in is one where same sex love is permitted, where queer sexualities and gender expressions should be allowed.

With previous partners we have had long discussions about this. Some of them have said that they don’t feel comfortable with their intimate relationship needing to be on display as a political action each time they step out of the house and I can see this point of view. I don’t think this is a clear cut discussion. It can be tiring, frightening and detrimental to the intimacy between you and your partner. But for me to hide, or not to express my sexuality, is to conform to the idea that it is wrong or should be hidden from sight. Also, I believe that creating more visibility of difference is an important strategy towards affecting social change, and widening the boundaries around what is acceptable behaviour in public. In fact, a lot of my arts practice and the way I live my life is concerned with inhabiting the edges of acceptability, or exploring outrageousness and freakishness in order to widen some of the boundaries that we build up around ourselves which I believe restrict human experience and create prejudice against certain types of people or ways of behaving.

At this point I must I recognise that I speak from a position of never having been the victim of a violent attack. I am regularly aware of negative looks in public, I have suffered verbal abuse, and have been filmed by people on their phones, but have not been violently abused. Some people who spoke to me during the safety map project who had suffered violent attacks talked about the fear this created for them in public space for months or even years afterwards. Whilst I speak very positively about the importance of visibility, of not hiding ourselves, I recognise this is difficult for many for various reasons, and as I stated previously there are so many factors that affect how confident we feel each time we step out of the door. I do not think all LGBTQ+ people should have to suffer the burden of representing an entire community each time they step outside the door, but for those who can, who have the confidence to do so, let’s take up space together with passion, extravagance, love, pleasure, wildness, confidence and joy.

It is important to note that many people expressed the comfort and confidence they have developed in themselves and their everyday experiences through living in Brighton. Many people talked about finding a home and community here that doesn’t exist for them elsewhere. Through the research into the history of LGBT experiences in Brighton we can see that this is a narrative that has been repeated over the last century for many queer people. One trans woman talked about how important the move to Brighton had been to her, saying that the strength she takes from the community here enables her to go out into more difficult contexts and be herself. Before moving here she had felt trapped and isolated and wasn’t able to progress with her transition for fear of ridicule.

Others spoke about how comfortable they feel in Brighton compared to other towns or cities. Some people in same sex relationships said they would hold hands anywhere in Brighton without thinking about it, but would always be conscious of it in other cities. The Marlborough in particular was spoken about as a place of safety, of celebration, of support for a wide range of people with various gender and sexual identities.

All of these comments affirmed what I have always experienced in Brighton – a place of diversity, a place that actively celebrates and embraces diversity, particularly sexual and gender diversity.

So clearly, it was surprising and alarming to hear multiple stories from people across the weekend who had experienced some form of street harassment, ranging from name calling, throwing drink cans out of cars at people, to full on physical violence. These stories came from people from a range of different gender and sexual identities, people of different ages and took place all over the city in different parts of town. Many people who came towards the end of the weekend spoke about what a depressing and emotional experience it was to read all of these people’s labels, which far outweighed the positive labels.

I’ve been questioning where this negativity has come from in a town that seems to be so embracing of diversity on the surface. Is it a case that the increased visibility of LGBTQ identities in Brighton leads directly to higher levels of intolerance? There are definitely recorded instances of people using Brighton as a specific target for trans/homophobic abuse. Are LGBTQ people safer elsewhere because there is less awareness of their presence and lifestyles, therefore they are less visible? Are there more instances purely because there are more LGBTQ people living there?

Obviously these questions are impossible to answer based on the information that was collected across the weekend. We spoke to a small sample of people who live in Brighton, some of whom had moved here from elsewhere so were able to make comparisons – but this is not comprehensive data. But I think it is interesting and important to note that almost everyone who came in had a story of anti-social behaviour in Brighton to share. There were only three people across the weekend out of about sixty who didn’t.

So, what do we do with this information? What do we do when we have been attacked or assaulted? How can we use these experiences in order to empower the LGBT community and overcome prejudice, rather than spread further fear and cause more people to deny their identities in public?

One thing that I will take away from this is the knowledge that verbal abuse is a crime. If someone says anything derogatory to you because of your gender or sexual identity, that is a crime and you are within your rights to report it to the police. I understand that there are many reasons why people don’t get the police involved, and from speaking to people it seems that a big one is that they worry they are wasting police time. So, it’s important to know that you would not be wasting anyone’s time, and you have the right to walk along the street without being insulted or harassed.

Many people spoke about that feeling of vulnerability after an attack, of not knowing how to respond, of walking away and feeling powerless. Someone shared an anecdote of a time when a man on the street saw them and said “That’s disgusting. It shouldn’t be allowed.” And how she walked away feeling very low, and then about five minutes later wished she’d said “You’re right. It’s not allowed. What you’ve just done is a crime so wait here whilst I phone the police.” As is so often the case, we come up with a response once we are out of danger and the perpetrator is no where to be seen. What I like about this response is that she would be directly letting the attacker know that they had committed a crime, which they probably weren’t aware of.

And what good might come of reporting it to the police? I guess the ideal situation we are aiming towards is that more and more people come to understand and celebrate diversity rather than being afraid of it, meaning they are less likely to commit hate crimes and more people can walk around in public space without fear. If someone is reprimanded by the police, perhaps this will lead them to realising what they have done is wrong. But perhaps it won’t. If someone is firm in their homophobic or transphobic beliefs, being reprimanded by the police for expressing them might actually make them more angry and less tolerant. They may feel that they are victims in a society that doesn’t understand their beliefs or opinions.

However, in a podcast with Emma Frankland, Rory Finn Smith who is the LGBT liaison officer for Brighton and Hove Police spoke about some interesting processes they have for dealing with hate crime, which I was really uplifted to hear about.

He talks about Restorative Justice, an approach to justice that focuses on the needs of the victims and the offenders, as well as the involved community. This contrasts to more punitive approaches where the main aim is to punish the offender. Victims take an active role in the process. It is a way of looking at criminal justice that emphasises repairing the harm done to people and relationships rather than only punishing offenders. Predominately restorative justice is used for the victim, specifically with a kind of mediation and/or restitution from the offender. In practice, this often results in the victim meeting the offender of the crime, and this has proven to have incredibly high success rates in Brighton when bringing together victims and offenders of LGBT hate crimes. Many people committing a hate crime have not previously had much direct contact with people from the LGBTQ community and are acting out of fear and misunderstanding. This opportunity provides a space for bridging that gap of misunderstanding. In my own practice I am interested in direct contact with otherness and how this can break down barriers between people, and this practice of restorative justice resonated with me. I am impressed and inspired to hear that this is what is happening with the police in Brighton. I wonder if this is common practice across the UK…

Another strategy that was discussed in response to this feeling of powerlessness in the face of abuse, was the importance of looking out for each other as a community – of stepping in or calling someone out if we witness discrimination or prejudice. Following this project last weekend, two major incidents of homophobia in the UK were shared on Facebook.

One that took place in Brighton to two gay men: http://www.pinknews.co.uk/2016/05/04/gay-man-violently-assaulted-in-brighton-uses-attack-to-highlight-homophobia/

And one on a train from Glasgow (where i live!) to Alloa to two gay women: http://rufflemuffin.org/?p=109

These were widely shared and the community response towards the victims is overwhelmingly positive and supportive. Both of the victims speak of the importance of sharing these experiences, not to spread fear, but to empower all of us to speak out against discrimination of any kind. In Sarah Drummond’s emotional and inspiring account of what took place, she finishes it by thanking the offender: “But thank you – you’ve reminded me that I need to be stronger and be myself at all times in public. Thank you for reminding me there is still more work to be done and not to become complacent about equal rights. I’m sorry you’re so angry inside.

Within my practice of sharing Walking:Holding with many different people, it has become important to me that the performance is an act of positivity in public space, of opening up possibilities of how we might behave here, who we might see here, and also encouraging us to view others on the street with positivity and openness rather than fear. In a world where we are told to mistrust strangers, not to touch people in case we get sued or accused of assault, to fear the youth on the street corner, or the foreign looking person with the rucksack, to lock our doors and keep our personal belongings with us at all time, turn our heads away from beggars, keep our children inside, the act of Walking:Holding asks you to abandon all fear and trust the hands of a group of complete strangers in a city. The lurking figure in the hoody in the alley soon becomes your close companion. Whilst the awareness of being in a performance allows for this abandonment, you also aware that you are inside ‘real life’, public space, and yet you are viewing everyone as a potential hand holder. I am interested in turning the stranger into a human. Turning the other into a human, with a very strong and real desire for greater empathy and understanding.

I hope that another outcome from this safety map project and these other two incidents of homophobic abuse that have been shared recently, is that people will feel more connected to each other in the struggle against oppression. That when we are walking in public we will recognise that we are part of a group of people sharing the same space and that we will feel able to support each other when necessary. Later in the talk that I quoted earlier Judith Butler said:

“For daily life to become possible without fear of violence then it is surely because there are many people who support that right even when it is excessed by one person alone. So I may exercise it but I may only exercise it effectively if I have the support of many. If the right is exercised and honoured it’s because there are many there, even if they aren’t there exercising it as well, whether or not anyone else is on the scene. Each ‘I’ brings the ‘we’ along as he or she enters or exits that door finding ourself in an unprotected enclosure or exposed out there on the street. You might say there is a group or if not an alliance walking there too, whether or not they are anywhere to be seen. It is of course a singular person who walks there, who takes the risk of walking there but it is also a social category that traverses that particular gate and walks that singular movement in the world and if there is an attack it targets the social category at the same time…

To walk is to say that this is a public space where transgendered people walk. That this is a public space where people with various clothing or gender or religious signifiers are free to move without threat or violence or arrest.”

And I would like to finish this part of my reflections on this process with this video created by Matthew Snead, with Taylor Mac to the song ‘Fear Itself’. Please watch.

You can also find further reflections in this discussion between myself and Emma Frankland who invited my to record a podcast as part of her Not Yet A Robot project.

All photos by Rosie Powell Freelance.