The Fog

Through the fog we recognise there is a human form; but we don’t really care to know too much. We understand she may have suffered. We understand she has loved and created; but we don’t really care. The sharpness is gone. Through the fog we can’t really see her – we could if we tried. But we don’t. We need to hear older women’s stories; they can build empathy in a way that a printed page of dos and don’t can’t. Rule books and quality systems are not protecting older women, because they are too complex and demanding of time, because we cannot see the older women nor understanding her suffering, nor do we care to, our lives are running at a pace that we cannot keep up.

My wife and I live in a country town. There is less pressure here, unless a local Church that has lost its way in the striving for a male dominated interpretation of God’s word. There is more responsibility, I feel a part of the organism that is a small community. We have a shared responsibly for the operation of the town. I love that. There is a sense of the common good. There is fresh air, beautiful skies and no constant roar of the commerce that drives the big cities. I love going to the city when I can – I love the fizz. But I love living here.

When I was growing up my parents like so many of the era, had trouble talking about sexuality, I suspect most families did. I understood the basic concepts, men and women got married and then they had children. But we didn’t have the language of sexual rights then, in the rigid social norms of the time.

When I got married, I didn’t really deeply understand the physical or psychological human parts. There were rules, you either obeyed them or the wallopers or the crushers would exact a price through physical beating, perhaps loss of life, certainly rejection and abandonment. Sexuality didn’t affect my life. My parents didn’t talk about it. I went to an all-boys school and we didn’t talk about it there either. I’m sure that boys were having sexual adventures, but it was not visible to me.

Today, I suggest that Older women are almost invisible. Society is so busy that they think older folk are not worth spending time talking to. I don’t think we are seen. Unless we are family members – we are almost greyed out.

Sexual assault of older women is a problem. Of course, it’s a problem. I don’t understand the thought processes of the people who are perpetrating sexual assault. Maybe they think older women should be grateful for the last little sexual thrill. Maybe that’s the only way they can justify that in their heads, in a self-serving way. Sexual assault is never a thrill for the victim/survivor; it is devastating for older women. The numbers are just plain unacceptable and sadly they are not surprising. You just don’t do that to other people. You just don’t.

Women – for too many – are possessions. We have fewer rights. Historically we had to fight to get the vote, we weren’t able to inherit or take over the family property, it had to go to a male family member. Women are seen as the bearers of children, the subsidiaries. They feel that we are not equal. We are not even part of the human race.

When I was bought up with male culture, society placed endowed male privilege on me. Unless you are trans you don’t know how confounding it is to lose that privilege once you are driven to your personal internal truth, your finding of your tribe or mob .

I am ignored more often as a woman, particularly as an older woman. I notice the influence of that which I offer as a solution or comment that I put forward in a conversation is given less weight and so ofter it is ignored or repackaged by an alpha male in the conversation. I assumed some power in my past job and sat in the front row of the theatre. I had a degree of power. I wielded power. I could feel the power in the way people listened. It is no longer my experience as a woman and as an older woman.

I also feel less safe as a woman. Sometimes when I am in the city I am taken aback by how vulnerable I feel as an older woman. I am very risk averse, I don’t go to places where there is alcohol. I am now reanalysing my gender experiences for the past 74 years – not everyone does a critique of gender power. It’s taken for granted that folk know their place in the fabric of society.

I don’t even think many women understand how big the gulf is. In some ways they do. But when you live it as a man you assume it, you assume power. There is an expectation that our culture anoints male children with power. We don’t see it till we don’t have it. They take it for granted. As a trans woman I no longer have it, that reality slaps me in the face.

When I think of vulnerable older women I think of an image of an older woman, she is appearing through the fog, colourless and lacking definition. We recognise there is a human form there, but we don’t really care to know too much about her. We understand she may have suffered. We understand she has loved and created but we don’t really care. The sharpness is gone. Through the fog we can’t really see her – we could if we tried. But we don’t try.

The same can be said of older men. There is a power differential. Women have been targets for males taking what they need. It’s the male thing that is deeply ingrained in the human gene and culture that women are more greyed out, once the flush of youth and vibrancy has departed, more used and abused.