Diversity Role Models

At the end of conferences I am known to surreptitiously secrete the left-over teabags about my person. Or the occasional carton of orange juice. It's the way I roll. Intellectual stimulation, perhaps new networks created and friends made, and one of my 5-a-day for the rest of the week - who could ask for more? But a training event I attended last night truly surpassed all others, as I left with a bulging bag stuffed to the brim with left-overs: a bottle of wine, soft drinks, and a (Blue Peter-esque) tin foil tray, artfully folded to contain samosas, rice, pitta bread and fancy salads. The catering had been generously sponsored (as had the rather nice venue in Red Lion Square) by law firm Mishcon de Reya - so I'll raise a glass to them. I'm currently tucking into a stuffed vine-leaf as we speak (I type).

However - believe it or not - it was not the culinary delights of last night (and lunch time today) that inspired me to write this post. Far from it. Instead, I really wanted to say a little bit about Diversity Role Models, who were running the training.

DRM's mission is to combat homophobic bullying in schools by educating young people about differences in sexuality and gender identity. Their method is to communicate with students directly, using positive role models to counter negative stereotypes and educate young people about diversity. Last night I was training to be one of those role models. It feels a bit strange to say that, to be actively putting myself forward as a role model; I'm sure if many parents saw the messy state of my bedroom (I will get tidier, I promise) they'd baulk at the idea of me as a perfect role model. But at DMR we were assured that we're not set up as aspirational emblems; we do not need to be 'successful, attractive or brilliant', indeed if we all were I guess we'd fail at representing diversity. The point is that we are real people, who represent a broad spectrum of sexual identities (in fact, in my opinion, each and every person represents a different sexual identity, as how can such an intrinsic and personal thing be anything other than unique), and are happy to talk to young people about what it means to be L, G, B, T, straight, queer, or however we self-identify.

It was such an inspirational evening. And I don't say that lightly. I feel so, so passionately about this agenda: about tackling homophobia, prejudice, fear and intolerance. At a time where LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender) young people are three times more likely to attempt suicide and two thirds of them suffer bullying at school, how is this not important?

The event was really thought-provoking as well. It made me cast a retrospective eye over my time at school: Had people come out? (only one in my year, and it didn't end well) What were the prevailing attitudes to homosexuality? (I did a survey for my Sociology coursework at sixth form on this topic and was surprised to find so many 'It's Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve' attitudes, in what I thought was quite a liberal area) What about casual homophobia embedded into everyday language? ('That's so gay', 'Don't be so gay!', 'Urghh, they should be re-named GAY Levels!' Poor excuse for a pun. Gay, gay, gay - you hear it everywhere, and not in the sense my grandma still uses it. I remember hearing it for the first time when I was about 11 and being quite upset. When did this become acceptable?). And what about LGBT role models? Sparse would be an under-statement. Some of the others there were quite shocked by my revelation that I know basically no gay women (with the obvious exception of my beautiful girlfriend, the fabulous Miss Fox!), and certainly no Older Wiser Lesbians (OWLs - a term Gem introduced me to a while back). We need diverse role models. Young people need to know that 'gay' isn't just an insult and doesn't just mean one type of person.

Any excuse for a picture of an owl...

Listening to the other role models there to be trained, and the stories they told, I felt privileged to be party to their honesty, humour and insight.


So, a little plug: if, like me, you think this is an important issue, check out the Diversity Role Models website, or even visit their charities trust page.

Gosh, I feel all impassioned and stuff... Maybe I should use the excess energy to go and tidy my room. Or fervently apply for jobs I don't really want and would be paid tuppence for.... Maybe I'll just have another samosa and quietly reflect on the state of the world.  
   

Totem

Not exactly Applied Theatre-related, but just need a quick chance to rave about Totem by Cirque du Soleil, directed by Robert Lepage, which I saw on Sunday night as a belated birthday present from my dad and his wife.

I've been a big Lepage fan for years, ever since I saw The Dragons' Trilogy when I was at sixth form, and had never seen Cirque du Soleil before and always wanted to, so Totem looked perfect.

The multi-talented Mr Robert Lepage

And it was! Mind-blowing. In fact, I kept realising I was holding my breath and grabbing the edge of my seat during the various acts - partly because despite intellectually knowing that they probably weren't going to fall and die (they hadn't so far), I kept waiting for something to go wrong.

It made me realise: a) they must have all trusted each other A LOT; b) they must have trusted themselves A LOT; c) sometimes you do have to see something to believe it; d) beauty is under-rated; e) tree-frogs are under-rated; f) I can't even juggle and have little chance of successfully running away with the circus. It is a sad thing. I'm sure I realised some other even more profound things - the kind of profundity that can only be contemplated in the wake of beautiful art, but turns to ghosts and shadows when the curtain goes down - but I'm not sure what they were. All I know is that when I shut my eyes to go to sleep a couple of hours later, the evolution of the world was dancing around in leotards and leaping between trapezes on the inside of my eyelids.

It was magic. 

Maybe I'll practice my juggling. I can almost do two balls now...

2012 begins...

So, here we are at the end of the first week of the new year, with a 'Goodbye 2011' and 'Hello 2012'. And now we are in the post-festive January doldrums.

Although never a big fan of an overly-glitzy (read: expensive and potentially dissatisfying) NYE - instead much more excited by the prospect of an evening with Sherlock and Ab Fab on New Year's Day (huzzah!) - I do quite like the opportunity that the onslaught of a new year provides to take stock, make some plans, set some unrealistic targets, pause and revise them to more realistic ones. So, along with committing to being more tidy (which I have never quite managed to sustain to the standard I would like, despite resolving this every year since I was about 7 years old), eating a more varied diet and doing more exercise (I will try, this year, I will), I've also been staring at the empty pages that seem to fill most of my diary for the great 2012... Now, looking at the year ahead, I'm sorry Mr Cameron, but - and look away now anyone who will be aghast, horrified and other relevant synonyms by this - but I really would struggle to give less of a shit about the Olympics and the Diamond Jubilee. Apparently that is what I am supposed to be focusing on and excited about. Whoops.  

In his new year message, David Cameron tells us: 'This will be the year Britain will see the world and the world sees Britain'. Sadly, I think it's very unlikely that (once again) I will have enough money to see any of the world this year. Cue violins, obviously. And furthermore, in reference to this year's 'main events', a) I sort of feel like I have more pressing things to think about, like if I have enough money for food, and how to get rid of the damp round the windows, and why despite one thousand calls to Virgin our internet STILL doesn't work properly; and b) whenever we are told to focus on something, it is my instinctive reaction (blame it on the occasional units on Marxism throughout my formal education and reading The Guardian) to wonder what it is they are trying to get us to not focus on. Like wavy lines in pre-migraine vision, on the periphery, not centre stage. Unemployment? NHS reforms? Over-flowing prisons? Gosh, it's too depressing to even continue the list.

But wait! This is miserable. I don't want to be miserable! Can't start the year on a downer. Even if I have finished all my chocolate money and feel guilty that I haven't sent all my thank-you cards, it's January and cold and will probably get dark in about 5 minutes. Winter is brilliant! January must have a secret brilliance! The cold is brilliant! The world is brilliant!

OK, perhaps there is a middle-ground. I should get a bit more Buddhist. 'Global drama' and 'glory' aside, there are things to look forward to this year, not excluding Sunday night 'Sherlock' for the next two weeks. Look at those cheek-bones...

And I shall fill up some of the pages in my diary with wholesome 'crafternoons' with my sisters (where we do crafts - cos we're cool, innit), trips to free museums, and reading books I got for Christmas. January will not be dull! (And obviously applying for more jobs, to increase the likelihood of getting paid for work. I'm keen and reliable. Tell your friends.)

Post script: Interesting that Cameron kept using the word 'bold', which was the note I finished my last post on. He totally stole my word (which I stole off Michael Grandage). I'm glad he says he will be bold; I just hope it's in directions that are profitable for all.