I have always found Valentine’s Day weirdly performative.
The idea that a prescribed day could be dedicated to expressing your love. With flowers. Or chocolate. Or champagne. Or diamonds. Yuck.
I find that creepy. I buy my own flowers. I eat chocolate every day. I don’t drink champagne anymore. And I already have diamonds, albeit small ones set in a wedding ring. I don’t care for flashy jewellery or fancy gifts.
If you love me you can show me by being a respectful partner. Listen to my stories. Ask me questions. Celebrate my victories. Be there for my sad days. Give me space when I need it. Accept me for my broken bits. And please, tell me what’s going on for you. And develop a sense of self separate to me. That’s sexy. I don’t want to be consumed, or adored, or worshipped. And I certainly don’t need to be bought off with presents. Or have corny posts on social media about how much you love me. Because to me that doesn’t feel like love. It feels like violence. It’s not romantic, it’s love-bombing.
And we know that love-bombing is a tactic used to manipulate you into feeling dependent on someone. It’s a form of emotional and psychological abuse. It’s not a red heart, it’s a red flag.
So 14 February, I will be wearing red. But I won’t be waiting for a handsome prince carrying roses. I will be down at Main Beach, Byron Bay for the 7am V Day flash mob for One Billlion Rising – the biggest mass action to end violence against women (cisgender, transgender, and those who hold fluid identities that are subject to violence). This is happening on Valentine’s Day all around the world, because we recognise that for so many of us love has been weaponised. And that the most powerful love we can practise is for ourselves. And in solidarity with each other.
Almost 1 billion women around the world have experienced partner or sexual violence. That’s one in three women. That’s why we rise.
Experiencing violence changes us. It destroys our sense of worth. It fills us with shame. It erodes our sense of safety. It limits our full and equal participation in public and private life, as well as our health, wellbeing and economic outcomes. If we are not safe, we cannot be equal. And gender equity requires that we are safe. That we live free of violence.
We all have stories. So many stories. My grandmother lost her husband in her early 50s. She lived alone. She was a quiet and timid woman. She had survived cervical cancer in her mid 30s, with two years of radium treatment. She lost her hair, her confidence, her uterus and her bladder. She wore cloth napkins from that time on. She was a beautiful, yet sad woman. She didn’t seem to have friends. She lived a small and restricted life.
She was in her early 80s when she told my mother what happened to her at 17. She was driven home from the cafe where she worked by her boss, who raped her. She had never told anyone. It had been her secret. Like it was her shame to carry.
When my mother told me it made sense of my grandmother’s life. It’s quite likely that the rape gave her HPV [human papillomavirus], which led to cervical cancer, and the loss of her reproductive organs. Her sexuality. Her sense of who she was in the world. Taken one night on a dark road, but then taken again, years and years later.
The shame of sexual violence is not ours to carry. It is the burden that belongs to the perpetrator alone. It is the shame of a society that permits violence and abuse. And the shame of governments who do nothing.
So be part of the only thing that changes anything. Grassroots action. This time in the form of a flash mob. Wear red. All welcome. Children, grandmas, babies, and men.
On the Saturday after next, 14 February, be part of V Day – the greatest and most radical act of love of all. Ending violence.
This year, I dance for my daughters, my mother, my sisters and for my dear grandmother, Thelma. Because no one ever really danced for her.
Main Beach, Byron Bay, 6.30am for a 7am start.
All welcome.
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