Safe Spaces
We spend much of our lives looking for human connection and arranging ourselves in groups. Sometimes it’s based on activities – like sports and social clubs – or we belong to a church, or we have a cultural connection. Sometimes it happens organically, other times there is a sign outside.
That’s the one which has bothered a few people recently with designated spaces for Māori and Pasifika students on university campuses – but I don’t think it should.
We all need places where we are not “other”, where we metaphorically and literally speak the same language, where we are not seen as the odd one out.
I adore, for example, performing at events that are all about the ladies. I am about to start organising our annual “Feminists Are Funny” comedy show in which a bunch of women and non-binary comedians will perform for an audience of the same.
There are people who come to that show every year, who love comedy but who don’t go to other shows in between. That’s because they don’t fancy sitting in a room hearing jokes that put women down, or that are offensive about marginalised groups. There are still plenty of places where you can hear a racist or sexist joke if that’s your thing, but it is relaxing – liberating - that on this night, you and the people you care about won’t be the butt of the joke.
Back when I was a university student a million years ago (ok, the 1980s) we young feminists were establishing “women’s spaces” on campus. A tiny haven – cupboard-like often - which was wolf-whistle and condescension-free, and where you were likely to meet women you’d enjoy. So it was about who wasn’t there, and also about who was.
Not everyone approved of “women’s spaces”, then or now. In recent times I was MCing a conference and announced there would be a lunchtime meet-up for the (relatively few) women delegates. A gentleman shouted from the audience, “Where’s the men’s meeting?” to which I responded that, given the make-up of the room, it looked like he was already standing in it.
And so you organise yourself a women’s meeting because there are fewer of you, to talk about the pressures that come with that, and how it could change.
You probably know what it feels like to be “the only one like you” somewhere. The only woman at your work, or the only person your age, or in a wheelchair, or “the only with an accent”. (Which is an adorable way to put it, given we’ve all got one!)
You’ll also likely know how different it feels to be surrounded by people like you for a bit. How your shoulders relax, you stop second-guessing everything you say, find your sense of humour more easily. Having these moments in your life are part of self-care – it’s why a counsellor might tell you to join a club or take a class. Then, refreshed and reassured, you can get back out there and do your thing.
Which is what makes a “designated space” different from “segregation”. It is temporary, not a permanent separation of people for political or economic purposes. A space of your own for a bit of respite? That sounds like a healthy idea to me.
Many universities still have women’s spaces, and spaces for Māori and Pasifika students are not new.
A generation after me, I know how much it means for my daughter to have a place to connect with fellow Māori students at her university, to talk about the pressures that come with that, and how it could change.