20,000 pissed off women online: Challenging gendered representations of women in Australia’s mainstream media through social media platforms

By Jessamy Gleeson

A thesis submitted in fulfilment of the requirements of the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy (PhD)

Faculty of Health, Arts, and Design Swinburne University of Technology Australia

2018

Student Declaration

I, Jessamy Gleeson, declare that the examinable outcome:

Contains no material which has been accepted for the award to the candidate of any other degree or diploma, except where due reference is made in the text of the examinable outcome.

To the best of my knowledge contains no material previously published or written by another person except where due reference is made in the text of the examinable outcome; and

Where the work is based on joint research or publications, discloses the relative contributions of the respective workers or authors.

Signed:

Jessamy Gleeson

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Abstract

The gendered representations of women in the mainstream media have long been a subject feminists have sought to contest and resist. Existing research has contended that representations of women in mainstream media are gendered in nature; however, research has not been undertaken to analyse how wider feminist campaigns and groups challenge these representations of women in a social media-based environment. Consequently, this thesis analyses how contemporary feminist and women’s-based campaigns have used social media platforms to challenge dominant gendered discourses of women in the Australian mainstream media, and assist in performing consciousness-raising in each of the three case studies examined.

Informed by post-structural feminist theories of discourse and power within a wider media studies approach, this thesis uses qualitative interviews and three separate contemporary case studies to explore how online campaigns have used social media to resist gendered discourses. The three Australian-based case studies examined within this thesis are Collective Shout, Sack Vile Kyle, and Destroy the Joint.

The research firstly demonstrates the ongoing presence and circulation of three specific gendered discourses within the Australian mainstream media; discourses related to power as tied to a woman’s physical appearance, her sexuality, and her role as a politician. Following this, I examine how each of the three case studies has challenged one of these gendered discourses, and argue that each case study challenged a dominant gendered discourse in a particular way, with wider considerations and concepts of feminist activism evident in each method. Within each group, campaigners held different understandings of ‘change’; these understandings were then framed within the different levels of Risman’s perspective of gender as a social structure.

Finally, by analysing and contrasting the assorted methods used by each case study to resist gendered discourses I then consider a number of key learnings. These key learnings contend that future social media-based feminist campaigns can use social media to effect change, but that groups also need to be aware of how their campaigns

2 may harm other women, issues of intersectionality, and how campaigns pursue change within and outside of structural organisations.

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Acknowledgements

I could not have done this without the help of many incredible women in my life. My supervisory A-Team consists of three unique, whip-smart feminists who have been supportive, uplifting, and thought provoking in turn.

First and foremost, a thank you to Esther. You have now been teaching me for over ten years (in one fashion or another), and have always been unfailing in your encouragement and guidance across not only this PhD, but also my undergraduate and Honours years. I could not have taken on such a project without your support and advice. A thank you to Diana, without whom I would never have asked the various questions of “what?” and “why?” to myself before pressing the “send” button on each chapter; your praise was hard-won, and therefore worth the extra struggle. And thank you to Lucy, who has driven me to dig deeper into feminist theory: your insights have helped me articulate the larger feminist beliefs within this work, for which I am incredibly grateful.

To each of the people I interviewed for this research: thank you. You gave me your time, your knowledge, and your insights, and there would be no thesis without you.

I would also like to acknowledge the assistance of my proof reader, Clare McDonald- Sims. Your assistance in proof reading this thesis was much appreciated, and I’m grateful for your insights and suggestions.

There is one person I’ve been waiting quite some time to acknowledge. In my final two years of high school I was lucky enough to be blessed with an English teacher who challenged me, encouraged me, and always had the time to go over my extra draft essays. To this day, I am still grateful for the lessons about hard work and preparation – and I learnt these things in Tony Loorham’s English class. Tones: I am truly in your debt. Thank you.

A simple acknowledgement isn’t enough to recognise the time my family have poured into supporting me during this research. Mum, Dad, and Meg: there isn’t a big enough

4 thank you in the world for your efforts in helping me over the past few years. I would not have started this without knowing you were each there to pick me up along the way, and it’s a credit to your support that I’m finished. I could not have done this without you. An additional thank you to my Nan, who has asked me almost every week for the past few years if I’m done yet: finally, the answer is a yes.

There are many cafes out there in which I have far exceeded my welcome, due to my tendency to hover at tables for hours surviving on a single coffee. Thank you to all who have watered me, and in turn this thesis, with cups of caffeine.

One final thank you is to Jack. You have sustained me during rough patches, celebrated the good times with me, and delivered endless rounds of tea to my desk across the last few years. If I could give you your own PhD in student support, I would – but as it stands, I’ll have to make do with this. I love you and I like you.

Sections of this thesis have been published elsewhere. Early theoretical work regarding feminist methods was published as ‘Online Change In An Offline World? Perceptions of Social Transformation Among Feminist Campaigners’ in Sites of Protest, edited by Stuart Price and Ruth Sanz Sabido (2016). Interview data from participants involved in this research was also used in ‘”(Not) working 9-5”: the consequences of contemporary Australian-based online feminist campaigns as digital labour’, published in Media International Australia, vol. 16, no. 1, pp. 77 - 85. Further interview data from participants involved in this research was published within the book chapter ‘”Destroying the Joint?” Challenging and Changing Representations of Women in Mainstream Media via Online Feminist Campaigns’, in Creating Space in the Fifth Estate, edited by Janet Fulton and Phillip McIntyre (2017).

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Table of Contents Student Declaration ...... 1

Abstract ...... 2

Acknowledgements ...... 4

Table of Contents ...... 6

List of abbreviations ...... 9

Chapter One: Introduction ...... 10 1.1 Thesis argument and research questions ...... 12 1.2 Chapter overview ...... 13 1.3 Original contribution to research ...... 18 Chapter Two: Literature review ...... 21 2.1 Debate around the term ‘women’ ...... 21 2.2 Understandings of ‘sexism’ ...... 23 2.3 Feminism and feminisms ...... 26 2.4 Campaigns and social movements ...... 32 2.5 Feminist consciousness-raising ...... 35 2.6 Mainstream media ...... 38 2.7 Social media ...... 41 2.8 Representations ...... 46 2.9 Feminist activism in social media spaces ...... 47 2.9 Conclusion ...... 52 Chapter Three: Epistemological framework ...... 54 3.1 Epistemology ...... 54 3.2 Post-structuralism ...... 56 3.2.1 Discourses ...... 58 3.2.2. Power ...... 62 3.2.3 Feminist post-structuralism ...... 64 3.3 Reflexivity ...... 68 Chapter Four: Methods ...... 71 4.1 Method and methodology ...... 71 4.2 The methodological approach ...... 71 4.2.1 Qualitative approach ...... 71 4.3 Method ...... 74 4.3.1 The qualitative interview ...... 74 4.3.2 Specific method-based information: qualitative interviews ...... 77 4.3.3 Limitations ...... 80 4.3.4 Case studies ...... 82 4.3.5 Specific method-based information: case studies ...... 83 4.3.6 Limitations ...... 85 4.4 Data analysis ...... 86 4.5 Conclusion ...... 88 Chapter Five: Collective Shout ...... 89

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5.1 Case study structure ...... 91 5.2 Women and sexual power ...... 92 5.3 Collective Shout ...... 96 5.3.1 Collective Shout history and origins ...... 96 5.3.2 Honey B’s campaign ...... 101 5.3.3 Collective Shout’s use of social media ...... 103 Summary of understandings of success ...... 105 5.4 Understandings of power within the Collective Shout campaign ...... 109 5.5 Conclusion ...... 117 Chapter Six: Sack Vile Kyle ...... 120 6.1 Women and physical appearance ...... 122 6.2 Sack Vile Kyle ...... 127 6.2.1 Initial campaign overview ...... 127 6.2.2 ACMA investigation ...... 129 6.2.3 Sack Vile Kyle’s use of social media ...... 131 6.2.4 Rejection of feminist label ...... 133 6.2.5 Summary of understandings of change and success ...... 135 6.2.6 “Financially unviable” goal ...... 136 6.2.7 Formal discipline by the ACMA ...... 137 6.2.8 Formation of a wider collective ...... 140 6.3 Understandings of power within the Sack Vile Kyle campaign ...... 142 6.4 Conclusion ...... 146 Chapter Seven: Destroy the Joint ...... 149 7.1 Women and political power ...... 151 7.2 Overview of Gillard’s treatment in the Australian mainstream media ...... 154 7.3 Destroy the Joint ...... 157 7.3.1 Initial campaign overview ...... 158 7.3.2 Regulatory complaints to the ACMA ...... 160 7.3.3 From a single-issue campaign into a multi-platform-focused group ...... 162 7.3.4 Using social media to facilitate consciousness-raising and growth ...... 164 7.3.4 Summary of understandings of success ...... 168 7.3.5 Intersectionality within Destroy the Joint ...... 169 7.5 Understandings of power within the Destroy the Joint campaign ...... 172 7.6 Conclusion ...... 175 Chapter Eight: Conclusion ...... 177 8.1 Collective Shout: Discussion of findings ...... 177 8.2 Sack Vile Kyle: Discussion of findings ...... 180 8.3 Destroy the Joint: Discussion of findings ...... 183 8.4 Key learnings ...... 185 8.4.1 Campaign length, endurance and scope ...... 185 8.4.2 Social media use and campaign growth ...... 187 8.4.3 Consciousness-raising within campaigns ...... 189 8.4.4 Change that obstructs other women ...... 192 8.4.5 Change as pursued through structural organisations ...... 195 8.5 Power and dominant gendered discourses ...... 197 Appendix Item One: Email notification of ethics clearance ...... 201

Appendix Item Two: Invitation to participate in research ...... 203

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Appendix Item Three: Consent information statement ...... 204

Appendix Item Four: Consent information form ...... 207

Appendix Item Five: Complete interviewee list ...... 209 Group A - Campaigners ...... 209 Group B - Media producers and activists ...... 209 Group C - Academics, and member of political and regulatory groups ...... 209 References ...... 210

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List of abbreviations

AAT Administrative Appeals Tribunal

ABC Australian Broadcasting Corporation

AANA Australian Association of National Advertisers

ACL Australian Christian Lobby

ACMA Australian Communications and Media Authority

AHRC Australian Human Rights Commission

ALRC Australian Law Reform Commission

ASB Advertising Standards Bureau

CS Collective Shout

DtJ Destroy the Joint

OMA Outdoor Media Association

SVK Sack Vile Kyle

SVWBS Sexual Violence Won’t Be Silenced

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Chapter One: Introduction

Between 2011 and 2013, three separate feminist campaigns were launched to challenge representations of women in the Australian mainstream media. Each of these campaigns used social media as their primary platform for communication, organisation, agitation, and activism. The sites of the struggle that these campaigns concentrated on were particular representations of women; dominant gendered discourses that had been in existence prior to each campaign’s inception. Each campaign employed a variety of methods and techniques to challenge these representations of women, with varying levels of perceived success both within the campaign itself, and more widely in feminist activist circles.

This research focuses on these sites of struggle between the three campaign groups and the Australian mainstream media. The specific representations of women examined within this thesis vary: two are comments made by radio talkback hosts, whilst one is a billboard that advertised a strip club. What these representations have in common is that they can each be linked to a dominant gendered discourse that exists outside and beyond their particular circumstance.

These specific gendered uses of media representations are part of wider discourses about women in the mainstream media: an issue that feminists have long sought to challenge and change (Gill 2007; van Zoonen 1994). In particular, the negotiation and struggle over what constitutes a fair and accurate representation of women and gender leaves the mainstream media “at the centre of feminist critique” (van Zoonen 1994, p. 11). Furthermore, representations of women within the mainstream media have also long been critiqued by feminists for their connections to wider patterns of inequality (Gill 2007). It is not the representations alone of women that this research is concerned with – but rather, the wider struggle surrounding these gendered discourses through the resistance provided by feminist and women’s-based campaigns.

By investigating resistance to these gendered discourses, this thesis addresses a particular gap within the current research; one in which media representations are not addressed in isolation, but the attempts to challenge these representations are examined and analysed. Research has previously indicated that gendered representations of women exist within the mainstream media; one of the initial studies of Alice Courtney and Sarah Lockeretz published in 1971 concluded that women were typically depicted as existing in the home, and as dependent on men. Further studies of gendered representations from this time found that women typically

10 fulfilled “traditional” roles, with little improvement occurring across the decade (Belkaoui and Belkaoui 1976; Dominick and Rauch 1972; Killing Us Softly 1979; McArthur and Resko 1975; Wagner and Banos 1973). This theme – one of women in traditional, domestic roles – to some extent continued into the 1980s, with a number of studies focused on content analysis confirming the existence of these stereotypes (Downs 1981; Lysonski 1985; Rak and McMullen 1987).

More contemporary research is primarily focused on observing the roles women occupy in the media’s representation of them, with less attention being paid by the academy to the resistance to these roles. Researchers have observed that gender based representations are still in existence on popular television shows (Kuruc 2008; Lauzen, Dozier and Horan 2008), with the only significant shift being that some women are more likely to be portrayed as possessing and enacting their sexual desires (Van Damme and Van Bauwel 2010). Although some have argued that gender representations in advertisements are moving towards a slightly less stereotypical stance (Furnham and Mak 1999) others have concluded that women and men are still portrayed in a stereotypical manner, and that this stereotyping has become even more pronounced (Ganahl, Kim and Netzley 2003; Milner and Higgs 2004). As at 2012, studies were still being published about the image of women in the media (see Bligh et al 2012; Bode and Hennings 2012; Durham 2012; Lemish and Muhlbauer 2012; Sung 2012). Each of these studies concluded that women were represented according to stereotypes focusing on their roles in a number of public and private spheres. For example, Michelle Bligh et al (2012) concluded that the effect of gender stereotypes and media coverage influenced negative public perceptions of female politicians. Additionally, Dafna Lemish and Varda Muhlbauer (2012) examined gendered representations of older women in the mainstream media, and Chit Sung (2012) considered how women on the US reality TV show The Apprentice were expected to be more polite than their male counterparts whilst on-air. It is the contention of this thesis that research investigating how gendered representations in the mainstream media have been challenged by feminist and women’s-based campaigns is needed, in order to move beyond simply proving the existence of those same representations.

Previously, the provision of a “doleful catalogue of the facts of the patriarchy” has not been enough (Westcott 1979, p. 429). As Joan Acker, Kate Barry, and Joke Esseveld (1983) point out, feminist-based research should contribute to women’s liberation by producing knowledge that women can use themselves. Simply acknowledging the continued existence of the patriarchy does not contribute to women’s liberation; instead, feminist-based research should intend to be more than just a “description without an eye for transformation” (Cook and Fonow 1986, p. 12).

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As will be discussed further within this thesis, gendered representations of women in the Australian media are conceptualised as dominant gendered discourses – that is, they are understood to be consistently repeated and reiterated by the mainstream media (alongside other formal and informal bodies, groups and individuals) for the purposes of reinforcing particular forms of power: in this case, patriarchal understandings of women that serve to benefit men. These dominant gendered discourses are continuously repeated and retold in order to further reinforce a wider, patriarchal system in which women are represented with limited opportunities to obtain and exercise forms of political, sexual and appearance-based power. This will be taken as a given, and the thesis will move to particular ways that specific dominant gendered discourses have been challenged, in order to understand different strategies and aims of three different campaigns.

1.1 Thesis argument and research questions Following the premises outlined above, the argument of this thesis is that social media is an effective tool in organising and promoting particular challenges to gendered representations of women in a mediated environment, but perceptions of success in changing these representations are more complex in a regulatory environment.

In advancing this argument, this thesis examines how Australian women’s and feminist-based groups have responded to the Australian mainstream media’s representations of women. The responses to these representations will be shown to challenge the existing dominant gendered discourses surrounding representations of women in the Australian mainstream media through the use of social media.

One of the foremost goals of this research is to understand the perceived effectiveness of the methods and approaches used by three specific feminist groups to challenge representations of women in the media. However, this goal is undertaken not only to understand, but also in order to contribute to broader feminist movements. This thesis takes the perspective that research can be a political activity. This is in line with Cook and Fonow’s (1986) suggestion that feminist- based research should aim to assist in changing or transforming the patriarchy. This suggestion is strengthened by Kaitlynn Mendes and Cynthia Carter’s argument, that “feminist scholarly research is inseparable from activist forms of feminism” (2008, p. 1702). Furthermore, Liz Stanley (2013) suggests that academic feminists have been subject to a series of official and unofficial gatekeepers that may restrict their academic input and output. These include “publishers and publishers’ readers; internal and external referees for research funds, books,

12 journal articles, examinations and job applications; professors, heads of departments, deans and pro-vice-chancellors” (Stanley 2013, p. 5). Stanley further suggests that one of the aims of academic feminism over the past 20 years has been to join these gatekeepers, but “another has also been to dismantle some of the sources and uses of their power of ‘peers’” (2013, p. 5). This point is further discussed and examined in Chapter Three, when the concepts of post- structuralism and reflexivity are considered.

With the primary aim to transform, and not just describe, instances of patriarchal dominance, the primary research questions for this thesis are:

1) How have Australian women’s and feminist-based groups used social media to attempt to challenge gendered representations of women in the Australian mainstream media? 2) Were these challenges to forms of power understood to be successful both by the campaigners, and by those working within a broader media, feminist, and regulatory context? 3) What could future campaigners of future consciousness-raising efforts practically apply from this study of social media challenges to the representation of women in the Australian mainstream media?

The main thesis argument and key research questions outlined above will be addressed through the examination of three particular case studies, undertaken through interviews with key informants who each hold particular knowledge relevant to one, or more, of the case studies.

1.2 Chapter overview Including this introductory chapter, this thesis contains eight chapters overall. The second chapter (immediately following this introductory chapter) is a literature review, and discusses a variety of works deemed relevant to this thesis. It functions as a literature review in that it identifies research to date in this area and also literature pertinent to the thesis argument – but it also refines how and justifies why a variety of terms and debates will be operationalised across the case study chapters. Nine separate terms and positions are explored within this chapter: women, sexism, feminism, campaigns and social movements, feminist consciousness- raising, mainstream media, social media, representation, and feminist activism in social media spaces. Each of these positions has been the focus of some debate both within and outside of the academy, and this chapter draws upon these debates to explain how this thesis employs the use of these terms across the remaining chapters.

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The third chapter outlines the epistemological framework and methodological approach to the research. It considers previous epistemological approaches, and substantiates the choice to employ a feminist epistemological position within the research. Furthermore, it also outlines how this thesis understands the theoretical concepts of discourse and power, how this influenced the approach of the research, and how these concepts are utilised within a feminist post-structural thesis of this nature. It also summarises the debate between feminist standpoint theorists and feminist post-structuralists, and reinforces how this thesis employs literature and approaches drawn from each position to make sense of the gendered discourses and resistance to them.

The fourth chapter details how the chosen methods employed within this thesis were determined by the methodological and epistemological position. The two methods that are reviewed within this chapter are semi-structured qualitative interviews, and case studies. This chapter discusses why previous feminist researchers have utilised both methods, and why a qualitative approach was considered particularly important for the knowledge this thesis wishes to consider. Furthermore, it also notes the potential limitations of these methods, and outlines the strategies employed in order to fully consider and allow for each one. Finally, this chapter also outlines the techniques used in order to organise and analyse the data drawn from both the semi-structured interviews, and case study research.

The fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters of this thesis each address a respective case study. The primary research material within this thesis – semi-structured interview data and three case studies – are organised within a particular goal in mind. In order to effectively examine wider discussions of power and discourse, and tie these discussions to the specificity of each campaign, the case study chapters each contain three distinct areas of discussion and analysis. The first area focuses on the precise incident that led to the campaign in question. This includes a discussion of the specific discourses related to each campaign, and places qualitative results within the context of the existing literature by focusing specifically on each gendered discourse in turn. In exploring each campaign in detail, this first area of each chapter also examines how each campaign used a variety of methods to achieve varying levels of success, depending on their understandings or assumptions about the media, power and discourses. Furthermore, this section also explores how people both within, and external to each group viewed their respective campaign as successful or unsuccessful across a multitude of levels given these understandings.

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The second area within each case study chapter contains a discussion analysing how the campaign understood and interacted with feminism and understandings of gender and power on a broader, more theoretical scale. These discussions allow for an examination of contemporary forms of feminism in online settings, and explore some of the common critiques that feminists may encounter whilst planning and actioning campaigns online. This is in line with one of the central aims of this research: that it will result in a series of recommendations and guidelines that can then be applied by members of the Australian feminist community.

The final section within each case study chapter turns to analysing how each campaign understood itself to possess a form of power, and how this power was then contrasted by that of the mainstream media and the dominant gendered discourse that the campaign was attempting to challenge. Significantly, these forms of power are understood through concepts put forward by Michel Foucault (1972; 1976 and Barbara J. Risman (2004). Risman’s (2004) interpretation of gender as a social structure is used in order to frame how each campaign targeted a specific point of gendered power. These dimensions of gender as varying social structures are further explored and defined within Chapter Three, alongside an examination of power more generally. Foucault’s (1976) outline of power as a shifting, unstable force is used to conceptualise how each campaign perceived itself as, and can be understood as, cultivating a form of power through their work. If power cannot be understood as a totality, but rather as a web, then each of these campaigns can be viewed as strategically intervening at one of the interstices of power that contribute to its ‘totality’.

The fifth chapter introduces the first case study, Collective Shout (CS). CS was a group that was already well established prior to its decision to launch the campaign examined within this thesis: the removal of a billboard advertising a strip club in Brisbane, Queensland. CS was founded on the idea of campaigning for a “world free of sexploitation” (CS 2013f), and its commitment towards targeting change on a regulatory level is one of the primary reasons for its inclusion within this thesis, as paradigmatic of a campaign focused on this domain. As a whole, the chapter on CS argues that the group effectively used social media to achieve a degree of change on the micro-level – that is, the group succeeded in having the strip club billboard removed. However, the chapter also addresses how this perceived success failed to translate into a wider, regulatory-based change. Therefore, this chapter contributes to the wider argument of this thesis by demonstrating how a group can understand its campaign to succeed in challenging a dominant gendered discourse of women in the mainstream media, by using social media.

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CS’s use of social media differs significantly from the remaining two campaigns, as the group used various platforms to target change on a top-down, regulatory level. This chapter is also significant for its focus on change within the Australian media-regulation environment – and how CS’s understanding of positive change within this environment inheres specific understandings of gender and power and can adversely affect other women. As is argued across this thesis, consciousness-raising was utilised by each campaign to some extent; in the case of CS, its approach to power as regulatory and top-down in nature meant that its use of social media to perform consciousness-raising was somewhat restricted when compared to the remaining two campaigns. This, in turn, is reflected in CS’s perceived success in challenging wider forms of power.

The adverse effects of CS’s campaign and its understandings of gender and power on other women become clear when considering the rights of sex workers within Australia. One of the ongoing debates addressed within this chapter is related to whether women can be truly empowered if they engage in sex work. This reflects broader debates within feminism regarding perspectives on sexuality, gender and power, which this campaign will be discussed alongside.

The sixth chapter of this thesis concerns the second case study: Sack Vile Kyle (SVK). The SVK case study provides an effective contrast to each of the other campaigns through its dissimilar approach, and different steps taken to specifically target one individual over his representation of a female journalist. The campaign itself arose from comments made by the radio DJ Kyle Sandilands, following an unfavourable review of the launch of his television show by the journalist Alison Stephenson. Sandilands’ program, A Night with the Stars, had polled poorly with the audience upon its November 2011 debut, and Stephenson had reported on some of the comments made online following the show’s first episode. The next morning, on November 21, 2011, Sandilands went on air to call Stephenson a “fat slag”, and a “fat bitter thing” (Sandilands 2011, as quoted in Burrowes 2011). The campaign itself was created by a group of Australian women who wished to remove Sandilands from the airwaves. The SVK group was started by five women from three different states (Swan 2012), and was active from November 2011 through to their last formal blog post in May 2012.

The SVK campaign is demonstrative of a group that challenged Sandilands’ portrayal of Stephenson by leveraging social media to organise an advertiser-based boycott. Campaigners understood the boycott to be largely effective, and cited the money lost as a result of the campaign as an indicator of their success. However, the group failed to translate this into a

16 long-term campaign: this therefore provides an effective contrast to the other two campaigns examined within this thesis (both of which are long-term, and multi-faceted in their campaigning efforts). Within the SVK campaign, consciousness-raising can be conceptualised as existing within the individual and interactional levels: that is, it was used to build more long- term awareness within individuals through interaction with others, rather than creating a more enduring campaign. This chapter therefore provides a valuable insight into a different approach used by a campaign to challenge a specific dominant gendered discourse, alongside varying levels of perceived success held by campaigners and other interviewees.

The seventh chapter of this thesis is also the final chapter that examines a case study: in this instance, it is the work of the Destroy the Joint (DtJ) campaign. Similar to the SVK campaign, the DtJ campaign was caused by comments made on-air by a radio host. In this case, though, the comments made were not directed at a female journalist, but at Australia’s first female Prime Minister, Julia Gillard. Alan Jones, a talkback host with the radio station 2GB, accused women with political power of “destroying the joint” in mid-2011. Jones was then met by an online-based wave of resistance in the form of mockery and humour. The DtJ movement was born out of a tweet by Jane Caro, a long-time advertising consultant and media personality who, in her own words, said she had “time on my hands tonight so thought I’d spend it coming up with new ways of ‘destroying the joint’ being a woman & all” (Caro 2012). Her tweet spawned a Twitter hashtag and account, a Facebook group and, importantly, a place for women to situate their critiques and frustration with the every day sexism they felt was apparent in Australia.

In contrast to the other two campaigns, DtJ developed somewhat organically out of a passing comment made by Jones. It was a distinct and unique reaction to a relatively common circumstance – that of radio ‘shock-jocks’ making inappropriate observations on-air. DtJ did not call for people to sign a petition, or to write to their local MP – but instead responded to the representation of women in power as “destroying the joint” with what was widely felt to be a sense of humour and ‘reverse trolling’ (Caro 2012). This chapter argues that, unlike SVK, the DtJ campaign transformed from a single-issue focused campaign into a wider lobby group through the use of social media-based consciousness-raising. Additionally, the chapter discusses how DtJ activists understood the campaign to have effectively challenged representations of women as “destroying the joint”.

This chapter’s contribution to the overarching argument of the thesis lies within the DtJ group’s ability to grow from a single-issue group into a wider campaign, and the group’s understanding

17 of success as being drawn from this fact. Within the DtJ campaign, consciousness-raising is most clearly seen online in the campaign’s more long-term growth. This chapter argues that consciousness-raising was key to DtJ’s expansion online. Interview data provided within this chapter also addresses questions of how success is understood by those both within, and external to, the DtJ campaign.

The eighth, and final, chapter of this thesis is the conclusion. The concluding chapter discusses the key findings and learnings drawn from each case study chapter, and provides an overview of each of the significant themes that emerged from each campaign. It then further refines and reframes these themes for their potential applicability to future feminist activists. This section of the chapter, entitled “Key learnings”, addresses one of the central purposes of this thesis: that feminist research can be a political activity. By providing a series of key learnings drawn from the work undertaken in this thesis, it is hoped that other feminist activists can use these learnings to further their own online campaigns. The key learnings section itself focuses on five areas: campaign length, social media use, consciousness-raising, change and its relationship to other women, and change as pursued through structural organisations.

Immediately following the key learnings section is a concluding discussion regarding notions of power and dominant gendered discourses. This discussion summarises how the thesis seeks to further advance the argument made within this introductory chapter: that social media is an effective tool in organising and promoting particular challenges to gendered representations of women in a mediated environment. Further, it also considers how power was employed by each campaign to challenge dominant gendered discourses in the mainstream media, with different effects across the three case studies. Finally, the chapter notes a number of points of departure for future research and, importantly, how feminist academics can further contribute to feminist campaigns through their work.

This chapter will now move on to explain the original contributions to research made by the thesis. It will also outline the gaps in the literature that this thesis seeks to fill, and as a result will further advance the knowledge and activism of feminist academics and campaigners.

1.3 Original contribution to research This thesis contributes to two specific gaps within existing literature and feminist research. Of most significance, it considers how feminist and women’s-based campaigns have used social media to challenge dominant gendered discourses. Additionally, this research also focuses on

18 how consciousness-raising was utilised by each case study to challenge dominant gendered discourses. Each of these points will now be discussed in order to explain the original contribution to research that this thesis makes.

Although recent research has examined the benefits of social media platforms for feminist campaigns, there is limited work drawing out key learnings and themes from online campaigns. As is noted in the following chapters, the existing literature has examined the effects of social media on activism in a general sense (Agarwal, Lim and Wigand 2014; Soo Lim and Golan 2011), and more recently on feminist activism (Carter 2014; Fadnis 2017; Kangere, Kemitare, and Michau 2017; Kim 2017; McLean and Maalsen 2014). Furthermore, some studies have examined how individual Internet users a have challenged gendered discourses circulated by mainstream media (Brown 2017; Harp, Grimm and Loke 2017), the examination of how social media-based campaigns have challenged dominant gendered discourses circulated by the mainstream media is an area to which limited attention has been given (for an exception, see Benton-Greig, Gamage and Gavey 2017). As argued across this thesis, it is important to not only identify key sites of struggle for feminist campaigns (such as gendered discourses in the mainstream media), but also move beyond this to consider how these campaigns have challenged these areas. The examination of three contemporary campaigns – two of which identify as feminist, and one of which states it is oriented towards women’s rights – makes a meaningful contribution to the wider literature. How social media can benefit feminist campaigns to challenge dominant gendered discourses in the media brings together several fields of research. The fields of media and communication, feminism and gender, and cultural studies are each considered across this thesis.

Secondly, this thesis examines how feminist campaigns can use consciousness-raising in an online setting. Previous research has considered how consciousness-raising can be used as a tool in digital motherhood communities (Anderson and Grace 2015), and how sharing and experiencing feminism online can be considered a form of consciousness-raising (Rentschler and Thrift 2015). However, no further work has yet conceptualised how social media platforms can be used for consciousness-raising in a digital environment. Therefore, further analysis of how each campaign has employed social media for this purpose is a further contribution to the wider literature.

This thesis will now move to examine literature surrounding a series of key terms utilised across this research. The terms addressed in the following chapter require clarification and

19 consideration, both for their historical significance in shaping feminist and media-based research, but also in order to explain how they are applied within this thesis.

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Chapter Two: Literature review

As this thesis utilises a feminist conceptual framework, it needs to be acknowledged that a number of terms implemented hold different meanings for and are utilised differently by varying thinkers and activists. Consequently, it is beneficial to explain how this research defines and uses these terms – partly for the sake of clarity, but also in order to further situate the thesis within a particular area of academic research and feminist thought. Specifically, this literature review situates the thesis within the growing research area of social media based feminist activism, and positions the thesis as a contribution to this field.

The fundamental terms that will be explored and refined throughout the remainder of this chapter are relevant to feminism in both an academic and a broader sense. Feminist research within the academy has debated the definition of these terms for some time, but these discussions have also continued externally to academic research. These terms also have relevance to media research, as discussions surrounding their significance have endured for a number of years.

The terms that will be investigated within this chapter are ‘women’, ‘sexism’, ‘feminism’, ‘campaigns and social movements’, ‘feminist consciousness-raising’, ‘mainstream media’, ‘social media’, ‘representation’, and ‘feminist activism in social media spaces’. These terms are examined in order of significance, as each further examination will draw from the conclusions made within the previous section. For example, as both the term ‘women’ and the resultant interpretation are crucial to then further framing the next term ‘sexism’, it is clear that that the examination of ‘women’ must be placed first. Furthermore, the terms are also structured in order to firstly address terms relevant to feminism, then to activism and campaigning and, finally, terms relevant to outlining how media is framed within this thesis.

2.1 Debate around the term ‘women’ Firstly, the term ‘women’ – along with the additional term ‘female’ – is one that is understood within this research to imply any person who identifies as this particular gender. This understanding is an ideological statement on behalf of the author, and is undertaken in order to include transgender women of the wider feminist community. Transgender women have not always been welcomed by other feminists within the academy (e.g. Jeffreys 2014), and as such, this research has made a concerted effort to do so.

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For some years, the concepts of ‘gender’ and ‘sex’ were understood to be two related but distinct concepts: physical ‘sex’ as pertaining to chromosomal composition and genitalia (Fausto-Sterling 2000), the categorisation of which then leads to a sex category being attributed; and ‘gender’ as a social judgement of what it means to be a woman or a man (Hammarström and Annandale 2012; Whisner 1982). Jhally (2009) for example utilises this way of understanding sex/gender in the field of media when he said that sex refers to a biological distinction between males and females, whilst gender is the culturally specific arrangement of this universal relationship. Some have argued that this division therefore recognises that “biology is not destiny – that many of the apparent differences between women and men might be societally imposed rather than natural or inevitable” (Crawford 2006, p. 26).

However, others have problematised this distinction on the grounds of its failure to fully grasp the complex relationship between sex and gender identity and its tendency to over simplify and naturalise two sexes. Judith Butler (1990, pp. 10 – 11) argues that:

If the immutable character of sex is contested, perhaps this construct called ‘sex’ is as culturally constructed as gender; indeed, perhaps it was always already gender, with the consequence that the distinction between sex and gender turns out to be no distinction at all.

Christine Delphy (1993, p. 1) also contends that challenging these categories of sex and gender would allow scholars to rethink “gender in an open and unbiased way”. She adds that feminists “seem to want to abolish hierarchy and even sex roles, but not difference itself” (1993, p. 6). Similarly, Judith Lorber (2000, p. 80) argues for a complete “doing away with binary gender divisions”, which she calls “a feminist degendering movement”. Only by eliminating these gender binaries can we rebel against “the very structure of women’s inequality” (Lorber 2000, p. 82). However, Mari Mikkola (2011, p.67) contends that eradicating the sex/gender distinction would also eradicate “women”, and that this should not be “feminism’s political goal”.

Butler (1990) provides a useful perspective in her understanding of gender as performative; she emphasises that the focus of feminists should not be on defining the term ‘woman’, but to instead address how power functions and shapes our understandings of womanhood. Feminists should, says Butler, understand the term ‘woman’ as “in process, a becoming, a constructing” (1990, p. 45). It is the becoming – in line with Simone de Beauvoir’s argument that one becomes a woman (1949) – that Butler emphasises, and the wider ongoing discursive

22 practise that this entails (1990). How power shapes our understanding of the word ‘woman’ is therefore of more importance to Butler than the sex/gender distinction.

Within this thesis, it is acknowledged that there are a number of gender identities beyond that of ‘man’ and ‘woman’. People can identify with the biological ‘sex’ they were assigned at birth (cisgender 1 ). Furthermore, people also identify as transgender. Although transgender is understood in different ways, Suzanne Kessler and Wendy McKenna (2000) point out three different understandings that can be drawn from the prefix of “trans”. These are grouped by Kessler and McKenna (2011) to be a permanent physical transition, a less conclusive transition, or a gender ambiguity or difference felt to move beyond the gender binary. As Nicholas (2014, p. 19) points out:

The social or interactional difficulty of all of these different trans identities also demonstrates this ‘omnirelevance’ of polarised gendered modes of perception in understandings of the self and others that rely on correlation between sex, gender and sexuality.

Although the present research does not directly consider lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, and intersex (LGBTQI) issues, it is felt that the distinction between these terms is important to acknowledge and include. As the above quotation emphasises, bigenderism is still a prevalent concept in society as a whole (Nicholas 2014) so that gender, as a phenomenon with social origins, can and should be analysed for its material effects. These material effects lead directly to the next term considered within this chapter: that of ‘sexism’.

2.2 Understandings of ‘sexism’ Sexism, as a concept, holds many diverse definitions and understandings across feminism, and academia more broadly. Central definitions of sexism that achieve unanimous support are somewhat difficult, given that sexism itself can vary depending on an individual’s comprehension of sex, gender and feminism on a wider level.

Within the context of human rights, as set out by the Australian Human Rights Commission (AHRC), sexism is understood and defined as “treating a person unfairly because of his or her sex” (AHRC 2016). This definition, although somewhat simple, does identify sexism as discrimination based on an individual’s sex. Potentially problematically, it does not distinguish

1 The term ‘cisgender’ indicates that a person’s gender identity matches the sex they were assigned at birth (Schilt

23 between sex and gender – and as discussed in first section of this chapter, this distinction is significant in academic literature. At its most basic level, sexism is a form of discrimination based on a person’s gender – however, sexism can also be benevolent, hostile, or systematic, as discussed by Peter Glick (2007). These three forms of sexism will now be discussed in order to discuss how sexism plays out within contemporary society, given that the three case studies are concerned with different kinds of sexist representations of women in the media, and with different levels of sexism presented.

Benevolent sexism is defined as a “form of paternalistic prejudice (treating a lower status group as a father might treat a child) directed toward women” (Glick 2007, p.111). Importantly, benevolent sexism is often viewed as being affectionate, but patronising – and views women as needing the assistance and protection of men (Glick 2007). A recent example of benevolent sexism can be found in Rebecca Solnit’s piece, entitled “Men Explain Things to Me” (2012). In this piece, Solnit explores what has since been dubbed ‘mansplaining’ – that is, the tendency of men to explain even the simplest of things to women. In Solnit’s case, she entered into a conversation with an older man at a party, only to have him explain to her the plotline of her own recently published book – without recognising that she was the author (Solnit 2012). Solnit summarised her understanding of mansplaining as follows:

The out-and-out confrontational confidence of the totally ignorant is, in my experience, gendered. Men explain things to me, and other women, whether or not they know what they’re talking about. Solnit 2012

Crucially, benevolent sexism can also been seen as a way to placate women, whilst still maintaining men’s power by subtly encouraging women to remain in their traditional, subservient roles (Glick 2007). Once this is acknowledged, it can become easier to recognise other forms of benevolent sexism. Stereotypes related to a woman’s nurturing instincts or apparently inherent kindness and compassion all serve to further restrict roles on a ‘traditionally’ gendered basis – often to the detriment of women who wish to undertake roles not ‘typical’ of her gender. The origins of benevolent sexism lie in the idea that “masculine dominance (e.g., the man as provider and the woman as his dependent) and its consequences are often damaging” (Glick and Fiske 1996, pp. 491 – 492). Furthermore, benevolent sexism can be a significant predictor of nationwide gender inequality (Glick et al 2000), even when examples of more overt forms of sexism are absent.

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These more overt forms of sexism are also understood by the literature to be ‘hostile sexism’. If benevolent sexism is viewed to be affectionate in its intentions, and subtle in its execution, then hostile sexism can be characterised by being “associated with power values such as control or dominance” (Becker and Wright 2011, p. 63). Key to comprehending hostile sexism is understanding the “threatening attitudes towards women who hold the potential to challenge men’s power” (Hammond and Overall 2013, p. 1585). Examples of hostile sexism can be found in men’s endorsement of openly negative gender stereotypes of women, in men’s attitudes towards gender relations, and in their views of women as “seeking to control men” (Glick et al 2000, p. 764).

Although these definitions originate from the field of social psychology, they can be expanded upon in order to place them within wider frameworks of cultural power. In the first instance, an understanding of sexism as systematic is crucial to further recognising power relations that play into the wider argument and debate within this thesis. Sexism, as a form of systematic power, is exercised in patriarchal society as a means of ensuring the broad advantages of one gender over others. More specifically, sexism as systematic indicates that formal sources of power (such as a country’s law and political proceedings) are designed in a way to consistently benefit men. This is reflected in the AHRC’s definition of ‘sex discrimination’, which it describes as being when “someone is treated less favourably, or not given the same opportunities… because of their sex” (AHRC 2016). Although this definition ignores understandings of sex/gender, it falls more closely to understanding sexism as a systematic denial of opportunities. This understanding is further expanded upon by Hirsch, Kett, and Trefil (2002), who define sexism as “the belief that one sex (usually the male) is naturally superior to the other and should dominate most important areas of political, economic, and social life”.

In line with the literature discussed above, sexism as understood in this thesis is the systematic acceptance and enforcement that men are inherently the more exceptional, and superior, gender than people of other gender identities. Furthermore, sexism works within existing structures and systems: it can be, as Glick (2007) recounts, subtle, hostile and systematic in nature, but always with the aim of elevating one gender over others.

Running alongside understandings of sexism are the reactions triggered as a result of sexist views and beliefs. This chapter will now examine feminism – both as a historical and contemporary movement, its various waves, and its schools of thought.

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2.3 Feminism and feminisms The term ‘feminism’ is described by Estelle Freedman (2002) as being a relatively recent term – having been coined in France in the 1880s as féminisme. However, academics and grassroots feminists have long argued that feminism should be more clearly understood and redefined as being “feminisms”, in order to reflect the different views and opinions of people within the broader movement when faced with a variety of issues. Additionally, the phrase ‘women’s movement’ within first wave feminism was also understood to mean feminism (Freedman 2002).

Importantly, our understanding of historic feminism is influenced by our position as scholars in the 21st century (Goldberg Moses 2012). As Claire Goldberg Moses (2012) outlines, if the word ‘feminism’ did not exist at the time of Black women’s emancipation in the US, can we then ascribe their actions to overcome racism as ‘feminist’? The activism performed by women of colour in Western societies, alongside those of women outside of Europe and the U.S., can be unnoticed and unrecognised. Furthermore, women in different parts of the world had experienced forms of equality prior to colonisation; Goldberg Moses (2012) cites examples of the advocacy for women’s rights from Proxagora in ancient Greece, through to the Middle Ages.

Moreover, colonisation did not result in the liberation of women from traditional roles. Instead, as Freedman (2002, p. 39) argues, “colonialism transported many ideas about gender that both reinforced existing inequalities and introduced new ones.” Long before feminism as a collective had argued for political equality, women in certain parts of the world had possessed authority in a variety of societal roles and trades (Freedman 2002). In certain parts of the world, women had, prior to colonisation, controlled home production (including areas such as farming and the production of cloth) and the wealth that flowed from this. The resultant colonisation of these nations had a profound impact on the gendered relations of the first nations people. Broadly speaking, the term ‘feminism’ itself was initially used in Europe in the 18th century, “and by the mid nineteenth century had evolved into ‘first wave feminism’” (Dekel 2011, p. 151). However, our understanding of feminism as whole originating alongside this word does not give due credit to the many women who struggled for women’s rights prior to the emergence of this term.

What we now understand to be first wave feminism therefore began in Europe in the 18th century, and is typically understood to exist from the mid to late nineteenth century, through

26 to the 1920s (Pilcher and Whelehan 2004). When the women of Seneca Falls held their first women’s rights convention in 1848, they joined a large company of women from across Europe that were demanding similar rights – and importantly, had been for some time. The people participating in the French Revolution of 1789 (and beyond) acknowledged and included equality (of men and women, and of people of different classes) as being a fundamental concern (Freedman 2002; Watkins, Rueda, and Rodriguez 1992). Although French women were never extended universal citizenship as a result of the revolution, there were calls for women’s right to education and property up until 1944, when the women of France final achieved suffrage.

The issue of women’s rights in the United States and in England had also come into contact with other sets of social justice issue – in the US, that of slavery and the rights of African Americans, and in England, the rights of working-class women. One of the central contentions of early feminism within the US lay within the concept of which sections of the community should have the right to vote. Following the 1848 Seneca Falls convention, a number of African American women emerged as voices for the liberation of black women and men from slavery. Sojourner Truth, a prominent African American feminist, argued that she had “as much muscle as any man, and can do as much work as any man” (Truth 1851, as cited in Stanton, Anthony, and Gage 1887). However, some divisions of the women’s rights movement advocated only for white women to receive the vote – and not black men, nor, in some cases, black women. Indeed, some chapters of the women’s rights movement tried to bolster their cause by exploiting a variety of racial stereotypes. As Freedman (2002, pp. 79 - 80) points out, these suffragists argued that “if ‘ignorant’ black and immigrant men could vote… why not educated white women?” Although these tactics were not adopted by all feminists within or outside of the US, the intersection of race and gender is a common thread that has consistently been returned to by multiple generations of feminists across the first, second and third waves.

Following women’s suffrage being passed in the US, Dekel (2011, p. 151) argues that there was a “long period of silence [until] the end of the 1960s”. However, a notable exception to Dekel’s observation is the work of Simone de Beauvoir, who published a number of feminist works (most significantly, The Second Sex in 1949) from the 1940s onward. After the two World Wars, second wave feminism came to prominence in the early 1960s. Key to second wave thinking was the search to “render women’s immediate and subjective experience to formulate a political agenda” (Dekel 2011, p. 475). According to Jane Gerhard (2001), second wave feminism was about making central sexual liberation for women. Pleasure became, according to Gerhard, “synonymous, briefly, with liberation” (2001, p. 9).

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However, alongside sexual liberation, second wave feminism also sought rights for women to receive equal pay for equal work, and access to birth control and abortion (McHugh 2007). Throughout the second wave, women’s bodies became the sites of political contest, with several noteworthy court Acts and rulings brought forward during these times. These included the UK Abortion Act in 1967, and the 1973 US ruling in Roe v Wade (McHugh 2007), in which women’s rights to legally secure an abortion were won. The second wave also introduced a number of significant practices that are still employed by feminists today: of most importance to this thesis is the practice of consciousness-raising. As Jane Pilcher and Imelda Whelehan (2004, p. 28) discuss, the activity of consciousness-raising in second wave feminism made it both distinct from other movements, and “announced the emergence of a different kind of political organisation”.

Importantly, criticisms of the second wave are typically directed towards its predominantly white, heterosexual members (Hallstein 2008) who rallied for issues that would, first and foremost, affect other white, heterosexual females. As Lynn Hallstein points out, much of second wave feminist thought comes from a site of “situated knowledge”, and members of the second wave movement held experiences and knowledge that were “situated within a very specific context of privilege and advantaged cultural currency” (2008, p. 145). Audre Lorde, an African-American lesbian poet, was one of many women who rejected large portions of second wave feminist thought due to its continued focus on the plight of middle class, white, educated women. When radical feminist theologian Mary Daly spoke about reclaiming women’s spirituality through rituals honouring the goddess, Lorde asked the question, “What colour is your goddess?” (Freedman 2002, p. 89). Lorde’s questions highlighted a larger attitude towards the second wave – generations of women in the US would speak largely to white, middle class, educated women, and mistake their problems for all women’s problems. Lorde (1979) also poses the following question to her (predominantly white, straight, educated female) audience:

If white American feminist theory need not deal with the differences between us, and the resulting difference in aspects of our oppressions, then what do you do with the fact that the women who clean your houses and tend your children while you attend conferences on feminist theory are, for the most part, poor and third world women?

In foregrounding these critiques, however, the work and campaigning efforts of black and queer women are often lost. As Clare Hemmings (2011, pp. 15-16) argues, there are “politics

28 that produce and sustain one version of history as more true than another”. There is no “singular vision” of a Western feminist past, and we need to “break with Western feminist narratives of progress, loss, and return” (Hemmings 2011, p. 226). Simply put, the argument that second wave feminism excluded black and queer women can, in turn, risk their marginalisation by way of exclusion from the overarching historical narratives.

Third wave feminism was partially born from the initial critiques of the second wave, and encompassed a shift “in social justice activism away from collective, hierarchical, state-oriented phenomena towards transitory engagements [and] heterogeneous movements” (Harris 2010, p. 475). Third wave feminism is often viewed as sparking a reconfiguration of the second wave towards a movement that is more intersectional, post-modernist and post-structuralist (Mann and Huffman 2005). The third wave also focuses on a number of established feminist issues; racism, child abuse, rape, domestic violence, homophobia, ableism, classism, reproductive rights, and equity (Budgeon 2011, p. 103). Rebecca Walker, the daughter of Alice Walker (a noted author and activist), coined the term ‘third wave’ in 1992, when she wrote that she was not a “post-feminism feminist, [but was] third wave” (p. 87). Indeed, as Winch (2013, p. 3) notes, “the normative postfeminist subject is white, straight, able-bodied and middle class”. Since the time that Walker (1992) challenged both post-feminism, and the second wave, third wave feminism has attempted to challenge the categories set up by second wave feminism to represent experience (Budgeon 2011), and take seriously the concept of intersectionality.

Intersectionality, a term coined by Kimberle Crenshaw in 1989, describes how the “dominant conceptions of discrimination condition is to think about subordination as disadvantage occurring along a single categorical axis” (p. 140). Crenshaw (1989) argues that this single-axis framework erases the unique experiences of disadvantage and oppression faced by women of colour – an idea that has since also been expanded to understand the experiences of women of various abilities, and women of different sexualities and gender identifications. The concept of intersectionality as a way to understand the unique and different experiences of ‘oppression’ faced by, for example, a gay, black woman (when opposed to that of a straight, white, woman) has come to be of key significance to third wave feminism. Stephanie Shields (2008) describes this as the effect of an individual’s social identities on their beliefs about, and experiences of, gender, and how their gender is read by others.

Intersectionality continues to play a prominent role in feminist groups and movements; Alison Winch (2014, p. 15) writes that an emphasis on the plurality of contemporary feminisms without considering deeper theories and history can lead us to “gloss over the [existing] power

29 structures”. Winch (2014) further argues that it can be dangerous not to engage with the histories and debates of feminism, as this helps us to recognise why some feminists – and their existing campaigns – are more visible than others. Risman (2004, p. 442) emphasises that there is a “considerable consensus that one must always take into consideration multiple axes of oppression; to do otherwise presumes the whiteness of women”. The role of intersectionality in this thesis is further considered in the following chapters, as the concept is considered particularly important for contemporary feminist campaigns.

To move from intersectionality to feminism more broadly, the third wave feminism is also accused of lacking a “coherent agenda or singular movement”, and its focus being instead spread amongst a number of key areas (Harris 2010, p. 475). Shelley Budgeon (2011, p. 3) claims that third wave feminism is a “contested concept, made even more so by a self- conscious evasion of any clear definition on the part of the feminists who advocate for a third wave perspective”. Kathleen Iannello (2011, p. 315) further argues that third wave feminists “share a collective consciousness by rejecting a collective consciousness”: that is, what unites third wave feminists are their varying goals, choices and intersections of identity. But this understanding of individualism as ‘choice feminism’ can ignore wider circumstances in which a woman’s ‘choice’ is dictated by wider societal contexts. The tensions between a woman’s agency and freedom to choose, and the wider implications of making the personal political, are explored within Chapter Five.

To return to the issue of a lack of direction on behalf of the movement, I would argue that third wave feminism’s “self-conscious evasion” (Budgeon 2011, p. 3) of a clear definition of what makes the third wave ‘the third wave’ (complete with centralised issues and goals) is not of detriment to feminism as a whole. Indeed, previous generations of feminists and feminist waves (such as those of the first and second wave) only held clear goals and centralised issues because those involved did not always fully acknowledge women on the edges of the movement – such as African American women, queer women, trans women, and women of different physical and mental abilities. As discussed earlier, the critiques levelled at third wave feminists of not being ‘coherent’ or ‘singular’ risk not understanding that a movement such as feminism needs to be multi-dimensional in its goals and agendas in order to be fully inclusive. At times, these goals and agendas may even be in active conflict with each other – hence needing to return to the understanding that the term ‘feminisms’ may more accurately describe the movement, as it implies a multiplicity of understandings and objectives (James 2004).

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In addition to the feminist ‘waves’, there are also a variety of other feminist movements and traditions or schools of thought. These have previously been divided by scholars such as Rosemarie Tong (1998) and Judith Lorber (2005) into categories such as liberal, Marxist, socialist, radical, lesbian psychoanalytic, multiracial, post-modern and post-colonial. In particular, liberal and radical feminism are both relevant to this research. Traditional understandings of liberal feminists are that they typically “operate within the existing political system, often recognising legislative change as most effective, and value the ability to sway political authorities to their point of view” (Gilmore 2003, p. 95). In contrast to this, radical feminists “situate their arguments within a wider social theory that owes much to a left-wing analysis of the role of images, culture, ideology and power in capitalist society” (Dines 2012, p. 18). Additionally, “radical feminist groups find formal political machinations too restrictive and not quick enough to respond to women’s concerns… thus, they pursue more public, ‘in-your- face’ tactics to bring attention to their issues and undermine the system itself” (Gilmore 2003, p. 95).

But the clear definition and delineation of different groups of feminism, as is outlined above, can risk “overstating their [the group’s] differences” (Freedman 2002, p. 71). Particularly throughout the third wave, the boundaries between what one understands to be ‘third wave’, ‘liberal feminist’, or ‘radical feminist’, have been constantly in flux. Third wave feminism emphasises the complexity and conflict that exist inside of it – the clash of different identities, the need to be inclusive and, significantly, the importance of individual experience – and such, demonstrates how it has been influenced by post-modern and post-structuralist theories of identity (Budgeon 2011). If post-structuralism puts forward the concept of gender identity (along with all identities) as being constantly shifting and changeable, then third wave feminism seeks to address this by attempting to embrace all identities. Even the central tenet of what feminism understands to be a ‘woman’ is not agreed upon across third wave feminist groups. The question of who can speak for whom, and when they should be allowed to speak is one that been consistently debated across the third wave, and will be further considered in the following chapter (Harding and Hintikka 1983; Harding 1987). Ultimately, this thesis draws on concepts from both schools of thought – it examines social campaigns as a legitimate means to challenge women’s representation within the mainstream media (in line with more radical feminist aims), and draws conclusions regarding the utility and effectiveness of each of the three selected case studies. These typologies will be used to further explore some aspects of the three case studies examined in this research, but, in line with post-structural feminism more broadly, will not place each case study firmly within a specific ‘type’ of feminism.

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2.4 Campaigns and social movements The term ‘social movement’ as a whole requires a definition and clarification – particularly when compared to the term used throughout this thesis: a ‘campaign’. ‘Social movements’ can be defined as a “principal social form through which collectivities give voice to their grievances and concerns about the rights, welfare, and well-being of themselves and others by engaging in various types of collective action” (Snow, Soule and Kriesi 2007, p. 3). Traditionally, “social movements, protest actions and… political organisations [are] unaligned with major political parties or trade unions” (della Porta and Diani 2006, p. 1). However, as the term ‘social movement’ implies a larger whole than the three individual case studies that my research focuses upon, I have elected to instead use the term ‘campaign’ when referring to the case studies in the singular. A clarification of why this term is more appropriate will now be explored.

The term ‘social movements’ is felt to be somewhat challenging within this thesis – this is primarily due to its origins in the political science and sociology-based fields of knowledge, and the origins of this research as based in media and communications. Understandings of social movements do not always hold the media as a key point of focus and emphasis – an element that is central to this research. Each campaign selected for further study within this thesis responded to a particular representation of women that occurred in the media. This is as opposed to campaigns that have emerged as a result of women’s right to vote, unequal pay, or a change in abortion access – all well-trodden ground within the women’s movements (see Marx Ferree and McClurg Mueller 2007 for further discussion).

The study of social movements is often cited as developing alongside the rapid growth of anti- war, women’s, environmental and civil rights movements of the late 1960s and early 1970s (della Porta and Diani 2006). By the mid-1970s, research into collective action and social movements was considered “one of the most vigorous areas of sociology” (Marx and Wood 1975). Social movements have been understood by prominent sociologists such as Charles Tilly to have originated in the West after 1750, and spreading across the world through things such as colonialism and migration (2004). Sydney Tarrow, another well-known sociologist and political scientist, defines social movements as the coordinated and sustained efforts of joined peoples to confront elites, authorities and opponents (2011). Tarrow furthermore states that not every form of contention can be understood as a social movement – but instead, this term should be reserved for “sequences of contentious politics based on underlying social networks, on resonant collective action frames, and on the capacity to maintain sustained challenges

32 against powerful opponents” (2011, p. 7).

As such, the actions of these three groups may also be described in terms more appropriately related to the media. ‘Media reform’ is described as an effort to change aspects of the media, such as “its structures and processes, media employment, the financing of media, content, media law, media ownership, access to media...” (Media Development 2004, p. 2). Efforts toward media reform can be seen most specifically in the actions of the CS billboard campaign and its struggle to change the regulations surrounding billboard advertisements.

Another term useful in describing the actions of the campaigns is ‘media activism’. Media activism has been defined as “organised ‘grassroots’ efforts directed to creating or influencing media practices or strategies, whether as a primary objective, or as a by-product of other campaigns” (Carroll and Hackett 2006). William Carroll and Robert Hackett (2006) also emphasise that media activists can differ in their approaches and strategies for intervention, and their motivations for doing so: importantly, activists can also choose to democratise important issues through the media, or democratise the media itself (2006). In the cases studied in this thesis, activists chose to democratise the media itself – primarily through the employment of social media. Kaitlynn Mendes (2015) and Jessalyn Keller (2013) have both previously argued that feminist scholars who use social media to organise campaign form their own networked counterpublics: Keller (2013, p. 160) has described these as emerging “around particular… issues, coming together, dissolving, and reconvening in a fluid manner.” Although the term ‘networked counterpublics’ is not used in this research, the concept of campaigns as convening, dissolving, and reconvening is one that is useful when examining the use of social media by each of the three groups within this thesis.

Graham Meikle (2002, p.4) describes how the Internet can effectively be used for political purposes – how the use of computer can “attempt to effect social or cultural change in the offline world… [this is] Internet activism.” Furthermore, Meikle employs the term ‘campaign’ when describing a range of groups – everything from political movements and online activists’ groups to anti-corporation factions fall under his banner of being a ‘campaign’. In the context of this research, the term ‘campaign’ is employed because it provides a more specific understanding of each online activist movement that either a ‘social movement’, a ‘group’, or an ‘organisation’. The term ‘campaign’ is not intended to be understood as part of a political campaign; nor does it infer that each activist clearly understood the campaign’s goals or aims (as one might within a political context).

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Together, these three individual campaigns could be said to belong to a wider form of social movement – one that could be generally identified as the ‘women’s movement’. The term ‘women’s movement’ has also been used to broadly represent campaigns focused on “confronting problems that reflect systematic inequalities of class, status and power” (Marx Ferree and McLurg Mueller 2007, p. 576). As Myra Marx Ferree and Carol McLurg Mueller (2007) have discussed, the women’s movement is not always feminist in nature – and indeed, as will be shown, not all of the three campaigns that feature within this research explicitly identify as holding feminist ideas or attitudes. This distinction is important – members of women’s movements may choose not to identify as feminist for a range of reasons, including their views of feminism being formed by and for white, middle class women (Marx Ferree and McLurg Mueller 2007). In particular, second wave feminism has come under fire for being heavily focused on issues that many women argued focused too much on the concerns of more ‘privileged’ feminists. These critiques are explored more thoroughly within the section earlier devoted to understanding each wave of feminism – however, for now it is worthwhile noting that this research does not attempt to enforce a strict label on each campaign as being ‘feminist’ or ‘non-feminist’, but instead, through the interviews, allows members of each group to give voice to their own understandings of the campaign.

What each campaign does share is the goal of challenging a dominant gendered discourse of women: which leads the research to being situated within a wider feminist framework, and the field of feminist media studies. This is due to the field’s emphasis on gender inequality, also the focus of the three campaigns. Hence, although the discussion of these campaigns will deem them to be (for now) ‘women’s’ or ‘feminist’ campaigns, their underlying motives and goals will be linked to broader feminist concepts. This is not to undermine the choice of these three campaigns to identify as not being ‘feminist’ in nature – but rather to analyse the campaigns through a specific lens, one in which the goal of challenging women’s subordination to men remains clear. Therefore, the term ‘campaign’ as a whole is used across this research to describe a singular occurrence in which a self-nominated group of people use a variety of forms of activism to combat the perceived harmful views of another group or individual. This term also suggests the somewhat initial singular focus of the group, as opposed to terms that indicate belonging to a wider social movement.

Within each of the three campaigns examined within this thesis there was a variety of tactics and methods utilised to challenge representations of women in the mainstream media. The most prominent of these tactics was that of consciousness-raising: something that this chapter will now move to examine and discuss.

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2.5 Feminist consciousness-raising Consciousness-raising has been formally employed as a feminist campaign tactic since at least the initial suffragette movement (Ryan 1992), when women began to officially identify themselves as a separate sex category with different rights and entitlements (or lack thereof). Generally speaking, consciousness-raising groups have always served to “explore women’s common gender experiences” (Ryan 1992, p. 46). The broader motivation for consciousness- raising groups stemmed from the concept that the “personal is political” (Hanisch 1970). More simply: to make women conscious of their own personal and private oppressions was to further politically motivate them to seek political reparation. Women’s experiences of sexism and gender inequality had (and still have) structural origins (Risman 2004), and to learn and discuss these patriarchal structures of dominance was to personalise wider frameworks of injustice. bell hooks has outlined how consciousness-raising groups were formed in the second wave of feminism as a way to learn about patriarchal structures of domination; however, initially these groups also served as a way for women to “unleash pent-up hostility and rage about being victimised” (hooks 2000, p. 8). These groups also stressed a need for communication and dialogue, where every person’s voice was honoured and heard (hooks 2000). Pilcher and Whelehan (2004, p. 28) describe the ‘idea’ behind consciousness-raising groups to be one in which “women should regularly collect in small groups over an agreed period of time and give accounts of their own lives and how they ‘became’ a ‘woman’”. To this, Pilcher and Whelehan (2004) noted that the practice of consciousness-raising was successful in recruiting large numbers of women to the feminist movement, particularly during its second wave.

Argumentative discussions were not uncommon in consciousness-raising groups, as they were a means to seek clarification around ideas and understandings of the nature of male domination (hooks 2000). Pilcher and Whelehan (2004, p. 29) observed that individual consciousness-raising groups may form such a strong identity that they were “unable to relate their work to the wider movement”. Furthermore, some consciousness-raising groups also served as a more therapeutic setting for participants, with less emphasis on strategies of intervention and transformation (ibid).

Resultantly, consciousness-raising groups across the second wave were not without their detractors. Betty Friedan described consciousness-raising groups at the time to be “navel gazers” (Ryan 1992, p. 47) whilst Ann Snitow (in Ryan 1992) added that there were still some

35 topics within these groups that were generally considered taboo at the time. These topics included discussions focused on the enjoyment of sexual penetration, or any analyses related to lesbianism or class as a form of disadvantage (Ryan 1992).

However, these groups would lay the foundation for broader actions and movements to form; consciousness-raising groups were, in effect, “sites of conversion” (hooks 2000, p. 8). Although many smaller consciousness-raising groups were not effectively equipped to move participants into activism after “analytic saturation” had been reached, other groups (particularly those based out of New York City) could and did (Ryan 1992, p. 47). How consciousness-raising has been applied and practised within feminism’s third wave is a question that Stacey Sowards and Valerie Renegar (2004) have sought to answer. Significantly, the two identified that third wave feminists need to address a different cultural context into which young feminists are born – in particular, the belief that feminism has already succeeded, and all gender-based obstacles have already been overcome. This has meant that consciousness-raising groups in the third wave have needed to “address and prove that gender inequities still exist”, and also discuss “gender stereotypes and feminist backlash” (Sowards and Renegar 2004, p. 539).

Importantly, third wave feminist consciousness-raising also needed to address the idea of intersectionality, and the fallout of the perceived exclusivity of the second wave movement. As has been noted earlier, a number of women from different classes, cultures and racial background have long felt excluded from mainstream feminism. The perception that first and second wave feminism catered mainly to white, upper and middle class women (Hallstein 2008). Third wave feminism formed partially as a reaction to these critiques, and has emphasised inclusivity as one of its foundational concepts (Mann and Huffman 2005).

Key features of third wave consciousness-raising include an emphasis on personal stories, formal education on feminist ideas and values in college and graduate school, and the use of popular culture as a viable forum to communicate feminist ideas (Sowards and Renegar 2004). Crucially, Sowards and Renegar also identified that consciousness-raising within the third wave was starting to take place within a more public, shared setting. Although the two did not clearly identify online activities as a feature of more contemporary forms of consciousness-raising, they did state that third wave forms of consciousness-raising has “adapted to the changing cultural climate [by seeking] to address larger and more public audiences” (2004, p. 547).

As noted earlier, until now there has been limited literature documenting how current forms of feminism use social media as a form of consciousness-raising. Although recent research has

36 documented how feminists use social media as a form of activism (McLean and Maalsen 2013), little attention has been given to the benefits of being able to immediately connect, discuss and share with other feminists in an online setting. Noted exceptions to this observation are the works of Carrie Rentschler and Samantha Thrift (2015), and Wendy Anderson and Kittie Grace (2015). Rentschler and Thrift’s work has focused on the recent online response to US presidential candidate Mitt Romney’s remark that he knew of “binders full of women” (2015, p. 330), which was given in response to a query about Romney’s ability to find qualified women to become members of his proposed Cabinet. As described by Rentschler and Thrift, a number of feminist-inclined Internet users responded to Romney’s comments by rising “up from the screen to denounce and poke fun at Romney’s gaffe through the creation and spread of a ‘Binders Full of Women’ meme” (2015, p. 330). Furthermore, Anderson and Grace’s (2015) work examines feminist consciousness-raising within a digital motherhood community, and how an online Facebook group has assisted mothers in performing feminist activism.

Rentschler and Thrift (2015) argue that the sharing and experience of feminism in an online space provided a form of consciousness-raising in which women felt that they belonged to a wider feminist community. Ultimately, the result of online consciousness-raising led to feminists in virtual spaces producing, curating and deploying:

Their capacity to respond to sexist statements and misogynist practices in the political sphere and popular culture, remixing those practices toward feminist ends. In the process, they help build a larger networked feminist public.

2015, p. 341

Rentschler and Thrift’s work is partially based on observations made by Tracy Kennedy (2007), who noted that the feminist blogging culture of the 2000s led to an environment in which feminists could advocate and perform consciousness-raising in the virtual world. Although Kennedy’s focus was on blogging sites, a number of her observations are applicable to social media-based networks. In particular, Kennedy (2007) noted that blogs provide the potential for interactivity – something that can be viewed as useful for feminist consciousness-raising, as it allows active engagement in discussion. This interpretation can also be easily applied to social media sites, where further interaction and discussions are made easier across shared platforms, and in both private and public discussions.

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Consciousness-raising is clearly a valuable and well-practised technique employed by a variety of feminist groups and waves. Its use and performance (both formal and informal) in online settings can easily be understood to retain key defining features: engagement in discussion and debate, analysis of gender structures and intersectionality, and the potential to act as a “site of conversion” for feminists to implement activism in a variety of online and offline settings. As consciousness-raising as a social media-based activity is relatively new (Anderson and Grace 2015; Rentschler and Thrift 2015), further analysis and examination of the field will be explored through this thesis, with conclusions being drawn from all three case studies.

2.6 Mainstream media As this thesis contrasts the activism that takes place online with the work of the mainstream media, it is appropriate to outline contemporary understandings of the mainstream media more broadly. This is particularly pertinent as definitions of the mainstream media can vary dramatically depending on the time and theoretical approaches being utilised within the research (Coyer, Dowmunt and Fountain 2007). Indeed, there is often some crossover between what constitutes ‘mass’ and ‘mainstream’ forms of media. The definitions given within this section cover both terms, whilst also attempting to understand the underlying principle of what the media, as a whole, can be composed of.

The mainstream media “produce and reproduce collective memories, desires, hopes and fears, and thus perform a similar function as myths in earlier centuries” (van Zoonen 1994, p. 37). Benedict Anderson (2006) further argues that the media creates ‘imagined communities’ through the targeting of a mass audience and circulation of imagined shared ideals. The creation of these communities became possible because of “print capitalism, which made it possible for rapidly growing numbers of people to think about themselves, and to relate themselves to others, in profoundly new ways” (Anderson 2006, p. 36). Linda Kenix (2011, p. 28) states that mainstream media “generally aim to maximise audiences through pack journalism that is conventional and formulaic, which results in content that can be binary and reductive”. However, Kenix further problematises this statement by then outlining that alternative media also tend to rely on pack journalism, and thoughtful, expansive commentary can also be found in the mainstream media. In this way, Kenix outlines a variance in the mainstream media: that of maximising mainstream media audiences for commercial profit, and the engagement of public audiences in wider debates related to contemporary society and politics.

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The media itself can be understood as containing of a number of platforms upon which ‘news’, information, ‘events’, entertainments and commercial interests are disseminated. Dominant ‘traditional’ platforms include television, radio, film, newspapers and magazines. Notably, this research also includes advertisements within the category of ‘mainstream media’ – however, it also acknowledges that advertising intends to influence audience members in a different manner from other media content (Gunther and Thorson 1992). However, Denis McQuail (1987) argues that it is impossible to unify what constitutes the mainstream media:

Just as we do not speak of the ‘content’ of speech, books or education, it is impossible to think of mass media content as a unifiable category, ‘especially since its volume and internal variety continually increase and the boundaries around ‘mass media’ are increasingly hard to discern.

The media’s importance, particularly for feminists, lies within its ability, through prioritisation of particular narratives and meanings, to encode different gender discourses into texts (van Zoonen 1994). The media have long been at the centre of feminist critique (van Zoonen 1994), but the research surrounding the intersection of gender and the media has also been somewhat heterogeneous (Gill 2007). Opinions on the influence of the mainstream media can vary dramatically – but by and large, feminist research tends to agree that the media does hold a degree of importance and influence over its audience. For example, researchers have suggested that portrayals of women in the media are partially responsible for young women’s negative self-concepts (Rosenkrantz et al 1968), most sexist views of women’s role in society (Signorielli 1989), and increased levels of stereotyping towards women (Williams 1981). This is due to the mainstream media’s repetition and normalisation of particular representations over time.

Although feminist research examining the media will be discussed in more detail within the subsequent chapters, it needs to be noted that varying definitions of ‘the media’ are employed within different research areas. For example, Ahmed Belkaoui and Janice Belkaoui (1976) include print advertisements in magazines within their definition of the “mass media”. However, a subsequent article by Diana Rak and Linda McMullen (1987, p. 25) indicates that television is “particularly powerful”, but fails to fully differentiate and discuss the differences between television programs and television commercials – a difference that Albert Gunther and Esther Thorson (1992) would argue is crucial. Nicholas Economou and Stephen Tanner (2008) outline that the term ‘the media’ connotes a separation between the government and the media, in order to allow the media the ability to act as ‘the fourth estate’; however, the existence of entertainment sectors of the media needs to also be included outside of this

39 definition. Additionally, the term also denotes that the media are, in large part, privately owned – and the products produced by the media are therefore for sale (Economou and Tanner 2008). However, again, this is not always the case – a number of prominent, publicly owned forms of the media exist (such as the publicly owned Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC)).

Finally, Noam Chomsky outlines one of the more traditional understandings of the function of the mainstream media in 1997. Their goal is, Chomsky argues, to divert people. However, he states that there are also portions of media (deemed the “elite media”) that set the framework in which others operate – Chomsky’s example of a form of elite media is The New York Times (1997). The framework, argues Chomsky, is a “reflection of obvious power structures” (1997) in the media; it is there to set the agenda for what media producers that are not considered ‘elite’ should feature. These views have been countered by critics who have argued that the propaganda model proposed by Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky (1988) is “in general deterministic and can be seen to be plagued by sociological reductionism” (Archibald 2001, as cited in Klaehn 2002, p. 149).

By and large, the definition of what the academy understands to be ‘the media’ is somewhat malleable. To further complicate matters, there are a number of blurred lines between the ‘old/legacy’ and the ‘new’ media, and the ‘mainstream’ and the ‘alternative’ media (Kenix 2011). Within the context of this research, what constitutes the mainstream media is a consistently shifting, slippery, concept – as Kenix (2011, p.25) argues, “Just when academics and professionals finally agree on a shared understanding [of what the mainstream media is], the landscape changes yet again”.

A simple definition of the mainstream media has therefore been drawn from Kenix’s understanding: that the mainstream media are “situated completely within (and concomitantly co-creating) the ideological norms of society; [and] enjoy a widespread scale of influence” (2011, p.3). Kenix also mentions that the mainstream can rely on professional reporters – however, this is something that I would argue not all forms of the mainstream media do, but is instead specific to the journalistic/news reporting field of the media (as contrasted with other portions of the media, such as advertising, talkback radio and television programs). The mainstream media can therefore also encompass professionalised and commercialised structures. As noted earlier, the mainstream media is composed of bodies dedicated to commercial profit, and those that engage public audiences. Representations of women can exist across these two streams – these representations are structured by, and structuring, cultural norms.

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Therefore, the specific frame of understanding of what constitutes ‘the media’ is also drawn from the three cases studies selected for research. Two of these case studies originated from commercialised talkback radio – one from an AM frequency, and one from an FM frequency. The final case study was sourced from a public billboard placed outside a private boys’ school in Brisbane. Hence, when this research refers to ‘the media’, it is with the understanding that it examines two specific forms of the media (radio and billboard advertising), but also references and discusses the implications of these case studies on other forms of the media.

2.7 Social media In the early 2000s, during the time of increasing Internet access and subsequent growing use of blogs, social media sites emerged as another platform in which people could interact and connect. Michael Mandiberg (2012, p.1) describes social media sites as allowing “formerly passive media consumers to make and disseminate their own media”. However, the audience centrality and engagement that has grown from the use of blogs was compounded on sites such as Facebook and Twitter. An invitation to share and participate – whilst also suggesting what the purpose and nature of this participation is – is one of the central hallmarks of social media platforms of the mid 2010s (Burgess, 2015).

The term ‘social media’ is also one readily substituted within the literature – other names have previously included ‘online social networks’ (OSSs) and ‘social networking sites’ (SNSs) (McCay- Peet and Quan-Haase 2017). However, as further discussed by Lori McCay-Peet and Anabel Quan-Haase (2017), in recent years the term ‘social media’ has grown to overtake the usage of these other terms, resulting in the conclusion that both SNSs and OSNs are now “considered to be types of social media” (2017, p. 15).

Crucially, the difference between more traditional mainstream media and social media is the emphasis placed on the participatory, or social aspect of the media. If traditional mainstream media is one produced and disseminated by those employed to undertake a set of particular professions (the selection and delivery of ‘news’ and ‘entertainment’), then social media can be contrasted as a method by which audience members both select which media they would like to receive (by choosing to ‘follow’ or ‘like’ certain pages on their social networking sites), but also create or deliver news themselves and then distribute or share this with others.

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The definition of social media itself is one that is relatively dynamic, and still evolving. McCay- Peet and Quan-Haase argue for an emphasis on the social aspect of social media, stating that social media are “web-based services that allow individuals, communities, and organizations to collaborate, connect, interact, and build community” (2017, p. 17). This is further reinforced by Christian Fuchs, who highlights that understanding social media “requires an understanding of sociality” (2014, p. 7), and that acknowledgement must be given to the labour and potential for exploitation that lies within the use of social media. More simply, Alice Marwick and danah boyd (2010, p. 123) say that social media “combines elements of broadcast media and face-to- face communication…collaps[ing] diverse social contexts into one”. However, it is boyd’s 2009 definition alone that sits alongside the approach used in this thesis: that social media is a term used to “describe the collection of software that enable individuals and communities to gather, communicate, share, and in some cases collaborate or play”.

Further contextualisation regarding how power operates in online spaces must also be explored. As Fuchs notes (2014), there is the potential for exploitation in how people use social media. Until recently, research has focused on labour as being offline in nature, and taking place in domestic settings (Šikić-Mićanović 2011), and within personal relationships (Hochschild 1983). However, recent literature has also noted that online spaces generate various forms of labour: this has resulted in a number of emerging definitions, including ‘immaterial labour’ (Lazzarato 1996), ‘co-creative labour’ (Banks and Deuze 2009), ‘playbour’ (Kücklich 2005) and ‘aspirational labour’ (Duffy 2016). However, the most applicable term relating to the work of feminist and women’s rights activists in online spaces is that of digital labour: it is a term that refers to the conceptualisation and continuation of traditional understandings of work within an online setting (Scholz 2013). Furthermore, Arlie Hochschild’s understandings of emotional labour have also been applied to the work feminist activists undertake in online spaces (Gleeson 2018).

Subsequently, the role that power plays in online feminist spaces is noteworthy for how it can at turns shape, impede, and empower the actions of individuals and collectives. However, the labour performed by these activists takes place on platforms that “tend to be created by small groups of (usually) (young) (White) (American) men, funded by venture capitalists” – which can lead one to question “who is giving power to whom?” (Baym 2015, p.1). This is evidenced in a recent series of instances in which feminists have been censured or banned by social media platforms for reposting the harassment they receive on the platform. In 2015, an Australian feminist columnist and broadcaster, Clementine Ford, publicly shared a number of messages of abuse and harassment she had received on Facebook. These messages, which variously labeled

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Ford a “slut”, “lesbian scum”, and threated to rape and bash her, were sent to her through both private messages and public posts to her Facebook page by a number of men and underage schoolboys (Wright 2015). In return, Ford shared these messages on her public Facebook page, stating that the people who had sent these messages to her should not being able to “hide behind the veil of privacy and anonymity” (Ford, as cited in Caggiano 2015). Facebook then banned Ford for sharing these messages on her Facebook page, stating that she had not followed their community standards (Pedestrian TV 2015).

Ford’s case is not an isolated incident; a similar incident took place in 2012, when an Icelandic woman reposted a death threat she had been sent on the platform only to receive a 30-day ban from Facebook (Barnett 2012). Elsewhere, women have been banned from Facebook for posting the text ‘men are trash’ (which the platforms says it considers to be a form of ‘hate speech’) (Watson 2017). These bans are contrasted only by the content that Facebook continues to allow on the platform, including graphic depictions of violence against women, and jokes about rape being a ‘punishment’ for not obeying a man’s orders (Women, Action, & the Media 2013).

Literature has also recently turned to discuss the perceived corporate social responsibility social media sites have to their users. Adrienne Massanari (2017, p. 330) argues that the website Reddit.com provides fertile ground for the harassment of women, and “implicitly reifies the desires of certain groups (often young, white, cis-gendered, heterosexual males) while ignoring and marginalizing others.” Elena Pavan (2017, p. 63) contends that internet intermediaries such as Facebook and Twitter have the opportunity to “prevent digital harms from happening” to their users. To this, Pavan (2017, p. 65) adds that the Terms of Service for these sites are generally missing “a clear definition of acts that can be considered online gendered violence”. Consequently, users who have experienced gender-based violence and harassment on social media sites are left with limited opportunities to seek justice or protection.

From the above discussion, a number of conclusions can be drawn relating to the role power plays in digital spaces. Firstly, openly feminist campaigns that take place on public, accessible social media platforms can lead to the harassment and communicative resistance from those that oppose these groups and individuals (Gleeson 2016a; Megarry 2017). Secondly, the power seized by women’s right and feminist campaign groups in these social media spaces takes place on platforms that are still owned and operated by men (Bloomberg 2018; Heath 2017; Lagorio- Chafkin 2011). The work that feminist activists perform in these spaces is still ultimately

43 undertaken within a space maintained by men, which can complicate our understandings of social media as holding potential to drive positive change for women as a whole.

At this point, it is worthwhile understanding how social media functions, and on which platforms. Primarily, social media provides entry points into which users can create their own personalised news and entertainment through video, audio, image or long and short text, or receive, engage with and share public messages, short or long form text, video, audio and images for entertainment, information or commercial purposes. Commonly used social media platforms include Facebook (Davison 2012) and Twitter (Hyde et al 2012) – both of which are a central focus for the three campaigns examined in this thesis.

Kaplan and Haenlein (2010) note that social media can also include blogs, virtual social worlds, and virtual game worlds alongside more ‘traditional’ social media sites. David Beer (2008) also adds wikis, folksnomies, and mashups to categories of ‘social media’ more broadly. However, one of the uniting factors Jeffrey Treem et al (2016) note is that each of these social media technologies has an ability to allow users to form new relationships, create new connections, and create and share content – a point further emphasised by Graham Meikle (2016), who observed that social media sites combine public with personal communication. By allowing social media users to also create and share their own content, social media platforms also collapse more traditional notions of the audience. This is integral to the argument of this thesis: that audiences have increased their ability and power to respond to representations made in the mainstream media through the use of social media.

The power of social media lies not only in its ability to circumvent the mainstream media – but also in its ability to effectively harness the power of the ‘like’. Although the understanding of a ‘like’ itself differs across platforms, it can be viewed as an action that shows a user endorses or agrees with a particular sentiment posted online. Within Facebook this is known as a ‘like’, whilst on Twitter this could be either a ‘favourite’ or a ‘retweet’. From a more business- oriented perspective, Andrew Lipsman et al (2012) understand the power of the ‘like’ to lie in a brand’s ability to reach its audience – if a person ‘likes’ a page, then they are easier to reach.

However, the power of the ‘like’ also needs to be weighed against understandings that not all ‘likes’ are created equal. The motivations for why people ‘like’ a post or tweet are not always clear. For example, in undertaking this research, I ‘liked’ each of the respective case studies on Facebook. Yet this was purely done in order to effectively follow each page – and not a personal endorsement of each of the pages’ political frameworks or campaigns. But due to the

44 nature of the name itself (a ‘like’ on Facebook, or a ‘favourite’ on Twitter), there is an inherent implication that users support each group: something that is not always the case. ‘Likes’ alone cannot therefore effectively indicate the popularity or widespread support of a campaign or group, as the material implications of a ‘like’ are due to a subjective algorithm set by programmers, in the wider context of commercial, social, and cultural interests and biases. As such, these algorithms can be biased, but also manipulated for particular interests. As Hal Hodson (2014) outlines, a movement based on participants’ own interests will be more effective than an online display of solidarity with obscure people in a distant place. Instead, and as outlined elsewhere, the number of ‘likes’, ‘retweets’ and other electronic gestures of support or interest can instead be used to understand a campaign’s growth.

The examination and consideration of data emerging from social media platforms is furthered by Carolin Gerlitz and Anne Helmond (2013, p. 1349), who conceptualise Facebook as a “recentralised, data-intensive infrastructure” that they deemed to be a “Like economy”. In a ‘like economy’, the social “is of a particular economic value, as user interactions are instantly transformed into comparable forms of data and presented to other users in a way that generates more traffic and engagement” (Gerlitz and Helmond 2013, p. 1349). Gerlitz and Helmond (ibid) also note that a click on a ‘like’ button reflects more than a positive response, and that a ‘like’ by a user can in turn lead to more traffic for relevant advertisers or companies.

Furthermore, social media has been integrated into mainstream, ‘traditional’ media – to the extent that news that may break on a social media site (such as Facebook) is then reported on by a television channel or newspaper, and is then re-shared back across to the original social media site. The “platformization” of social media was also noted by Helmond (2015, p. 1), who argued that it “entails the extension of social media platforms into the rest of the web”. This integration then allows sites such as Facebook and Twitter to commodify user activity in order to fit the interest of the relevant social media site (Helmond 2015).

This thesis does not seek to address the wider struggle currently underway in developing and applying theories related to the categorisation and understanding of social media. Instead, I wish to emphasise how social media platforms have enabled campaigners in each of the three case studies examined in the following chapters to perform a level of consciousness-raising in an online setting, and how this has subsequently led them to challenge dominant gendered discourses in the mainstream media. Social media platforms such as Facebook and Twitter provide a different campaign environment from those found in social movements from previous decades. The connectivity and participatory nature of social media are two key

45 aspects that lend the platforms to consciousness-raising activities performed by each case study considered in this thesis. As a result, the thesis itself analyses the employment of social media by the campaigns in order to challenge representations proliferated by the more traditional, mainstream media. In order to grasp the nature of these representations, the term ‘representation’ itself must now also be examined.

2.8 Representations Research regarding women’s representation in the mainstream media has spanned across multiple academic groups; these include psychology, sociology, media studies and cultural studies. Indeed, even the term employed to discuss the portrayal of women in the media has varied across disciplines. Therefore, the discussion of research from across a variety of fields within this section is undertaken in order to bring further depth and clarity to the issue of women’s representation – and how understandings of women’s representations within the mass media can vary significantly across different decades and fields of knowledge. This section discusses why this research has decided to employ the term ‘representation’ to discuss women’s portrayal within the media, and what alternative terms have also been engaged within other research.

One of the most common terms used when examining women’s representation in the mainstream media is that of ‘gender stereotype’. The term ‘gender stereotype’ has been used within sociological and psychological based studies from the 1970s on, and is generally understood to operate as “crude, reactive filters through which one human being can categorise another… without benefit of either conscious thought or interpersonal interaction” (Newton and Williams 2011, p. 199). Stereotypes are not necessarily negative judgements, but can lead to oversimplified conceptions and misapplied knowledge, which in turn result in misleading evaluations of subjects of a social category (Knoll, Eisend and Steinhagen, 2011). Stereotypes exist in a variety of forms; studies have been conducted on the proliferation of stereotypes in relation to race, sexuality, career choice, physical appearance and various other domains (Boysen et al 2011; Jones and Greer 2011; Trytten, Lowe and Walden 2012; Schuette, Ponton and Charlton 2012). Crucially, stereotypes have been examined in relation to the categories of gender and women – hence the term, ‘gender stereotype’.

In addition to the term ‘gender stereotype’, the term ‘gender role’ has also been referenced within the literature examined for this thesis. Although these terms are typically used for similar purposes, on occasion differentiations have made been made. According to Alice Eagly

46 and Blair Karua’s 1991 psychology-based article, gender roles are consensual beliefs about the attributes of women and men - whilst gender stereotypes follow from observations of people in these sex-typical roles. Gender roles are therefore more descriptive and analytical; by playing out a gender role, a person is then at risk of fulfilling a gender stereotype and, as such, stereotypes appear to invoke more direct consequences through their imposition.

The term ‘representation’ has been understood within the field of media studies to refer to the construction of aspects of reality through a medium such as the mainstream media. Chandler (2006) defines a media representation as the construction of “aspects of reality such as people, places, objects, events and cultural identities… the term refers to the process as well as to its products”. In this understanding, something is being re-presented to an audience – and a consideration needs to be taken into account as to how and why this re-presentation is taking place.

As mentioned earlier, the terms ‘gender stereotype’ and ‘gender role’ are generally understood to be associated with the field of psychology – and, as such, have a number of definitions attached to them. Rhonda Hammer and Douglas Kellner (2009, p. xxxi) point out that “all cultural representations are political [and] are never innocent or pure [but] contain positive, negative or ambiguous representations of diverse social groups”, a conception I will draw out in discussing discourses and power in the following section. As a result, the decision to use the term ‘representation’ was made as it is felt to be a term more indicative of the media-based nature of the work. Additionally, a number of prominent media scholars (both within and outside of feminism) have employed this term – van Zoonen (1994), Rosalind Gill (2007), Jhally (2009), and Gaye Tuchman (1978) feature amongst them.

2.9 Feminist activism in social media spaces When this chapter was initially drafted in 2012, little was published on the work of feminist activists in social media spaces. However, in the intervening years, researchers have increasingly turned to an analysis of social media based feminist activism as a method of understanding and evaluating the resurgence of feminism as a wider social movement. This final section of the literature review draws together the theories and concepts considered in each of the eight previous sections of this chapter in order to discuss contemporary literature focused on feminist activism in social media spaces.

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This section also considers the growth in actual Australian social media based feminist activism outside of the academy. Alongside the development of formal literature across the last six years, there has also been a surge in online feminist activism more generally. As a result, this section commences with a contextualisation of the current state of Australian online feminist activism, before turning to examine the literature that surveys feminist activism on social media spaces more broadly. As feminist scholars have noted (Mendes 2013, p. 42), there is sometimes an assumption that “offline activity is the space where the ‘real’ activism takes place”. This section seeks to challenge that assumption by illustrating the rich and progressive nature of social media based activism feminist activism both within Australia, and internationally.

Within Australia, there are a number of prominent online groups, campaigns, and individuals who lay claim to the ‘feminist’ label – each with their own specific values and perspectives on what constitutes change. Within this thesis, two self-identified feminist groups are examined; DtJ and CS. Alongside these two campaigns sits SVK – a group that did not collectively identify as feminist, but contained a number of people within its organising group who lay claim to the term.

Outside of these three campaigns, a number of Australian-oriented hashtags and groups emerged in the early 2010s that prioritised and discussed feminist issues. Due to word restrictions, each instance of Australian feminists challenging sexism and misogyny cannot be relayed here: however, there are four individual examples that will now be briefly summarised, as they each demonstrate an attempt by Australian feminists to challenge patriarchal behaviour in an online setting. Two of these examples were driven by a collective effort – a hashtag and a group of women – whilst the remaining two were undertaken by individual commentators.

The first instance examined here is an Australian-based hashtag aimed at challenging patriarchal behaviour in an online setting, started by Hilary Bowman-Smart. Bowman-Smart started the #safetytipsforladies Twitter hashtag on March 21 2013, as she was “sick to death of being told what to wear and what to do and how to be, as though any of that will somehow save me from being raped” (cited in Rentschler 2015, p. 353, author’s emphasis). The #safetytipsforladies hashtag focused specifically on the recommendations given to women to prevent physical assault and rape in order to “mock [these] advice-giving tropes” (Rentschler 2015, p. 354). Although the #safetytipsforladies originated in Australia, ultimately it was shared

48 across a number of global platforms and mediums, and received attention from feminists in Canada, the United States, and Scotland (Rentschler 2015).

Bowman-Smart’s hashtag is echoed in the work of the Sexual Violence Won’t Be Silenced advocacy group (SVWBS), a Sydney based collective who aim to combat online sexual harassment (SVWBS 2017). The group was started in 2015, when a Sydney-based man took a photo of a local woman’s online dating profile picture, and shared it publicly on his Facebook account to then shame her physical appearance (Brierly Newtown 2015). According to one of the young woman’s friends, Paloma Brierly Newtown, she and other women defended their friend in the comments of the man’s Facebook post, only to then receive numerous death and rape threats from the man’s friends (Brierly Newtown 2015). After attempting to report these threats to the police, and learning that they “didn’t know what to do”, Brierly Newtown started SVWBS (Brierly Newtown 2015). The group maintains an active Facebook presence that exists to contest and oppose “online sexual and gendered harassment” (Brierly Newtown 2015). As a result of the group’s actions in reporting the online abuse, one man pled guilty to “using a carriage service to menace, harass or offend” and was given a 12-month good behaviour bond (Kembrey 2016).

Individual Australian feminists have also sought to challenge patriarchal behaviour and constructs online. A number of Australian writers have either initiated or contributed to social media based feminist campaigns, including Clementine Ford, Van Badham, Nakkiah Lui, and Yassmin Abdel-Magied. Again, due to word restrictions, each instance of challenging sexism and misogyny cannot be reviewed here: however, there are two incidences that will now be briefly summarised.

The first instance involves the Australian journalist Jane Gilmore, who, since 2015, has sought to ‘fix’ how women are described in the mainstream media by altering the headlines (Gilmore 2017). The FixedIt project was started by Gilmore in order to challenge local, national, and international headlines that she deems to be problematic. For example, in one case Gilmore replaced the headline “Cairns woman treated for injuries after being held against will for three days” to, “Man charged with kidnapping, torture, rape, and assault” (Gilmore 2017a). In another case, Gilmore changed “Man jailed for violent rape and robbery of sex workers” to, “Man jailed for violent rape and robbery of a woman” (Gilmore 2017a). By doing this, Gilmore says she wishes to “push back against the media’s constant erasure of violent men and blaming of innocent victims” (Gilmore 2017b).

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The second instance of individual Australian feminist activism in an online setting involves Celeste Liddle, an Australian Indigenous woman Arrernte woman who blogs under the title “Rantings of an Aboriginal Feminist” (Liddle 2016a). In 2016, Liddle was suspended from Facebook for posting an image that the platform deemed to be in breach of its community standards on nudity (Graham 2016). The image, which was included as part of a link to a speech Liddle gave, depicted “Aboriginal women from the remote Central Australian community of Ampilatwatja performing at a public ceremony”. In the image, the two women depicted performing the ceremony are “painted ceremoniously”, and therefore do not have shirts on (Liddle, cited in Graham 2016). Liddle protested her suspension from Facebook by starting a Change.org petition, which in turned gathered over 20,000 signatures calling on Facebook to lift her ban (Liddle 2016b). Facebook defended its ban of Liddle, citing its policies as being needed to be applied “uniformly and easily” across the globe (Graham 2016). However, the suspension of Liddle’s account served to emphasise the perceived inequity of Facebook’s community standard policies, particularly in relation to women’s nudity.

Each of the examples listed above serve to outline contemporary attempts at challenging patriarchal behaviours through social media based platforms. The four instances given have each performed their activism through a variety of social media based platforms: a hashtag, a Facebook group, a blog, and an online petition. Consequently, the examples listed here also demonstrate the variety through which Australian feminists have sought to contest patriarchal behaviours, and serve to contextualise the work of the three case studies that will be examined in the remainder of this thesis.

There has also been a growth of formal literature regarding feminist campaigns, with a number of recent articles and books discussing groups that have bridged both online platforms and offline movements. In particular, Mendes’ 2015 book SlutWalk: Feminism, Activism, and Media draws on the importance of social media in transforming discourse on sexual assault, but also in ensuring that people who could not attend were still included in the movement. Other research has discussed the importance of social media platforms in both creating, and reacting to, otherwise ‘offline’ feminist campaigns and causes: these include Femen (Reestorff 2014) and Say Her Name (Jimenez 2016; Towns 2016).

In particular, the analysis of feminist hashtags has dominated much of the recent literature. The journal Feminist Media Studies published a number of essays across 2014 and 2015 with a particular focus on feminist hashtags. In their 2014 introduction to the Feminist Media Studies ’Commentary and Criticism’ section on feminist hashtags, Laura Portwood-Stacer and Susan

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Berridge note that feminist hashtags have the ability to be “taken up by newspapers, television, and other media outlets as stories of collective public opinion and, sometimes, further action” (p. 1090). The essays produced by the journal on this topic contained a variety of significant contributions, including Thrift’s characterisation of #YesAllWomen as a feminist intervention into broader misogynistic narratives (2014), Loken’s discussion of the imperialist nature of #BringBackOurGirls (2014), and Altinay’s analysis of feminist hashtags in Turkey (2014).

Outside of hashtags, researchers have also noted the significance of blogs in contributing to online feminist activism. Keller’s 2015 book, Girls’ Feminist Blogging in a Postfeminist Age, outlines the significance of blogging platforms in “providing a link [to] their feminist identities” (p. 26). Importantly, blogs allowed the women in Keller’s (2015) book to connect with their feminist identities, and their continued work and reading of other feminist blogs has allowed participants to broaden the scope and nature of their feminist politics. In this instance, the activism of participants takes on a bottom-up approach: it prioritises consciousness-raising through the consistent blogging of feminist issues (Keller 2015). Dunja Antunovic and Marie Hardin (2012) had similar findings, arguing that blogs have provided a space for discourse and activism about women’s sports.

Of the literature that does discuss online feminist activism, few have focused on the concentrated efforts of feminist campaigns to challenge gendered discourses in the mainstream media. Tanya Horeck (2015) has written on how the 2013 #AskThicke hashtag functioned as a public calling out of sexism in response to the Robin Thicke song, “Blurred Lines” – but the song and accompanying music video do not clearly meet the definition of mainstream media outlined earlier in this chapter. Furthermore, the work typically does not focus on Australian-specific examples. Although some research has been published on hashtags that have originated in Australia (Rentschler 2015), less has been done to contextualise these campaigns. Jessica McLean and Sophia Maalsen (2013, p. 243) provide a notable exception, outlining how the DtJ campaign indicates a “growing feminist movement that is open and multiply focused”. However, McLean and Maalsen’s research use spatial analysis to argue for a revitalisation of feminism in online spaces, and do not address deeper issues of conflict and tensions within contemporary feminist campaigns.

There is also a focus on how activism is performed across online spaces, and how this can then serve to further agitate for change. In their 2016 article, Keller, Mendes, and Ringrose explored the potential for digital media platforms to provide spaces for girls and women to challenge

51 their conception of ‘rape culture’. Their research focused on three case studies that were viewed to “fill a particular gap in knowledge about the variety of activist practices, routines, and experiences of feminists who use social media to challenge sexism, misogyny and rape culture” (Keller, Mendes, and Ringrose 2016, p. 2). Significantly, the authors conclude with the note that what is yet to be explored is the “radical potential of digital culture to reanimate feminist politics online and off” (Keller, Mendes, and Ringrose 2016, p. 13).

This conclusion is further argued by Fotopoulou (2016, p. 155), who, in her closing chapter of Feminist Activism and Digital Networks, points out that

When the feminist is indeed invoked as a figure, it frequently seems like… an omphaloscopic body of scholarly work and online media practice that speaks to those already committed to the identity of feminist, and who already have the cultural capital to participate in a specific type of middle- class, cis-gendered, white feminism.

What is lost in all these instances, I suggested, is feminism as an embodied activist practice that is performed through digitally connected networks and that articulates a political response to the new forms of governmentality that have appeared because of technoscientific acceleration.

This point – one of understanding the radical, transformative potential of digital networks and social media platforms for feminist activists – is central to this thesis. As I note earlier, the purpose of this research is to move beyond a documentation of gendered discourses in the mainstream media, and instead look to what has, and can, be done to challenge these same discourses. The growth in literature on feminist social media based activism is therefore helpful in demonstrating the multiple ways campaigns can seek to challenge gendered discourses, and is a field I seek to further contribute towards through this thesis.

2.9 Conclusion The conclusions reached within this section regarding various understandings and examinations of relevant terms are significant to the wider thesis and related findings. Furthermore, an acknowledgement of the ongoing debates surrounding each term was necessary to frame the particular context in which this thesis is placed: a post-structural

52 feminist-oriented thesis that considers relations of power and discourse. Each of the terms discussed within this chapter are employed across the thesis, and a clear outline of how each term is used was therefore necessary. A further exploration and consideration of this approach is undertaken in the next chapter, which considers the key epistemological premises significant to this thesis. The chapter demonstrates the relevance of these premises for each method outlined in Chapter 4, and why these methods were chosen to explore this topic.

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Chapter Three: Epistemological framework

This chapter outlines the key epistemological premises that form the foundation of the theoretical framework used across this research. The chapter examines post-structuralism in a broad sense, and then relates post-structuralism to two specific concepts that are key to this project: discourse, and power. The chapter then moves on to examine how feminist post- structuralists employ these concepts in their work, how these epistemological premises have informed what this thesis can ask, and how these concepts will be further applied within this thesis. However, before commencing a study of post-structuralism and its influence upon this thesis, a brief outline of this work’s understanding of epistemology must be given.

3.1 Epistemology Epistemology is, simply put, a way of understanding the nature of knowledge, and how knowledge is shaped. It asks how we know things, and how we came to know these things. Traditionally, the central focus of epistemology is the “nature and scope of knowledge” (Turri 2013, p. 263). In making an assertion to knowledge, it then stands that the question may be asked, “How do you know this?” (Turri 2013, p. 263). The academy seeks to address this question through evidence-based research. However, the approach of feminist epistemology looks to destabilise this perspective by questioning how knowledge can be shaped by the wider context of the knowledge-maker. This approach is in line with Lorraine Code’s central question (1981), whether “the sex of the knower is epistemologically significant?” In areas of feminist research, theorists have long rejected a positivist stance – one in which there is a clear and objective ‘truth’. Historically:

Western philosophy has aligned mind/reason with maleness and body/emotion with femaleness, representing emotions as irrational and invoking women’s alleged emotionality to disqualify them as knowers.

Kaldis 2013, p. 353

Furthermore, what is ‘known’ has been determined and applied by only a small representative sample of people; in Patricia Hill Collins’ words, “white men control the knowledge validation process” (1990, p. 203). Instead, some feminists have turned to an epistemological approach that makes central how gender shapes knowledge and experience. Feminist theory and epistemological positions therefore distinguish themselves from others through their

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“unconditional focus on analysing gender as a mechanism that structures the material and symbolic worlds and our experiences of them” (van Zoonen 2011, p. 25).

To take this a step further, feminist epistemology – or, as Linda Alcoff and Elizabeth Potter (1993, p. 1) suggest, feminist epistemologies – bring in to question wider understandings of general, dominant knowledges within the academy (Alcoff and Potter 1993). Many feminist epistemologists have emphasised the significance and particularity of the context of theory, and have consequently remained sceptical “about the possibility of a general or universal account of the nature and limits of knowledge” (Alcoff and Potter 1993, p. 1). Furthermore, feminist epistemology questions researchers who propose positivist epistemological stances as ‘surrogate knowers’, and asks how they can presume to insert themselves in the place of others and purport to know their circumstances and interests in the same way (Code 1993, p. 16). Sandra Harding (1987, p. 9) also explicitly rejects the “objectivist stance” when she argues that feminist research should not make the researcher’s cultural beliefs invisible “while simultaneously skewering the research objects’ beliefs and practices to the [metaphorical] display board”. Objectivity has also been questioned by Stanley and Wise (2002), who assert that feminist work starts from the researcher’s assumptions about the importance and validity of women’s experience, and draws on the motif that “the personal is the political” – and, hence, it should question the objectivity of traditional research.

However, there is, according to Phyllis Rooney (2011, p. 4), a “persistent marginalisation” of feminist epistemologies in relation to the wider field. This is despite feminist epistemologies being proposed and applied for over a quarter of a century at the time of Rooney’s observation (2011). Rooney furthers her argument by citing one of the most commonly held beliefs about feminist epistemology: that it is about women’s ways of knowing. Rooney instead counters this by stating that this idea has surfaced within feminist epistemology, “but the primary focus has been on how problematic the idea is” (2011, p. 7). Instead, feminist epistemology acknowledges the differences in women’s experiences “while [still] drawing general, even lawlike conclusions” (Okeke 2000, p. 170).

In approaching research with a feminist epistemological stance, objectivity is therefore not possible. This is because, as Philomena Okeke argues, “to be a feminist [in one’s research] is, in effect, to conduct value-laden research which cannot be objective” (2000, p. 171). The ideology of objectivity sustains a wider myth of a “neutral man who impartially represents everyone’s interests”, whilst the voices of women and marginalised Others are sidelined (Okeke 2000, p 171). Instead, by adopting a feminist epistemological approach to research, one can make

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“centre and problematic women’s diverse situations and the institutions that frame those situations” (Creswell 2007, p. 25). This is, in effect, one of the central goals of this thesis: to centre and highlight women’s knowledges about challenging dominant gendered discourses in the mainstream media; consequently, this research is qualitative in nature.

To move from broad understandings of feminist epistemology, this thesis will now examine the particular epistemological approaches employed throughout this research that influence what was asked and how. It will next discuss post-structuralism’s relevance to this thesis, and consider how theories of discourse and power can be incorporated into the research in order to address the key research questions and central thesis argument.

3.2 Post-structuralism Broadly speaking, structuralism is “fundamentally a way of thinking about the world [inclusive of texts, cultures, and societies] which is predominantly concerned with the perception and description of structures” (Hawkes 2003, p. 6). Significantly, structuralism also proposes that wholly objective perceptions of individual entities are not possible – any observer is bound to create and draw meaning from what they observe (Hawkes 2003). Schmitz (2007) credits three key figures as initially assisting in the development structuralism: Roman Jakobson, Claude Lévi-Strauss and Ferdinand de Saussure. Saussure, unlike his predecessors in the Formalist movement, viewed language as a uniform system. Synchronic linguists such as Saussure study language for its synchronic structure (Schmitz 2007, p. 28) - a structure that interprets language for its elements and usage at a particular point in time. To this, Levi-Strauss further proposed that the analysis of language could suggest an appropriate model for the analysis of culture as a whole (Hawkes 2003). However, structuralism was not to go unchallenged within literary studies, philosophy, and the academy more broadly – as Jonathan Culler (2007) argues, practitioners of deconstruction have worked within the terms of the constructionist system, but have done so in order to breach it.

Post-structuralism can be applied to a range of different theoretical positions and perspectives associated with the works of Jacques Derrida (1976), Jacques Lacan (1977), Louis Althusser (1971), and Foucault (1972, 1976). Post-structuralism can be viewed both as a series of reactions and necessary alternatives, to the structuralist movement of the mid 20th century (Strohmayer 2005). According to Ulf Strohmayer, the development of 20th century pessimism and the “age of the post” was motivated by a “growing awareness of the blind spots that accompany the postulation of desirable developments” (2005). Post-structuralism was

56 developed as an alternative path, one that questions the stability expressed in the concept of the structure (Strohmayer 2005).

The differences between post-structuralism and post-modernism are significant (Ramazanoğlu and Holland 2002) – however, post-structuralism can generally be viewed as the specific response to the writings of structuralist theorists, inclusive of the works mentioned above. Alternately, post-modernism is often viewed as a more general term inclusive of both post- structuralist theories and concepts, and a movement in both art and architecture (Ramazanoğlu and Holland 2002). Post-structuralist ideas are typically viewed as attempts to destabilise conventional notions of meaning (Gill 2007). A succinct explanation of post- structuralism’s understanding of the destabilisation of meaning is offered by Gill when she states that “meaning is never single, univocal or total, but rather is fluid, ambiguous and contradictory: a site of ongoing conflict and contestation” (2007, p. 13, emphasis added).

Gill’s explanation also points to the central focus of this thesis: one of gendered discourse in the mainstream media as a constant site of conflict and contest. Structuralism and post- structuralism both look to examine wider culture, and how ideas are formed. The relevance of these approaches – to examine and de/construct cultural ideas – is particularly pertinent for this research. This thesis views gender as a concept that is consistently re/structured and re/circulated within culture: the approach of post-structuralism is therefore closely aligned to this perspective.

Another key post-structuralist premise is also shared by this research, Derrida’s well-known declaration that “there is nothing outside of the text” (1976, p. 158). This statement, originally asserted by Derrida in response to Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s autobiography, tells us that our relations to reality function like a text (Johnson 1981) – in short, our own perspectives shape our reality, and we analyse it accordingly. Derrida’s statement is indicative of a perspective taken within this thesis – that there does not exist a vantage point outside of culture from which to critique it. Consequently, within this research there is no ‘objective’ approach that can be claimed: either by the researcher or the interview participants. This is further explored within Chapter Four, which deals with methods and methodology.

Furthermore, as Barbara Johnson argues, “if anything is destroyed in a deconstructive reading, it is not meaning but the claim to unequivocal domination of one mode of signifying over another” (1981, p. xiv). It is this deconstruction that then signals the act of destabilisation, or ‘uprooting’ of the dominant meaning, that becomes a central concern for post-structuralist

57 practices (Strohmayer 2005, p. 8). Again, to relate this back to the central focus undertaken in this work, the feminist campaigns examined have each attempted to ‘uproot’ and destabilise dominant representations of women in the mainstream media. This thesis interrogates how these campaigns did so, which in turns leads to an analysis of what each campaign concomitantly took these dominant gendered discourses to be, and how they assumed these discourses to operate within the mainstream media.

Post-structuralism also allows for the introduction and discussion of key concepts and ideas significant for this research. Both power and discourse are terms often associated with the works of Foucault. Furthermore, his work also allows the discussion of these terms in association with gender: hence their importance to this research. The following three sections speak to each of these terms in turn: firstly by addressing discourse in general, and in its incorporation in this thesis; secondly by investigating the ties of discourse to notions of power and resistance; and finally by discussing how both of these concepts are used by post-structural feminists to explore gender relations and structures.

3.2.1 Discourses The term ‘discourse’ has been used across a wide variety and spectrum of scholarly research. A multitude of definitions for the term exist, and various approaches to analysing and understanding discourses have been employed with different aims and methods across the academy. In this thesis, gendered discourses are understood to be utilised and circulated within the mainstream media; it is argued that the three campaigns examined in this research have challenged these discourses through social media activism. This section considers the presence of discourses in contemporary mainstream media from a Foucauldian approach; that is, an approach that will tie these discourses to concepts of power.

Scholars have sometimes argued that the term ‘discourse’ is “in danger of becoming all things to all people” (Kendall and Wickham 1999, p. 35). However, the term discourse is understood in this thesis to be “systems of thoughts composed of ideas, attitudes, courses of actions, beliefs and practices that systematically construct the subjects and the worlds of which they speak (Lessa 2006, p. 3). Chris Weedon (1987, p. 108) furthers this understanding when she states that discourses are “ways of constituting knowledge, together with the social practices, forms of subjectivity and power relations which inhere in such knowledges and the relations between them.” In addition to the above, within this thesis and following Foucault (1976), discourses are also viewed to be contested and disputed terms, expressions, sites and representations: they are, by nature, not singular, but are constantly challenged and resisted in

58 line with wider power relations – leaving them to be both fluid and omnipresent. Therefore, the approach used within this thesis is consistent with that originally put forward by Foucault – a scholar often cited as being influential to both feminist and media based-research (Gauntlett 2008; Rose 2007; Filmer et al 2004; Tonkiss 2004). Foucault’s understanding of discourse lies within the association between statements, words, texts and utterances (Fairclough 2003).

Drawing on Foucault’s use of discourse, Norman Fairclough states that discourses can also be “ways of representing aspects of the world – the process, relations and structures of the material world, the mental world… and the social world” (2003, p. 124). Although Fairclough’s work centres primarily on critical discourse analysis, his interpretation of discourses as “ways of representing aspects of the world” is useful for understanding discourse within this research, as it aligns closely with the idea of symbolic and material representations being used to provide and depict aspects of a particular discourse. This idea is furthered by Gillian Rose (2007), who states that discourses can be articulated through a variety of visual and verbal images and text, along with the practices that those languages permit. Although discourse can be defined as a “particular form of language with its own rules and conventions” (Nead 1988), it can also be traced through different mediums.

As an example of this, Rose (2007) builds on Nead’s (1988) suggestions that art can also be seen as a form of discourse. Rose proposes that art can be seen as a form of discourse, in which ‘art’ becomes not just sets of pictures, but also “the knowledges, institutions, subjects and practices that work to define certain images as art and other as not art” (2007, p. 190). In this way, discourses can be traced through different media – something that will be evidenced within this thesis. The dominant gendered discourses or ways of representing examined within this thesis work across a variety of mediums, and are therefore challenged in a variety of ways. It is therefore important to understand how intertextuality – that is, how meanings of one discursive image also depend on other images and text - plays a role in these dominant discourses (Rose 2007). A discussion regarding the history, context and surrounding discourse of each representation is consequently included at the commencement of each case-study specific chapter.

Importantly, discourses also shape what can and cannot be known. In Discipline and Punish (1977, p. 28), Foucault states that it is “not the activity of the subject of knowledge that produces a corpus of knowledge, useful or resistant to power” – but instead, it is “power- knowledge, the processes and struggles that traverse it and of which it is made up, that determines the forms and possible domains of knowledge”. In short, discourses set what can

59 and cannot be known – and, resultantly, create truth. There is no “power relation without the correlative constitutive field of knowledge” (1977, p. 27); furthermore, discourses also establish disciplinary power. Disciplinary power is, broadly speaking, a mechanism of power designed to control individual behaviour – it is a method through which power can be implemented.

Discursive fields therefore exist as “competing ways of giving meaning to the world and of organising social institutions and processes” (Weedon 1987, p. 35). Of further relevance to this research is Weedon’s observation that discursive fields “offer the individual a range of modes of subjectivity” (ibid). As this research examines the interaction between feminist groups, the Australian media, and Australian media regulatory bodies, there are a number of discursive fields at play. The understanding of what is an appropriate or inappropriate representation of a woman within the media is open to interpretation, discussion and struggle. How these struggles unfold, and what tools feminist groups employ within these struggles, is of primary interest for this research.

How discourses can therefore be connected to concepts of gender is of central importance. The number of sites and topics that are gendered are vast, with discourses consistently combining and recombining (Sunderland 2004). Furthermore, these discourses are often verbally qualified – as Jane Sunderland outlines, some of these qualifications are that discourses may be powerful, dominant or gendered (2004, p. 7, author’s emphasis). These descriptors may be general or specific in nature, but allow for the reader to differentiate between varieties of discourses presented in one’s work. Consequently, gendered discourses provide a descriptor for a specific form of discourses overall: discourses that have an inherently gendered nature to them. Viewing discourses as gendered is therefore essential to understanding this thesis, as this allows for further exploration of power structures and how these discourses are utilised, examined and resisted by a number of individuals, groups and organisational structures. This exploration of power structures can also be connected to the discussion made earlier regarding discourses shaping what can and cannot be known: discourses also set what subject positions may be available to view and explore them through. For example, Culler (2007) argues that to read a text ‘as a woman’ requires one to identify distortions and defences in the text, and actively provide correctives: the subject position of a woman as a reader is therefore differentiated from that of the default, male audience. Kate Millett (1972) further advances this particular argument in her book Sexual Politics, when she examines the dominant gendered discourse evident within a selection of prominent literary texts written by men, and

60 demonstrates how this same discourse works to systematically subjugate and exploit women within the same texts.

Importantly, gendered discourses are viewed within this thesis as being inherently linked to fields of representations as conveyed in the mainstream media. Cultural representations within the mainstream media are understood to both be political, and to contain positive, negative or ambiguous views of diverse social groups (Hammer and Kellner 2009). As is outlined more fully in the previous chapter, the use of the term ‘representation’ aligns more closely with the media- based nature of this thesis, and its view to examining the struggle between feminist campaigns and the Australian mainstream over how women are portrayed in the media.

This struggle also points to a wider discussion about power and resistance – one in which discourse plays a key role. Foucault’s understanding of power is that it “comes from below…[and] there is no binary and all-encompassing opposition between rulers and ruled at the root of power relations” (1976, p. 94). Foucault goes on to outline that “where there is power, there is resistance, and yet… this resistance is never in a position of exteriority to power” (1976, p. 96). These points of resistance, as Foucault calls them, are a plurality – that is, they are spread across a power network, and are viewed as mobile and transitory. Patton (1994,p. 69) interprets Foucault’s understandings of these resistances as a “capacity for autonomous action [which] explains resistance to forms of domination…such resistance is an effect of human freedom”.

Each of the three points of resistance examined in this thesis intervene at a certain point within the circulation and transmission of gendered discourses: when they are dispersed and re/enforced within the mainstream media. Moreover, these three points of resistance are not part of a greater radical rupture or divide – they are transitory, ephemeral and temporary. Each of the campaigns discussed has since evolved or changed from its original purpose, with only two of the three campaigns examined still in existence. The transitory and mobile nature of each case study is further discussed within the opening section of each relevant chapter in order to recognise and examine how these points of resistance relate to a wider network of power. As each of the case studies intervene in their respective gendered discourse as a reaction and resistance to power, it is now appropriate to more fully consider the links between discourse and power. The next section analyses how power and resistance are regarded and employed in this thesis as concepts for understanding the work undertaken in each campaign.

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3.2.2. Power As indicated above, Foucault views discourse and power as inherently linked. As discourse can be considered “both an instrument and an effect of power, but also…a point of resistance and a starting point for an opposing strategy” (1976, p. 101), it is therefore essential to now consider the role that power plays alongside discourse. This section examines how power is intrinsically tied to discourse, as something that is both transmitted and produced by discourse (ibid). As Sunderland (2004, pp. 8-9) points out, likewise for post-structuralism influenced by Foucault, “power for post-structuralism, is an effect of discourse (not an entity that can be possessed).” Resultantly, this section considers what we can understand to be power, how it can congeal into dominance, and how it can be practised and exercised when challenging gendered discourses as present within the mainstream media. It addresses how power plays a role within the struggle of gendered discourses and representation, and examines how power is productive, and transpires from many places simultaneously.

In The History of Sexuality, Volume 1, (1976, p. 93), Foucault states that power is produced from “one moment to the next, at every point, or rather in every relation from one point to another”. It is “the name that one attributes to a complex strategical situation in a particular society” (ibid). Power is neither a group of institutions behest by the State; nor is it a more general mode of dominance of one group over another. Power has no central point or unique source, but is instead understood as dynamic, pervasive and “comes from everywhere” (Foucault 1976, p. 93). Foucault further understands power as coming not just from above, but also from below. Specifically, he states that wherever power is located, there is also resistance – but that this resistance is never in exteriority to power (1976, p. 95). Quite simply, this statement indicates that we cannot objectively critique power or discourse: we exist within power structures, and our critiques of power are formed as a result of this. To this statement, Foucault also adds elsewhere “there are no relations of power without resistances… [and that] resistance is multiple” (1980, p. 142).

To effectively resist power, therefore, is to view power as productive – as something that we can change, because we participate in its production through the re/enforcement of discourse. This re/enforcement can take place on several levels and, as framed in this thesis, is understood to fall within three: the individual level, the interactional level, and the institutional level. This is in line with Risman’s dimensions of gender as a social structure (2004). By conceptualising gender and power as existing on a number of dimensions (or levels), we can begin to identify in what ways gendered discourses were challenged by each campaign. By using this model, researchers can “try to identify the site where change occurs and at which

62 level of analysis the ability of agentic women and men seem able… to effectively reject habitualised gender routines” (Risman 2004, p. 434). Risman’s dimensions of gender as a social structure (2004) conceptualises gender as existing within a number of levels: individual, interactional and institutional. She further expands this concept of three levels by describing them as:

(1) The individual level, for the development of gendered selves; (2) during interaction as men and women face different cultural expectations even when they fill the identical structural positions; (3) in institutional domains where explicit regulations regarding resource distribution and material goods are gender specific

2004, p. 433

As Risman observes, the examples given within her description are not exhaustive, and are meant only to illustrate how social processes can explain gender structures within each domain (2004). In much the same way, this research seeks to identify and analyse at what level the three case studies examined have challenged and intervened into gendered discourses to potentially affect change. Interventions and challenges to each gendered discourse by each campaign are acknowledged as a form of resistance: one in which the power of gendered discourses is resisted by changeable and dynamic forms of power within each campaign.

The knowledge and ability of how to resist a gendered discourse – or patriarchal power more broadly – are viewed by this thesis to be a form of subjugated knowledge. Subjugated knowledges are therefore understood to be “those blocs of historical knowledge which were present but disguised within the body of functionalist and systematising theory” (Foucault 1980, p. 82). As previous scholars have noted - in particular, Hill Collins (1990) - feminist thought (and in particular, Black feminist thought) can be viewed as a form of subjugated knowledge. Hill Collins frames Black feminism as one in which “Black women’s efforts for self- definition in traditional sites of knowledge” have been suppressed: leading African-American women to use alternative sites to articulate “core themes of a Black Feminist consciousness” (1990, p. 202). Through this research, the subjugated knowledges of how women challenge gendered discourses will be examined and disclosed in order to further benefit and assist future activists.

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It is with this aim in mind that we turn to the next subsection within this chapter: one that addresses post-structuralism from a feminist perspective, whilst also incorporating valid critiques of a number of approaches seeking to destabilise women’s unique perspectives on their oppressions.

3.2.3 Feminist post-structuralism Post-structuralist feminist theory is utilised and applied throughout this research in order to closely examine the underlying struggles surrounding three representations of Australian women. As outlined earlier, this investigation takes place through the use of three case studies, which were selected for both their broad similarities (all three are Australian-based, and focus on the representation of women in the mainstream media) and their specific differences (dissimilar media employed in the representation of women, and a range of techniques employed by feminist groups in order to challenge these representations). Furthermore, each campaign also holds different assumptions about gender, power and feminism that prove pertinent to this research.

Using a post-structuralist approach, this research analyses how the three specific gendered discourses are challenged by the three respective case studies. A post-structuralist approach is useful in that it recognises the use of different forms of power in these campaigns. However, just as there are many forms of feminism, there are also many forms of post-structuralism – and as Weedon (1987) notes, not all forms of post-structuralism are of benefit to feminism. Therefore, a number of feminist-based critiques levelled at post-structuralism need to be addressed.

As outlined earlier, post-structuralist thought contests the concept of “who can know, how one can know, and what can be known by suggesting that reality and subjectivity are ultimately discursive constructs” (O’Shaughnessy and Krogman 2012, p. 500). Consequently, it questions the very idea of what women’s oppression is.

It is also worthwhile noting the deep suspicions surrounding the timing of the emergence of post-structuralism in relation to the development of subjectivity and liberatory truth – particularly in response to the growth of standpoint theory. For example, Nancy Hartsock’s question: “Why is it, exactly at the moment when so many of us who have been silenced begin to demand the right to name ourselves, to act as subjects rather than objects of history, that just then the concept of subjecthood becomes ‘problematic’?” (1990, p. 26). This is echoed by Caroline Ramazanoğlu (1993, p. 9), who argues that Foucault’s understandings of power

64 relations does little to differentiate the “lives of black lesbian women in Britain from those of white heterosexual women”. Resultantly, some have argued that this approach lacks systematic understandings of power inter-relationships and social differences (Ramazanoğlu 1993). An example of the specific rejection of Foucault’s work can be found in Shane Phelan (1990), who argues that Foucault is perceived to fail in his understanding and support of feminists’ perspectives and struggles. Phelan (1990, p. 430) further explains that:

The heart of feminist opposition to Foucault’s work has been the fear that his suspicion of thought based on stable entities and unambiguous power relations eliminates the possibility of appeals based on justice or truth, and thus deprives women of the basis for making any claims against a sexist society.

Hartsock (1983, p. 169) adds that Foucault’s definition of power as individuals simultaneously undergoing and exercising power makes it “very difficult to locate domination”. Hartsock further notes that Foucault’s account “makes room only for abstract individuals, not women, men, or workers” (1983, p. 169). As Phelan (1990, p. 431) points out, “internal critique is fine for hegemonic groups, but here it may play the role of disarming those groups that have not yet won the right to critique themselves”. However, Foucault (alongside other post-structuralists and post-modernists more generally) has “tended to ignore, simplify or distort what feminists have said about sexuality and power” (Ramazanoğlu 1993, p. 6). Foucault provided no further response to the critiques raised by Hartsock, Weedon, or their peers. But, more generally Foucault has suggested that power relations can be “dangerous”, as they have the ability to dominate (1997, p. 256) and congeal. Foucault describes this as a state of domination, in which “the relations of power, instead of being variable and allowing different partners a strategy which alters them, find themselves firmly set and congealed” (Foucault in Fornet-Betancourt, Becker, and Gomez-Müller 1987, p. 114). From this comment we can draw the understanding that power, when congealed into a state of domination, removes the “practice of liberty” (Foucault in Fornet-Betancourt, Becker, and Gomez-Müller 1987, p. 114).

Hartsock proposes an alternative to post-structuralism: feminist standpoint theory. Standpoint theory is sometimes considered to have two major schools of thought: ‘feminist standpoint theory’, in accordance with Hartsock’s Marxist influenced position (1983), and ‘women’s standpoint theory’, as per Smith’s writings (1997). Hartsock draws on Marxist thought “in order to specify how women are better positioned than men, through their experiences of gender subordination, to see the social world of gender relations as socially and inequitably

65 constructed” (Ramazanoğlu and Holland 2002, p. 68). Dorothy Smith’s ‘women’s perspective’ differs from Hartsock’s in that it intermingles standpoint and everyday living and being (1997). However, Smith (1997) explicitly states that she does not consider feminist and women’s standpoint to hold common theoretical positions – indeed, she argues that her specific view of women’s standpoints returns researchers to the actualities of life, including its “local particularities of the everyday/everynight worlds in which our bodily being anchors us” (1997, p. 393). As such, Smith argues that a woman’s individual experience is instilled with authority, and her interpretation must be taken as precise. Women’s standpoint does not aim to justify feminist knowledge as a whole, but has instead been established in order to further develop women’s own voices (Smith 1997). The importance of standpoint theory (whether feminist or women’s-based in nature) lies in the value it places on women’s experiences. As Smith (1997, p. 394), points out, speaking of experiences “was and is a vital political moment in the women’s movement”.

More specifically, the key premise of feminist standpoint epistemology is that women have a unique subjectivity - something that lies at the heart of feminist knowledge production. This is potentially rendered irrelevant by the post-structuralist suggestion that all subjectivities are fragmented (O’Shaughnessy and Krogman 2012) and that there is not any unified concept of ‘women’ or ‘feminism’ (Ramazanoğlu and Holland 2002). Weedon (1987) argues that adequate feminist politics must take class and race into account – something which, as mentioned, second wave feminism has often been accused of failing to fulfil (Mann and Huffman 2005). Instead, post-structuralist feminists of the third wave critically question the notion of coherent identities and view “freedom as resistance to categorisation or identity” (Mann and Huffman 2005, p. 58).

The primary critique of standpoint theory is its failure to acknowledge that there is not one singular collective ‘situated knowledge’ from which women can speak – particularly within research that facilitates interviews as a method of enquiry. Feminist standpoint scholars are seen by other feminists to be open to the critique that there is not one ‘woman’, or one ‘feminist’ view – women are not a unified category but are divided by, for example, real relations of “racialised power, heterosexism, globalisation or ablebodiedism” (Ramazanoğlu and Holland 2002, p. 75). Women subjects within research cannot clam to speak for all women, because they each hold uniquely different positions within society; therefore standpoint theory’s notion of women (as a homogenous group) speaking from a collective, subjugated position cannot hold true. Smith (1997, p. 395) rejects these claims of essentialism by arguing

66 that standpoints do not privilege women’s experience, but instead attempt to bring to the fore knowledge of “what is tacit, known in the doing, and often not yet discursively appropriated”.

Haraway (1988, p. 590) argues that there is no “single feminist standpoint because our maps require too many dimensions”. Instead, Haraway suggests that there should be a joining and convergence of “partial views, halting voices” and women’s “situated knowledge” in order to enounce a “collective subject position” (Haraway 1988, p. 591). Ramazanoğlu and Holland (2002, p. 76) argue that Haraway’s notion of a ‘vision’ and of ‘partial sights’ leaves her caught in the dilemma that “partial visions are not all equal”. Therefore, how the debate surrounding standpoint theory fits into this particular methodological approach is addressed by the next point: one of post-structuralism.

Weedon (1987) offers a solution to the above, suggesting a reclamation of Foucault’s work for feminist causes. In focusing on how Foucault’s work can support and contribute towards feminist thought, despite the fact that Foucault (and his peers) may have been unsympathetic towards feminism as a whole (1987), Weedon argues that these theories can be reclaimed. She argues that “if Foucault’s theory of discourse and power can produce in feminist hands an analysis of patriarchal power relations which enables the development of active strategies for change, then it is of little importance whether his own historical analyses fall short of this” (1987, p. 13). Indeed, Judith Butler’s work does just this. She is able to position her work as both deconstructive of the unified subject of women, but simultaneously acknowledge the congealment of gender domination, thus identifying her work as feminist (1990).

Resultantly, this thesis operates from a foundation that is not positivist in nature. It does not aim to produce any objective generalisations; nor does it wish to create a scientific description of reality. The ‘knowledge’ that is therefore produced within this thesis is not written with an objectivist stance; nor does the researcher sit outside the research. The approach is reflexive, and aims to clearly recognise and acknowledge women’s voices, whilst always striving for intersectionality in incorporating subjugated knowledges.

Furthermore, this research also engages a post-structural stance: one in which women’s representations in the mainstream media are seen as a product of a larger patriarchal discourse, and new voices and meanings must be forced into the current discourse by feminist movements in order to effect media policy and counterbalance these more traditional representations. This position uses Foucault’s initial perspectives of many resistances to power

67 occurring within power networks, and also looks to wider transformation being possible as a result of these campaigns – one of the questions that is considered throughout this thesis.

A “feminist-based” post-structuralist approach within this research could therefore encompass many different methods, perspectives and techniques. Taking each of these debates into consideration, the research can be defined as having a post-structural feminist approach. The methodological implications for this are:

- The belief that women’s experiences are often under - or mis-represented within traditional research (Harding 1987). As a result, this research does not take an explicit, traditional feminist standpoint such as Smith’s (1997) or Hartsock’s (1983) but instead, employs a post-structural stance: one in which women’s representations within the mainstream media are seen as a product of a larger, patriarchal discourse, and new voices and meanings must be forced into the current discourse. As such, this research actively seeks out these voices through qualitative, semi-structured interviews, and examines their existence through the use of case studies.

- The incorporation of reflexivity and critical self-reflection into the research process. This is achieved by placing the researcher within the same critical plane as the subject matter (Harding 1987; Rakow 2011). Although the research is not traditionally taken from Harding’s feminist standpoint (1987), it does acknowledge the importance and influence of the researcher upon the research topic.

The incorporation of reflexivity is an issue that will be now be discussed, as it is considered essential to both this thesis, and the process of undertaking feminist-based research as a whole.

3.3 Reflexivity In acknowledging that the notion of a truly objective observer is no longer considered viable within feminist research (King 1996; Rakow 2011), the researcher must then also recognise their own influence upon the research. Reflexivity is the attempt to place the researcher “in the same critical plane as the overt subject matter, thereby recovering the entire research process for scrutiny in the results of the research” (Harding 1987, p. 9). However, the notion of reflexivity

68 exclusively belonging to the domain of feminism is rejected by Ramazanoğlu and Holland (2002), who state that it is simply good social research practice.

The method of employing reflexivity within research to address the researcher’s influences and limitations leads to a wider discussion surrounding women’s unique voices, perspectives and positions within the research. Harding (1987) argues that feminist empiricism pays attention to the subject of enquiry (rather than the object), and, as such, this leads her to conclude that there is a definitive epistemological position amongst researchers, or what she calls the ‘feminist standpoint’. To this, Michelle Lazar (2007, p. 153) further emphasises the importance of reflexivity for feminists, to avoid “our own theoretical positions and practices… contribute[ing] to the perpetuation, rather than the elimination, of hierarchically differential and exclusionary treatment of some women.”

Researcher reflexivity is employed within this research to extend and complement the other methods used, and to address the idea of researcher objectivity. Lana Rakow (2011, p 422) says that reflexive statements may “take the form of a footnote or brief self-disclosure… which establishes in the persona and standpoint of the author, and reflection in the analysis about the potential effect of the role of the research on the project”. It is in line with Rakow’s suggestion that the following brief self-disclosure is made.

My identity as a straight, cisgendered, white-presenting (but of Indigenous heritage) middle- class woman may have led to several privileges within this research. Throughout the process of this research I needed to return many times to the concept of intersectionality, and to consistently seek diversity in the voices I highlighted in my work. The decision to interview primarily women was deliberate; as was the decision to consider the work of activists, rather than the work of those with other forms of power. Furthermore, following the initial evaluation of my first 18 interviewees, I sought an additional six months of ethics clearance in order to obtain more diverse voices and opinions for my research. This was because I deemed my initial interviewees to not be truly reflective of the intersectionality I wished to bring to my research. Further details discussing this decision can be found in the following chapter outlining my methodology.

There is also a wider consideration regarding my choice of subject, and the dominant voices found within my chosen three case studies. As is discussed within the case study chapters, the voices found within each case study were predominantly that of white, middle class women. Although these voices are balanced by those of others across the thesis, the wider question is

69 that of considering why these voices are predominant within each case study. Further steps within feminist activism are suggested within the concluding chapter of this thesis in order to ensure more diverse voices can be found across online feminist activism in Australia.

In concluding this statement, I now wish to move to outlining the more specific methods utilised within this thesis. The following chapter discusses how the two specific methods employed within my research fit within the wider methodological approach outlined here.

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Chapter Four: Methods

This chapter addresses the research methods employed in the thesis. Within this chapter, the previously established epistemological framework serves to underpin the outlined research methods. Primarily, in-depth semi-structured interviews are the main method used to explore how three specific social media based campaigns have challenged dominant gendered discourses of women in the mainstream media. These three case studies are the following campaigns: Collective Shout (CS); Sack Vile Kyle (SVK); and Destroy the Joint (DtJ). The chapter is therefore sectioned into areas addressing the specific methods applied, the limitations to these methods, and a discussion of the data analysis procedure.

4.1 Method and methodology At this point, it is beneficial to distinguish between ‘method’ and ‘methodology’, as the literature can sometimes fail to differentiate the two. For this thesis, ‘method’ refers to techniques and procedures for gathering and producing evidence (Harding 1987; Ramazanoğlu and Holland 2002). Methodology, on the other hand, is a “theory and analysis of how research does or should proceed” (Harding 1987, p. 3). As the epistemological framework and methodological position was explored in Chapter Three, this chapter will now explore the methods utilised in this research.

4.2 The methodological approach This research primarily uses qualitative methods in order to understand the perceived effectiveness of feminist and women’s based online campaigns in relation to dominant gendered discourses in the mainstream media. These qualitative methods include both semi- structured interviews, and three case studies.

4.2.1 Qualitative approach The issue of deciding between a qualitative and quantitative method goes much deeper than the question of “to count or not to count” (Trumbo 2004, p. 418). The academic debate regarding quantitative and qualitative approaches in general has long existed – as Karen Henwood argues, the debate has been an “important feature of social science methodology in the mid and late 20th century” (1996, p. 26). Simply put, quantitative research is an approach to research based on numerical information and quantities (Brennan 2013; Stokes 2010; Weerakkody 2009). Quantitative research is based on measurement through numerical data – and for this reason it excels in testing and demonstrating cause-effect relationships (Gunter 2002). Importantly, quantitative research can also assist in understanding media-effect

71 associations, and allowing researchers to generalise their results to a wider population (Gunter 2002).

Within quantitative research, “interpretative agency tends to be exercised in a sequential and delegated form… the qualitative ambition, in comparison, has been for a single researcher to interpret ‘meaning in action’” (Jensen 2002, p. 236). Henwood (1996) points out that the strengths of quantitative research include detachment, objectivity and rationality – to this, Rakow (2011) adds that quantitative research excels in finding results that can be generalised to wider populations. However, qualitative research is an area that is “primarily concerned with meaning and interpretation” (Stokes 2010, p. 3, author’s emphasis). Rakow (2011, pp. 418-419) gives the example that qualitative research is not concerned with “the number of people who hold the same opinion, but the range and reason for opinions”. Research of a qualitative nature is concerned with understandings and contexts (Brennan 2013; Henwood 1996; Stokes 2010). Although some researchers have previously argued that qualitative research was of a supplementary nature to quantitative research (Henwood 1996), more contemporary sources have discussed how it is now incorporated into research techniques by feminists as a primary method (Rakow 2011; Ramazanoğlu and Holland 2002). It therefore follows that although quantitative research is effective at investigating certain research areas, its emphasis on detachment, objectivity and generalisability fall short of effectively examining the areas of meaning that this research wishes to address.

Overwhelmingly, initial studies about women’s representation in the media have been quantitative in nature (Belkaoui and Belkaoui 1976; Courtney and Lockeretz 1971; McArthur and Resko 1975; Venkatesan and Losco 1975; Whipple and Courtney 1980). This is primarily due to the fact that these studies simply aimed to demonstrate the existence of gender stereotypes and roles – and one of the most effective ways in which to accomplish this was through counting the same stereotypes or representations in a number of different mediums. However, further qualitative data is needed that moves from demonstrating the existence of these stereotypes and roles, to instead exploring how gendered representations can be challenged and changed. The exploration of how gendered representations can be challenged and changed through qualitative means is in line with the primary aim of this thesis: to move from description to transformation of instances of patriarchal dominance.

As a method of enquiry, qualitative research offers researchers the opportunity to fully understand cultural phenomena (Rakow 2011). Although quantitative research allows researchers to investigate statistical analyses (Stokes 2010), qualitative research is more

72 concerned with the analysis of symbols, discourses and texts – indeed, as Henwood (1996, p. 28) argues, analysis of this sort is “qualitative almost by definition”. As the analysis of discourses is central to this research, this was another incentive to employ a qualitative approach.

Qualitative researchers are sometimes charged with “’reading into’ texts things that are not there or having opinions or making interpretations that seem odd, excessive, or even idiosyncratic” (Berger 2000, p. 13). As Henwood contends, “to some extent, all discussion of methodology in the human and social sciences…are influenced by the esteem afforded to detachment, objectivity and rationality” (1996, p. 26). Qualitative research cannot always offer absolute detachment and objectiveness – and as Thomas Lindlof and Bryan Taylor (2002) state, researchers must come to terms with their own reasons for studying people, and with the intellectual traditions that are embedded in qualitative methods.

Rakow (2011, p. 418) states that, in this sense, the research will ultimately be shaped by purposes of understanding or changing cultural phenomena. The primary research interest of this thesis is related to the perceived effectiveness of feminist and women’s based online campaigns, and their resistance to dominant gendered discourses – a topic that cannot fully be broached by quantitative methods. As Rakow explains, this research does not seek to address just “how many people hold the same opinion” – a question that quantitative research would be equipped to answer - but instead seeks to examine “the range and reason for [these] opinions” (2011, pp. 418-419). As such, the research is therefore partially shaped by the requirements of the particular topic at hand.

The requirements of this research, being simultaneously feminist-oriented and attempting to understand and change a specific cultural phenomenon, contribute to the fact that qualitative methods are the best resolution to these particulars. As Henwood (1996) argues, the more flexible, context and meaning-sensitive methods of qualitative research have been advocated as a practical method of better capturing women’s experiences. Qualitative methods have been “lauded in feminist research for allowing women to address the questions that matter most in their lives in a manner that respects their values, knowledge and subjectivity” (O’Shaughnessy and Krogman 2012, p. 495). Furthermore, Steinar Kvale (1996, p. 73) states that “some feminists believe that soft qualitative data are more appropriate for feminist research, because quantitative methods encourage an unhealthy approach between those who know and those who do not”. The issue of objectivity and understanding within qualitative research is further addressed within the limitations section of this chapter – but for now,

73 suffice to say that qualitative methods allow for a more open exchange of dialogue within the research.

4.3 Method There are two primary methods employed within this research: the qualitative interview and the use of case studies. In order to fully explore and understand the selection of each of these methods, both are discussed more fully below in their respective order. These discussions include a consideration of general limitations to the particular method. Succeeding each of these sections is a more specific summary of how each particular method was employed within this research, inclusive of precise limitations encountered at the time.

4.3.1 The qualitative interview The current study uses in-depth interviews as a primary method of data collection, in line with previous research undertaken by this researcher (Gleeson 2016b). Interviews were deemed to be the most suitable method because they aim to show different perspectives related to how feminist campaigns can challenge and change representations of women in the mainstream media.

The use of in-depth interviews meets several demands of the research. As this thesis investigates the perceived effectiveness of feminist and women’s-based online campaigns, it is important to discuss these potential changes and challenges with key informants directly involved in these areas. Interviews “enable researchers to obtain information that they cannot gather by observation alone” (Berger 2000, p. 111). Additionally, Rakow argues, “in many disciplines… feminist scholars have found the [interview] methods particularly appropriate” (2011, p. 417).

The elimination of other research methods (such as surveys and participant observations) was primarily based on the fact that interviews are “particularly appropriate for understanding the experiences and meanings associated with gender” (Rakow 2004, p. 417). These experiences and meanings could not be fully grasped by surveys, focus groups or participant observation. One of the primary reasons for undertaking individual interviews, and not focus groups, was due to privacy concerns. It was felt that participants would more readily and easily disclose details related to campaigns if they were interviewed individually, rather than in a group. Ultimately, this consideration was borne out: a number of interview participants wished to

74 privately discuss the actions of their fellow activists, both within and external to their own campaign. This would not have been possible in a focus group setting.

Niranjala Weerakkody (2009) outlines three approaches to qualitative interviews: the unstructured approach, the semi-structured approach and the structured approach. To this, Berger (2011) adds a fourth: the informal approach. Weerakkody states that these approaches are related to the list of questions or the interview protocol of the research, and “indicates the freedom and flexibility available to the interviewer when asking questions from respondents” (2009, p. 166). Semi-structured interviews are described as being useful when the researcher’s interest is limited to specific topic areas, and they wish to focus the respondent’s responses in relation to these topics (Conti and O’Neil 2007; Weerakkody 2009). Moreover, the flexibility of the semi-structured interview provides room for further exploration or extrapolation on interesting topics and points as they occur within the interview (Brennan 2013; Weerakkody 2009). The semi-structured approach is therefore consistent with the current study, which seeks to disclose respondents’ experiences and actions in relation to representations of women in the mainstream media.

Interviews are an effective method of uncovering people’s ideas, thoughts, opinions and attitudes (Berger 2011); however, as earlier researchers have noted, there are several limitations to using interviews as a research method. Interviews do not allow for generalisations to be made on specific topics; instead, they offer specific insights (Berger 2011). However, this research does not seek to make generalisations about the subjects: instead, the interviewees were selected due to their past experiences within relevant feminist and media related fields. The respondents are, as Klaus Jensen (2002) argues, ‘informants’ on specific topics – they do not just represent a variety of social categories, but are instead well-placed sources. The issue of generalisation of qualitative results is one that has often been posed to interview studies (Kvale 1996). Within a post-structuralist approach, the focus on generalisation has been switched to one of contextualisation – however, this does not mean that certain scholars have not tried to negotiate the divide and reclaim terms such as generalisability in relation to concepts such as trustworthiness, credibility and dependability (Lincoln and Guba 1985).

Within an academic context, generalisability is traditionally understood to mean that the results of research can be generalised universally (Kvale 1996). However, contrasting views from post-structuralism and post-modernism propose that each situation is unique, and universal laws of behaviour cannot be readily formed. However, the generalisability of findings

75 is not always of key importance to research of this nature. Although some generalisations are made, these are reconceptualised to be understood within specific contexts – and, as such, are not positivist in nature.

Another problematic element encountered in qualitative interviews relates to the truth of what a respondent is asserting. Can there be a true representation of what the interviewee says or, for that matter, of anything? In line with the epistemological stance of this research, it is argued that there is no ‘one’ truth; but instead, many truths. Therefore, the research considers the cultural influences that may shape interviewees’ responses to questions. Kvale (1996, p. 247) points out that “different professional communities may construct knowledge differently, and conflicts may arise about which professions have the right to decide what is valid knowledge within a field”. This statement is readily applicable to the variety of interviewees considered within the current research. The respondents’ backgrounds and cultural influences vary greatly, from people who have had long-term involvements within various feminist movements, through to advertising executives that work within a traditionally capitalism- oriented company or business. Each respondent has a variety of motivations and influences – and it follows that their individual ‘truths’ may vary. The unique context of each participant is therefore clarified and examined as a part of their wider ‘truths’ regarding the research topic. The appropriateness of semi-structured interviews is further reinforced by this question of ‘truth’, as the flexibility of interviews of this nature allows for both the interviewer and interviewee to clarify various cultural influences, which may have led them to these ‘truths’.

One of the main concerns articulated by feminists in relation to interviews involves various power imbalances. Jospeh Conti and Moira O’Neil (2007, p. 67) state that the power dynamic between the interviewer and interviewee can “not only shape the interview process but define how knowledge is created”. The problem is further compounded when considering the different power dynamics that exist when studying ‘up’ (or those in positions of power over the researchers) as opposed to studying those in a less privileged position. Conti and O’Neil (2007) articulate the issues surrounding interviews of those in elite positions, and conclude that close attention must be paid within interviews to various power dynamics in order to understand both the limits and possibilities of the ‘power’ of both the interviewer and interviewee (Conti and O’Neil 2007). Interestingly, Shulamit Reinharz and Lynn Davidman (1992) note that when feminists interview ‘up’, they have often find ways to increase their status and credibility with the interviewee. However, this was not a method I actively employed throughout the interview process.

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Finally, the power imbalance associated with interviewing a person in a less privileged position than the researcher also needs to be addressed. Reinharz and Davidman (1992) outline how a variety of feminist researchers have addressed these concerns by self-disclosing their own interests and previous experiences to interviewees. Although this has worked in numerous studies to assist vulnerable interviewees, it is also not overly relevant to this particular research project – simply because potential participants were not identified in the ethics process as belonging to a vulnerable category of people.

4.3.2 Specific method-based information: qualitative interviews As highlighted above, qualitative interviews provide an effective avenue to discover people’s ideas, opinions and attitudes (Berger 2011). As this research’s central question concerns how different groups approached challenging and changing representations of women in the Australian mainstream media, qualitative interviews allowed me to directly address these queries with various individuals within these groups.

This section provides specific details related to the methods used within the present research. These include descriptions of recruitment strategies, informed consent procedures and consent instruments, and interview procedures. Following these discussions, a separate section will address specific limitations related to the interviews.

Interviews were conducted over a period of 23 months, between January 2014 and November 2015 with 22 participants. Twenty out of 22 of the interviewees identified as women, with one person identifying as a man, and one person as non-binary. There was a large variation in participants’ occupations and formal education – this was primarily due to the fact that the people selected for interviews were chosen for their backgrounds in the media industry and policy areas, or for their work within a variety of feminist movements. As was discussed earlier, participants were not viewed as a ‘representative’ sample of a specific population – instead, they were seen as key stakeholders within the area of women’s representation in the mainstream media. This broad spectrum of interviewees was selected principally due to their involvement with feminist movements, or for their work for or within the media industry or media policy areas. Policy areas included those of media law (such as the Australian Broadcasting Services Act 1992), or guidelines and codes of practice for media self-regulation (such as the Australian Association of National Advertiser’s Code of Ethics 2012, the Commercial Radio Australia’s Codes of Practice and Guidelines 2013, and the Commercial Television Industry’s Code of Practice 2015). As such, participants can be considered a specialist within their area of knowledge.

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Interview subjects were initially identified through their involvement within three specific case studies: CS, SVK and DtJ. As each of these groups mounted a campaign against a specific media representation of a woman, relevant interviews were sought with representatives from the corresponding media organisation responsible for the representation. Furthermore, within their respective interviews, campaigners were also asked about their perspectives on not just their own campaign, but on the other case studies examined in this thesis, which is included in some of the case study analysis. If we understand that data has been included in this research from a variety of feminist informants, then this qualification also includes those involved in each respective campaign. Campaigners provided a variety of context and clarification on not just their own, but on other campaigns: an important theme to note when considering the links, ties and tensions both within, and external to, each campaign.

Additionally, as was discussed above, interviews were sought with members of the relevant media regulation sector. By identifying the lead members of assorted media industry groups across Australia, additional interview subjects were also sourced. These participants were obtained through a combination of recommendations and Internet searches. The ethics procedure involved obtaining permission to interview participants by applying to my University’s Ethics Board. Approval for the research project took no more than one month, after which I was able to interview all participants. Permission to interview all participants was granted by the University Ethics Board in 2013, for an initial period of eight months. For a full list of identifiable interview participants, please see Appendix 5.

Potential interviewees were contacted between December 2013 and October 2015, in order to reach as many potential interview candidates as possible. Initial contact was made with potential interviewees through a prescribed email (see Appendix 2) that was sent to each potential participant’s email address. Of the potential 34 interviewees who were invited to participate within the research, 23 participants agreed. Following this, the final number of interviews recorded for this research was 22.

Interviewees were divided into three categories. These were as follows:

- Interview Group A: Interviewees who were involved in one of three case studies (CS, SVK or DtJ). - Interview Group B: Interviewees who were either media producers (writers and journalists), or activists. Respondents may have written for publications

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such as The Age, Daily Life, The Guardian and The Monthly magazine, or were involved in other feminist or women’s activism. Oftentimes, there was crossover between the two – e.g. a writer for The Age may also have previously been involved in feminist or women’s activism. Examples of women in this category are Karen Pickering (noted feminist activist and occasional columnist for The Guardian) and Van Badham (well-known feminist, left-wing activist, and columnist for The Guardian). - Interview Group C: Interviewees who were either academics or members of political/regulatory bodies. Members of this category devote a large amount of their time to issues related to women and/or the mainstream media.

The type of sampling used within this research is of a snowball or chain nature; as such, it “identifies cases of interest from people who know people” (Miles and Huberman 1994, p. 28). In this context, the snowball sampling method was employed with all interviewees, with varying levels of success. The interviewees within Group A and Group B proved particularly helpful in recruiting fellow respondents – however, those within Group C were less so. It may be the case that the informal communication networks set up by both activists and media producers proved useful in quickly contacting and connecting with others for the purpose of referral.

Although there were a number of broad interview questions that were addressed to each respondent, there were also several specific questions that were dependent upon the individual’s background and experience. The interview questions were refined through the use of a pilot study. One participant from the final pool of respondents was selected to participate in the initial pilot study (from Group C). Although the pilot study was identical to the main study in terms of method of approach and informed consent, the questions differed slightly. This was due to the fact that the pilot study was introduced as a method to effectively test the consistency of, and responses to, interview questions. Questions for the main study were further refined following the responses and results of the initial pilot study. The main areas of refinement were in relation to the specificity of questions asked and the time allocated for participant responses. A number of broad questions regarding media representation of women were narrowed down – this was in order to achieve more specific responses from participants. The time allocated for participants was increased slightly (from a range of 30 minutes - 1 hour to 1 hour – 1.5 hours) which was altered in order to allow participants the opportunity to expand on their responses more effectively.

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Interviews took place in a variety of locations – these included Swinburne University of Technology, the participant’s home or workplace, at a café, or electronically through the use of technology such as Skype. On average interviews went for 60 minutes, with the longest interview taking 100 minutes, and the shortest taking 20 minutes.

Informed consent was obtained from each participant within the study. When participants were interviewed face-to-face, a hard copy of the consent form was provided, along with a consent information statement (see Appendices 3 and 4). Participants were then asked to read through and sign the consent form, in line with suggestions made by Kvale (1996) and Jensen (2002). When participants were interviewed electronically, a copy of the consent form and the consent information statement were emailed to the participant, who was then asked to read through the consent information statement and consent form. These participants then verbally provided their consent through Skype prior to interview commencement.

The potential obstacles surrounding anonymity and confidentiality are effectively understood and addressed within this research. Prior to interviews taking place, each participant was asked if they were happy to remain readily identifiable within the resulting publications. Of the 22 total participants, 21 agreed to this. One participant wished to retain their anonymity. This person’s identity was protected through the use of a pseudonym. Additionally, the relevant sections of work in which all respondents (both those who retained their identity and those who elected to remain anonymous) are included within what was sent to the relevant participants prior to publication. This gave participants the opportunity to review the work in which they are featured and ensure both that the data is accurate, and that in the applicable case anonymity is retained. Final identified participant details are available in Appendix 5.

4.3.3 Limitations This research was impacted by several limitations, some of which have been mentioned earlier in this chapter. Predominantly, as the researcher selected the interviewees herself, the sample may be subject to the researcher’s own ingrained biases and information. However, it is felt that the additional time sought to interview participants has ensured the current data provides a rich and comprehensive set of responses to the research topic.

In line with the reflexive stance undertaken throughout this research, the ingrained biases of the researcher have been acknowledged. Attempts to overcome these biases have been made throughout the research. These attempts include deliberately seeking as a diverse a group of participants as possible for inclusion within the interviews. As discussed elsewhere, although

80 reflexivity is an appropriate approach for research of this nature, it is not a ‘catch-all’ excuse for any lack of diversity. The low number of interviews with women of colour, trans women, queer women and women of different levels of ability cannot always be explained or excused by the reflexive stance of the author. Although every attempt has been made to seek out a wide pool of interview respondents, this does not always materialise. As mentioned, an extension to the original ethics timeframe granted for interviews was sought and granted in order to allow the researcher further time to seek out further interview respondents. Consequently, four additional interviewees representing a variety of feminist perspectives were added to the original 18 people contacted for this research.

As discussed earlier, this research does not always aim to generalise results to a larger population. Participants were selected on the merit of their own individual experience, and not in order to fit a particular quota. Hence, an accurate term for the role participants played within the interviews is that of an “informant”. Kvale (1996) deems informants to be not the subject of analysis (as they would be in a representative study), but instead subject to, and witnesses of, events.

An additional limitation is related to representation of females and males within the data set. As this research investigates feminist movements and women’s representation in the mainstream media, approximately 90.9% of individuals that were interviewed identified as women. Of the remainder, one person identified as male, and one person as non-binary. Every effort was made to ensure that males were represented within the interviews – however, females vastly outnumber males in feminist movements. This may be due to what Mandy Van Deven (2009, p. 18) deems the seeming illegitimacy of male roles within a struggle about women gaining their own rights. However, men can be “strong allies in the gender equity movement”, and as such, every effort was made to locate and interview men within feminist movements, the media industry and media-based policy (Van Deven 2009, p. 18).

The decision to disclose my particular feminist stance to interview participants was made for several reasons. In the case of this particular research, self-disclosure refers to the researcher’s conscious decision to affirm their particular perspectives and experiences to the interview participants. In much the same way that the practice of reflexivity within research is a declaration to readers of the researcher’s individual views, self-disclosure within an interview can be used by researchers to create a more “true dialogue” (Reinharz and Davidman 1992). Self-disclosure within interviews is often considered by feminists to be “good practice” (Reinharz and Davidman 1992, p. 33).

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4.3.4 Case studies As a method of examination, case studies are noted for their ability to pay close attention to detail, and to uncover unique features of each case (Pyke and Adams 2010; Thomas 2011). An additional purpose of case studies is typically to arrive at descriptions that have “implications for larger social systems” (Jensen 2002, p. 239). Case studies were originally considered to take place within the exploratory stage of research, and have been used as everything from a research strategy (Jones and Lyons 2004), a teaching technique (Henning, Nielsen and Hauschildt 2006), through to a data collection tool (Gangeness and Yurkovich 2006). Case studies were thought to originate in the professional training of lawyers at the Harvard Law School in the nineteenth century (White 1992, as cited in Thomas 2011, p. ix) – however, Gary Thomas (2011) also points out that Jean Marc Gaspard Itard’s famous studies of Victor, the “wild boy of Aveyron” in the 19th century, could, amongst others, be deemed to have pioneered the method. One commentator has observed that taking a fixed view of case studies is, from a feminist post-structural perspective, somewhat unwise. This is due to the fact that this then eliminates the utility of case studies across multiple settings, and that the resultant discussion surrounding case study purpose could ultimately render the understanding of them meaningless (Anthony 2012).

The decision to employ case studies as a research method was made in order to critically examine contextual conditions surrounding the representation of women in the Australian mainstream media. Case studies, as a research strategy, comprise an all-encompassing method – and as such, are more than just a data collection tactic or a design feature (Yin 2014). Thomas (2011) points to case studies as an example of a holistic approach – as compared to their more well known cousin, reductionism. The distinction between the two, Thomas (2011) argues, rests in the underlying purpose of the research. If the purpose is to develop laws and theories with which we can explain the world, then a reductionist approach is well suited. If, however, an attempt is made to understand how or why something might have happened – or why this something might be the case – then a more holistic approach is needed. The debate surrounding reductionism and holism harkens back to philosophers of ancient Greece, and shows no signs of abating (Thomas 2011).

As Robert Yin (2014) points out, the temptation with case studies is to collect ‘everything’ – however, this is impossible. Therefore, the central focus for analysis, evaluation and comparison between each case study is each group’s reaction to how the mainstream media represented women – it is this resultant challenging and attempted change by each group that

82 is of central concern. The following section will explore specific method-based information on the limits to each case study, and how the comparison between each of the three case studies will unfold.

4.3.5 Specific method-based information: case studies The subjects of these case studies are three campaigns that took place in 2011, 2012, and 2013. These campaigns were called, respectively, Collective Shout (CS), Sack Vile Kyle (SVK), and Destroy the Joint (DtJ). Each of these campaigns was born out of a variety of different circumstances – these will be explored in more detail within each campaign’s respective chapter. However, this section will explore the subject, purpose, approach and process of the case studies, in line with Thomas’ recommendations. As Thomas (2011) both summarises and expands upon a number of other influential case-study scholars – such as Yin, Stake, and Merriam – it is felt that his approach towards understanding and explaining case studies is suitable.

Numerous attempts have been made to define and divide different kinds of case studies (see Merriam 1988; Stake 1995; Yin 2014). However, Thomas (2011) provides both an overview and a more straightforward approach to understanding case studies. He outlines that the subject of each case study can be a ‘key case’, an ‘outlier case’, or a ‘local knowledge case’ – and that following from this, the purpose, approach and process of each case study can be more clearly understood (2011, p. 93). This section will therefore outline the subject, purpose, approach and process for these case studies.

Each of these case studies approached the issue of challenging or changing the media’s representation of women differently. For example, CS was already a well-established movement when it first attempted to remove the billboard from outside a private boys’ school in Brisbane. Therefore, its methods revolved around contacting other members of CS through Facebook, Twitter and email in order to ask them to print off and collect signatures for a petition intended for the Federal Government. Additionally, CS also asked its members to contact the Advertising Standards Board and the Outdoor Media Association (OMA), in order to lodge official complaints against the billboard. This regulatory centred approach is the predominant focus of CS’s campaign, and makes it a key focus within the three case studies, as it is what Thomas (2011) would deem to be a good example of a ‘traditional’ campaign. Traditional campaigns sought media reform through direct regulatory-based action – examples of this can be seen as early as the 1970s, with the National Organisation of Women filing a number of petition-to-deny license renewals in the United States.

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CS’s regulatory-focused approach is balanced by the methods used by DtJ. DtJ’s tactics in challenging the initial comments made by Jones were not regulatory focused, but instead concentrated on rousing people through social media. The initial tweets sent out in response to Jones’ comments generated the hash tag “#destroythejoint”, which was closely followed by the creation of a Facebook page and a Twitter account. As at January 2018, the DtJ Facebook page had over 90,000 ‘likes’, and has transformed from a single-issue group into the driving force behind a number of successful wider campaigns. DtJ’s lack of focus on regulatory issues, and the fact that it instead chose to respond through social media, makes it an outlier case subject: one that is “conspicuously different from the norm” (Thomas 2011, p. 80).

SVK’s approach contains elements of both the CS and DtJ campaigns – albeit on a much smaller scale. SVK campaigners also focused on regulatory aspects to challenge the representation of women made by Sandilands – but they incorporated the use of social media to deliberately target companies who advertised on Sandilands’ radio show. As such, their approach comprised features of the other two case studies, whilst also embodying aspects of consumer driven boycotts. The SVK study is therefore also a key case subject, in that it retained a number of traditional media reform campaign tactics throughout its duration.

Following from this, the purpose of these case studies is instrumental. Instrumental case studies are framed by the understanding that the research is undertaken with a specific purpose in mind, and an understanding that the case study is a tool used to bring about understanding with a “view to make things better” (Stake 1995; Thomas 2011). In the instances of these case studies the purpose of the research is to understand how different campaigns attempted to challenge and change representations of women in order to recommend specific methods for future feminist activists. The purpose is not simply one of evaluation (as discussed in Merriam 1988), but moves beyond this to recommendations and proposals.

Finally, the approach taken within this research is to test already existing theories surrounding dominant discourses and power. The process for doing so is through using comparative case studies. The comparison between the three case studies is undertaken in order to understand the nature of the differences between each case. Yin (2014) argues that what he deems to be multiple-case studies (which here are instead termed ‘comparative’ case studies) have distinct advantages in relation to evidence provided. Comparative case studies, he argues, can provide more compelling evidence, and in turn the overall study can be regarded as more robust. He also states that multiple case studies should undergo a form of replication logic, in which

84 evidence needs to be produced that each of the three cases involved the same ‘syndrome’: in this case, the challenging and attempted change of dominant gendered discourses. However, Yin (ibid) also points out that there need to be a number of precautions taken when approaching comparative case studies; these are explored more fully in the following section.

4.3.6 Limitations There are two minor limitations to using case studies within this research: generalising from case studies to wider populations, and the use of comparative case studies. Both of these limitations are explored and considered within this section.

Thomas (2011) argues that the selection of different cases is key when using comparative case studies, as the focus of the case studies is slightly different to the more traditional option of only using one case study. He gives the example of a comparative case study of two schools’ different responses to a peripatetic education support service that was undertaken in order to shed light on the difference in these schools’ characteristics (2011, p. 141). What this means is that the focus of the research has shifted to the phenomenon of which each case is an example – in Thomas’ example, this is the nature of the differences between each school. Within this particular research, the focus is on each group’s response to the instance of the mainstream media’s representation of women. In using comparative case studies, the focus of the research needs to be made particularly clear in order to avoid confusion and misunderstanding regarding the confines of the research.

Thomas (2011) recommends that in order to avoid this, the selection of cases for comparative research needs to be treated quite carefully. This can be achieved through the researcher’s prior knowledge of differences between various cases, and consideration of the context in which the cases developed (Thomas 2011). In line with these suggestions, thorough research and consideration of each case study was undertaken prior to selecting the final three. Additionally, my familiarity with feminism and feminist groups and movements within Australia has been developed over a number of years – I first started participating in online movements in 2010, and since that time have consistently observed how different groups have approached challenging the media’s representation of women. As such, I feel that my knowledge of feminism within Australia is robust enough to effectively select three case studies for this research.

The second limitation to using case studies involves generalising to a wider population. Although case studies originally appear to be a poor basis for making generalisations (due to

85 their specificity), Stake (1995, p. 7) points out that generalisations about one, or a few, cases within a particular situation can be made. He deems these to be “petite generalisations”. Stake (1995, pp. 7-8) also argues that modifications to larger generalisations (or “grand generalisations”) can be made by case study researchers, who may work through counter examples and the acknowledgement of variables.

It is, at this point, worth recognising that case study research does not aspire to prescriptive or grand theory. As mentioned earlier, one of the goals of case study research is to understand the uniqueness of individual cases – not to dismiss them as an ‘error’ (Stake 1995, p. 39). These goals hearken back to earlier discussions surrounding case study research, and quantitative and qualitative understandings of research processes. Although case studies can be used within quantitative research, in this instance their use is to provide an effective tool to examine the motivations and concerns that lie with campaigners in three distinct case studies.

4.4 Data analysis The current research uses methods of data analysis sympathetic with the epistemological stance discussed earlier. As such, it is perceived that there are many meanings that can be created within interviews, and various researchers may interpret each of these meanings differently. Due to this common objection, the need to introduce reflexivity into this research is crucial. As outlined in Chapter Three, reflexivity is understood to place the researcher in the same critical plane as the subject matter, which then opens the entire research process to scrutiny of the results (Harding 1987). The researcher’s understandings, interpretations and analysis of the data must be made clear in order to stay true to the underlying epistemological motivations. These understandings and interpretations will now be explained and clarified.

The transcription of the interview data was conducted concurrently with the interviews themselves – and hence, took place between January 2014 and February 2015. I transcribed all interviews, and each interview was written up using standard word processing software. Notably, there were a number of consistent transcription choices made throughout the process – these were related to what information was deemed relevant to the research, and whether things such as pauses, laughter and sighing would be included within the transcription. Kvale (1996) encourages all researchers to be explicit and consistent about these decisions, in order to allow for cross comparisons between interviews. In the case of this research, the decision was made to eliminate things such as laughter, pauses and sighs from the transcription. Additionally, data that was deemed irrelevant to the original research was also excluded. These

86 decisions were made to assist the researcher in narrowing down the large amount of potential interview data. The data that was excluded from the original research was unrelated to the three case studies, or feminist activism more broadly. The majority of interviews lasted over one hour – and as such, steps were taken to focus in on the relevant responses of interview respondents.

The data analysis technique employed was one of ‘code-and-retrieve’ – that is, the researcher read through the transcriptions and categorised the relevant passages, then returned to and retrieved these coded passages for analysis (Kvale 1996). Each of the interviews was coded using NVivo software, with the purpose being to both preserve the data, and revisit it until patterns and themes began to emerge. Mathew Miles and A. Michael Huberman (1994 p. 56) describe codes as “tags or labels for assigning units of meanings to the descriptive or inferential information compiled during a study”. Although coding categories can be developed in advance, the approach taken within the research was more inductive. Codes were not fully developed until interview data was gathered and transcribed. In line with Miles and Huberman’s suggestion (1994), this decision was made in order to take advantage of any themes that may emerge throughout the coding process, and to fully understand how the data functions within a wider context.

The codes employed in order to analyse the data gathered during interviews were focused on a number of themes. These included:

- Campaign practices (including the internal workings of each campaign, and the preferred social media techniques and methods); - Perceptions of change and potential outcomes of each campaign; - Mainstream media representations of women, and the regulatory bodies associated with these representations; - Tensions within each campaign, and within the feminist movement more broadly, and; - Perceptions of campaigns (both for those directly involved in a campaign, and those external to the campaigns).

Data was drawn from each of these categories to assist in forming the structures for each chapter, and to address the wider research questions of this research. An example of data being drawn from codes to form an integral part of the wider thesis can be seen in the tensions and critiques of each campaign. Initial interviews with campaigners yielded a number of significant discussions in relation to the critiques and tensions felt both within and across

87 campaigns. Further analysis of the interview data undertaken whilst coding confirmed this, with data then being sorted into a category reflective of this. Upon writing up each chapter, a section was then added to discuss the critiques and tensions that were initially discovered in the interview process.

4.5 Conclusion This qualitative research incorporates a post-structural feminist methodology using a semi- structured interview approach. The purpose of this research is to understand and analyse the effectiveness of the tools and methods employed by campaigners within the selected three case studies to challenge and potentially change representations of women in the mainstream Australian media.

The methodological approach deemed to be best suited for this research is one that places importance on allowing individual women’s voices to be heard. Each of these issues is considered important within feminist research – both from a feminist standpoint perspective, and from a post-structural feminist perspective. Semi-structured interviews and the employment of three case studies allow for this research to effectively incorporate both of these points, whilst also addressing the original research question.

Each of the case studies chosen for this research is deemed suitable based on what is known about the field of feminist campaigns within Australia. Moreover, each of the three case studies are contemporary examples, and a number of different tactics and methods were employed through their respective campaigns. A more detailed exploration of the differences across each campaign can be found in the subsequent chapters. The following three chapters each contain a comprehensive examination of a singular campaign, inclusive of a section framing the qualitative results within the wider literature of each dominant gendered discourse, an analysis and discussion of the interview results, and observations on how each respective campaign potentially challenged and changed dominant discourses of women in the Australian mainstream media.

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Chapter Five: Collective Shout

“Would you want this billboard outside your school?” That was the question lobby group Collective Shout (CS) posed to its Facebook followers on March 19, 2013. The billboard in question was advertising Honey B’s – a strip club based in Brisbane, the state capital of Queensland. The objections that CS had to the billboard included its subject matter (promotion of the sex industry), and the fact that it was placed directly outside a private boys school (CS 2013f; 2013j). The billboard for the Honey B’s strip club first made its appearance outside the school in late February 2013, and, to quote CS, depicts:

The lower half of a woman’s body straddling the word “sweetest” with 'honey' dripping over her bottom and legs. The text says that Honey B’s is “Brisbane’s

Image credit: CS 2013d sweetest adult club” CS 2013d

It was, according to the campaign group, an example of “advertising self-regulation in action, serving the interest of advertisers promoting the sex industry to school children” (CS 2013d). Nor was it the first time that a billboard of this nature had been placed outside the Brisbane school – according to CS campaigner Melinda Liszewski2, one of the teachers at the school had previously contacted her with concerns regarding a billboard advertising another Brisbane strip club, entitled “Love and Rockets”.

In the case of the Honey B’s billboard, the teacher in question (Pip Douglas) contacted the Advertising Standards Bureau (ASB), but was, according to CS, “knocked back” (2013d) because the ASB was “unwilling to take into account the ‘product’ being advertised (women’s bodies) and the proximity to schools [as] according to the ASB, such details are irrelevant” (2013d). Douglas then contacted CS directly, informing the campaign group of the ASB’s decision and

2 In this chapter, information from Melinda Tankard Reist, Melinda Liszewski, and Caitlin Roper has been sourced from a combination of one-on-one interviews conducted for the purpose of this research, and online articles written by each campaigner. When information or a quote has been sourced from an article written by either of these women (as opposed to during an interview), this has been indicated by referencing the year the article was published.

89 the close proximity of the billboard to the private school. CS posted their first blog on the issue on February 25 2013 (2013d), along with a Facebook post (2013g). 38 people initially liked the post, whilst it attracted 124 shares, and 60 comments (CS 2013g).

Within their blog post, CS objected to the initial ruling made by the ASB, claiming that the strip club is “priming its next generation of customers through the classroom window” (CS 2013d). Within the same blog post, CS also linked to a change.org petition they had created (Douglas and Mathias 2013), and an official Queensland parliamentary petition that they also encouraged members to print out, collect hand written signatures on, and post to a relevant member of the Queensland Government. CS campaigner Caitlin Roper felt that the move by Honey B’s was “pretty deliberate… [to say] ‘hey, new potential customers’”, which she viewed to be “pretty unethical”. Furthermore, Liszewski identified the image as “getting this brand into the heads of the boys who attend the school”, and viewed the representation of the woman on the billboard to be “dehumanising, [and] representing women as sexual objects”. Finally, Melinda Tankard Reist said that the billboard portrayed women to be “decorative objects, [and] as available for male sexual entertainment and pleasure, [and] that they [the women] are available for sale.”

Liszewski worked on the CS campaign from its inception, alongside the two teachers from the school that had initially alerted CS to the billboard. As discussed within this chapter, one of the most prominent social media techniques employed by CS included ‘naming and shaming’ the strip club for the placement of the billboard on the CS website, along with its Facebook and Twitter pages. The CS campaign also attracted statewide media coverage in Queensland (Lill 2013), and ultimately resulted in a parliamentary petition being launched by CS, along with an online petition that garnered over 1,500 signatures. The campaign also triggered the removal of the billboard itself from outside the private school after the CEO of the OMA contacted Honey B’s directly and asked that the billboard be removed.

This chapter examines CS, its history, social media techniques within the campaign, and how it attempted a level of regulatory and institutional change unseen within the other two case studies of this thesis. Importantly, this chapter also evaluates how CS’s wider political framework influenced their approach to the removal of the Honey B’s billboard, and their broader understandings of sex work, gender, and power as a whole. The views and understandings of feminists outside of CS are also examined in order to fully consider how CS can be seen as a specific example of wider issues within Australian feminist activism, and how, as Catharine Lumby (1997) argues, conservative groups and organisations use the sexualisation

90 of women in the mainstream media as a platform to promote a more moderate view of the representation of women in the media (Lumby 1997). It also considers how any form of perceived success on behalf of the CS campaign needs to be considered against wider implications of how the campaign adversely affected women employed at Honey B’s, and in sex work more generally.

5.1 Case study structure Within this particular chapter, data has been sourced from a number of interviewees, and is organised into a number of themes supportive of the main argument of this chapter – that is, that CS successfully used social media to achieve change on the micro level (in that the billboard they were targeting was removed) but this change failed to translate across to a wider, regulatory-based level. CS’s use of social media did result in the removal of the Honey B’s billboard shortly after its campaign began – however, CS’s attempts to apply pressure to the advertising industry as a whole proved to be unsuccessful. Although the resultant enquiry did conclude that changes needed to be made regarding the advertising industry’s self-regulation model, the Queensland Government preferred to continue to allow the industry to self- regulate.

The chapter then moves on to look at the particular instance of the Honey B’s billboard, and at how CS employed social media to attempt to achieve a specific goal (that of the billboard’s removal), and a wider goal (that of the removal of explicit content in outdoor advertisements). Importantly, the issue of how feminists approach and understand women’s sexuality and sex work in reaction to CS’s stance is also considered at this point of the chapter. I will interrogate the campaign’s specific understandings of gender and power, as CS’s abolitionist stance on sex work may in turn affect both CS’s and the wider Australian feminist community’s understanding of success in achieving the removal of the Honey B’s billboard. In this chapter, I will conceptualise CS’s interventions into change through Risman’s theory of gender as a social structure (2004). Additionally, I will draw understandings of power relations from Foucault’s (1972; 1976) work, and conceptualise how CS perceived their power to originate from challenging gender on an institutional level.

Within the following section, I have undertaken to identify literature related to the regulations surrounding how adult entertainment venues can advertise in public settings. However, there is an apparent gap in the literature in relation to this topic. As a result, this chapter addresses this gap by examining how a specific entertainment venue catering to an explicitly adult market

91 has approached advertising in a public area outside a school, and the resultant consequences for doing so.

Finally, it needs to be noted that this chapter only examines women’s sexuality, and not that of teenage or young girls. When using the terms ‘women’, and ‘adult’ this thesis refers to the legal definition of a person being over 18 years – an age under this would indicate that the person is still a youth or child (Australian Institute of Criminology 2009). Although there are large areas of the literature exclusively devoted to the sexualisation of young girls within the mainstream media, this research will focus on that which concerns adult women. Though this thesis acknowledges that the activism of groups such as CS often concern the effects that these representations of the media may have on young girls, the focus and discussion of this next section will be on mainstream media representations of women’s sexuality – and not that of a person under the age of 18.

5.2 Women and sexual power In order to examine CS’s objection to the Honey B’s billboard, a wider understanding of women’s sexualisation in the mainstream media must be gained. The following section undertakes an analysis of the existing literature related to the sexualisation of women in the mainstream media, and how women’s perceived sexuality has been used to sell a variety of products and services irrelevant to sex itself. Importantly, this chapter differentiates between advertisements that link non-sexual commercial products to women’s sexuality, and those that do so within the context of the adult entertainment industry. This differentiation is made in order to contextualise CS’s approach as being only one of many perspectives taken by those who challenge dominant gendered discourses of this nature in the mainstream media.

The use of alluring women in advertisements was a practice noted as far back as the 19th century. Automobiles, deodorant, alcohol, perfume, health and wellness products, and ice cream are just some products cited by scholars as being sold to consumers through the overt use of women’s sexuality (Elliott et al 1995; Hall and Crum 1994; Rudman and Hagiwara 1992). Tom Reichert and Jacqueline Lambiase (2003, p. 85), have argued that “images of pretty women as ornate accessories have long enhanced magazine advertisements and posters to sell products”. One of the first uses of women’s sexuality in an advertisement was identified by Reichert and Lambiase (2003, pp. 92 - 93) as a 1911 print ad for Woodbury’s soap, which featured a man kissing a woman’s hand, and the tag line “A skin you love to touch”. This somewhat muted innuendo saw the sales of the soap rise steeply from $515,000 to $2.58

92 million in just five years (Reichert and Lambiase 2003). However, formal research considering the roles of women in the mainstream media did not take place until 1971. Courtney and Lockeretz (1971) undertook a study examining women’s stereotypical roles in print advertisements, and found that men in the advertisements principally regarded women as sexual objects, and were not interested in women as stand-alone people. This was followed by Dominick and Rauch’s examination of television commercials in 1972, and Venkatesan and Losco’s comprehensive analysis of over 14,000 magazine advertisements in 1975. Lysonski (1983; 1985) also found that women were more likely to be portrayed as sex objects than men in British-based advertisements.

The work of Jean Kilbourne has also made a number of contributions to the topic of women’s sexuality as portrayed in advertisements. Kilbourne’s four films - Killing Us Softly (1979), Still Killing Us Softly (1987), Killing Us Softly 3 (1999), and Killing Us Softly 4 (2010) - have highlighted how women have been sexualised in the mainstream media across a number of decades. Her films have discussed how the portrayal of women as sex objects can effectively reduce them to ‘things’, and a part of the merchandise they are selling. Kilbourne’s views regarding the emphasis of women’s bodies in advertising are further reflected in the wider literature. Dane Archer et al (1983, p. 733) argue that, “men are represented by their heads and faces; women are represented using more of their bodies”. Hall and Crum’s research indicated similar findings, with women appearing less often than men in beer commercials, but their bodily exposure being greater when they do appear (1994). Likewise, Sheila Jeffreys (2005, p. 15) argues “ideologies of beauty and fashion such as those circulated through popular culture [are intended] to subordinate women”. hooks (1989) further links racism and sexism as communicated through the media to the oppression of black women, and emphasises the physical changes black women are expected to undertake in order to be considered beautiful or desirable. More broadly, Harvey and Gill (2011, p. 53) have noted the “sexualisation of culture”: one in which there is a “growing sense of Western societies as saturated by sexual representations and discourses, and in which pornography has become increasingly influential… transforming contemporary culture”.

Although a large number of studies have examined gender roles within advertising across cultures more generally (Craig 1992; Das 2011; Furnham, Babitzkow and Ugucciono 2000; Furnham and Farragher 2000; Kim and Lowry 2005; Mazella et al 1992; Neto and Pinto 1998; Valls-Fernández and Maríínez-Vicentre 2007) there are limited studies focusing on the regulation of outdoor advertisements of adult entertainment venues. Notably, the work of Lauren Rosewarne is an exception. Rosewarne’s 2007 examination of 177 outdoor

93 advertisements included six billboards related to “sex industry entertainment” venues. These venues included four images advertising the Melbourne-based Spearmint Rhino “gentleman’s club”, and one each for “gentleman’s restaurant” Maxine’s, and the table top dancing venue The Men’s Gallery (Rosewarne 2007, pp. 98-99).

Rosewarne raises earlier arguments made by Sørenson (2003, as cited in Rosewarne 2005), who addresses the ‘mainstreaming’ of pornography in fragmentised ways; that is, through its appearance in advertising, music videos, on billboards, and websites (Sørenson 2003, as cited in Rosewarne 2005). Rosewarne has argued, both in her 2007 research, and in earlier piece from 2005, that sexualised outdoor advertising works to “make public space a gallery for men where women are used to decorate space in a way that sexually objectifies women and offends and harasses female public space users” (2005, p. 68). Richard Pollay (1986, p. 28) also noted that, for some people, sexual advertisements are in a real sense pornographic, and “represent a challenge to standards of public decency”. Notably, CS members are amongst those that perceive the use of sexual objectification and pornography to be a challenge to public decency – both their actions and subsequent interviews for this research are indicative of their perspectives in relation to this matter.

It is clear, from the arguments made above, that women’s sexuality has long been used in advertising to promote, link to, and at times be substituted for, products. However, less attention has been given to the specific instances of how strip clubs (alongside with other adult entertainment venues) advertise in public space. For example, although Rosewarne’s 2005 and 2007 work consider six separate outdoor advertisements promoting adult entertainment venues, these examinations were performed within a larger content analysis. Additionally, although the work of Phil Hubbard and Rachela Colosi (2015) considers why policy makers have refused licenses for lap-dance clubs in Britain and Wales, the paper does not consider how these clubs advertise to local clientele.

Overall, very limited literature exists specifically examining the regulations surrounding how adult entertainment venues can advertise in public settings. As such, this chapter contributes to bridging a gap within the wider literature, and seeks to address and analyse one campaign’s perspective on the issue of how an entertainment venue catering to an explicitly adult market has approached advertising in a public area – specifically, that outside a school. Furthermore, it also considers why the advertisement of adult entertainment venues such as Honey B’s are opposed by groups such as CS, and why CS’s objections to women’s sexuality being used to promote products has been expanded to oppose the sex industry as a whole. That is, the

94 chapter analyses how CS understands gendered power to work specifically by analysing their underpinning ideas about the effect of such advertising. There is an assumption that if a woman specifically ‘sells’ her services, or her body, within a consenting environment, CS remains opposed to this on the basis of the global implications it has on other women being forced into the sex trade. CS’s stance on sex work as a whole is discussed in further detail later in this chapter.

The issue of women’s sexuality is further complicated by its existence within wider patriarchal constructs. Some feminists have argued that it is impossible to theorise about women’s sexuality whilst operating within a patriarchal system, and have instead proposed that these considerations need to be postponed until women are free (or freer) from male oppression (Higgins and Tolman 1997, p. 182). These views were also put forward by members of CS; Roper said that this particular form of empowerment was “still all about performing for the male gaze”, whilst Liszewski said that if women are “seen as sexual objects, this is going to be increasingly their options for employment [as sexual objects]”. This perspective is inherently structural in its origins, and is viewed by some as denying women their own agency in choosing how they wish to engage with their own sexuality.

Furthermore, according to Ariel Levy (2005) literature that defends sexualised images of women seldom questions whether these images actually reflect female sexual desire, or whether they are instead projections of male sexual desire. According to Luce Irigaray (1985), women exist in an “economy of the same” – in which we live in a world of phallocentrism, and women’s difference can only be signified as a defective variation thereof. Equality is therefore understood as becoming ‘equal’ to a man – but phallocratic logic dictates that this ‘equality’ ensures that women have no right to their own, distinctive equality that exists outside of this. This returns us to the question of women’s own agency and empowerment – a question that will be further explored within this chapter. How does CS, an explicitly feminist campaign group, challenge sexualised representations of women in the mainstream media without seeking to actively limit and oppress women’s own agency and sexuality? Furthermore, if CS does not see their challenge to sexualised representations as a limitation of other women’s agency, why is this – and how does it relate to wider perspectives on power? The following sections of this chapter seek to address how the motivations and wider understandings of what campaign members identified as acceptable bounds of public decency and representations of women in the mainstream media in turn informed their campaign against the Honey B’s billboard. Additionally, the chapter also considers how CS’s understandings of ‘top-down’,

95 structural-based change has in turn, informed their views on what members consider be a campaign’s success.

As a whole, this chapter examines CS’s stance on the sexualisation of women within the adult entertainment industry because of how this stance directly informs the Honey B’s campaign, and its direct implications for the women who are employed at Honey B’s. Drawing on work undertaken by Carisa Showden (2011), the level of success gained by CS with the removal of the billboard may have ultimately resulted in the loss of work for women employed at Honey B’s. The analysis undertaken within this chapter considers the structural/agency debate, and how it can be further informed by considering CS’s perspectives on sex work. In particular, an examination of how, by using arguments for the abolition of sex work and regulation of explicit outdoor advertisements, these perspectives may be understood to affect the efficacy of their campaign.

5.3 Collective Shout This section of the chapter discusses the origins of the CS group, and outlines its history, founding members, growth, and its previous and current campaigns. Within each of the case study chapters, multiple sites of power and struggles surrounding dominant gendered discourses are examined and discussed in order to frame the wider argument of this thesis; one in which feminist or women’s-based campaigns can use social media to challenge representations of women in the mainstream media.

5.3.1 Collective Shout history and origins The CS group was founded in 2009 by Tankard Reist, with the group’s Facebook and Twitter pages launched early the following year (CS 2016a; 2016c). Tankard Reist has described CS as:

A grassroots protest and oppositional movement to name and shame advertisers, corporations and marketers who objectify and sexualise girls to sell products and services.

Additionally, CS’s website says that it is for anyone concerned “about the increasing pornification of culture and the way its messages have become entrenched in society” (CS 2015). CS’s methods of contesting this perceived pornification were largely dependent on, as Tankard Reist said, “naming and shaming” those participating in the sexualisation of women and girls. According to the CS website, ‘naming and shaming’ involves publicly exposing

96 corporations, advertisers, and media outlets who engage in practices which CS view to be offensive and harmful (CS 2015). The process of ‘naming and shaming’ involves openly identifying the group in question on CS’s Facebook page, website, Twitter feed, and newsletter. After naming the relevant corporation, advertiser, or media outlet, CS then ‘shames’ this group by pointing out that it has participated in the unnecessary sexualisation of women or girls.

Prior to discussing the specific instance of the Honey B’s billboard, it is beneficial to understand CS’s campaign history, and its opposition to various instances of the sexualisation of women in the mainstream Australian media. Additionally, and as further expanded upon within this chapter, CS holds a number of ties to more conservative Australian lobby groups – an issue deemed relevant within this chapter, as these links reflect an understanding adopted by CS in relation to the sexualisation of women. The long-term aims of CS, according to Liszewski, include wanting to “equip and facilitate the community to challenge the sexualisation of children and the objectification of women in our culture”. These specific goals are echoed by Tankard Reist, who states that one of CS’s core messages is that “women must never be depicted as mere objects for the satisfaction of men”. Understandings of change and success, as perceived by CS campaigners, can be measured against these long-term goals for their impact.

Furthermore, CS as a whole has previously stated that it is opposed to the sex industry. On February 27, 2014, CS posted on its Facebook page that it is:

Opposed to all forms of sexual trade and commerce in women’s bodies, including pornography, prostitution and trafficking. We believe the sex trade is an industry that thrives by exploiting women and legitimising rape and violence against women as work. CS 2016a

These views were further reinforced by CS’s campaign coordinator, Roper, during an interview for this research. Roper stated that CS believed that the “commodification of women’s bodies isn’t empowering… [and] does not liberate women as a whole”. Although this discussion is explored in further sections of this chapter, for now it needs to be noted that the views of CS as a whole are mentioned not in order make an assessment as to the validity of CS’s political framework, but rather to demonstrate how these views influenced CS’s specific approach to the Honey B’s billboard. It is possible to analyse CS’s approach as incorporating second wave feminism, and a ‘top down’, structural approach to challenging a particular discourse within the

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Australian mainstream media. However, third wave pro-sex work critiques of this approach would argue that CS did not consider the rights of sex workers - particularly those directly affected by the legislation CS was advocating - prior to launching their campaign. This is further evidenced by Tankard Reist’s response to a question of this nature when I interviewed her for this research:

Interviewer: What about, for example, the women that are working at Honey B’s or other strip clubs, as a person so restricted [by CS’s proposed legislation], would that limit their work?

Tankard Reist: Do I care?

I: I don’t know.

TR: I mean is this a concern of Collective Shout that sex work might be limited?

I: Mm I see.

TR: Really? Why am I being asked this question? I mean the fact is that we want those industries of exploitation to stop. So we don’t think desperate women should be allowed to be desperate somewhere else.

Outside of their campaign regarding the Honey B’s billboard, CS has also mounted a number of campaigns against retailers and advertisers in relation to their use of sexualised imagery. As CS has, as at the time of writing, been in existence for over seven years, it is unfeasible to describe each of these campaigns. Instead, two campaigns have been highlighted within this section of the chapter as being emblematic of the group’s approach to the sexualisation of women in the media.

One of CS’s first campaigns highlighted how a number of clothing outlets across Australia stock ‘porn t-shirts’ – clothing that, according to the group, feature “highly sexualised images of women” (2011b). CS argued that these images “objectify and degrade women”, and often feature women alongside violent imagery or slogans (2011b). One of the initial blogs written by CS on this matter was posted in August 2010 – however, CS have posted regularly on this topic

98 since that time. Australian retailers named for stocking t-shirts in this style include Cotton On, City Surf, Factorie and Roger David (CS 2010; 2011b; 2012b). CS has regularly encouraged its members to write to the retailers outlining their concerns, with mixed results. However, despite CS launching a boycott and a petition, and receiving media coverage regarding their campaign against these stores, their initial campaign did not result in the removal of any of the t-shirts (CS 2010a).

One of the lengthiest campaigns CS has launched was against the self-described lingerie store Honey Birdette3, which commenced in 2011. Complaints have been made to the ASB regarding a number of Honey Birdette advertisements (CS 2011a; 2012a; 2013a; 2013b). Two of these complaints were upheld by the ASB, whilst the remaining two were dismissed. CS’s objection to the Honey Birdette advertisements and shopfront imagery appears to centre on the brand’s “objectifying, hyper sexualised imagery” (2013e), and the fact that CS viewed Honey Birdette as a “sex shop masquerading as a high end lingerie store” (Roper 2014). Roper expanded on these views during her interview, stating that she perceives Honey Birdette to be “catering to some straight male porn-inspired fantasy”, [as opposed to] what women actually want”. Following CS’s objections, Honey Birdette came under investigation by Adelaide City Council for failing to disclose that it stocks sex toys, and therefore breaching development laws in relation to where sex shops can operate. As a result, the Rundle Mall-based Honey Birdette store was given seven days to withdraw sex toys from sale within its shop (Roper 2014). However, it was also confirmed through a phone call placed by the researcher to the Rundle Mall-based Honey Birdette store in September 2016 that the store still currently stocks a variety of sex toys.

The understanding that Roper – and, by extension, CS – know “what women actually want” is further evidence of the group’s top-down, structural approach to determining women’s sexuality on behalf of all women. A number of other feminists have objected to assumption of false consciousness, and have critiqued CS’s perceived right to prescribe what women actually want. This perspective is articulated by Dr Jennifer Wilson4, a critic of the CS group:

3 External to CS’s campaign, Honey Birdette has faced accusations of sexist working conditions and policies for its staff. In 2016, a number of former Honey Birdette employees launched a protest over working conditions that they claim encouraged customers to sexually harass staff (Brennan 2016).

4 Tankard Reist has previously threatened legal action against Dr Jennifer Wilson, the source of this quote. Specifically, Tankard Reist claimed that Wilson had portrayed her as being “deceptive and duplicitous” in her religious beliefs on Wilson’s blog (Farouque 2012).

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She and her followers are wont to wax eloquent about “true intimacy,” and “real loving relationships” etc, which to me suggests Reist considers she has somehow acquired the right to define what is “true” and “real” in sexual relations and is compelled to foist her definitions on the rest of us. Wilson 2015

CS’s understanding of women’s own agency was discussed by Roper, who acknowledged what she perceived women were ‘supposed’ to feel, but rejected this approach in favour of another understanding of liberation:

I know it’s supposed to be so empowering to be an object for men to use, but I don’t buy that… Real liberation would be not having our worth determined by our f*ckability5, or by men.

One of Roper’s primary concerns with the nature of the Honey Birdette advertisements was that the images were “borderline pornographic at times”, and that these images existed in public spaces such as shopping centres. Roper also raised concerns that sex shops typically sold more than “just [sex] toys… [but] pornography as well, illegal pornography and incest porn, and rape porn”. Although there is no evidence that Honey Birdette itself has sold any pornography in its stores, Roper stated that because Honey Birdette sold sex toys, this qualified the store as being adult in nature – and if an adult store such as Honey Birdette was allowed in shopping centres, then other sex stores (that may sell pornography of this nature) could follow.

CS’s campaign history has also extended to products and advertisements focusing exclusively on the sex industry. It has drawn attention to the opening of numerous strip clubs around Australia, and has stated that local councils need to consider capping the number of strip clubs in a given area in order to ensure that women aren’t “valued for their bodies, and aren’t bought and sold in this way” (CS 2012c). The following section will discuss CS’s specific campaign against the Honey B’s billboard, and will address why CS objects to sections of the adult industry.

5 This is quoted directly from a follow-up email from Roper, clarifying her answers from her original telephone interview. In her email, Roper used “f*ckability” in place of “fuckability”, which has been reflected in the resultant quote.

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5.3.2 Honey B’s campaign As noted earlier, the specific campaign launched against the Honey B’s strip club billboard was triggered by a teacher contacting CS. The teacher worked at the private boys’ school adjacent to the billboard, and had made a complaint about the placement of the advertisement to the ASB. The ASB dismissed the teacher’s complaint, on the basis that it had already received (and dismissed) a complaint regarding the same billboard some months earlier (ASB 2012). In its dismissal of the original complaint, the ASB said that the billboard in question was only “mildly sexualised” and was promoting an adult club, which is “sexualised in nature”, and was “appropriate for a broad audience” (ASB 2012, p.3).

Following CS’s initial blog post, Facebook post, Twitter campaign and petition, the group also commenced collecting signatures for an official federal parliamentary petition. CS initiated a parliamentary petition because they argued that this was “where we can achieve legislative change… it is vital that as many people as possible take these extra steps to make their voices heard” (CS 2013d). The group also added that “unless something was done at a regulatory level, we will continue to see more corporate irresponsibility” – one of the first indicators that CS was targeting change within the advertising industry through a formal, regulatory processes (CS 2013d).

It was unable to be determined whether the parliamentary petition organised by CS was ultimately tabled in federal parliament by the teacher’s local member, Teresa Gambaro MP. Three separate attempts were made to contact Ms Gambaro by the researcher, with no response being received. Additionally, no trace of the petition could be found within the federal Parliament’s lower or upper house Hansard records. However, following CS’s attempts to collect signatures for this petition, the Queensland Attorney General, Jarrod Bleijie, announced that the Queensland Government would review the regulation of outdoor advertising (Bleijie 2013). The Newman government said that this action was undertaken in order to make Queensland the “safest state in Australia to raise a child”, and that although there had been previous federal government reviews into the issue of outdoor advertising, “no meaningful improvements” had taken place (Bleijie 2013). Bleijie also added that legislation was needed to “protect our most vulnerable people” and stop exposing children to “sexually explicit images” (2013).

The Queensland parliamentary inquiry was officially announced on April 12, 2013, and was titled the “Health and Community Services Committee Inquiry into Sexually Explicit Outdoor

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Advertising”. Within days, members of the advertising industry were labelling the enquiry as “redundant” and “absurd” (B&T 2013) with one stating that “this whole notion that there is this plethora of sexually explicit billboards is a little bit of a misnomer” (Moldrich 2013, in Christenson 2013). During this time, the original advertisement for Honey B’s strip cub – which was taken down in April 2013 – made a reappearance eight kilometres away from its initial home, next to a major road thoroughfare (ACL 2013a).

The enquiry itself took submissions from various groups and individuals, including CS, teachers at the private boys’ school, the Australian Christian Lobby (ACL), various churches and dioceses, and a number of family groups. During my analysis of the submissions, I determined that there were no formal submissions or public hearing presentations made by sex industry representatives in order to discuss how the potential regulatory changes may affect their work or business. Instead, submissions were made by members and groups from the advertising industry. In total, the enquiry considered 178 submissions, and received an additional six petitions regarding the issue (Health and Community Services Committee 2014, p. xi). The committee also received public briefings from two academics, and heard from eight witnesses over two public hearings - one of these witnesses was Melinda Liszewski, representing CS.

The enquiry tabled its report to the Queensland Parliament in January 2014, listing eight recommendations that were directed towards both the Queensland Government, and the advertising industry as a whole. Significantly, the report recommended a co-regulatory approach towards advertising be introduced in Queensland through legislation, and that the overarching body for Australian advertisers (the Australian Association of National Advertisers (AANA)) amend its Code in regards to “relevant audiences” for outdoor advertising, in order to ensure that this includes children. The report also suggested that when an outdoor advertisement “uses sex, nudity and sexuality, and potentially breaches the [AANA] Code of Ethics…[the ASB should] consider the matter without the need for a complaint” (Health and Community Services Committee 2014, p. xi).

Following the enquiry’s report, the Queensland Government posted its response in July 2014. In its response, it noted that it considered the current regulatory system to be “mostly effective”, but would investigate “enforcement options to penalise advertisers that do not comply with the determinations of the Advertising Standards Board” (Department of Justice and Attorney-General 2014, p. 4). CS responded to the Queensland Government’s decision by saying that advertising self-regulation was not effective, and “allows sex industry billboards outside schools” (CS 2014).

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Ultimately, the initial CS campaign – that in which it targeted the removal of the Honey B’s billboard – was successful, as the advertisement was removed after a number of weeks. In relating this back to the wider argument of this thesis, we can understand this achievement to be a direct challenge and struggle against a perceived gendered discourse related to women’s sexuality in the media, as understood to be significant by CS. The removal of the image in question clearly indicates that some form of success can be drawn from CS’s actions. However, CS’s larger campaign disputing advertiser self-regulation was unsuccessful in Queensland, as the state government rejected the idea that the industry needed to adopt a co-regulatory approach.

The next section of this chapter explores how CS used social media within their campaign, and how they leveraged the platform to ensure the removal of the Honey B’s billboard and advocate for a parliamentary enquiry.

5.3.3 Collective Shout’s use of social media In line with CS’s previous experiences in approaching regulatory bodies and using social media for campaign purposes, the particular strategies and methods employed during the Honey B’s campaign were well-considered and planned. As demonstrated in the interview data discussed here, the CS team nominated a select number of approaches to making their voices heard in the mainstream media, by the relevant media regulators, and online. CS’s use of social media was heavily entwined with their approach to changing regulations surrounding how outdoor billboards are used – the group used social media both to distribute information, and gather support for regulatory changes through the use of a federal parliamentary petition. In contrast to how social media was employed by DtJ and SVK, which will be discussed in the following chapters, one of CS’s aims regarding the Honey B’s billboard was to explicitly challenge the way that advertising regulation is applied in Queensland. As described by one of the CS campaigners, Pip Douglas, “the route we’ve taken is that it [the billboard] shouldn’t be near schools, because anyone with a heart will sign that petition” (ACL 2013b). This appeal, one to emotional intelligence and common sense, is identified by Smith and Attwood (2013, p. 47) as becoming increasingly common in “anti-porn feminism… because this is the ground on which their [campaigners] arguments find most fertile purchase”.

Roper argued that social media was “essential” to running CS campaigns, and said that “in this day and age” she couldn’t imagine how a person would run a campaign without it. Within the Honey B’s campaign itself, CS employed social media primarily as a platform for reaching out to

103 like-minded individuals, and as a means of communicating the need for signatures on both petitions. As a group, CS did not call for a boycott of either the strip club itself, or the advertising body responsible for the billboard’s placement – this places it in direct contrast with the remaining two campaigns, who both called for advertising boycotts. Instead, Facebook and Twitter (alongside CS’s website) were used as a means to gather signatures and call for regulatory action to be taken – something that Roper identified as being a ‘call to action’ on behalf of CS. A ‘call to action’ was, as described by Roper, something people can actually do – whether that is signing a petition, writing to a person directly involved with the issue, or something else. Roper also said that a ‘call to action’ was not included in every campaign, as some campaigns were more focused on information sharing and dissemination, rather than every campaign needing to be ‘winnable’.

Within the Honey B’s campaign, CS employed a ‘call to action’ through social media as a way to leverage support for the specific issue of the strip club billboard being placed outside a school, but also to strengthen support for the wider issue of explicit outdoor advertising. In effect, the campaign employed a ‘bottom-up’ approach in order to achieve ‘top-down’ change; and consequently, it can be understood that CS sought change primarily on a structural level, through regulatory means. Their social media channels were primarily employed to further encourage campaign members to sign and distribute the formal parliamentary petition. This is in contrast to how the other two campaigns of this thesis, DtJ and SVK, used social media. As argued in the following two case study chapters, DtJ’s use of social media relied on consciousness-raising as a technique to further grow and develop their campaign, whilst SVK used social media to organise a boycott campaign against a particular set of advertisers. This is not to say that degrees of consciousness-raising did not occur across all three campaigns – but rather, in the case of CS, their social media practices frequently returned to directing campaigners towards regulatory solutions.

CS’s leveraging of social media is clearly demonstrated by both Mathias’s and Douglas’s accounts of their campaign and collaboration with CS. In a presentation given to the ACL’s 2013 Annual Conference, Mathias and Douglas outlined how they initially contacted both Liszewski and federal and state members of Parliament, and then commenced the process for tabling the parliamentary petition. Through the CS social media platforms Mathias and Douglas collected a large number of signatures for the parliamentary petition, and applied further pressure to the advertising industry to remove the billboard. Mathias clearly states within her presentation to the ACL that CS assisted the two in distributing the petition and calling for signatures (ACL 2013b). As noted earlier, the immediate issue of the Honey B’s billboard itself was resolved

104 reasonably quickly, with its removal having taken place by April 11, 2013 (CS 2013h). However, by this time the CS campaign had shifted to focus on the wider issue of regulating explicit outdoor advertising.

Following CS’s call for action regarding the Honey B’s billboard, a representative of the OMA got in touch with Mathias and Douglas. According to Mathias and Douglas, the representative told them in this discussion that the OMA had:

Contacted Honey B’s, and that billboard has been taken down, [and] they’ve guaranteed that there will be no more billboards of that nature within that precinct. ACL 2013b

Mathias identified this as a ‘win’ for CS, and the campaign as a whole – but qualified this statement by saying that the campaign ultimately looked to take the issue further through the parliamentary petition. Although understandings of success will be explored further on, it is worthwhile noting that Mathias clearly indicated that she considered the removal of the billboard a success for the campaign – albeit, a campaign that she wished to take further still.

When asked why social media proved to be so important to CS, Liszewski identified that the group can “publish what we like, [and] connect with other women”. In the case of the Honey B’s campaign, CS leveraged their online presence to gather signatures for two separate petitions and build support for their long-term aim; that of ensuring that explicit outdoor advertising for strip clubs was ultimately removed. However, in terms of understandings and perceptions of success, CS members held a variety of views surrounding both the Honey B’s campaign, and the wider aims of CS as a whole. This next section explores what these perceptions of success are, and how these perceptions can then be framed to effectively understand whether CS campaigners viewed the Honey B’s campaign as effective.

Summary of understandings of success As with each case study within this thesis, one of the methods employed to examine how campaigns primarily in online settings can achieve different levels of change and success is through exploration of the campaigners’ own perceptions of these concepts. Additionally, two of the four CS campaigners held clear understandings of the group’s long-term goals – something unique to the CS case study, and perhaps indicative of its previous campaigning experience. Understandings of change and success, as reported by CS campaigners, can be

105 examined on two separate levels – that of an individual issue, and that of a broader legislative basis. CS campaigners identified two areas in which they attempted to effect change. These were:

- Through the removal of the Honey B’s billboard - Through a change of legislation regarding explicit material being used in outdoor advertising

In line with earlier discussions related to understandings of power and gender, Risman (2004) identifies three dimensions of gender structure: the individual level, the interactional level, and the institutional level. The “how” of the CS campaign’s attempt to change certain dimensions of inequality point to the group’s wider understandings of where they believe power to exist, and how they resultantly perceive their success within these dimensions. As Risman (2004 p. 435) notes, “when we conceptualise gender as a social structure, we can begin to identify under what conditions and how gender inequality is being produced within each dimension… the ‘how’ is important”.

Of the three dimensions of gender structure, the goal of CS to change wider legislation regarding explicit material in outdoor advertising clearly sits within the institutional domain of gender as a structure. The social processes involved in the institutional domain include organisational practices, legal regulations and ideology (Risman 2004, p. 437). These understandings of targeting gender (and, specifically, challenging and changing understandings of gender) as an institutional domain are also evidenced by Tankard Reist, who noted that CS has “always called for stricter regulations” on advertising. When asked why CS chose to address advertising regulations, Tankard Reist said that:

Often you need the first to get the second, you need to build a constituency for change to get [to] State or Federal governments, and directing bodies to actually do anything.

Within this particular CS campaign, their constituency had already been formed. As mentioned earlier, the attention the campaign initially received on social media gave access to a strong following and supporter base. This ensured that CS could move to what Tankard Reist described as the “second” step of being able to “actually do anything” – that of the possibility and pressure of change reaching state and federal governments. CS advocated for the removal

106 of the billboard, but also worked concurrently to form and distribute a wider petition aimed at broad regulatory change within the advertising industry.

Evidently, CS directed their campaign’s efforts towards, both in the short and long-term, the regulatory bodies that surrounded the billboard’s existence. CS noted their campaign’s success through their Facebook page, stating that they had made a difference by causing “the removal of a strip club billboard from outside a school” (CS 2013hi). However, in a series of Facebook posts celebrating the removal of the billboard (CS 2013c; 2013h), CS also observed that this was “just one billboard”, and CS campaigners were now “calling on the Federal Government to take action on outdoor advertising regulation nationwide” (2013h).

The campaign’s focus on long-term regulatory change was demonstrated through their continued participation in further regulatory investigations across 2013. However, in the case of legislative change emerging from the Queensland enquiry into outdoor advertising, no firm decision from the government was ever reached, leaving the advertising industry in Queensland in the same regulatory position as it was prior to the enquiry.

Tankard Reist has identified that CS believes the entire self-regulation system for advertisers to be “flawed”. She also said that CS will consistently push for a system in which a “separate body [can have a] pre-vetting process” for advertisers. Significantly, Tankard Reist’s view of pushing for a separate body for advertisers further evidences the group’s faith in institutional domains and top-down power as a whole. Instead of losing faith in institutional bodies following the Queensland Government’s decision, the group instead proposed a further regulatory body for advertisers. When compared with the approaches employed by the remaining two case studies within this research, CS’s understandings of power are thrown into further contrast. CS did not specifically attempt a form of consciousness-raising as a method leading to wider change; nor did it target the advertiser on a financial level and attempt to boycott the product or individual found to be offensive (although admittedly, in the case of the billboard being examined, CS campaigners were unlikely to have been Honey B’s clientele). Instead, change was framed in relation to concrete, regulatory-based outcomes. Notably, only one of these outcomes (the removal of the billboard) was ultimately achieved, with the self-regulation of the advertising industry in Queensland remaining in place.

Finally, the observations of the OMA’s CEO, Charmaine Moldrich, also need to be considered. When considering the actions taken by CS and the ASB regarding the Honey B’s billboard, Moldrich stated that:

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If someone had rung me about that Honey B’s billboard, it would have come down within two days. Whereas they went to the media and it became a media issue and it didn’t come to my attention for at least a week.

Following the removal of the Honey B’s billboard, the OMA directly contacted members of CS to assure them that billboards of this nature would no longer be placed in that particular precinct (ACL 2013b). However, when asked whether CS had directly contacted the OMA to discuss the issue during their campaign, Roper stated that she suspected CS did not, as they had “typically not had any success doing that [previously]”. As noted earlier, members of CS have lodged complaints to the ASB with limited results: hence, Moldrich’s expectations that would directly contact the OMA (when they have already been in contact with the ASB) is somewhat unrealistic. Furthermore, this expectation points to wider flaws within the self- regulation model of the advertising industry, and the different understandings of success as perceived by the industry at large, and as perceived by CS.

When asked to identify whether the Honey B’s campaign had any clear outcomes, Liszewski said that “strip [club] ads can’t go on that particular location” any more. However, there is no formal legislation in place to prevent another strip club billboard from placing an advertisement at this location – instead, Moldrich stated that she has asked OMA members to use “common sense [and] not to place adult material near places like schools and churches”. However, at the time of writing, OMA members, alongside all other advertisers, are free to place whatever advertisements they choose in whatever location they desire. The advertising regulation system is industry run, and voluntary in nature – meaning that advertisers are not required to become an ASB member, nor abide by its rulings if they choose not to do so.

Liszewski also said that she felt that the campaign was successful in some respects because campaigners such as “Pip [Douglas] and Tanya [Mathias] can really rattle the cage [and] get their voice out there”, and as a result CS had “got an alternative message into the mainstream media”. This understanding of success is similar to that put forward by DtJ and SVK; one in which campaigners advanced an alternative perspective (albeit through social media, as opposed to through the mainstream news outlets). However, Liszewski was alone in making these observations: neither Tankard Reist nor Roper identified pushing a message into the mainstream media as a form of change.

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As a result of CS’s online campaign, the removal of one strip club billboard was achieved – but the group ultimately failed to bring about any significant, long-term legislative change. Furthermore, the immediate success of the CS campaign is tempered by the material that the group sought to remove. The issue of women’s sexualisation, sex work and strip clubs, is a topic that feminists have debated for some time. CS’s efforts to remove the strip club billboard and its wider views surrounding sex work will now be examined for the possible short-term and long-term implications that the campaign may have. Additionally, this analysis is undertaken in order to explore the ideological tensions between feminist groups in Australia, and further refine this research’s understandings of change, success, and power within feminist campaigns. In doing so, this analysis examines understandings of gender and power, and how this then influenced the CS campaign’s approach. This is in line with the second research question of this thesis: how each campaign challenged forms of power, and if these challenges were viewed to be successful both within, and external to, the campaign group.

5.4 Understandings of power within the Collective Shout campaign The so-called ‘sex wars’ or ‘pornography wars’ of the 1980s and beyond have drawn sharp divides between sections of feminist thought (Levy 2005). Levy observes that this particular time saw the development of “two distinct and passionately oppositional factions” (2005, p.62); furthermore, Rosemary Pringle (1981) states that feminism, almost in spite of itself, became obsessed with pornography. Correspondingly, CS’s self-identified focus from 2009 onwards has been on the seemingly harmful effects of pornography, and the sexualisation of women and girls. This view of sexualised images holding a form of power align closely with those described by Levy as the first “anti-porn feminists” of the 1980s – those who understood pornography to be a “civil rights violation of women” (2005, pp. 63-64). CS’s approach orients the group in a particular feminist perspective: one that informs their understandings on gender and power, and contextualises and informs the group’s approach to sex work. The group’s understandings of pornography stand at odds with other contemporary discussions that choose to identify themselves as ‘sex positive’ feminists: those that focus on the importance of choice in each woman’s decision to consume or participate in pornography and a wider porn-oriented culture (Levy 2005). As Gill (2012) summarises:

On one side of the argument are those who mobilise women’s ‘choice’, ‘agency’, and ‘empowerment’ to champion aspects of ‘sexualised’ culture such as pornography, burlesque or the popularity of pole dancing… these activities can be defended (or even celebrated)

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because they are ‘empowering’. On the other, empowerment is regarded merely as cynical rhetoric, wrapping sexual objectification in a shiny, feisty, postfeminist packaging that obscures the continued underlying sexism. 2012, pp. 736-737

Proponents of anti-porn feminism also raise concerns regarding the perceived audience that consumes pornography, and other forms of sexualised culture - in effect, questioning who is gazing, and who is the subject of the gaze. Laura Mulvey’s germinal work on the ‘male gaze’ has previously argued that the controlling gaze in cinema is always male, and that looking is a source of pleasure, as is being looked at (1975). Mulvey furthers argues that pleasure in looking “has been split between active/male and passive/female”, and, as a result, women are “simultaneously looked at and displayed” (1975, p. 309).

By applying Mulvey’s understandings of the gaze to pornography – and in particular, to the Honey B’s billboard – a number of arguments can be made regarding how women in pornography and sex work are represented in the media. The woman in the Honey B’s billboard is visible only from her waist down, and is straddling the word “sweetest”. She is wearing black high heels, and has honey covering her from her waist to her buttocks. She, in Mulvey’s words, effectively “holds the look, plays to and signifies male desire” (1975, p. 309). More simply, the woman on the Honey B’s billboard (along with other women participating in the sex industry) are understood by Catharine MacKinnon to be dehumanised as a sexual object, thing, or commodity (MacKinnon 1987, p. 174). MacKinnon argues that women “live in sexual objectification the way fish live in water” (1989, p. 149) – and resultantly, as Nussbaum observes, women may well “derive their very nourishment and sustenance from it” (1998, p. 214). These views are echoed by the radical feminist Sheila Jeffreys who, in her 2008 book The Industrial Vagina, outlined that she considered “prostitution to be a harmful cultural practice originating in the subordination of women” (p. 10). Julie Bindel, another feminist who has spoken out against sex work, has argued that it is “the world’s oldest oppression”, and that women who undertake sex work are subject to “daily abuse” (2006).

But as Martha Nussbaum, in a more balanced analysis of objectification, points out, “women are not fish” (1998, p. 214) – and cannot be bought and sold in the same way. Women’s objectification can be used in a more affirmative spirit than in MacKinnon’s initial definition (1987). Understanding objectification as something other than a tool used by the patriarchy was suggested by Cass Sunstein (1995, p. 45), wherein he writes that “within a context of

110 equality, respect, and consent, objectification – not at all an easy concept to define – may not be so troublesome”. Nussbaum further explores this idea when she introduces a particular framework to understand behaviour as a consequence of objectification. Nussbaum argues that objectification can, under some circumstances, always be morally problematic; whilst under other conditions it can be either good or bad (1998). These circumstances and specifications largely come down to the wider context in which objectification is being made. Within Nussbaum’s framework of objectification, she identifies the treatment of someone merely or primarily as an instrument (that is, treating a person “as a tool of his or her purposes”) as the most harmful form (1998, p. 218). However, Nussbaum also argues that drawing ubiquitous connections between seven distinct understandings of objectification (and in particular, between instrumentality and other forms of objectification) can lead to conclusions that sexual objectification is always to blame for the male denial of autonomy to women – when in fact, certain forms of objectification can instead be a part of a healthy, functional sex life (Nussbaum 1998).

Importantly, Nussbaum concludes by pointing out that the objectification of women in magazines such as Playboy – and, by extension, the interchangeability of women and commodification of sex echoed in the Honey B’s billboard – “severs sex from any deep connection with self-expression or emotion” (1998, p. 234). However, Nussbaum also clearly demonstrates that sex work may be no more objectifying than any other form of labour that require the use of a person’s body (1998, pp. 276–98). In viewing objectification through Nussbaum’s framework, it is clear that the Honey B’s billboard can be understood to objectify women. Most significantly, the billboard depersonalises the woman in the advertisement by not showing her face – something that can, in turn, be understood through Nussbaum’s distinctions of objectification to frame her both as a tool, and as interchangeable with other women (1998, p. 218).

It is at this point worth turning to some of the voices and lived experiences of women who work within the sex industry, in order to acknowledge their experiences of objectification and sexualisation. Although interviews with workers in the Honey B’s strip club were unable to be undertaken in time for the completion of this research, a number of opinions from sex workers within academic literature have been sourced and applied in order to understand the complexities of agency, objectification and, ultimately, power. It needs to be recognised that the views discussed here are not representative of all sex workers, and that these views are also subject to limitation by the very fact that the people interviewed in the research discussed are only an incredibly small number of sex workers. However, the following section presents a

111 sex worker-positive perspective, in line with third wave feminist thought, as an alternative to the analyses above.

Previous research by Elena Jeffreys (not to be confused with the anti-sex work academic Sheila Jeffreys discussed above) has demonstrated that sex worker participation in academic research has been critiqued for being “sloppy or morally biased” (2010b, p. 1), and that there are power imbalances between work disseminated within the academic domain by researchers and the lack to a full right of reply by sex workers within the same area (Jeffreys 2010b). Furthermore, discussions concerning sex workers and activism as part of a broader feminist movement have, at times, been considered a ‘missing piece’ by some scholars (Payne 2007, p. 54). Additionally, the arguments that arise form part of much larger, complex debate surrounding sex work. Therefore, the opinions of sex workers considered below are not intended to be all encompassing, but, rather, have been selected to encapsulate how some sex workers view forms of empowerment, agency, and oppression within their work offering an alternative perspective to that outlined above.

One of the most common rejections of the argument and effectiveness of the approach made by CS (and other sex work abolitionists) regarding women and their bodies being for sale is the notion of ‘sex work as real work’. As summarised by Showden (2011), the ‘sex-as-work’ argument considers labour itself to be inherently exploitative, and views economic exploitation as a greater concern than changing men’s understandings of sex. Additionally, the pro sex work argument also points out that “women should be free to engage with sexual acts that they find pleasurable with whomever they choose” – something that demonstrates these women to be autonomous agents (Showden 2011, p. 144). This is echoed by Nussbaum’s essay on bodily work, in which she outlines that each of us, excluding the independently wealthy and the unemployed “take money for the use of our bodies” (1998, p. 693). The fact that a working woman’s employment options are far more limited – and that consequently, she is far more likely to enter into sex work – should “bother us” more so than a woman who has many choices choosing to enter into sex work (1998, p. 696). Consequently, Nussbaum argues for the legalisation of sex work as legalised work, complete with sufficient safeguards against abuse and disease6.

6 One of the methods currently enforced in the Australian state of Victoria is the mandatory testing of registered sex workers for disease. Jeffreys, Fawkes and Stardust (2012, p. 203) have argued that mandatory testing for STIs and HIV has proven to be a “barrier to otherwise successful HIV and STI peer education”.

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In an Australian-based study published in 2013, researchers undertook three separate qualitative focus group interviews with a total of 14 female sex workers. The results of these interviews found a number of contradictory elements that exist within sex work – notably, that sex workers found their work to be both “empowering and demeaning” (Begum et al 2013). To directly quote from one sex worker, Jessica7, she found sex work to be empowering because “you’re working for yourself, you’re flexible and responsible… and you don’t need to rely on anyone else” (Begum et al 2013, p.91). To that, Amy added that during her time as a sex worker she had regained her empowered self. However, the feelings of empowerment were measured alongside feelings of being demeaned and belittled – both by male clients, and by managers and owners of brothels.

Internationally, research undertaken in Kolkata, India, between 2006 and 2007 sought to understand how women who initiated sex work as an effect of disempowerment constraints ultimately found a new level of empowerment as a result of the work (Swendeman et al 2015). Although sex workers reported increased amounts of stigma and discrimination, and a loss of family support, they also reported achieving financial independence, the ability to provide for their children and extended family, and a development of pride and identity as a sex worker (Swendeman et al 2015). Swendeman et al (2015) also observe that the empowerment that arises alongside sex work is typically set against a background of economic and cultural insecurity – something that can also result in sex workers being coerced into the profession. Interestingly, the participants in the study that reported being initially coerced, trafficked, or duped into sex work each reported eventually returning to the role in order to obtain more independence, flexibility, and control over their work (Swendeman et al 2015, p. 1020).

To return to an Australian context, a speech given by Elena Jeffreys (the then-President of the Scarlet Alliance, an Australian based sex workers group) in 2010 discussed some of the key oppressions faced by sex workers across the country. Significantly, among all the principal forms of oppression identified by Jeffreys that could be attributed to political and patriarchal networks of power, there was one that could not be. This was, according to Jeffreys, the oppression that anti-sex work feminists have caused in workplaces in which sex workers are employed. Jeffreys outlined that the oppressions faced by sex workers from anti-sex work feminists took the forms of:

7 All names of sex workers within the initial article by Begum et al (2013) were changed. The names given to participants within the initial study have been reflected in this thesis.

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[Choosing] to campaign against our workplaces, lobby for the criminalisation of sex workers and our clients, applaud the closure of services that support us, rally to imprison the migrants among us, stigmatise every aspect of our work, discredit our political organising, undermine our demands, belittle our leadership and pathologise us through unethical and harmful research. Jeffreys 2010a

These oppressions have been recognised and understood by other feminists within Australia, who appear to be broadly aware of the concerns held both by CS, and by sex workers as a whole. A number of participants I interviewed noted that they found CS’s politics and activism to be ‘difficult’. One campaigner outside of CS stated that she saw the group to be spending “a lot of their time attacking other women”; whilst another woman previously involved in the group (who did not wish to be named) said that she didn’t find CS to “fit with my idea of what feminism was about”.

Other Australian academic feminists have echoed these observations: in particular Catharine Lumby and Meaghan Morris. Morris noted during a 1995 debate on censorship that a coalition is emerging in Australia between “the extreme right-wing Christian forces and the very nice, middle-of-the-road, Labor voting feminist forces” (as cited in Lumby 1997, p. 58). Lumby furthered these views in her 1997 publication, Bad Girls, in which she linked the objections of the Christian right to women being sexual commodities as flowing from a “religious and deeply paternalistic view of the female role” (1997, p. 58). This perspective is echoed internationally, with Phipps (2014, p. 87) noting that many anti-sex work campaigners “found their main political allies on the neoconservative right”. Additionally, Lumby also pointed out that the desire of feminists seeking a form of censorship over women’s sexuality (particularly when using the rhetoric that these images are damaging to children, as is the case with CS) can stem from a “vision of society in which right-minded feminists will act as de facto spiritual parents to the rest of us” (1997, p. 59). As a result, groups such as CS seek a form of institutional, state- based regulatory power to control the images encountered by the average citizen when out in public – effectively seeking to reclaim and redefine a form of discourse connected to how women are represented in relation to sex work and their sexuality.

Foucault (1976, p. 103) has observed that sexuality is “an especially dense transfer point for relations of power”. Of central importance to this chapter – and, indeed, to wider understandings of discourse – is an emphasis on multiple meanings, and sites of struggle. In the

114 case of CS, their interpretation is that sex work, and the sale of women’s bodies (whether figuratively, in advertisements, or more literally, in a brothel or strip club), reinforce gendered discourses regarding women’s sexuality, agency and power. This is evidenced through the mixed concerns outlined by CS campaigners during interviews for this thesis. In some cases, campaigners spoke of concerns they held regarding the global trafficking of women, whilst in others they focused purely on the impact advertisements run by the Australian sex industry would have on viewers. For example, Roper outlined, “while there are western white women who can make it [sex work] work for them… it’s not actually liberating women as a class, [and] there’s many, many more women around the globe who are not liberated by working in the sex industry.” Furthermore, Liszewski and Tankard Reist also spoken of concerns regarding the perceived connections between women and girls entering the sex industry, and rates of homelessness, drug use, sexual abuse, and family violence.

Further consideration must also be given to the power held by those speaking as, and on behalf of, sex workers. As Phipps (2014,p. 90) points out, the discourse of sex-worker positivity is one:

[W]hich appears to circulate between high-end sex workers, the leaders of sex workers’ rights organisations, contemporary ‘sex positive’ academics, sex industry entrepreneurs and populations of clients. This group constitutes a class and ethnic elite and may represent sectors of the middle class which have gained most from neoliberalism and late consumer capitalism.

Understandings of class, race, and power structures must also be analysed – however, existing literature has often excluded important first-hand accounts given by those outside of the ‘conventional’ white, middle-class sex worker archetype (Phipps 2014). As noted earlier, the work of Swendeman et al (2015) is particularly significant when considering these omissions. Within the context of the CS campaign, discussions regarding the race and class are somewhat uneven: the women who work at Honey B’s were unable to be interviewed for this research, and consequently further analysis of their perceived levels of ‘empowerment’ are therefore unable to be fully determined.

To return to the question of multiple meanings and understandings of power and empowerment, Showden (2011, p. 152) refutes arguments made by those who oppose sex work, arguing that “there is no one meaning of sex, whether in public or in private”. In much the same fashion, I argue that there is no single meaning behind a strip club billboard.

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Furthermore, there is the issue to consider of how these representations may influence the ‘average’ woman’s, or young girl’s, interpretation and exploration of her own sexuality. CS have argued that a culture that “affirms girls that conform to these [sexualised] standards is one in which women participate in their own exploitation” (2016b); however, other activists have suggested that this limits the rights of women who actively choose and embrace sex work.

CS’s actions in ignoring the voices and experiences of sex workers are demonstrative of one group of women seeking regulatory-based change that will not affect them, without acknowledging the wider structural economic implications these forms of change will have on other women. This lack of acknowledgement and concern by CS is symptomatic of issues of intersectionality within the campaign. Phipps (2016, p. 308) argues that, within feminist politics, “the privileged inevitably have more platforms from which to narrate, and the marginalised are often spoken for within agendas which are not their own”. The practice of speaking for and over other women – whilst simultaneously assuming your wider audience holds a false consciousness – demonstrates a lack of intersectional values within the CS campaign.

Sexuality as a ‘dense transfer point’ for relations of power is also reflected in its representations in the mainstream media. As discussed earlier, a woman’s sexuality is often linked to an unrelated product when being featured in the mainstream media. Furthermore, it can be difficult to sort these representations from other depictions of women’s sexuality that are seen to be less objectionable. The question then arises of what is understood to be a ‘genuine’ representation of a woman’s sexuality? If sections of the mainstream media obfuscate the issue of representing a women’s sexuality by using it to promote irrelevant products, then where does this leave seemingly more ‘legitimate’ representations of a woman’s sexuality? If viewing these questions through Foucault’s understandings of power relations, the response may be to further question and interrogate the idea of ‘legitimate’ representations, as every woman holds different understandings of which depictions accurately reflect her own unique sexuality. Hence, although a form of power may lie in how the mainstream media chooses to depict a woman’s sexuality, women may also choose whether to engage with this depiction, or not.

Although CS may understand Honey B’s, and the sex industry at large, to hold perceived problematic understandings of what constitutes a woman’s sexuality and agency, the apparent sexual puritanism advanced by members of CS and their supporters (such as the ACL) can also be understood as failing to address key aspects of discourse and its empowering and

116 subjectifying components. Perhaps the more pertinent question is whether a woman’s sexuality can exist in public space, without simply functioning as an object of desire? Or, on an even more basic level, is being an ‘object of desire’ necessarily bad, when agreed to between consenting adults – if being objectified can, as Nussbaum would remind us, hold many variants, and can exist inside of healthy sexual relationships.

To return to the question of power, the sexualisation of women in advertisements, and sex work, it can be concluded that being reduced to a body in an advertisement is a denial of agency and a form of objectification, in line with Nussbaum’s suggestions. In this sense, CS’s protests regarding the Honey B’s billboard are quite appropriate, given that the advertisement in question does imply what Nussbaum (1998) would deem to be instrumental forms of objectification that are harmful to those being objectified: and hence, the billboard should have been removed. However, the wider question of the possible progress or limits of CS’s campaign for feminist aims more generally is one that can only be answered by considering the effects of the campaign on other women. This thesis, in line with Nussbaum (1998) and Showden (2011) argues that sex work is not inherently harmful, and that feminists do not have a right to deny other women agency to use their bodies in a manner they choose. Furthermore, CS’s lack of consideration regarding the implications of banning explicit outdoor advertising demonstrates that they have privilege in ‘protecting’ people from these images over more pragmatic concerns about women who are actually performing sex work, and whether these women are doing so willingly.

5.5 Conclusion This chapter has explored the attempts by CS to use social media and existing regulatory and policy frameworks to achieve lasting change and success in relation to challenging representations of women in explicit outdoor advertising. Importantly, this chapter has also explored the contexts of differing points of view, including those of CS campaigners, other feminist activists, and sex workers. The CS campaign used both social media and existing regulatory and policy frameworks to achieve lasting change by attempting to redefine current dominant gendered discourses regarding women and advertisers’ representations of their sexuality: particularly in the case of adult entertainment venues. However, the campaign did not truly consider the effects that this would have on the women employed within these venues. Any form of success in challenging dominant gendered discourses needs to be balanced against considerations of how this may have adverse outcomes for women employed at adult entertainment venues, and in sex work more generally.

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CS’s use of social media to advocate for the removal of the Honey B’s billboard was, in isolation, quite successful. Despite seeking change through regulatory bodies in the first instance relating to the removal of the billboard (by directly complaining to the ASB), social media ultimately provided a platform that allowed CS to apply pressure to the advertising industry as a whole – one which saw the billboard removed by the OMA within a number of days of the campaign and online petition being initiated. In this sense, social media provided an effective channel for CS to seek and effect change on a case-by-case basis.

However, when CS’s focus then shifted to wider, regulatory-based forms of change – such as those related to the regulations and laws surrounding explicit outdoor advertising – the campaign group failed to achieve the same level of success. As a group, CS intended to submit a federal parliamentary petition, provided a submission to a state-based inquiry regarding explicit advertising in Queensland, and sent a representative to speak on their behalf at the same Queensland-based inquiry. The report from the inquiry itself made a number of significant recommendations to the Queensland Government and the advertising industry regulatory bodies related to changes that it understood needed to take place within the state to limit the degree to which people are exposed to explicit advertising material. These changes were, broadly speaking, in line with CS’s initial submissions to the inquiry. However, the Queensland Government and the advertising industry chose to ignore these recommendations – and at the time of writing, no changes have been brought about as a result of the inquiry.

Unique to this particular case study is CS’s extensive use of the regulatory system in order to seek change. CS’s power, although initially coming ‘from below’ (in line with Foucault’s observations of how power can emerge), did not ultimately prove to resolve itself in any changes of regulation or legislation. Instead, CS’s challenges to existing discourses related to how women’s sexuality is currently represented in the mainstream media proved most effective when being facilitated through social media.

The campaign’s decision to pursue change on a regulatory-based level was also examined in this chapter for its potential implications and outcomes for women employed at Honey B’s, and sex work in general. CS campaigners spoke of a concern for the women who may be sexualised as a result of the Honey B’s strip club billboard. But when asked if they had considered the implications for sex workers if billboards of this nature were limited or banned, at least one campaigner (Tankard Reist) answered that she “want[ed] those industries of exploitation to stop. So we don’t think desperate women should be allowed to be desperate somewhere else.”

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In this regard, wider questions of whether a campaign can be considered both ‘feminist’ and successful if it does not truly consider the effects of its actions on other women are raised.

Furthermore, of the remaining two case studies in this thesis, neither pursued the regulatory- based change sought by CS in relation to explicit outdoor advertising. Notably, CS also gained the most immediate form of change in the removal of the Honey B’s billboard through the use of social media. Although the removal of a lone billboard is not typically comparable to the removal or censure of a radio host (as is the case with the forms of change sought by some members of the remaining two campaign groups), it is useful to understand how CS’s employment of social media triggered a reasonably quick form of success. In particular, CS’s employment of a number of petitions, combined with the understanding that the billboard in question could, with its placement, be widely understood to be controversial, led to a very quick turnaround by the advertising industry. As the CEO of the OMA, Charmaine Moldrich, said in an interview for this research, “it’s not in our best interest to have those kinds of stories and that kind of level of angst in the media”.

However, in the following case study, high levels of “angst” were achieved across the mainstream media in relation to a particular set of derogatory comments broadcast by an Australian radio DJ in late 2011. Although these comments did not speak to the gendered representation of women discussed in this chapter – one of sexuality and sexualised power – they were deemed offensive for their observations made of a woman’s physical appearance. Therefore, the following chapter explores the case of the SVK campaign, and how the comments made by on-air radio host Kyle Sandilands regarding a young female journalist, Alison Stephenson, can be viewed as a gendered representation of women based on the assessment of her physical appearance and subsequent dismissal of her work.

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Chapter Six: Sack Vile Kyle

In November 2011 a chat show called A Night with the Stars debuted on Australian television. Featuring Kyle Sandilands and Jackie O, it was dubbed a “chat variety special” in which “top- rating radio partners Kyle Sandilands and Jackie O will bring their unique, fun and often controversial style of prime time” to television (Barrett 2011). Following its debut, the News Limited journalist Alison Stephenson published an unfavourable review of the show early the following morning. Subsequently, Sandilands made the following on-air comments about Stephenson:

Some fat slag on News.com.au has already branded it a disaster… You can tell by reading the article that she just hates us and has always hated us… What a fat, bitter thing you are. You’re deputy editor of an online thing. You’ve got a nothing job anyway. You’re a piece of shit… this low thing, Alison Stephenson, deputy editor of News.com.au online. You’re supposed to be impartial, you little troll… you’re a bullshit artist, girl. You should be fired from your job. Your hair’s very 90s. And your blouse. You haven’t got that much titty to be having that low cut a blouse. Watch your mouth or I’ll hunt you down.

Sandilands 2011; as quoted in Burrowes 2011

The Sack Vile Kyle (SVK) campaign was created by a group of Australian women in direct response to Sandilands’ on-air comments. The campaign was started by five women from three different Australian states (Swan 2012), and commenced campaign activities from November 2011. The campaign consisted of a closed Facebook group, a Twitter page, and a blog site (SVK 2012g; SVK 2012h; SVK 2012i). There was also an online petition 8 calling for Sandilands’ resignation that was run by another woman outside of the SVK group, but was supported by the campaigners (Hehir 2011).

The primary goal of the campaign was, according to campaigner Kate Drury, to “make it financially unviable to continue to employ Kyle Sandilands” at the radio station where he was employed – 2Day FM. The campaign endeavoured to achieve this by targeting companies who advertised on the show, and petitioning them to remove all advertisements or risk being

8 Emily Hehir, who started the online petition at Change.org, is a Melbourne law graduate who also runs independently organised TedX events (Hehir 2011). Although the SVK campaigners actively linked to the petition during their campaign, they did not start the petition, nor did they have any formal ties to Hehir.

120 boycotted by the campaigners. According to the campaigners, their social media-based actions resulted in a $10 million loss in advertising revenue for the show – but did not immediately deliver the removal of Sandilands from the airwaves. The SVK campaign stretched from November 2011 (the time of Sandilands’ initial comments) through to May 2012 (when the last of the SVK blog posts was written), and is considered by this research to be one of the frontrunners of organic social media campaigning in Australia. This is due to the fact that the campaign formed somewhat instinctively through social media, that it had a significant financial impact on 2Day FM, and that it made a contribution to other feminist campaigns that followed the group.

Alongside the SVK campaign, the Australian Communications and Media Authority (ACMA) also launched an investigation into Sandilands’ on-air remarks. The investigation was triggered as the result of a series of complaints that were made to the media regulator during early 2012 regarding Sandilands’ on-air comments about Stephenson. At least one campaigner within the SVK campaign acknowledged that they had been amongst the initial complainants to the media regulator. On March 27, 2012, the ACMA found that the licensee (2Day FM, the radio station which airs The Kyle and Jackie O Show) was in clear breach of the Commercial Radio Australia’s Codes of Practice 1.3 A, which states that the licensee “shall not broadcast content that offends decency in according to community decency standards” (ACMA 2012a; Burrowes 2012). Although 2Day FM formally appealed the ACMA’s ruling in 2012, the additional license conditions placed on Sandilands’ shows were due to be in effect for five years, until 2017.

This chapter analyses how the SVK activists understood their campaign to have successfully intervened in a dominant gendered discourse of women’s representation in the mainstream media. Furthermore, this chapter also considers how SVK used particular social media platforms for their campaign, and how this selective use resulted in limited consciousness- raising in online and offline spaces. Importantly, the group did achieve a measure of regulatory change through an alteration to the ACMA guidelines for both 2Day FM and Sandilands himself; however, the regulations that were changed were reasonably broad, and only put in place for a certain time period.

As outlined in the previous chapter on CS, this chapter adopts a structure designed to best explore its links to power and discourse, and its particular understandings of gender. In order to understand how SVK employed social media to achieve these levels of change, this chapter firstly provides an analysis related to the dominant gendered discourse that the campaign group attempted to change. Unlike the previous chapter, in which campaigners targeted

121 gendered representations of women in the mainstream media based on their understandings of sexualisation and sexuality, this chapter examines women’s physical appearance as related to her work: specifically, that of women’s physical appearance as represented in the mainstream media as a target of critique in replacement for her actual work. This section also places the qualitative results within the context of existing literature by focusing specifically on instances of this dominant gendered discourse as it has been researched.

Following this review, the SVK campaign’s history and beginnings are discussed in detail, with attention given to data drawn from interviews with three SVK campaigners and a number of other activists and informants. This section also explores the techniques and methods employed by SVK to best utilise certain social media platforms, and why the campaign rejected the term ‘feminist’ within their group.

The chapter then moves on to examine how campaigners viewed SVK to have affected a form of change both within, and external to, the regulatory environment. In particular, this area of the chapter examines SVK’s stated goal to make it “financially unviable” for 2Day FM to continue to employ Sandilands, and the ACMA investigation that ran concurrently with the SVK campaign. Furthermore, this section also considers SVK’s more long-term goal of wishing to form a wider collective outside of their focus on Sandilands. Although this goal was not realised, this section considers how a number of SVK campaigners eventually supported and assisted the final campaign considered within this research, DtJ.

Finally, this chapter considers how the SVK campaign reclaimed a form of power in setting up the campaign and challenging a dominant gendered discourse regarding women’s representation in the mainstream media. This consideration of power and perceptions of change will be undertaken with the same approach used in the previous and following chapters: by employing Risman’s views on gender as a social structure (2004), through which change can be affected on a number of levels.

6.1 Women and physical appearance As noted in the previous chapter, women’s physical appearance has long been a focus within the mainstream media. This chapter is comparable to the last, in that it examines how a particular campaign attempted to challenge a gendered representation of women in the mainstream media. However, unlike the CS campaign, SVK objected to Sandilands’ comments not on the basis of his perceived sexualisation of Stephenson – but rather, because of his

122 dismissal of her work on the basis of her physical appearance. This section situates this campaign by outlining existing work around gendered discourses pertaining to women’s physical appearance, and examines how previous academic work has demonstrated that professional women are both valued and critiqued for their physical appearance rather than their actual work. Specifically, the perception of the existence of a dominant gendered discourse of this nature (alongside two other discourses discussed in each of the other two case study chapters) forms part of the wider argument of this research – that discourses circulated and reinforced by the mainstream media have been subject to challenges by each of the three respective campaigns examined within the three case studies. It is the perception of the campaigners within the SVK campaign that the understanding of women’s physical appearance as important led to Sandilands to making the comments highlighted at the beginning of this chapter.

A substantial body of research has demonstrated that an attractive physical appearance is an influential factor in establishing and maintaining social relations, whilst an unattractive physical appearance can lead to discrimination (Cash and Henry 1995; Harvard Law Review 1987; Langlois et al 2000; Muth and Cash 1997). Furthermore, women’s bodies have previously been the target of a number of historic academic views that ultimately concluded that, due to a woman’s anatomy, she should not undertake study or higher education. As outlined by Joan Chrisler (2011, p. 648), the “reductionistic, misogynistic, and heterosexist views” - that women’s bodies were too frail to withstand higher education – that were put forward by the likes of renowned psychologist Sigmund Freud (1924/1961) and Harvard Medical School Professor Edward H. Clarke (1873) were ultimately proved to be false. However, there still exists a wider misunderstanding regarding how a woman’s physical appearance or biological makeup may make her more or less suitable to a certain job.

Multiple studies have concluded that women in professional workplaces face a number of judgements about their ability to work effectively as based on their physical appearance (Cavico, Muffler and Mujtaba 2012; Leskinen, Caridad Rabelo and Cortina 2015; Welsh 1999). Furthermore, workplace discrimination extends beyond that of women as a broad group, and also affects women who are perceived to be overweight, same-sex attracted, transgender, gender fluid, or of a minority racial or cultural background (Hardwood 2007; Mottet 2004; O’Brien et al 2012; Ortiz and Roscigno 2009). Additionally, the work of the Australian Law Reform Commission (ALRC) (1994) also noted that women of a minority racial or cultural background face further discrimination in the workplace.

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As the person Sandilands directed his appearance-based criticism towards was a female journalist, it is worth examining how women in the fields of media and journalism more generally experience this specifically gendered form of discrimination. Broadly speaking, it has been widely acknowledged by both media scholars and feminist academics that newsrooms around the world are male dominated (Byerly and Ross 2006; Gallagher 1995). There is limited literature specifically examining how women working in an online media environment (such as News.com.au) experience appearance-based discrimination or critiques at the hands of their peers: something that could be attributed to online news only emerging as a major media platform in the last decade. However, there is existing research examining how female news anchors have experienced harassment and censure as a result of their physical appearance in the workplace9, and recent research has also indicated that women are more likely to be “seen than mentioned” in an online news article (Jia et al 2016).

Female news anchors interviewed in Erika Engstrom and Anthony Ferri’s research reported that the pressure to look a certain way comes “from both sides of the camera” (1998, pp. 794-795), whilst in work undertaken by Anthony Ferri and Jo Keller (1986, p. 464), “an overemphasis on physical appearance” was deemed by female news anchors to be their primary career obstacle. Similar conclusions were also reached in Bernt, Bradshaw and Foust’s 2009 work, with both male and female news anchors reporting that women anchors faced more pressure than men about appearance.

Louise North’s work (2009) highlights how female journalists experience a pervasive ‘blokey’ newsroom: but that by comparison, “many male journalists, particularly those in positions of authority in newsrooms, often don’t experience a ‘newsroom culture’ as such. Rather, they are the ‘culture’ [and] the newsroom is ‘theirs’” (North 2009, p. 13). North’s work also touches on another aspect of Sandilands’ denunciation of Stephenson; that is, calling into question a woman’s ability to perform her job due to her gender. Sandilands queries Stephenson’s worthiness as a deputy editor when he says:

You’re deputy editor of an online thing. You’ve got a nothing job anyway. You’re a piece of shit… this low thing, Alison Stephenson, deputy editor of News.com.au online.

9 Although the research examining women who work in the media industry and their experiences of online harassment is limited, there is existing research discussing the online harassment of women more generally. In particular, the research of Jane is both contemporary, and has been conducted in Australia (Jane 2014).

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As North points out, the understanding that women are somehow more ‘naturally’ suited to ‘nothing jobs’ is well documented (Cockburn 2009; Martin 1996), and one touched on in North’s own research (2009). Furthermore, the fact that Stephenson was a deputy editor of the entertainment section of a news publication has also been considered by previous research. Suzanne Franks (2013) has demonstrated that women, by and large, are steered into “fluffy features or celebrity gossip” (p. 23), and that the women that undertook these roles are often referred to as “feature bunnies”, when juxtaposed with the more hardened, male “newshounds” (p. 26).

Notably, the harassment that female journalists receive as a result of their work is also often trivialised. Amy Wallace (2014) observed that the harassment she had received as a journalist was often initiated by individuals or organisations who were “out in the open”, and that this was “a signal that this kind of attack is broadly seen as acceptable, or even funny” (Wallace 2014). This attitude – of understanding harassment as being both acceptable and a form of humour – was further reinforced in the case of Sandilands by his on-air partner, Jackie Henderson (Henderson’s on-air name is ‘Jackie O’), who was heard to be laughing as Sandilands critiqued Stephenson. Henderson was later critiqued for being “conspicuous in her silence [and providing] non-verbal support of Kyle in her background tittering” (Bastow 2011).

The final remark of Sandilands’ towards Stephenson – one in which he said she needed to “watch her mouth” or he would “hunt her down” – is also worthwhile of further attention. The explicit threat directed towards Stephenson is one that was not often discussed in the media. Instead, headlines tended to focus on Sandilands’ remarks about Stephenson’s appearance and weight (Dixon and Waters 2011; Gardiner 2012). However, the comment that Stephenson needed to “watch her mouth” echoes other comments faced by female journalists (and, to an extent, journalists more generally) around the world. Of course, it needs to be noted that these threats of violence do not typically result from a poor review of a person’s debut television show – in this respect, Sandilands’ comments are somewhat unique. However, the understanding that a threat of violence is an acceptable response to a journalist simply undertaking their job is one that is not exclusive to this case study. Other examples of female journalists either receiving threats or becoming victims of crime as a result of their investigative work have taken place in Mexico (EFE 2012) Afghanistan (BBC Monitoring South Asia 2013), Egypt (D’Almeida 2011; Kempf and Kabwato 2012), and Kazakhstan (BBC 2008). However, outside of this case study there have been limited formal reports of female journalists in

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Australia receiving threats of violence from by a recognisable media personality as a result of doing their work10.

Sandilands’ comments can also be understood to move beyond simply being inappropriate or offensive in a general sense, and instead be interpreted as explicitly misogynistic in their intent. As this section has demonstrated, misogynistic comments directed towards women in the mainstream media are neither uncommon nor exceptional, and are typically focused towards her physical appearance. Sandilands’ comments fit within this category, but also seek to perpetuate “personal intimidation” – what Debbie Ging (2017, p. 9) identifies as being hallmark behaviour of men within the anti-feminist movement. Whilst Sandilands’ comments preceded the recent examination the manosphere (see Ging 2017), they can be regarded as reinforcing and embedding misogynistic speech as acceptable. Both Sandilands’ comments, and the online comments of men within explicitly anti-feminist online spaces, seek to exclude and intimidate women from further participation within the public sphere. The importance of the SVK group, in seeking to reclaim some of this space through their online campaign, therefore cannot be understated. As discussed within further sections of this chapter, the practice of creating a space in which to organise, observe, and disrupt was viewed to be beneficial by campaigners, and was in turn described by Sandilands as a form of “cyber-bullying” (Duck 2012).

As demonstrated within this section, the remarks made by Sandilands are not uncommon or unusual; however, the response by the SVK campaign was one of the first of its nature within Australia, with specific unique characteristics grounded in particular understandings of the origins of this discourse, the factors that allow such discourses to be perpetuated, and the methods by which they may be intervened in. Despite its limited success in achieving a wider form of consciousness-raising, this research argues that SVK is one of the leaders of organic social media campaigning in Australia. SVK was formed somewhat organically through social media, and made a significant contribution to subsequent Australian-based digital feminist campaigns. Furthermore, campaign members acknowledged that the name “Sack Vile Kyle” restricted their expansion into a broader, more long-term group – and that instead, they were limited to offering advice and recommendations to the campaign that followed theirs, DtJ. Each of the themes discussed above will now be further explored and examined within the SVK case study.

10 A notable exception to this statement is the Russian journalist Anna Politkovskaya, who was murdered in 2006. Many believe that she was murdered as a result of her critique of the Russian president, Vladimir Putin (Walker 2016). Furthermore, the above statement also excludes the multitude of comments directed at female journalists and columnists by members of the public through social media platforms.

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6.2 Sack Vile Kyle The following section provides a more in depth discussion of the SVK campaign origins, and an analysis of how the group used social media to organise a boycott of the advertisers on Sandilands’ radio station. Furthermore, SVK’s understandings of change, success, and of power are also investigated as a means of determining the effectiveness of the campaign group’s actions.

6.2.1 Initial campaign overview As noted earlier, the SVK campaign was created in direct response to the on-air comments made by Sandilands in November 2011. Significantly, the initial creation of the SVK Facebook page appeared to stem through connections formed by people complaining on the 2Day FM’s Facebook page. Jackie McMillan, one of the initial SVK organisers, said that the SVK group came about because:

At first we were all just angry on the page of the radio station. And you know, you started to see the same names popping up and defending each other… so you’d see people attack and you’d dive in to defend other women. And then the group emerged and I joined the group.

Once the SVK group was formed, the initial members informally referred a number of other people to the group. For example, Drury said that she got involved in SVK “through Collective Shout… [because] I knew [another SVK member] from Collective Shout, and we had worked together for probably a year prior.” Roz Allardice, another SVK organiser, said that she became involved in SVK when she saw “[Drury’s] comments [that] they’d started up a group” on Facebook.

Notably, the central Facebook group of the SVK campaign was limited to ‘closed’ access. In essence, this meant that anyone wishing to join the group would have to request access, and then be approved by one of the five administrators. As at January 2018 the SVK Facebook page had 133 members, with two remaining administrators. When asked why the Facebook group was ‘closed’, campaigners cited incidents involving losing crucial campaign files that were deleted by new group members11, cases of harassment within the Facebook group by people

11 Drury highlighted a particular instance in which she said, “somebody came [into the SVK Facebook group] and deleted all of the files”. According to Drury, the SVK Facebook group was targeted by another group who had also

127 that supported Kyle Sandilands, and issues involving the wider ‘image’ of the campaign. Drury stated that Facebook groups such as SVK could require large amounts of time dedicated to monitoring portions of the page if it was to remain open. This moderation also stemmed from the interest that the media took in the group. As Drury outlines:

Because the media were interested in what we were doing, it really mattered what our supporters were saying…if you want any sort of credence, or if you want to be taken seriously, you really have to monitor that stuff…we were all pretty new to it, and so it was easier to just shut it down [to a private setting].

The group began formally petitioning companies that advertised on Sandilands’ show in late November 2011, with a number of companies immediately withdrawing their support from 2Day FM and Sandilands. Following this, Sandilands issued an on-air apology on November 24, 2011 to both his listeners and Stephenson (the journalist he had initially targeted). Sandilands stated that he was sorry “if you took a personal offence to it, Ali” (Harris 2011). The company that owns 2Day FM, Southern Cross Austereo, also offered an apology the same day, saying that “Kyle speaks his mind, however in this case we recognise his opinions have caused offence and sincerely apologise” (Harris 2011).

The SVK group continued to petition the businesses that remained loyal to 2Day FM and Sandilands’ show to remove their advertisements across the holiday break period. As Drury described, it was important for the group to highlight that Sandilands’ comments were not “something that's going to blow over”. Resultantly, the group ensured that they were still actively contacting advertisers when The Kyle and Jackie O Show resumed on January 15, 2012. In total, Drury estimated that across the entirety of the SVK campaign, the group caused over 170 advertisers to leave either The Kyle and Jackie O Show, or 2Day FM altogether.

As a result of the continued online pressure being applied by the SVK group to the remaining advertisers, 2Day FM commenced blocking their advertisements across their online, streamed broadcast. This meant that, although campaigners could listen to the show online, the advertisements that were broadcast across the radio were excluded from the online stream. In set up a page with similar goals of wanting Sandilands removed from his role at 2Day FM. However, instead of seeking to unite groups, this other group “just went after [Drury’s SVK group]”, and as a result the SVK group “lost all the [organising] files”.

128 short, the station stopped broadcasting advertisements during the online stream. Drury said that she felt the station took this step because the SVK campaign was “really impacting on their [financial] bottom line”, and that as a result of a number of key SVK members being based outside of physical broadcast range (and therefore needing to listen to the show through an online stream), the station had elected to block advertisements on the online stream. Drury said that this effectively stopped quite a few SVK campaigners from being able to report on who the advertisers still broadcasting on the station were. In this sense, the step to block advertisements online by 2Day FM proved to be effective - as Drury said, the fact that a number of campaigners couldn’t listen to the ads was “partly why we died out”.

Campaigners also identified another reason as to why the group ultimately expired – one that was tied to the name of the group, “Sack Vile Kyle”. Drury explained that the group was effectively “stuck in a hole because somebody, I don’t know who, had called us Sack Vile Kyle”. Resultantly, the group’s primary aim was widely understood to be to have Sandilands removed from his role at 2Day FM – an aim that Drury explicitly rejects in favour of wanting to see Sandilands “disciplined” by his radio station, and by the ACMA. Drury explains that the group, as a whole, held a discussion in order to try to change their focus, as the campaign was about “more than just Kyle”. Drury’s remarks are notable for the fact that they indicate that the group held a wider understanding of how gendered discourses function in the mainstream media, and that the group’s efforts could not always be singularly focused on Sandilands. This is reflective of how discourses operate; they extend beyond an individual’s comments into more formalised power structures, or, as Risman (2004) describes it, from the interactional level across to the institutional level.

SVK’s failure to participate in more long-term media engagement or social media campaigning outside of the specific campaign to remove Sandilands is indicative of short-term decisions being made at the expense of more long-term plans. These decisions, in turn, did not effectively allow the group to transform into a broader, multi-issue campaign group such as DtJ. Although the SVK campaign is considered by other activists interviewed for this thesis to be somewhat of a frontrunner in online feminist groups, a number of decisions made by SVK eventually led to the group experiencing a level of disengagement upon reaching its ‘end point’ with the conclusion of the ACMA investigation.

6.2.2 ACMA investigation As noted earlier, the ACMA investigation into Sandilands’ remarks commenced following a series of complaints that were initially made to the responsible broadcaster – in this case, 2Day

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FM. Once 2Day FM had responded to the complaints (stating that they did not consider Sandilands’ remarks to have breached any broadcasting codes), further complaints were then made directly to the ACMA. In March 2012, the ACMA found that the licensee, 2Day FM, was in clear breach of the Commercial Radio Australia’s Codes of Practice by broadcasting content that offended community decency standards (ACMA 2012a).

Following this, the ACMA proposed a draft license condition on 2Day FM that would prohibit the station from:

Broadcasting indecent content and content that demeans women or girls… the broadcaster must not place undue emphasis on gender, use overt sexual references in relation to a woman’s physical characteristics, and/or condone or incite violence against women. ACMA 2012b

Additionally, the ACMA’s draft license condition stated that the licensee must develop and implement a program to train staff about their on-air obligations in relation to the above conditions, deliver this training to all relevant employees within 45 days, and provide evidence of this to the ACMA. This condition was due to be in effect for five years.

However, 2Day FM submitted that the draft condition proposed by the ACMA failed to recognise steps12 that the station had already undertaken to ensure that no further breaches

12 According to the AAT transcript (Today FM v ACMA 2012, p.7), these steps included: • “Instructing Mr Sandilands and his management that these sort of remarks are unacceptable and must not be repeated; • Reminding all involved in the production of the Program of the requirements of the Codes; • Extending the broadcast delay from 10 seconds to 30 seconds for all 2Day FM programs which will allow extra time to consider content for editing; • Installing a warning light system in the Sydney studios to allow production staff and content advisers to notify announcers when content may be of concern or is heading in a concerning direction. This system will also be installed at the Los Angeles studio where Mr Sandilands broadcasts from, prior to any further broadcast taking place from that location; • Training all production staff in the new systems; • Employing a second full-time On-Air content adviser to work on the Program. Both advisers will be able to take action if content is deemed inappropriate by using the ‘dump button’ functions in their individual censor boxes. Additional ‘dump buttons’ have also been installed near other key production staff.”

130 would occur. Ultimately, the ACMA disagreed with 2Day FM’s submission, but did decide to remove wording from their proposed condition relevant to how Sandilands could discuss women and girls. As outlined above, in the ACMA’s initial draft condition, the Authority had an express reference that proposed that Sandilands should not say anything that “was likely to demean women or girls” (Today FM v ACMA 2012, p. 8). However, following a negotiation with 2Day FM, this reference was removed and replaced with a more general statement regarding not offending “general accepted standards of decency” (Today FM v ACMA 2012, p. 6).

Furthermore, after extensive negotiations between 2Day FM, the ACMA, and the Administrative Appeals Tribunal, it was decided that these license conditions should only apply to The Kyle and Jackie O Show, and any show in which Sandilands was an on-air presenter on 2Day FM, for a period of five years (Today FM v ACMA 2012). Notably, neither the ACMA nor the Administrative Appeals Tribunal (AAT) discussed whether the license conditions placed on Sandilands and 2Day FM would apply if Sandilands were to temporarily appear on, or permanently relocate to another station or show. As Sandilands and Henderson eventually switched to rival station KIIS FM, it remains unclear whether the ACMA’s conditions apply to their updated version of The Kyle and Jackie O Show on their new station.

SVK’s response to the AAT’s findings was to condemn the ACMA for its perceived powerlessness. Drury stated that she found the ACMA to be “useless”, and said that although she understood that the ACMA’s hands were probably tied, she felt that there needed to be “better regulations”. This view was echoed by other SVK campaigners, with Allardice labelling the ACMA a “paper tiger”, and McMillan questioning how much the extra regulation that the ACMA placed on Sandilands “actually helped”. Instead of supporting the ACMA regulations, SVK campaigners stated that they found social media to be more useful in terms of achieving more direct, instantaneous forms of activism. This use of social media to critique more “formal” regulations and guidelines provides an effective example of SVK’s overall understanding of the ACMA – and demonstrates why its preferences lay in using social media to organise, activate, and protest. To this end, this chapter will now focus on how SVK employed social media to challenge Sandilands’ representations of Stephenson by calling for an advertising boycott of 2Day FM and Sandilands’ show.

6.2.3 Sack Vile Kyle’s use of social media The SVK campaign’s use of social media was identified by each campaigner as being critical to achieving campaign goals. One campaigner, McMillan, said that the “only way we could have done [the campaign]” was through social media, and that the platform as a whole has “huge

131 potential” for activists. This potential was effectively leveraged by the SVK group, who used social media to organise a boycott of companies who advertised on 2Day FM and The Kyle and Jackie O Show. These activities were coordinated and organised through Facebook, with the SVK private group providing a central hub for group members to communicate on a daily basis. Initially, the Facebook group was set up as a means for campaigners to communicate outside of their original online meeting place – the 2Day FM Facebook comment threads. SVK campaigners quickly identified that being able to use social media provided a number of benefits, including the speed of the campaign itself, the variety and scope of people involved, and being able have a collective voice.

Members of the page regularly posted lists of advertisers on 2Day FM (and more specifically, advertisers who featured on The Kyle and Jackie O Show). Following this, other group members would post comments and complaints on the relevant advertiser’s Facebook page. The responses that each company gave to campaigners about their complaints were also shared on the SVK Facebook group, in order for other group members to then refer to these responses in their subsequent messages and posts to the relevant company. In this manner, campaigners were able to effectively monitor a large number of companies’ responses simultaneously. Within the group itself, Drury estimated that “a good 80%” of the campaigning activity took place online, whilst the remaining 20% involved more traditional forms of activism – taking the time to phone businesses, or sending in complaints through the post.

Furthermore, roles within the campaign group were also reasonably self-selected. For example, McMillan stated that she particularly enjoyed “sharing tactics and…sharing information about advertisers as it came up”. McMillan’s role was complemented by that of Allardice’s, who said that she benefited from the tactics and information shared by McMillan and other women when she wrote between “10 or 20 letters every night” to advertisers – the majority of these online. To this, Allardice added that she wrote two or three physical letters, and “followed the advice of the SVK site” by writing directly to the managing directors and the board of directors for the remaining companies advertising on 2Day FM.

McMillan further explained that overall, the SVK group found success in contacting advertisers en masse through the medium of Facebook and, to a lesser extent, Twitter. However, the downside to this was that the group’s members were regularly censured and blocked from the official company pages of 2Day FM, and some advertisers. Drury stated that she was “always on…the Southern Cross Austereo Facebook page, but then I got blocked”. This electronic blocking of campaigners was just one of several attempts made by 2Day FM to silence the

132 campaign; as noted earlier, 2Day FM also blocked the online stream of The Kyle and Jackie O Show to ensure that it was devoid of advertisers for the campaigners to target.

However, social media did allow the group to achieve a number of desired goals in relation to Sandilands, and the 2Day FM station as a whole. As in the other two case studies within this research, an emphasis has been placed on drawing out the specific understandings of change and success as discussed by SVK campaigners. In this case, social media was used by the SVK campaign to a perform activism at an individual and collective level, and challenge a dominant gendered discourse within the Australian mainstream media. The following section will draw on these understandings to examine how the SVK campaign effectively intervened in a dominant gendered discourse in the mainstream media regarding women’s physical appearances.

6.2.4 Rejection of feminist label A significant component of the SVK campaign was the group’s categorical rejection of being labelled as a specifically ‘feminist’ form of activism. When asked, each of the three campaigners interviewed for this thesis said that the group was not ‘explicitly’ feminist in its intent – despite the group’s overall aims being similar to other feminist-based social justice groups. The campaign’s reasons for not identifying as feminist, and the significance of this rejection for this thesis, will now be explored.

Both Drury and McMillan stated that they, personally, held feminist beliefs and values – but also understood that this may not be true of SVK as a whole. McMillan identified herself as being a ‘sex positive’ feminist, and said her feminist activism was directed at those who said that “women’s behaviour needs to be modified”, particularly in relation to the issues of slut shaming and victim blaming13. McMillan cited CS as an example of a campaign group that she perceived as ‘difficult’, and said that she found that CS to be “all these people who are thinking they’re making feminist arguments but are actually restricting women’s choices.” Resultantly, McMillan

13 Slut shaming and victim blaming are two concepts often discussed within current feminist debates. ‘Slut shaming’ refers to any comments or behaviour “designed to make women feel humiliated or embarrassed about sex or sexuality”, whilst ‘victim blaming’ refers to the idea that a person is somehow responsible for their assault or rape due to the way they dressed or acted (SlutWalk Melbourne 2016). By understanding that women are not responsible for other’s behaviour towards them, McMillan is taking a particular stance within feminism – one that advocates returning the attention of society to the perpetrators of crimes, as opposed to the victims and survivors. This stance is further reinforced by other current feminist campaigns, such as SlutWalk (SlutWalk Melbourne 2016).

133 rejected the form of feminism practised by groups such as CS, and concluded that although SVK “had feminist roots”; there were people within the campaign that “just wanted to get Kyle”.

On the other hand, Drury stated that she came to be involved in SVK campaign group because she had previously been a member of another CS campaign. Through her previous involvement with CS Drury met another woman, Sue14, who eventually became an administrator for the SVK Facebook page. Sue invited Drury to join the SVK campaign, and shortly thereafter Drury also became a page administrator. However, despite the variance of feminist thoughts and understandings between Drury and McMillan, neither mentioned any complications in working alongside other feminists within the SVK campaign. Rather, their focus was on ensuring that their feminist ideals did not exclude other group members who did not identify as feminists – and that consequently, both campaigners stated that they did not perceive SVK to be a feminist campaign.

The nature for this rejection of the feminist label stemmed from a number of reasons identified by campaigners. As discussed above, SVK campaigners fell across a broad political spectrum, which was then reflected in how they approached the campaign. This was demonstrated by McMillan, who outlined that she felt it was necessary to “gently correct” a number of campaigners who were attacking Sandilands on the basis of his appearance. Part of McMillan’s self-identified “feminist policy” was that she did not “critique [a person’s] body”; and that as a result she encouraged other campaigners to attack Sandilands’ words instead of his appearance.

Campaigners also indicated that there was an equal mix of men and women involved in the SVK group, and campaigners were hesitant to label the group as ‘feminist’ as a result. Drury noted that, “a lot of people have problems with men being feminists, because they have to be allies”; in addition to this, a number of people inside the SVK group also wished to avoid the label. As a result, Drury said that members of the group “tried to steer clear of the feminist [label] because we didn’t want to ostracise anyone”. These views were reinforced by Allardice, who said that said she was not a “rampant feminist”, and felt that members of the SVK group could “say what we felt fairly… and listen to one another”, which she felt was not always the case in other feminist spaces.

The group’s rejection of the feminist label is particularly significant for this research, as it emphasises that groups that are not explicitly feminist in nature can still use social media to

14 Not her real name. As this person did not participate in this research, I have elected not to identify her.

134 challenge a dominant gendered discourse. The fact that the campaign itself was not openly feminist, but did challenge a particular gendered discourse that has been widely critiqued by a number of other feminists, adds an additional layer of complexity to the thesis. Although both Drury and McMillan stated their reluctance to identify the SVK campaign as being feminist in its aims, this may not have detracted from the campaign itself. This is not to say that all feminists can effectively operate in all activist campaigns – but rather, there lies a certain value in performing “feminism by stealth” (Pickering 2012, as cited in Doley 2012).

Importantly, each campaigner was aware that this research was being undertaken with a view to examining Sandilands’ comments through a feminist lens. This acknowledgement was made to campaigners as a matter of ethical feminist research. It is not considered imperative to the research that the SVK campaign members identify their campaign to be explicitly feminist in nature. Interestingly, the campaign’s goals were rather different to those of the other two case studies discussed within this thesis. The understandings of change and success in relation to these goals will now be explored in further detail, in order to effectively compare the campaign to the other case studies.

6.2.5 Summary of understandings of change and success The understandings of change and success as taken from the SVK group can be drawn from a number of stated goals, both from individual campaigners, and from the campaign group as a whole. These goals vary from those of a financial nature, to those of a punitive nature, and those with a wider eye to cultural change. These goals were articulated by different campaigners in each of the three interviews undertaken, and were also taken directly from the SVK website. As a result, the clearly stated aims of the group, and the individual campaigners, were:

- To make it “financially unviable” for 2Day FM to continue to employ Sandilands (SVK 2012b) - For Sandilands to be formally disciplined by the ACMA - To form a wider collective in order to challenge particular views being circulated in the Australian media in relation to women

These goals can be framed within Risman’s three dimensions of gender structure: the individual level, the interactional level and the institutional level (2004). In this sense, SVK’s three aims fell across two of the three dimensions. These dimensions will be outlined in each of

135 the relevant sections below, alongside the respective aims of the campaigns. This is done in order to examine how effective SVK members understood the campaign to be.

6.2.6 “Financially unviable” goal The clearly stated aim of making it “financially unviable” for 2Day FM to continue to employ Sandilands was understood by at least one campaigner to have eventually been achieved. Although Sandilands did not leave 2Day FM during the time of the campaign, both himself and his co-host Jackie O eventually departed for KIIS FM in late 2013 (Casamento 2013), with their first show airing on the new station in early 2014 (Munro 2014). Drury attributed Sandilands’ departure to the SVK campaign, saying that:

It took a while, but in the end they [2Day FM] couldn’t get a lot of the sponsors back on board, and they lost over $10 million dollars in advertising revenue.

Furthermore, Drury outlined that her understanding of 2Day FM’s decision in letting Sandilands go was “it wasn’t worth their while to have Kyle there any more”. When asked why this was, Drury stated that it “partly came down to the bottom dollar”, and 2Day FM wanted to avoid further incidents in which Sandilands could potentially cost the station millions of dollars. Ultimately, Drury attributed Sandilands not being at 2Day FM any more to the SVK campaign – but also stated that the campaign needed to stop in order to allow 2Day FM to make the conscious decision to let Sandilands move to another station. But Drury’s view was contrasted by Allardice’s, who expressed doubt that SVK had eventually caused Sandilands’ move from 2Day FM.

The understandings of change were, in this instance, somewhat mixed. Although campaigners did perceive that SVK had cost 2Day FM large sums of money, there was no immediate removal of Sandilands from the airwaves – quite simply, Sandilands was not ‘sacked’. Instead, he faced a number of regulatory-based sanctions. SVK’s focus on removing Sandilands from the airwaves – an aim that members had previously admitted was not broad enough – ultimately left them with very little manoeuvrability and room for expansion when it became clear that 2Day FM were not going to remove Sandilands from his show.

However, despite 2Day FM’s decision to keep The Kyle and Jackie O show on-air throughout the SVK campaign, Sandilands and his co-host, Henderson, both left 2Day FM in late 2013. Reports

136 on the reason for their departure vary; with Sandilands himself saying that he chose to leave (Harris 2014), whilst 2Day FM maintains that that decision was “mutual” (ABC 2013).

Campaigners did observe that the approach they used of targeting advertisers in order to impact on 2Day FM’s financial situation was reasonably successful. Drury said that she felt this approach “absolutely worked”, and that it triggered a “wake up call for these companies” when considering what can and cannot be broadcast. McMillan also said that the campaign “cost them [2Day FM] some money, so I figured that…we taught them a lesson”. Overall, the fact that the SVK campaign estimated that it cost the radio station $10 million in advertising indicates a level of success outside of whether Sandilands’ eventual departure was prompted by the campaign.

This particular goal can also be understood to fall within Risman’s understanding of institutional change (2004). Institutional change takes place on the level of formal organisational practices; and as SVK explicitly targeted Sandilands’ formal work prospects at 2Day FM (as opposed to his wider reputation, as was seen through the DtJ campaign with Alan Jones), this particular goal can be viewed as pursuing the station’s employment practices. More simply: SVK did not target Sandilands’ public standing, but his ability to find employment at 2Day FM by targeting the company’s organisational practices.

However, the understandings of whether the campaign itself had a particular effect on Sandilands’ employment prospects at 2Day FM were somewhat mixed. It is therefore difficult to conclude whether the ‘success’ of SVK in relation to this goal was achieved. Although Sandilands did leave the station, the delay between the campaign taking place and his departure were too large for campaigners to understand there being a link between the two. Therefore, this particular goal remains unfulfilled – however, it is worth repeating that not all campaigners were wholly committed to this goal when participating in this campaign. Instead, each campaigner did identify that one of their aims was to see Sandilands’ actions and comments examined by a regulatory body. This goal, one of formal discipline by a media regulator, is the next to be examined within this section.

6.2.7 Formal discipline by the ACMA Alongside the financial cost and subsequent success of the SVK campaign was the regulatory cost to both Sandilands and the 2Day FM broadcasting station. This was the second time in Sandilands’ on-air history that his comments led to an ACMA investigation (the first of these

137 being in 200915) – and the only time to date that the repercussions had a direct impact on what Sandilands could say on air. As outlined earlier, at least one SVK campaigner made a complaint to the ACMA regarding Sandilands’ comments about Stephenson. The resultant investigation ultimately concluded that Sandilands had breached the Commercial Radio Australia’s Codes of Practice, which relates to content that was deemed to offend community decency standards (ACMA 2012a).

SVK campaigners held a number of fairly cynical views regarding the ACMA’s treatment of Sandilands, with Drury questioning “how many licensing conditions can they [the ACMA] put on…one presenter to a radio station, before something actually has to happen?” Other SVK campaigners echoed this frustration, with McMillan questioning how much the extra regulation actually helped with deterring Sandilands from future offenses against the Code. Drury also highlighted the fact that prior to the ACMA’s final ruling, Sandilands had once again been reported to the media watchdog for additional comments viewed to be offensive (Lee 2012). Allardice pointed out the standalone incident of Sandilands’ comments may not have been “terrible” in isolation, but “it was because it came on top of all the other stuff when he [Sandilands] was told he mustn’t do it any more”.

Overall, the view held amongst the SVK campaigners I interviewed was that, despite their efforts to seek formal regulatory measures against Sandilands, the ACMA was unable to effectively enforce anything more than an additional regulation. The Federal Communications Minister at the time, Stephen Conroy, also shared the view that the ACMA needed firmer regulatory standards. In an interview with the ABC that took place in March 2012, Conroy said that “the ACMA has a gap in its regulatory armour, and the convergence review16 is talking about possible extra powers for [the] ACMA, so instead of just having the slap on the wrist or closing down the station there are what you’d call mid-tier powers” (ABC 2012b). The convergence review discussed by Conroy eventually concluded that the ACMA did have “limited powers to take direct action to address the complaint” if one was made by an individual against a service

15 In 2009, Sandilands and his station, 2Day FM, were found to have breached Clause 1.5(a) and Clause 5.6 of the Commercial Radio Australia Codes of Practice and Guidelines 2004. Sandilands and 2Day FM were found to have aired a segment in which a 14-year-old girl was attached to a lie detector and questioned by her mother. During this questioning, the girl revealed that she had been raped at the age of 12. Sandilands’ response to this revelation was to ask the question, “is that the only experience you’ve had?” (ACMA, 2009).

16 The convergence review was announced in 2011 by the Minister for Broadband, Communications, and Digital Economy. The intention of the review was to comprehensively examine the current regulations in place for the media and communication networks (ACMA 2015). The review’s final report was released in 2012 (Bore ham, 2012).

138 provider (such as a radio station), and added that the ACMA should be provided with mid-tier enforcement options (Boreham 2012). However, these recommendations were never actioned – instead, the ACMA’s current regulatory role remains mostly unchanged from the model used in 2012 when Sandilands’ on-air comments were scrutinised.

But, as Julian Thomas, a member of the ACMA’s Consumer Consultative Forum notes, the alternative understanding is that “people don’t see the regulator as the answer to the question of what’s wrong with the media and what we do about it”. Instead, Thomas suggested that the “exposure and public shaming” that often follows a public breach of the ACMA regulations (such as Sandilands’ comments) were one of the best ways to achieve reflection by the broadcaster’s behalf - rather than an ACMA investigation. Thomas’ suggestions also points to change taking place on multiple levels. SVK’s goal of regulatory change and discipline can be placed within Risman’s institutional level of gender as a social structure; the attempt at change has taken place within a formal, organisational environment. Risman identifies legal regulations as a form of social process within the institutional domain (2004, p. 437); in the same way, the ACMA are bound by law to investigate complaints such as those made by SVK campaigners.

SVK’s goal to seek change on an institutional level points to the campaign’s perceptions of change as, at least in part, a top-down process. The ACMA’s inability to effectively change a formalised structure of gender points to the broader arguments made within this research: that women’s and feminist campaigns can successfully utilise social media to challenge dominant gendered discourses, and that these methods can be more effective than other, more ‘traditional’ means of complaint made through bodies such as the ACMA. It is also noteworthy that the SVK campaign did not rally for a change within the ACMA’s decision-making processes, and the regulatory body as a whole. Instead, they made a complaint within the existing system, and then bore witness to this complaint making its way through a regulatory body that had “limited powers” (Boreham 2012, p. 43) to deal with such a grievance. Without rallying for change within the system that campaigners had labelled as “useless”, regulatory bodies such as the ACMA are able to continue to perpetuate and allow dominant gendered discourses. To use a well-known quote from Audre Lorde, “the master’s tool will never dismantle the master’s house” (1979, p. 27)– and change may have to come from both within, and outside of, institutions such as the ACMA.

To further expand this point, Risman (2004) questions what needs to change at an institutional level to allow for expectations to change at the interactional level of gender: ultimately, she concludes that change must take place on all three levels. But institutional change alone cannot

139 always guarantee a change in how people relate or think about gender: for example, although there are laws against gender-based discrimination, this does not guarantee that people will not experience discrimination of this nature. Instead, change must happen simultaneously across all three levels of where gender is situated in order for it to be effective.

It also needs to be acknowledged that the particular understanding that activist groups can effect change where regulatory bodies cannot is one that is powerful – but also ignores the potential consequences for these activists. For example, in the case of the SVK campaigners, large numbers of activists put in hours of free labour in order to ensure that Sandilands’ comments received the attention and scrutiny that they deserved – often on top of their full time jobs and roles as parents or caregivers. However, if the ACMA had effective powers with which to deal with these comments, the SVK campaign may not have been as necessary. The understanding of activists as being a necessary part of the media regulatory environment is somewhat concerning, given that activists remain largely under or unpaid. Although full consideration of the unpaid digital labour feminist activists perform is not within the scope of this thesis, previous research I have undertaken on this topic using the same data set has concluded that this group of feminist activists are prone to burnout and stress as a result of their work (Gleeson 2016a).

6.2.8 Formation of a wider collective The final, more indirect area in which SVK group members articulated that they wanted to achieve a level of change was in relation to forming a wider, more long-term campaign, in order to challenge particular views being put across in the Australian media regarding specific representations of women. As Drury noted, the SVK campaign had discussed wanting to change its focus from Sandilands, because the group’s concerns lay not with “just Kyle, it was [also] Alan Jones, it was other media representations of women”. This is suggestive of a broader understanding held by campaign members of how the Australian mainstream media represents women – one echoed in their interviews. The other media personality mentioned in Drury’s statement – Sydney-based radio shock jock, Alan Jones – is also the subject of the next chapter, which considers his 2012 remarks directed towards female politicians.

As noted earlier, the group’s name of “Sack Vile Kyle” restricted its independence, in that it was closely tied to Sandilands’ behaviour and comments. As a result, the group struggled to establish any longevity. This was made particularly clear when DtJ (the third case study of this thesis, and another social media-based campaign) was established only three months after the last public comment from SVK regarding Sandilands’ actions. The two campaign groups hold a number of

140 similarities – both were created as a response to a particular set of comments from a radio DJ, and both called for an initial boycott of advertisers from each radio DJ’s show. The DtJ campaign’s success was also attributed, at least in part, to the presence and previous work undertaken by the SVK campaign. According to El Gibbs, a former DtJ moderator, the SVK campaigners were “incredibly valuable to us… they helped us in terms of [advising what] tactics [were] used against their campaign”.

To return to the initial goal of members – to build a more long-term campaign that could challenge further media-based representations of women – it is clear that this goal was not achieved. By targeting change on a level that would ensure further interaction and consciousness-raising amongst current and future and campaigners, it is clear that this goal falls within both the interactional and individual dimensions of Risman’s proposed gender structure (2004). If this goal had been achieved, campaigners would have been able to directly foster a more long-term movement in which they could consistently interact and discuss gender with the wider audience of the campaign.

The perceptions of change, as held by SVK members, are therefore somewhat mixed. Although the group failed to immediately remove Sandilands from the airwaves, they did identify his eventual departure from 2Day FM as being partially due to their campaign – although the station itself did not admit this. Furthermore, although the group declared that they found the ACMA’s ruling on Sandilands’ comments to be ineffectual, their complaints did lead to increased attention being drawn to the ACMA’s regulatory powers, and Sandilands’ on-air comments being monitored throughout his remaining time at 2Day FM – a somewhat unprecedented move by the watchdog17.

However, the campaign did raise the feminist consciousness of those who were initially outraged by Sandilands’ comments, and then started the SVK campaign. In this case,

17 The ACMA’s forebear, the Australian Broadcasting Authority, made a number of rulings in the early 2000s related to what is generally known as the 1999 “cash for comments” affair. In this instance, two high profile radio talkback hosts (Alan Jones and John Laws) were found to have accepted money in return for discussing favourable aspects of a number of high profile companies. These companies included banks, property developers, and casinos (Gordon- Smith, Cunningham and Turner 2002). The Australian Broadcasting Authority ruled that Jones and Laws had accepted “cash for comment”, and had not disclosed their commercial interest in favourably discussing these companies on-air. Although the pair were fined, the only form of ‘censure’ put in place was to ensure that both Laws and Jones fairly disclosed on air when they were about to make a favourable comment that had been paid for by a company.

141 consciousness-raising took place on the individual and interactional levels, in accordance with Risman’s concepts (2004). The SVK campaign assisted in furthering the understandings of gender and gender-based oppressions on an individual and interactional level for those involved; and in doing so, it helped establish a wider collective of people who were aware of a particular dominant gendered discourse within the mainstream media. Furthermore, SVK was identified, both by its own campaigners, and those from the DtJ campaign, to being central to the establishment of another important, long-term feminist campaign instead. It can be concluded that although the initial goal of campaign longevity was not achieved, the group did provide the foundation upon which another Australian feminist campaign was built.

Ultimately, although the group’s goal of longevity and continued activism did not eventuate, their performance of consciousness-raising on both the interactional and individual levels did ensure that group members could provide important advice and consultation for at least one other campaign. SVK itself set a strong example of what campaigns can achieve when they effectively target advertisers of a particular show or station. The tactic of surveying and contacting 2Day FM advertisers was employed by SVK campaigners to great effect – a method that required limited numbers of campaigners to achieve large results. The following section examines how SVK campaigners used online and offline surveillance methods to affect the behaviours of both the advertisers on 2Day FM, and the radio station itself.

6.3 Understandings of power within the Sack Vile Kyle campaign The SVK campaigners each had their own understandings about how the group performed and intervened in a specific form of power in relation to Sandilands and 2Day FM. Far from viewing themselves as powerless, or incapable of reaching the wide audience that Sandilands had access to, SVK campaigners instead stated that social media had “given everyone an electronic megaphone”. Within this section, social media is analysed as being the primary platform used by the SVK campaign to act as a point of resistance in combating the wider gendered discourse put forth by Sandilands. In a similar understanding to that outlined by DtJ campaigners, SVK members also emphasise the power that emerged due to their sense of collectivity, and being able to act as a group to resist a particular discourse.

The influence and usefulness of social media within the SVK campaign was discussed extensively by group members. McMillan pointed out that social media raised ordinary voices up, and that campaigns such as SVK could then “compete with the reach of newspapers” when it came to media coverage. Far from needing to actively seek out media attention for SVK, the group was,

142 in the initial stages of the campaign, fielding media requests for interviews and comments from more traditional mainstream media outlets (The Daily Telegraph 2012; Duck 2012; Lee 2012). Furthermore, the group also used their website to publish a number of open letters to 2Day FM (SVK 2012e; SVK 2012f) and more general media releases (SVK 2012c; SVK 2012d; SVK 2012a). In this sense, the group’s form of power was channelled through social media, and allowed the campaign to organise an effective boycott of the various companies advertising on 2Day FM.

However, the power and reach of social media for a particular campaign is not exhaustive, and long-term change can be more difficult to achieve. In the case of SVK, McMillan noted that she was not seeing “as many real impacts” with social media campaigns, and that petitions in particular were not proving to be particularly effective. When asked why, McMillan explained that:

Not many people know exactly what you should do with a petition. So I wasn’t seeing [the petitions] getting read into Hansard and I wasn’t seeing stuff happen on them… I’m [now] probably more likely to go directly to a politician on Twitter, and see if we can get some traction [there].

This leads into one of the principal critiques of the SVK campaign raised within this chapter: that the group’s use of social media (particularly in relation to its decision to have a private Facebook group) limited its ability to perform long-term consciousness-raising and effect other forms of change. While SVK campaigners perceived that they had successfully intervened into boycotting advertisers on Sandilands’ show, their long-term engagement with the wider community was somewhat limited by the fact that their online presence existed behind a closed group. If, for example, the SVK group had instead elected to exist on a public Facebook page, the campaign may have been able to engage with a wider audience in its initial stages of both planning and boycott – and as a result, execute a form of consciousness-raising by not only drawing attention to Sandilands’ comments, but also discussing the subsequent ACMA investigation and ruling. However, the group’s plans for a boycott, and its ensuing opinions in relation to the ACMA investigation were locked away behind a private Facebook group. Although the group did publish a number of blogs on their website in relation to the ACMA investigation, these were not shared on social media – and as a result, may have had less engagement18.

18 Campaigners also understood that there was a form of power within their threatened consumer boycott. Allardice commented that “shops need to realise that the consumer has the buying power”, and that she, as a consumer, will actively choose where she spends her money. The threat to boycott a certain product was not one unique to SVK –

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This critique is tied to a wider analysis of how social media platforms such as Facebook fail to effectively regulate content, and in turn permit the ongoing harassment of feminists and women’s rights activist within their spaces. As noted within the literature review, the role the power plays in on online spaces can shape the actions undertaken by campaigners. In the case of SVK, the campaigners chose to make the group ‘closed’ in nature, which in turn limited their exposure to a wider audience. This decision was reached as a result of the harassment they received as SVK campaigners on other Facebook pages, and the confrontations they had had with Sandilands’ supporters within the SVK group prior to it being closed.

This point is further reinforced by Fuchs (2011, p. 117), who notes that although social media platforms are used for making connections, we also need to focus on how “technology use are framed by political issues”. Activists who were interviewed in Veronica Barassi’s book also observed this: she says that they were “aware of the fact that they are negotiating with the capitalist structure of web 2.0 platforms… yet they also believed that it is important to be on these platforms” (2015, p. 93). Furthermore, as Wajcman (2004,p. 13) has previously argued, argues, men hold a “monopoly of technology [which is] an important source of their power” – echoing Baym’s earlier observations made within the literature of this thesis that social media platforms are typically created by small groups of young, white, American men (2015).

Similarly, SVK activists were conscious that they were operating within an environment they did not exclusively control, and were required to perform additional labour in order to maintain and uphold a safe space for their campaigners. Allardice said that the other SVK campaigners were “very, very careful at the time [about who they invited to join the private Facebook group]… because of trolls setting them up and making really horrible comments”. Consequently, it can be argued that SVK’s decision to form a closed Facebook group – and their subsequent perceived failure to perform long-term consciousness-raising on a wider level – were at least partially influenced by the actions of the social media platform itself. The campaigners faced a difficult indeed, cases of consumer boycott have been well documented in academic literature – but it proved to be effective in this particular instance.

However, the power that lies within a consumer boycott is somewhat tempered by the fact that, in the case of SVK, it was not the companies themselves that were responsible for Sandilands’ comments. Although, in this instance, targeting companies who advertised on 2Day FM and Sandilands’ show appears to have worked, it does bring into question the financial and ethical consequences a company may face when choosing to air its advertisements during a particularly controversial form of media-based entertainment.

144 choice: either they elected to expose their group members to ongoing harassment, or they limited their exposure and potential to achieve more long-term change. In this instance, campaigners chose to limit the amount of harassment their received; however, as evidenced within the DtJ chapter, other groups chose to retain a public profile and endure ongoing harassment and abuse as a result.

To return to the issue of power within the SVK campaign more generally, a noteworthy remark was made by Sandilands almost 10 months after his initial comments about Stephenson. In September 2012, Sandilands told his radio show listeners that he was being cyber bullied by the SVK campaign, and that he was considering legal action against the group (Duck 2012). Although the legal action ultimately failed to materialise, Sandilands’ remark provides an insight into the wider issues of power surrounding the campaign. Sandilands, alongside 2Day FM as a whole, correctly felt that their moves were being observed by a wide group of organised campaigners – resulting in both Sandilands’ remark about ‘cyber bullying’, and 2Day FM’s operational decisions related to the online advertising stream during Sandilands’ show.

Sandilands’ description of ‘cyber bullying’ is significant in that it highlights his understanding of where the power of response and reaction originated. Sandilands viewed himself not to be the original aggressor, but the victim of an attack at the hands of a larger group of people – the SVK campaign. The issue of power must also be considered in relation to Sandilands’ own position as a dominant figure within the Australian media with ready access to a large audience and a measure of control within his own talkback space. Sandilands holds the ability to decide who does and does not speak on-air – and as previously demonstrated, this power has been used to silence, admonish and abuse others. However, the choice of the SVK campaign to instead base their campaign within an online environment ensured that Sandilands could not reach them within their closed group. Sandilands would never be sure if a campaigner was listening to his show and noting which companies were advertising across the station and his timeslot.

The power that lies in being able to effectively observe and critique a media personality’s actions is not unique to the SVK campaign; indeed, DtJ took a similar approach when they initially commenced their campaign against Alan Jones. In each case, the major platform which the campaigners were using to undertake the surveillance (an online stream of the radio show) was modified in order to exclude all advertisements from streaming online. Although this did not stop campaigners from hearing what Sandilands or Jones had to say, it did prohibit them from learning which companies had chosen to continue advertising with the show (unless, of course, campaigners were within offline broadcasting frequency range).

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Overall, campaigners within the SVK group understood the campaign to have achieved a level of change, particularly in relation to the financial cost of the group’s advertiser boycott. However, if we understand power to travel across different channels and discourses, both online and offline, then we need also to expand this understanding to recognise that power behaves in diverse ways when located in different online settings. An activist group that has voluntarily elected to place itself inside a closed Facebook group will have different outcomes and results than one that has chosen to make itself public. Resultantly, the forms of power that these groups have access to are variable. The private group may only be able to organise hundreds of people into a concentrated boycott for a short period of time: however, a public Facebook campaign group may be able to achieve larger levels of recognition and long-term awareness by the wider community.

Conversely, being able to achieve larger levels of recognition and long-term awareness can come at a wider cost to the public group. As articulated within the following chapter, the DtJ feminist campaign (a group that held similar origins to that of SVK) grew exponentially from its beginnings, but was also forced to rapidly expand its online moderation team in order to deal with a number of trolls. This was what SVK members initially wished to avoid by tightening their online security settings – any risk of trolling by other online groups or individuals.

It is clear that the particular forms of power employed by the SVK group were most effective when focused on boycotting companies that advertised on 2Day FM. However, the lack of long- term engagement on behalf of the campaign suggests that the power the group held during its first six months was somewhat transitory and limited. This is not to say that this made the group any less effective during this time; but hopes for the group’s longevity outside of an advertiser boycott would have been short lived.

6.4 Conclusion The SVK campaign provides an excellent example of a small, relatively short-lived group that leveraged social media to engage with a limited number of campaigners to achieve short-term success. This success was restricted to effecting short-term change within the confines of an advertiser boycott; however, the other long-term aims of the group were not achieved. In particular, these aims were to remove Sandilands from air; have the ACMA effectively discipline Sandilands; and establish a long-term group dedicated to challenging representations of women in the Australian mainstream media.

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The interview data discussed within in this chapter revealed a number of decisions made by the campaign that could have unduly impacted their long-term goals. In particular, SVK’s decisions to both use a closed Facebook group as their primary campaign base and to use the name “Sack Vile Kyle”, may have affected their goal of establishing a more lasting campaign group. By focusing specifically on Sandilands’ removal from 2Day FM, the group had to sacrifice other, more long-term goals. Additionally, the group’s use of social media further restricted its ability to eventually broaden its scope into a focus on women’s representation in the media – or even a discussion simply related to the inability of the ACMA to effectively regulate Sandilands and other broadcasters.

The various perceptions of power, and the ability to challenge gendered discourses, were also notable within this case. Significantly, the SVK group used social media to challenge a gendered discourse, and draw attention to the inappropriateness of Sandilands’ comments in relation to Stephenson’s appearance. In this sense, social media was essential to the group’s successful advertiser boycott – as discussed earlier, campaigners coordinated their schedules and liaised with one another regarding which advertiser pages they would target next. However, social media also provided the group with a form of power, and the ability to affect behavioural change at the level of 2Day FM, and Sandilands himself.

The wider argument of this thesis is clearly demonstrated through SVK’s use of social media to resist and contest a dominant gendered discourse. Moreover, the particular argument of this chapter – that the SVK campaign had successfully challenged one dominant gendered discourse, but were left with little long-term engagement or change – can be illustrated by the comments made earlier by campaigners, and other informants. Further strategic use of social media (and in particular, Facebook) on behalf of the campaign could have resulted in a more enduring, long-term group.

The strategic use of social media is something that has now been discussed both in terms of how it can effect regulatory change (CS), and how it can influence a short-term advertiser boycott. However, the following chapter will examine how social media can be leveraged to transform a campaign similar to SVK’s into a wider, more permanent group focused on gender equality in Australia. Both SVK and DtJ were initially launched as the result of a comment made on-air by a radio host; and both campaigns initially focused on an advertisers boycott. Where SVK failed to transform into a long-term campaign, however, DtJ had almost immediate success, experiencing consistent online growth since its creation in August 2012. The following

147 chapter discusses the final of the three case studies within this thesis, and its successful use of social media to create long-term change through consciousness-raising and ongoing growth: DtJ.

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Chapter Seven: Destroy the Joint

It was Friday, August 31, 2012. Alan Jones, a well-known Australian conservative radio talkback host and ‘shock jock, was on-air in his usual time slot at 2GB – and was in the process of entertaining his guest, Barnaby Joyce. Joyce, the then leader of the Nationals in the Australian Senate and a member of the Liberal-Nationals Coalition – a party who were, at the time, placed in opposition to Prime Minister Julia Gillard’s Australian Labor Party. Joyce was appearing on Jones’ show to discuss the sale of a massive irrigation property in his electorate to a majority Chinese-owned consortium (Annear 2013). Following Jones’ initial comments regarding the threatened sale, Joyce then humorously suggested that the government should buy the irrigation property and “split it up into small places, sells farms back to Australian farmers and keep a bit of water for the environment and everyone’s happy”. At this point, Jones asked Joyce if he wanted “a bit of laugh”, and then continued to tell Joyce about the $320 million that would be spent by the then Australian Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, to promote Pacific island women in business and politics, saying:

She’s promised $320 million to promote ‘gender equality’ in the Pacific region…She said that we know societies only reach their full potential if women are politically participating…Women are destroying the joint – Christine Nixon in Melbourne, Clover Moore here. Honestly.

Jones 2012, as cited in Farr 2012

This was not the first time Jones had publicly derided Julia Gillard. During 2012, he had also said that she was “brain dead”, that he was “over this lying cow Gillard, what a mouth on legs she is” (Jones, cited in Burgmann 2012), and that “the woman is off her tree and quite frankly they should shove her… in a chaff bag and take [her] as far out to sea as they can” (Jones 2012, as cited in Media Watch 2012).

The Destroy the Joint campaign (DtJ) materialised from a tweet responding to Jones’ initial on- air comments. This chapter examines the DtJ campaign, its background, social media techniques and methods, and its attempts to disrupt a specific gendered discourse, as the third and final case study within this thesis. Having explored how the SVK group started and concluded their campaign focused on a single issue, and how CS were already a multi-issue group campaign when they commenced their campaign protesting the Honey B’s billboard, this chapter moves on to exploring how a single issue campaign developed into one that addressed

149 multiple points of resistance and feminist tensions within Australia. Furthermore, this chapter also illustrates to what extent people both directly involved with DtJ, and external to the campaign, perceive it to have been effective and successful in both the short and long-term.

This chapter reflects a similar structure to the previous two, in that sections have been organised to best examine wider discussions of power, gender and discourse within a specific context. This chapter opens with a brief introduction to the incident that led to the case study itself, before moving to a detailed review of the literature concerning the discourse in question and its relationship to the campaign. Within this chapter, the first section examines the research surrounding the link between women’s attempts to directly access political power, and their representations in the mainstream media focused more generally on women and their relationship with political forms of power. As is the case in the previous two chapters, this section frames the qualitative results within the wider literature by examining the research that considers the dominant gendered discourse addressed in this chapter. The chapter then moves on to examine the specific relationship between Australia’s first female Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, and the mainstream media. This relationship is discussed in order to provide further context to the emergence of the DtJ campaign, which was triggered by a particular comment made during a live radio broadcast about the then-Prime Minister.

The chapter then moves on to outlining the specific DtJ case study – including its origins, active campaigner members, and particular online activities and practices. Subsequently, critiques of, and tensions within the DtJ campaign – both internal and external to the group – are discussed. This particular section of the chapter is reflective of a wider discussion of emergent themes and tensions within contemporary feminist campaigns, and is reflective of two similar sections across the previous two chapters.

Finally, this chapter outlines the understandings of success and change that different DtJ campaign members understand to have taken place due to the group’s existence – specifically in reaction to the initial “destroying the joint” comments made by Jones. This chapter then moves on to discuss how the results of interviews conducted for this thesis evidence the seizure of power by DtJ. The chapter concludes with an understanding that the campaigners involved in DtJ understood their views of the group’s success through the consciousness-raising of DtJ as a whole, rather than through the wider media regulation processes.

In line with the previous two case study chapters, this chapter also draws from interview data. The data is organised into themes that support the main argument of this chapter; that is, that

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DtJ grew from a single-issue campaign into a multi-platform focused group through the strategic use of social media-based consciousness-raising within the feminist community. Additionally, this chapter also focuses on the fact that, although DtJ had little regulatory success, the understandings and perceptions of success as held by the campaigners themselves is informed by their specific interventions in organisational change, and their growth as a campaign.

7.1 Women and political power The representation of women who hold political power in the mainstream media has been a source of contention for feminists for some time – as Iñaki Garcio-Blanco and Karin Wahl- Jorgensen point out, the mediated representation of female leaders “constantly contributes to (re)producing the dominant discourses about the role women (should) play in society” (2012, pp. 422-423, brackets in initial source). Further research has confirmed that women in political office were often stereotyped as either epitomising ideal standards of “womanhood” and “wifehood” (Garcio-Blanco and Wahl-Jorgenson 2012), or as a “sex object”, “mother”, “pet”, or “iron maiden” (Kanter 2008). Notably, research has also pointed to the fact that female politicians are often caught in a double bind when it comes to how they are represented in the mainstream media. Either they adopt a series of traditionally ‘masculine’ traits in order to seem more ‘capable’, and are then viewed not to be a fully-fledged woman – or, they behave in a more feminine manner, and are then critiqued for being too womanly, and not ‘capable enough’ for office (Carlin and Winfrey 2009; Garcio-Blanco and Wahl-Jorgenson 2012).

Typically, women running for political office struggle to receive initial media coverage, and are less likely to be viewed as legitimate by the media – and consequently, by the voting public (Braden 1996; Kahn 1992, 1994; Kahn and Goldenberg 1991). Kahn’s germinal 1992 research indicated that the coverage of female candidates in the media might influence their success in later polls. Additionally, Kim Kahn and Edie Goldenberg’s work from 1991, and Kahn’s work from 1994 suggests that American-based female politicians are more likely to receive negative coverage than their male counterparts - emphasising the woman’s unlikely chances of victory, and assessing her ‘viability’ (as opposed to her campaign positions) (Kahn and Goldenberg 1991; Kahn 1994). Furthermore, women are more likely to receive media coverage focused on their personal lives and physical appearance (Devitt 1999), and be described in terms of their marital status, gender, and whether or not they had children (Bystrom, Robertson and Banwart 2001).

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These representations are both contrasted and complemented by findings made elsewhere around the world. For instance, Einat Lachover (2014) found that magazines in Israel discussing political candidate Tzipi Livni did not exhibit similar tensions surrounding female politicians and access to political power – however, these magazines were targeted towards a female audience. Conversely, Maria Raicheva-Stover and Elza Ibroscheva found that the Bulgaria media’s coverage of its female politicians continued to rely heavily on stereotypes and gender conventions (2014). Furthermore, Jemima Asabea Anderson, Grace Diabah and Patience Afrakoma hMensa (2011, p. 2516) found that the Liberian press unfairly represented female politicians as “’trespassers’ when they venture into the traditionally ‘masculine’ world of politics”. Twange Kasoma (2014) examined representations of women in the Zambian press, and found that female politicians were not as visible in the press as their male colleagues. Although the studies discussed here are only a small sample of a wider body of literature related to the representations of women in the media, it is worthwhile noting that the literature surrounding female politicians outside of the minority world 19 is still emerging (Raicheva-Stover and Ibroscheva 2014). However, these results do indicate that the representations of female politicians in the media is a global problem, and one that is apparent in countries outside of the minority world.

Alongside the conclusion that female politicians and candidates for political office are represented differently in the media is the question of how they are represented differently. The use of dissimilar descriptors and adjectives is considered by Laurel Sutton (1995), who emphasises that describing a woman in sexist terms can cause her to be seen as less than human. This point is also studied by Nilsen (1977), who argues that older women are often described using terms such as “cow” and “shrew” when they are perceived to be too aggressive. Terms that serve to frame a woman in this manner both objectify her, and indirectly equate her nature with that of an animal – something highlighted in Sherry Ortner’s key text from 1972, when she asserts that women are typically associated with ‘nature’, whilst men are associated with ‘culture’.

19 The minority world is understood, in this instance, to be the world that privileged minorities of people inhabit. Punch (2003 p.1) suggests that the terms ‘majority world’ and ‘minority world’ “invites reflection on the unequal relations between them”. Similar terms include ‘global north’ and ‘global south’ – descriptions that Dados and Connell (2012) have understood to indicate concepts of colonialism and different levels of economic and social change.

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Deborah Cameron (1992) further demonstrates this when she argues that western cultures have developed linguistic forms of social recognition of respect for men. These include terms such as ‘sir’, or ‘mister’, or titles, such as ‘doctor’. However, by comparison, Cameron (ibid) argues that women are often stripped of this recognition and respect by media commentators who refer to them by their first name. As pointed out by Australian commentator Anne Summers (2012), this tactic (whether conscious or not) was often employed by the Australian press, who consistently referred to the then-Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, exclusively by her first name. Summers (2012, p. 117) argues that this oversight was sharply contrasted by the treatment received by “previous [male] prime ministers, [who] were accorded the basic respect of being referred to by their last names”.

Further analysis of the Australian mainstream media demonstrates its complicity in following its American counterparts in how it portrays female politicians. Janine Haines (1993) points out that as far back as Australia electing its first female State Premier (Dr Carmen Lawrence, in 1990), the Australian media’s coverage leaned towards both gender stereotypes and covert sexism. Building on this, Julie Ustinoff’s 2005 article concluded that the Australian media has a problematic relationship with female politicians, and that the Australian media “treat all female politicians differently to the way they treat men” (2005, p. 97). This is further reflected in later discussion within this chapter concerning the mainstream media’s treatment of Julia Gillard. Ustinoff’s findings are reiterated by that of Julia Baird’s; her 2004 book, Media Tarts, points out that the Australian media holds a prevailing assumption that female politicians are “cleaner [and] more ethical than men… [but] when they [female politicians] turn out to be human and flawed the pundits marvel and sneer” (p.2).

What is unique in the case of female politicians is that, unlike their male colleagues, their treatment at the hands of the media relies on the presentation of both their appearance and sexuality as normative. Jenkins (2002) argues that female politicians in Australia have often been portrayed as the Other. This understanding of what makes a woman Other is outlined by Jenkins as being compared to that of the Norm – a male politician. Van Zoonen (2006, p. 298) concludes that female politicians are viewed as Others to dominant images of femininity, whilst also “remaining ‘others’ in the political sphere, due to their minority position”. The use of the term “other” is, in this setting, highly appropriate – in the words of the woman who created the term, the Other is determined and differentiated with reference to man, she is the “inessential in front of the essential” (Beauvoir 1949, p.6).

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Ultimately, it is the portrayal of female politicians as being ‘worthy’ to hold power that is part of the overarching gendered discourse being reinforced by the Australian mainstream media. Ortner’s 1972 text, discussed earlier in this section, focused on how women are typically associated with ‘nature’: her understandings of culture as being “human consciousness [and] systems of thought technology” gives rise to the concept that humanity, through the use of ‘culture’, attempts to rise above and control ‘nature’. ‘Nature’ is therefore something that every culture “devalues…and defines as being at the lower order of existence” (1972, p. 10). Through these symbolic associations, women are seen as being closer to nature than men, and therefore “representing a lower form of being” (1972, p, 12). Ortner’s argument, that women are seen as associated with ‘nature’ – and are therefore removed from the public sphere – is one closely linked to how the media portrays female politicians. The fundamental understanding that female politicians are equally as entitled as their male counterparts to hold office is one that is not widely understood and communicated by the media – and, as such, it is a somewhat hostile gendered discourse that is circulated and reinforced by the Australian mainstream media regarding women who hold political power. Stevenson reiterates this when she argues that the “media constructions of gender, particularly surrounding understandings of ‘appropriate’ gender roles, have a fundamental influence upon public perceptions of leaders” (2013, p. 54).

This chapter will now focus in more detail on the particular media constructions built surrounding the former Australian Prime Minister, Julia Gillard. This is undertaken with a view to further examining the dominant gendered discourse related to Gillard that existed in the media during the time of her leadership as Prime Minister.

7.2 Overview of Gillard’s treatment in the Australian mainstream media To understand the climate that produced the DtJ campaign, an examination of how the contemporary Australian mainstream media portrayed Julia Gillard both in the lead up to, and during, her time as Prime Minister is necessary. In order to grasp the significance of casual sexism, we need to move from broad, abstract understandings to specific, localised incidences within an Australian contemporary context. Therefore this section provides a detailed account of Gillard’s treatment by the Australian mainstream media: which in turn, frames the emergence of the DtJ campaign. The following examples given are presented in chronological order; additionally, the examples cited here originate from members of the mainstream media. There are other instances of gendered and sexist comments being directed towards Gillard both before and during her time in office, but these remarks were made by individuals who

154 were not part of the mainstream media. In this thesis, the decision was made to feature comments made by people within the key area of focus: that of the mainstream media. Following the examples outlined here, this section turns to the incidents that Gillard herself notes as being particularly significant. Finally, this section examines the comments made on-air by Jones himself regarding Gillard during her time as Prime Minister.

The issue of Gillard’s appearance was one often discussed and returned to by sections of the mainstream media. Prior to a visit to Australian by the then-US President, Barack Obama, a columnist for The Australian newspaper suggested that Gillard should sack her hairdresser and get “smart clothes that fit her properly” (Savva 2010). Furthermore, upon Gillard declaring the date of the 2013 federal election, The Advertiser (as cited in Stevenson 2013) provided another instance of focusing on her appearance when it said, “It was a spectacle that threatened to overshadow the announcement of the federal election date: The Prime Minister is now wearing glasses”. By way of comparison, little attention was drawn to Tony Abbott’s reading glasses when they made their public debut in August 2014 (Morris 2014) – to the point where no mainstream newspapers covered the ‘issue’.

Gillard’s marital status was a particular point of ridicule in 2011, when the Australian national broadcaster, the ABC, aired a fictional television miniseries called At Home with Julia. Key themes within this comedy show included the emphasis that women should place a higher priority on their relationship than their job, and that the fictional version of Tim Mathieson (Julia Gillard’s real-life partner) should make ‘an honest woman’ of the fictional Gillard by marrying her (Stevenson 2013). This theme, of Gillard needing to be made ‘an honest women’, was one that was used repeatedly by the then-Opposition Leader, Tony Abbott, during parliamentary question time, to imply that she wasn’t fit to hold office because, “politically speaking”, she obtained her position as Prime Minister by overthrowing the previous leader (Gillard 2014). Additionally, The Daily Telegraph (a traditionally conservative Sydney-based newspaper) ran an online poll when Gillard became Prime Minister in 2010 to ask its audience whether they believed that she should be single.

It is also important to consider how Gillard herself understands her portrayal in the mainstream media. In her 2014 book (entitled My Story), Gillard catalogues a number of instances of sexism. These include numerous pieces published regarding what Gillard was wearing, as opposed to what she was doing. Gillard points to one instance in which she met with NATO’s leader to discuss their strategy regarding the war in Afghanistan; the meeting was reported in following terms:

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The Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, has made her first appearance on the international stage, meeting the head of NATO, Anders Rasmussen, in Brussels. Dressed in a white, short jacket and dark trousers she arrived at the security organisation’s headquarters just after 9 am European time.

As Gillard (2014, p. 102) points out, “it apparently went without saying that Mr Rasmussen was wearing a suit”. Gillard also points to pieces published in the media as early as 2005 regarding the emptiness of her fruit bowl (actually cited by Gillard as a decorative piece) – and how this apparently, in turn, indicated that she was a single-minded career woman (2014, p. 102).

Conversely, in order to fully comprehend the context in which the DtJ group formed, it is important to also examine Jones’ specific comments directed towards Gillard throughout his time as a radio host. In 2012 Jones said, shortly after the death of Gillard’s father, that he must have:

Died a few weeks ago of shame. To think that he had a daughter who told lies every time she stood for Parliament. ABC 2012a

These comments were made during an address to the Sydney University Liberal Club, during which a signed jacket made of chaff bags (which Jones had previously suggested Gillard should be thrown into) was auctioned off (ABC 2012a). Jones was forced to apologise, and acknowledged that his comments may have caused Gillard distress20 (ABC 2012a). As discussed further on in this chapter, these particular comments triggered a loud response from the then just formed DtJ group, and appeared to cement its popularity and lodgement in the Australian feminist consciousness.

Summers (2012) observes that the political and media environment that surrounded Gillard’s prime ministership was particularly toxic, and was made up of hundreds of instances of benign sexism. The constant referrals to Gillard as a liar, or even just as a “her”, or a “she”, was a relatively subversive method of undermining her overall leadership. However, Jones’ above

20 Gillard did not respond to Jones’ phone calls to her following his remarks, and has refused to publicly comment on the matter. Instead, she said that she “has not spoken to Mr. Jones and [does not] intend to” (The Courier Mail 2012).

156 comments fall into another category – one that Summers deems to be “utterly and undeniably sexist” (2012, p. 117).

It is in this environment of sexism that the campaign group DtJ was created – a group that explicitly stated that it was created for “people who are sick of the sexism dished out to women in Australia, whether they be our first female Prime Minister or any other woman” (DtJ 2012a). Studies (Bligh et al 2012; Bystrom, Robertson, and Banwart 2001; Kahn 1994; Kittilson and Fridkin 2008) have found that the implications of an environment in which dominant discourses and stereotypes surrounding female politicians can negatively affect their judgements by a population of voters – and, as such, attempts to create a campaign such as DtJ to push back against this gendered discourse are deemed all the more crucial. The following section explores the creation of the DtJ campaign in order to give sufficient detail and background to the case study.

7.3 Destroy the Joint This section of the chapter discusses the origins and history of DtJ, and outlines where the campaign started, who initiated it, and how many people were involved. Multiple struggles surrounding sites of power are explored within this case study in order to link back to the wider argument of this chapter; that is, that DtJ grew from being a single-issue campaign into a multi- platform group through the strategic use of social media-based consciousness-raising within the feminist community.

The remainder of this chapter also addresses how perceptions of success as understood by the DtJ campaigners are informed by their specific interventions into organisational change, and the growth of their campaign in general. The inclusion and discussion of this data is undertaken to explore varying notions of change and success within activist campaigns and feminist-based groups. Furthermore, the results of these understandings of success will then be compared to those of other campaigners and interview participants in the concluding chapters of this thesis. As has been reflected with the previous two case studies, this chapter will frame DtJ’s interventions into change through Risman’s concept of gender as a social structure (2004). Furthermore, it will draw understandings of power relations from Foucault’s (1972; 1976) discussions, and conceptualises how DtJ viewed their power to have emerged from consciousness-raising activities that took place online.

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This case study will draw on interview data from the campaigners involved in the DtJ group, along with data drawn from other members of the community. Interview data has been sourced from three identified members of the DtJ campaign: Jennie Hill, El Gibbs and Christine Donayre. Additionally, one member of the DtJ campaign also consented to an interview, on the basis that their interview data would remain anonymous. Finally, as outlined within the methodology chapter, a number of other expert sources are quoted within this chapter. These include Karen Pickering, Sarah Oakes, Van Badham, Kate Drury, Jackie McMillan and Celeste Liddle. For a full list of individuals interviewed, please see Appendix 5.

7.3.1 Initial campaign overview The DtJ campaign originated in response to an on-air comment made by Alan Jones on Friday, August 31, 2012. As outlined at the beginning of this chapter, Jones stated that women were “destroying the joint” on-air during his regular 2GB talkback radio show, whilst in conversation with the conservative politician, Barnaby Joyce. In response Jane Caro, a self described “novelist, feminist, atheist, and media tart” (Caro 2012), tweeted the following response:

Caro, 2012

The #destroythejoint hashtag was then added by Jill Tomlinson – a Melbourne-based plastic and reconstructive surgeon – in her response to Caro’s initial Tweet. Tomlinson (2012) said:

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Following the initial Twitter hashtag, another woman, Sally McManus, started the Facebook page “Destroy the Joint” - a term that was quickly co-opted by a number of Australian women to describe their actions in resisting forms of patriarchal oppression. According to DtJ moderator El Gibbs, McManus set the page up “over the weekend after Alan Jones said that women were destroying the joint”. As Jones’ comments, and the resultant hashtag, both emerged on Friday, August 31, 2012, the Facebook page was created over Saturday, September 1, 2012 and Sunday, September 2, 2012. Gibbs says that the Facebook page “started off reasonably slowish”, but by October 2, 2012 the Facebook page had gathered 10,000 ‘likes’. As Gibbs describes, “Sal’s page kind of went off and so everything kind of got consolidated there”. The associated Twitter account, @JointDestroyer, was also linked to the Facebook page, as its creator, Jill Tomlinson, came on board during this consolidation, according to Gibbs.

Within the literature review contained in Chapter Two of this thesis, the understanding of the power behind a Facebook ‘like’ is explained in terms relevant to both advertising, and activism. As noted earlier, the power of a Facebook ‘like’ lies within a brand (or campaign’s) ability to then reach “fans” of the page (Lipsman et al 2012). If a person ‘likes’ a page, they are more easily accessible to the people running that page. In short – the more people who ‘like’ a page, the more friends of these initial fans will then be exposed to the content of this page. However, not all Facebook ‘likes’ are created equal – movements that are based on a person’s own specific interest can hold more potential impact that an online display of solidarity (Hodson 2014). In this sense, the power of DtJ’s 90,000 likes as of January 2018 must not be used as their only indicator of ‘change’ or ‘success’ – but the ‘likes’ can be used as an indicator of the growth and reach of the campaign.

To return to the DtJ campaign trajectory, the group’s initial popularity in September 2012 was followed, somewhat unexpectedly, by Jones making a further series of comments a few weeks later about Gillard’s father “dying of shame”. This triggered a DtJ-led advertiser boycott, and the resultant backlash from the wider community caused 2GB to drop all advertising on Jones’ show on October 8, 2012, with some companies vowing never to return to advertise on his show (Radio Today 2012; The Sydney Morning Herald 2012). In total, the advertiser boycott of 2GB, initiated by DtJ, cost the Macquarie Radio Network between $1.5 and $3 - $4 million (The Sydney Morning Herald 2012; Macquarie Radio Network Limited 2013).

The DtJ campaign goals grew as the endurance of the group was slowly recognised by its members. As outlined by Hill, what the group initially wanted from Jones was for him to “decide that women are equal, [and] that he shouldn’t attack Julia Gillard on the basis of her

159 gender”. Moreover, the aim of DtJ was not, according to Hill, to “shut him up or get him sacked or to really hurt him”, but to instead get him to “actually apologise for what he said and actually decide to work with people like DtJ”. However, at the same time as DtJ attempted to bring Alan Jones on board by attempting to engage with him to sign their pledge21, the campaign itself was also beginning to reach a wider audience. The following two sections of this chapter explore how a formal regulatory complaint was brought against Jones following his initial comments - but also how, along with this, the wider DtJ campaign grew exponentially from its beginnings.

7.3.2 Regulatory complaints to the ACMA Before we examine the growth of the DtJ campaign through social media, it is important to recognise other steps that were taken to challenge Jones’ comments. Members of the DtJ campaign acknowledged there had been complaints made about Jones’ comments to the ACMA, but understood that these complaints had not initially been taken seriously by Jones’ radio station, 2GB, based on their lack of response to the initial complainant within the required time limit of 30 business days (ACMA 2013. Additionally, members of DtJ could not recall if these complaints came from within the campaign group, or whether they were made by a third party. None of DtJ campaigners interviewed for this research acknowledged that they had personally made a complaint to either 2GB or the ACMA – however, they said in interviews that their reasons for not doing so were more to do with a lack of faith in the regulatory process, as opposed to a sense of inaction across the group.

Significantly, DtJ campaigners did not pursue regulatory forms of change to the extent that CS, or even SVK, members did. Their focus was clearly beyond the dimension of gender as an institutional domain (as suggested by Risman 2004) and something that could be effectively regulated by bodies such as the ACMA. Nonetheless, a complaint regarding Jones’ “destroying the joint” comment was received by 2GB on August 31, 2012 - the same day that Jones’ comment was made. Part of the complaint read as follows:

Alan Jones stated: ‘Women are destroying the joint’ in relation to Prime Minister Gillard; Clover Moore Lord Mayor of Sydney; and the previous Police

21 The DtJ pledge was initially posted online on October 9, 2012, and was an attempt to outline the group’s initial approach towards sexism in Australia. The pledge reads, in part, that DtJ wants “an Australia where girls and women, where men and boys, can take part in our society without enduring discrimination, sexism, and violence… I will challenge anyone who uses sex, race, religion or sexual orientation to incite hatred or to demean or vilify any of us. I will not stand by and let others do so without speaking up” (Young 2013, p. 255).

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commissioner of [the Australian state of] Victoria, Christine Nixon. This kind of ridicule is in direct violation of the code, whereby broadcasters should not ridicule people due to their gender. Anonymous complainant, cited in ACMA 2013

The complaint, after being received by 2GB on August 31, 2012, was not responded to until November 29, 2012 – in direct violation of clause 5.5 of the Commercial Radio Australia Codes of Practice 2011 (ACMA 2013, p. 2). Clause 5.5 states that a licensee must “respond substantively in writing within 30 business days of the receipt of the complaint” (ACMA 2013, p. 7). As 2GB failed to respond within this time, the ACMA found that it was in breach of this section of the Code, but failed to take any further action on this matter. Additionally, the ACMA also found that Jones’ comments did not constitute a breach of clause 1.1. Clause 1.1 of the Commercial Radio Australia Codes of Practice 2011 state that a licensee (such as 2GB) must not broadcast content that:

Is likely to incite hatred against, or serious contempt for, or severe ridicule of, any person or group of persons because of age, ethnicity, nationality, race, gender, sexual preferences, religion, transgender status or disability.

ACMA 2013, p. 4

The ACMA stated that an “ordinary, reasonable listener would have taken it that the presenter [Jones] expressed a negative generalisation about women, namely that they are destructive when placed in leadership positions” (2013, p. 5). Furthermore, the report condemned Jones and 2GB for attempting to claim that Jones’ comments were specifically in relation to the performance of each of the mentioned women (Gillard, the then-Mayor of Sydney Clover Moore, and the former Victorian Chief of Police Christine Nixon), because Jones did not actually make any specific references to the work performance of the individuals in question (2013, p. 7). Instead, Jones had produced a “negative result [by stating] that women ‘destroy the joint’ when and if they achieve leadership and decision-making roles and/or participate politically” (2013, p. 7).

However, despite the strong reprimand issued to Jones, the ACMA ultimately concluded that his comments would not have incited “severe” ridicule, due to the brevity of his statement (2013, p. 5). Instead, the main topic of discussion was “the government’s expenditure priorities” (2013, p. 5). When asked to reflect on the ACMA findings, Hill stated that she found

161 the media watchdog to be a “toothless tiger – it just doesn’t have the power to impose the penalties it should”. This remark further highlights the attitudes of DtJ campaigners to institutional domains as non-effective at changing perceptions of gender. The group, as a whole, instead relied initially on highlighting the differenced experiences women faced when filling identical structural positions to men in the role of politicians. The following section discusses the growth of the DtJ campaign from a single-issue campaign to a multi-platform- focused group, and how this was facilitated through the use of social media-based consciousness-raising, and aims to change understandings of gender on an interactional level.

7.3.3 From a single-issue campaign into a multi-platform-focused group Although DtJ’s primary focus in the preliminary stages of its campaign was convincing Jones to apologise, the campaign soon grew beyond being a single-issue campaign and evolved into a multi-platform movement. According to Gibbs, at the beginning of the initial Jones boycott in September 2012, DtJ had “a little team of people that were based internationally” listening to the Alan Jones show five days a week, in order to “record the advertisers and then to find the contact details for the advertisers so that we could post them on the page”. Gibbs states that the group listened to the radio through 2GB’s online streaming service – but that this then changed when 2GB took the stream down, and the group then had to listen to “actual physical radio”. As a result, the numbers of DtJ members listening was cut to those who were within broadcasting range of 2GB – and even when 2GB re-commenced streaming Jones’ show online, they excluded the advertisements for the show. As Gibbs said, “they [2GB] tried to do everything they could to stop us from being able to find out who the advertisers were, but they didn’t succeed”. It is worth noting the similarities between the economic-based tactics employed by the DtJ team and those used earlier by the SVK group – both groups attempted to listen to the online stream of each DJ’s show, only to have the online stream taken down22.

The DtJ group persevered with its boycott of Jones’ show – but significantly, it also branched out into other forms of consciousness-raising and civil protest. According to Gibbs, it was prior to Christmas 2012 that DtJ ceased focusing exclusively on Jones, and moved on to “broader feminist” issues. Following this, a number of successful campaigns were launched by DtJ that

22 Gibbs noted during her interview that the boycott of the advertisers on Jones’ show “got to the point where there were only these really small advertisers still on air, like a restaurant and a dentist… and they were aggressively not budging… we were being told we were big bullies.” As a result of this feedback, Gibbs said that DtJ had a long discussion about when to stop petitioning these businesses to remove their ads from 2GB, as they did not want to be viewed as bullies, and also wanted to “move on to doing broader feminist stuff.”

162 encompassed just that – a seemingly more comprehensive approach to feminist issues both locally and internationally.

When asked, DtJ participants cited a number of specific examples of the successful campaigns they have run. Hill says that her proudest moment with DtJ was the tampon campaign targeted at then-federal government Immigration Minister Scott Morrison. Hill began the campaign in 2014, which asked Australian women to post boxes of tampons and sanitary pads to Morrison’s parliamentary office for female asylum seekers living in offshore detention centres. This action highlighted the denial of sanitary products to refugees in detention centres (Farrell 2014). According to Hill, Morrison received “thousands and thousands” of tampons in January 2014 – a fact supported by Hall’s report (2014).

The group has also initiated a series of other well-publicised, successful campaigns. One of the most significant of these is called “Counting Dead Women”. DtJ explains that the campaign counts “every single death due to violence against women in Australia” (DtJ 2016b), and has been in existence since 2014. In that time, the campaign has counted 81 deaths in 2014 (DtJ 2014a), 79 in 2015 (DtJ 2015), and 71 in 2016 (DtJ 2016a). The count itself has drawn attention from the mainstream media, with a number of articles discussing both the count itself, and the wider implications of violence against women (Price 2014; Street 2016). Furthermore, another campaign entitled “Counting Dead Aboriginal Women” was set up by Indigenous feminist activist (and interviewee for this research), Celeste Liddle, on her blog “Rantings of an Aboriginal Feminist” (Liddle 2015).

The significance of the group’s evolution from a single-issue campaign into a wider multi- platform group lies in the understanding of gender as a social structure. In viewing gender as a social structure, we can understand how it operates on a multitude of levels, and bring it to the same “analytic plane as politics and economics, where the focus has long been on political and economic structures” (Risman 2004, p. 431). Using Risman’s framework to analyse DtJ’s growth, when the DtJ campaign expanded its scope to focus on a multitude of issues it also expanded its capacity to address wider problems within the gendered social structure. This also suggests that feminist activism is capable of recognising gender-based power as multifaceted and existing on numerous levels, and can therefore adjust and change its level of growth to further impact the social structure.

DtJ consistently ensured that they remained focused on targeting gender at the level of interactional cultural expectations – as demonstrated in the campaigns mentioned earlier.

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Unlike CS and SVK, the DtJ campaign made little effort to challenge or change regulatory practices, but instead aimed to highlight and challenge current structural practices and interactions of gender within society. For example, Jenna Price stated that the tampon campaign wanted Morrison to respond more “appropriately to journalists’ questions and queries” about what was taking place in detention centres (Farrell 2014). DtJ also argued that the campaign wanted to “stop the ritual humiliation of women” (DtJ 2014b), and said that the campaign was “not a problem of shortage of supply” of tampons, but rather the humiliation attached to needing to request them (DtJ 2014b) – thereby focusing on the othering of women in regularly needing to undertake this particular form of humiliation.

DtJ campaigners pointed to awareness – and resultantly, consciousness-raising – as a way to indicate their success in each of the above instances. Importantly, each of the actions originated in an online setting through the group’s social media pages. This chapter will now focus on how social media was used by DtJ to effectively transform into a multi-platform- focused group.

7.3.4 Using social media to facilitate consciousness-raising and growth The broad number of issues now covered by DtJ is due, at least in part, to its ability to consistently perform consciousness-raising duties on a social media-based level. Consciousness-raising was something discussed by Donayre as motivating women, and the mainstream media, “to talk about feminism in a way that I think hasn’t been [in some time]”. How consciousness-raising itself was performed within an online space such as DtJ’s Facebook and Twitter pages was an issue explored within the interviews undertaken with participants, along with how DtJ dealt with issues of trolling, and the growth of the group as a whole.

At this point, it is useful to underline that the trolling23 encountered by the group’s Facebook administrators and moderators mirrored the growth of the campaign. Hill, who became involved in the DtJ in late 2012, says that she was recruited by McManus (the creator of the DtJ Facebook page) because the early DtJ Facebook page was being “overrun with trolls”, to the point where the initial small group of moderators needed to bring others on board. According to Hill, the initial DtJ moderators were “very careful about how they chose moderators, because they didn’t want to be infiltrated by trolls”. Over the following months (across the

23 Trolling, or e-bile, is considered a form of online vitriolic harassment that is overwhelmingly directed at women. Typically, online abuse of this nature spans from accusations of unintelligence and ugliness, through to threats of violence and sexual assault or rape (Jane 2014).

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Australian summer of 2012-2013), Hill, along with a small number of other moderators, were ‘promoted’ from moderators to administrators – broadening their ability to post topics on the DtJ page, moderate and delete comments, and ban other users from the page. On Facebook, moderators have the ability to respond to or delete comments, and send messages as the page. Administrators operate at a higher level of access than moderators – they can manage all aspects of a Facebook page, including responding to and deleting comments, send messages as the page, and assigning other people as moderators or administrators.

As the group widened its capacity to discuss and rally for certain issues in the wider community, it continued to use social media to communicate with the majority of its audience. The transformation of the group from a single-issue campaign into a wider multi-platform- focused group was one that happened quite organically. As Kate Drury, a campaigner from SVK notes, “they were able to change their direction so freely and now they are a feminist movement, [and are] so far beyond Alan Jones”. Social media – particularly Facebook – allowed DtJ to draw their audience’s attention to different issues related to gender and inequity not only within Australia, but internationally. At the same time, DtJ’s moderators and administrators noticed a change in how their audience approached and discussed feminist topics such as victim blaming and rape culture.

In late 2012 and early 2013, DtJ covered the attack and gang rape of an Indian woman named Jyoti Singh on their Facebook and Twitter pages (DtJ 2012b; DtJ 2012c). During this time, Gibbs noted a marked change in behaviour in the wider community of DtJ. She said that:

When we did stuff around the woman in India who was raped and killed over that summer; the community was still in the victim-blaming space. Moderating those threads was awful because people would just be like “Well it’s the woman’s fault, she shouldn’t have been walking drunk” and that really did shift, I saw that change. That happened within three months, that the actual community itself wouldn't tolerate those attitudes any more. It was really quite extraordinary to see that change.

This consciousness-raising and education related to wider feminist issues took place on the comment threads of DtJ’s social media pages, and were initiated both by DtJ campaigners and by individual members of DtJ’s wider audience. Furthermore, the engagement that DtJ has with the wider feminist community has also been facilitated through social media – something that Gibbs highlighted during her interview. Gibbs said that there were some international

165 campaigns that DtJ would not have been alerted to without social media, because “how the hell would we have known what was going on the UK or the US [without it?]”. This formed part of a wider understanding of how social media allowed feminist movements to have a ‘presence’ and a ‘global platform’ – something that Donayre also identified as being an important feature of social media.

Other campaigners outside of DtJ also understood DtJ to be an effective campaign for consciousness-raising. Karen Pickering, from SlutWalk Melbourne, stated that she perceived DtJ to be “really effective as a consciousness-raising tool, [and] as a community building campaign”. Pickering also noted that: “The people who have run it [DtJ] are very skilled at mobilising [those] very concerns that many of the women in that group share”. Van Badham, an Australian columnist and playwright, noted that DtJ’s importance also existed in its ability to not just raise consciousness, but also to transform this into a “chorus of disapproval”.

North also reflected on how DtJ operated as a more traditional offline consciousness-raising space. North said that DtJ provided a:

… much more powerful space for women to feel that their comments are heard… they can join this group and can see other people [are] talking about issues that they might think themselves, but may not be brave enough to talk about publicly. DtJ raises all of them [these issues], and I think it does it incredibly well.

Donayre also said that consciousness-raising was important for DtJ’s audience because the people who were typically attracted to the online campaign had not usually been politically active as students, or didn’t understand issues that DtJ focused on to be issues that impacted them. However, Donayre argued that DtJ were able to “get the message across in such a way that it appealed to your average everyday person” – a form of what she described as being consciousness-raising, and appealing to broader audiences. This was, Donayre added, an important long-term outcome and form of success of DtJ – its ability to get people to talk about feminism “in a way that hasn’t been spoken about recently”.

When asked how important social media was to the wider DtJ campaign (and consciousness- raising in particular), Hill said that DtJ “just wouldn’t have happened without Facebook or without Twitter”. This view was reiterated by Gibbs, who said that DtJ “wouldn’t have happened without [social media]”. Donayre also noted that social media played “the most

166 important role, in terms of getting us off the ground in the first place”. These observations are reflective of the wider argument of this thesis: that social media is an effective tool in organising and promoting particular challenges to gendered representations of women in the mainstream media. Hill’s comment, that DtJ “just wouldn’t have happened” without social media platforms, points to the wider ability of these platforms to allow people to connect and participate within the campaign.

As argued elsewhere within this thesis, consciousness-raising can be conceptualised as existing on the individual and interactional levels. Indeed, Risman (2004, p. 433) gives the example of consciousness-raising groups when she points out that individuals who may struggle to change their own identities had previously attended these sessions in order to transform their perspectives, and then “eventually bring their new selves to social interaction and create new cultural expectations”. The consciousness-raising performed by DtJ took place within an online, social media-based setting, and was perceived by campaigners and other activists alike to have brought about a change in the attitudes and perspectives of the wider DtJ audience, and a growth for the campaign as a whole.

However, the growth of the group online came with a number of consequences for the campaigners involved. When asked why she was no longer actively involved with DtJ, Gibbs said that she simply “couldn’t commit to 20-30 hours a week again…[and was] exhausted”. Hill also shared a similar story, stating that after two years of training DtJ moderators she needed to “take a back seat for awhile”. Hill highlighted that this was mostly due to her own tendency to be “sucked into” training and campaigning, and not the fault of the DtJ group – instead, she said that it was because she was a person who was either “fully into something, or not at all”.

As noted in the previous chapter, the long-term effects on feminist activists performing unpaid labour in an online environment are, at this stage, unknown. The burnout suffered by activists is of great concern, as it can cause activists to disengage from the movement as a whole (Gorski and Chen 2015). However, very few feminist campaigns appear to have strategies in place to prevent activists’ burnout, as is recommended by research into social-movements (Boehm 2002; Downton and Wehr 1998). Further complicating the issue is the understanding of the work undertaken by volunteers being a form of immaterial labour – and, thus, the work being both somewhat invisible, and difficult to formally measure.

The impact and evolution of the DtJ campaign is still underway, with the group’s Facebook and Twitter pages consistently growing – both in terms of ‘likes’, and political and cultural impact.

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Understandings and perceptions of the DtJ campaign vary across different individuals and groups – these understandings will now be explored in the following section.

7.3.4 Summary of understandings of success As discussed elsewhere within this thesis, one of the methods employed to understand change and success involves investigating the perceptions of these two concepts in relation to the campaign, as held by the DtJ campaigners. The change and success of DtJ, as relayed by the campaigners, can be related to a number of elements. Campaigners identified two main areas in which they considered the DtJ campaign to be successful, both in the short and the long- term. These were the overall growth of the campaign through social media, and the consciousness-raising of the campaign as performed through social media.

As examined earlier, DtJ directed their campaigns towards change at the level of interactional cultural experiences, rather than through institutional domains. Interviewees considered their campaigns successful despite the lack of regulatory victories achieved through complaints to 2GB and the ACMA. Furthermore, DtJ campaigners also viewed their initial success to be reflected in the loss of advertisers that 2GB and Jones experienced as a result of the 2012 DtJ campaign. Hill pointed out that the campaign ultimately “damaged the whole radio station to the tune of several million dollars”; something that, as mentioned earlier, was ultimately proven to be correct (Macquarie Radio Network Limited 2013).

The consciousness-raising performed by campaign members through social media was also considered largely successful. Campaigners spoke of allowing a space for people to discuss feminism in a way that was not seen in other online or offline spaces. Furthermore, other feminist activists also stated that DtJ provided a space in which women could feel that their voices were heard. Campaigners also spoke of a wider change they saw take place within an audience; in particular, Gibbs noted an incident in which the attitude of the DtJ Facebook page commenters altered over a period of months, from a group of people who still held attitudes of victim-blaming, to a community who would not “tolerate those attitudes any more.”

Although DtJ campaigners considered the initial DtJ advertiser boycott, and the ongoing endurance of the group, to be successful, this is not to say that DtJ was wholly lauded or embraced by all sectors of the Australian feminist community – or indeed, by its own members. The following section explores a number of tensions and critiques of the DtJ campaign, as discussed by both its own campaigners, and by people external to the group. This particular examination is undertaken in order to examine and understand the complexity of such a broad

168 online movement, and to demonstrate the reality of the notion of ‘feminisms’ that is often understood to be at the heart of contemporary feminism.

7.3.5 Intersectionality within Destroy the Joint As with other feminist groups and campaigns, various points of tension were evident within the DtJ campaign. A number of critiques of the campaign developed during the interview process, emerging from sources both within and external to DtJ itself. These critiques were typically focused on DtJ’s lack of inclusiveness, and the perception that it mostly concentrated on the concerns of white, middle class, middle aged, straight women. This section explores these evaluations in order to comprehend some of the challenges faced by the campaign, and how future campaigns in online spaces can avoid or anticipate similar assessments. By doing so, this section addresses wider questions raised within this thesis for how future feminist activists can best use social media platforms to further their campaigns, whilst maintaining an intersectional perspective and approach.

External to the campaign, women involved in other campaigns related to feminism and women’s rights have articulated that DtJ expressed a particular view of feminism. Jackie McMillan, a journalist involved in the SVK campaign, stated that DtJ had “too wide a view of feminism on there for me”. When asked to further explain her thoughts, she stated that she found comments on DtJ threads directed towards sex workers in particular to be “pretty vile anti-feminist remarks from radical feminists 24 ”. Although it needs to be noted that DtJ commenters may not represent the broader feminist community, McMillan felt that she saw “too much of that [kind of] feminism in groups like DtJ”. However, Pickering said that any instinct she had to criticise DtJ was tempered by asking herself whether the campaign “was for her”. Instead, Pickering acknowledged that DtJ “categorically is not” designed for her, and is instead targeted towards a “totally different cohort” of people. She also states that DtJ has succeeded in challenging the concept that “middle aged women are powerless and stupid and disengaged and pearl-clutching fusspots…[because] in their advocacy around certain issues…they were fierce”.

Other feminist activists also highlighted the need for DtJ to further consider intersectionality. Celeste Liddle, an Arrernte woman who blogs under the title “Rantings of an Aboriginal

24 In particular, McMillan is referring to a specific view of sex workers held by some radical feminists. This view understand sex workers to be exploited, and does not view sex work to be ‘work’ (Jeffreys, 2008). These views were examined in further detail within the Collective Shout chapter.

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Feminist” (Liddle 2016a) noted that it was a “continual issue” with her that some activists “can get one full form of oppression, and see the importance of acting upon it, but not necessarily translate that to struggles people are having that are more diverse”. Nabila Farhat, a former worker at the culturally specific women’s refuge Shakti Australia, also noted that she thought DtJ could improve by incorporating “a little bit more… ethnic diversity”, but that the group “still raise[s] fantastic points”.

Within the campaign itself, members of the DtJ team acknowledged their awareness of the critiques and concerns raised by members of the DtJ and wider feminist community. When asked to expand upon what some of the criticisms of DtJ were, Hill cited perceptions that DtJ weren’t “doing intersectionality well enough, which we’re not, and we’re not getting at lower socio-economic [class] women, which we’re obviously not”. Hill also acknowledged that the critiques mainly stemmed from the concept that DtJ was “just for white, middle class women” – but also pointed out that DtJ made every attempt to have administrators and moderators with a diverse range of backgrounds. This assessment of Hill’s is based in wider critiques reacting to second wave feminism, and its sites of “situated knowledge” (Hallstein 2008). Second wave feminists were perceived to predominantly be white, heterosexual women who would primarily focus on issues that would then affect other white, heterosexual women (Hallstein 2008; Lorde 1984; Spelman 1988). This came at the price of ignoring, or factionalising, women who were not white, who identified as bisexual, gay or queer, or who were from different economic backgrounds (Mann and Huffman 2005). Resultantly, third wave feminists instead sought to introduce a discourse that would “refigure and enhance [feminism]… so as to make it more diverse and inclusive” (Mann and Huffman 2005, p. 57).

The tensions felt between second and third wave feminists were also prominent in the critiques of DtJ. Gibbs, a former DtJ moderator, stated that she would “get annoyed when things were just focused on heterosexual women or white women or wealthy women”. Hill added that attempts at inclusivity and intersectionality were made within DtJ, and that the moderating and administration team consisted of people who were gay, disabled and trans. Hill explained that every post that was written on the DtJ page would go through a private administrator group, where the post was “vetted and changed… every mod has the opportunity to comment on a post before it goes up”. In this fashion, Hill said, people who held particular concerns with issues of race, sexuality, or gender could suggest changes and moderations to posts prior to their publication – something that Hill considered to be “very, very valuable”. However, Hill also noted that inclusivity and intersectionality are incredibly hard – and that “trying to be all things to all people is not always possible”.

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However, another member of the DtJ campaign, Kim25, did not share these views. Kim stated that they were “very aware of the differences in feminism and I felt that the particular kind of feminism that DtJ is advocating wasn’t reflective of my feminism”. When asked to expand on these differences, Kim said:

There are so many other issues that we need to deal with as feminists…DtJ wasn’t doing enough for my liking, and I felt that I was constantly hitting my head against a brick wall trying to get a bit more discussion about issues of class and race. And whenever we did do it, it was quite tokenistic.

Kim’s concerns are more widely reflected within the critiques of feminism’s second wave. Inclusivity and intersectionality have also been critiqued for being “largely non-existent” in feminist campaigns by at least one other interviewee. Fury, a non-binary feminist activist, stated that some campaigns are still “stuck on the basic 101s… [and have] a superficial idea of feminism”. To this, Fury added that some feminist groups are “quite happy to challenge the patriarchy… [but] don’t accept being challenged [by other feminists]”. Liddle also added that she thought DtJ could probably “incorporate a little bit more ethnic diversity” – but to this she also added that we, as an audience, needed to consider “where they’re [the campaign] based, [and] where does it come from?”

When asked to discuss whether they saw any positives in the DtJ campaign, Kim stated the campaign “pushed the [broader feminist] agenda along” – a view that was echoed by other moderators of DtJ. For example, Hill stated that by furthering the agenda for combating sexism, people can then “solve these other things and you get everybody more inclusive and more intersectional and all these issues, it helps all of us”. However, Kim countered that groups like DtJ do not effectively “deal with all the issues that all women have to deal with on a daily basis. You can’t look past race and class, and ability and gender, and sexuality.” When asked what they would like groups like DtJ to address in relation to issues surround race, class, sexuality, and disability, Kim said that they would “like them to bloody talk about it… please talk about these issues. Talk about intersectionality.”

Gibbs also reflected on why DtJ was viewed as having a fair amount of “feminism 101”- style conversations with its audience by highlighting in a particular instance in which she was

25 Not their real name.

171 questioned by her “leftie mates” for being involved with DtJ. Gibbs rebutted her friends’ queries regarding her involvement in DtJ by saying that she could “write technical essays about intersectionality and white privilege... but it’s not going to get the woman in the suburbs to actually see [this] corporate kind of crap”.

In considering the backgrounds of DtJ campaigners, these interviews have suggested the need for further intersectionality and inclusivity within the campaign that moves beyond current attempts. Although Hill acknowledged the presence of a number of women of colour and trans people within the moderating team, this was understood by others to be somewhat tokenistic in nature. The critiques raised throughout this section reflected wider discussions within feminist literature related to the ongoing need for further intersectionality, and considerations related to addressing marginalised voices. The following section examines how DtJ draws upon different forms of power to best challenge representations of women in the mainstream media, and how the group views power to operate as instrument that can be used across multiple sites of struggle – particularly those outside of legislative, institutional domains.

7.5 Understandings of power within the Destroy the Joint campaign At the time of writing (2017), the DtJ campaign has been in existence for five years. During that time, it has been perceived to grow in terms of acceptance, understanding and power. It is these perceptions of power that will be explored in this section, as how the campaign understands power, social change and mainstream media representations is crucial to exploring the overall thesis argument.

Within a number of interviews, one of the recurring themes was that of DtJ holding a strong ‘voice’. Kate Drury, from SVK, stated that DtJ is made of up “women with a voice, and quite a bit of power”. Sarah Oakes, the former editor at Australian feminist publication Daily Life, said that DtJ were “very powerful… and have had such fantastic results [because] they call for boycotts, and their very engaged audience listens”. Oakes went on to say that she considered the DtJ campaign to be an “important voice” that “make[s] things happen”. North continued to discuss the theme of power when she said that DtJ had created a “powerful space for women to feel that their comments are heard, and validated”. She also said that she considered DtJ to be “one of the most powerful feminist social movements in Australia at the moment”. This view was echoed by Thomas, who said that DtJ held “a great deal of power”.

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However, the notion of why DtJ is considered to be powerful by people external to the campaign needs to be considered. The question of ‘power’ (both where it originates from, and what forms it takes) can once again be understood from Foucault’s perspective; power comes simultaneously from above and below, and is produced from one moment to the next (Foucault 1976) – power is therefore diffuse, and articulated on many levels. The view from people external to the campaign was that DtJ had a ‘voice’ – one that was echoed many times by many women. As noted earlier, Badham described DtJ as creating a “chorus of disapproval”. She also said that:

In the same way that there was a Christian chorus of disapproval around issues of slavery which led to it end[ing]… we have the same right: to organise around moral values and determine morality, as opposed to just having it preached to us from a pulpit by a white guy anointed God once a week.

DtJ has built an entire community of women who will be active… they’ll get things banned, they’ll launch complaints, they’ll campaign systematically, and they’ll information share.

This “chorus of disapproval” theme – one of a ‘power in numbers’ – was echoed by Gibbs, when she said that the “blokes in power… had no idea how to deal with it, they just literally didn’t know what to do with these 20,000 pissed off women yelling at them”. Gibbs also expanded on this point by saying that a company that received “5,000 emails from cross women… didn’t know what to do”. The power of the ‘collective’ of DtJ was, according to Gibbs, enough to ensure that even just threatening to take action was sufficient to force a number of companies to apologise.

Understandings of power as existing within a collective voice is indicative of particular perspectives related to change, and where the group is placed within wider power relations. Melucci (1995) understood collective actions to be a network, one in which individual actors continuously reconfirm their understanding of the collective through a series of discussions, arguments and agreements. Furthermore, the concept of collective action being undertaken in online settings has previously been proposed by Nitin Agarwal, Merlyna Lim and Rolf Wigand (2014). To this, Sayers and Jones (2014) further explored instances of two other examples of women obtaining a transitory form of collective voice that forced two New Zealand-based

173 companies to change their behaviour, and issue public apologies as a result of comments made during a radio interview.

The power of the collective has been also been employed as a technique by other feminists to resist forms of power, and to arrange groups for collective action (Nelson et al 2008; Pérez and Williams 2014). In the case of DtJ, the group’s collective voice was initially triggered by a similar occurrence to that of Sayers and Jones’ example (2014) – an older male making a point deemed to be ‘controversial’ during a live radio or television show. However, unlike Sayers and Jones’ case study, the collective voice that responded to Jones’ comments then went on to form a long-term, organised group. We can conceptualise the collective actions of DtJ to exist on Risman’s interactional and individual levels of gender existing as a social structure (2004). Gender as a structure is therefore challenged by the power of a collective on the interactional level (through interaction and discussion) and on the individual level (through one’s own reflections and actions).

The power of DtJ therefore lies in both its ability to grow through consistent attempts at consciousness-raising, but also its ability to then activate these social media followers, and steer them towards different campaigns. The group acts as an online point of resistance, and harnesses the power of its followers into a collective voice, which it then directs towards selected targets and offenders. As mentioned earlier, these ‘targets’ could be a television personality, a café or clothing store, or a government minister.

In terms of power and resistance, DtJ can be seen to operate as a particular site of resistance and critique to other sectors of society and the media. If we understand the initial DtJ campaign to be challenging a dominant gendered discourse, it then follows that it also acted as a point of resistance, and harnessed an alternative form of power in directing its collective voice towards Jones and advertisers on his 2GB show. This was demonstrated through a quote from Gibbs, who said that multiple campaigners within DtJ had said to her that they “had not felt capable of effecting change until they’d come together and done it en masse”. Resultantly, the group disrupted and disturb presumed ideas of, in the first instance, the capabilities of female politicians. Since this time, DtJ has further used social media to grow its audience, and consider other ideas related to gender and the cultural expectations of women.

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7.6 Conclusion DtJ’s decision to use social media as their primary campaign platform ultimately resulted in the group being able to challenge and disrupt a dominant gendered discourse regarding women and their ability to use political power. Furthermore, DtJ’s continued existence and growth is indicative of a wider shift in how feminist groups in Australia can disrupt more traditional bases of power and, in particular, that of the mainstream media. The campaign operated from within power relations to disrupt and disturb presumed ideas of, in the first instance, the capabilities (or lack thereof) of female politicians, and contested the dominant gendered discourse of women who possessed a form of political power as being incompetent, as presented by the Australian mainstream media. In particular, DtJ initially challenged the views of Jones, who said that women were “destroying the joint”.

The longevity of the DtJ campaign also speaks to the group’s success in using social media to harness a collective voice. This is particularly noteworthy when contrasted with the earlier case study of SVK, the similarities of the two groups in their initial emergence as a response to the comments made by an on-air radio host, and the resultant advertiser boycott that both groups undertook. This is not to critique the SVK campaign, but instead, to recognise the role that both campaigns played in the success of DtJ. As mentioned across both chapters, the advice of SVK campaigners played a key role in shaping the approach of DtJ’s in the early days of its advertiser boycott.

DtJ’s focus on consciousness-raising and growth as measures of success prove to be indicative of the campaign’s wider understandings of how it achieved different levels of change. Unlike the CS campaign, DtJ elected to focus on change on a more personal level, having decided that the existing regulatory systems carried too limited weight and impact for the group to consider them of central importance. Of the three campaigns discussed within this thesis, DtJ’s focus on continued growth has ensured that it is the most well recognised and widely known of the three. Its online reach through Facebook is, as at February 2017, three times that of CS’s.

However, despite the group’s consistent growth and evolution, DtJ experienced tensions and critiques both within, and external to, the campaign. Of the concerns raised by campaigners and activists external to the group, the issue of intersectionality was viewed as being central. DtJ was viewed by some as being primarily for white women of a certain age and class – a critique that was also often levelled at second wave feminists (Mann and Huffman 2005). These appraisals were also acknowledged by DtJ campaigners, who stated that they were

175 consistently attempting to achieve a level of intersectionality within the campaign. These issues are significant because, as was discussed earlier, former campaign members felt that the movements DtJ did make towards intersectionality were “tokenistic”. The question of intersectionality is one that is increasingly vital and important to contemporary feminism as a whole, and DtJ’s campaign proves no exception.

In light of the wider argument of this thesis, the DtJ campaign further demonstrates that an online feminist campaign can challenge a representation of women in the mainstream media. Moreover, the DtJ campaign underlines the important role that social media can play in contemporary feminism and advancing the awareness of feminist issues in an online space. Furthermore, the particular argument of this chapter – that DtJ grew from a single issue campaign through the strategic use of social media-based consciousness-raising – is further evidenced by the campaign’s strong following on social media and consistent engagement with its community. In the time that thesis was undertaken – a period from mid-2012 to late-2016 – the group’s Facebook presence grew exponentially. In February 2013 the campaign celebrated achieving 25,000 Facebook ‘likes’; however, in January 2018 the group surpassed 90,000 ‘likes’, demonstrating that the audience for feminist issues and concerns has not yet been exhausted.

It is anticipated that the findings from this chapter will prove to be particularly significant for other feminist campaigns. DtJ has demonstrated that feminist campaigns can achieve a wide level of success through an online medium, and develop into a multi-platform group with a portfolio of concerns and areas of knowledge and expertise. The information provided by DtJ campaigners has proved to be particularly meaningful in structuring the conclusion of this research, as each campaigner imparted a variety of methods and techniques they employed in order to participate in the campaign. With this in mind, this thesis will now turn to discussing the overall results and key learnings of this research. The following chapter outlines the major findings discussed across each of the three case study chapters, and highlights the consistent themes and distinctive features of each campaign. Furthermore, a series of recommendations and proposals will also be discussed in the concluding chapter, in order to further the explicit goal of this research that feminist activist campaigns can access and employ the knowledge imparted within this thesis.

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Chapter Eight: Conclusion

This chapter discusses the final key themes drawn from the interview data: social media as a valid method of resisting dominant gendered discourses. Whilst the previous three chapters focused exclusively on each of the respective case studies, this chapter addresses the overall findings that can be drawn from the case studies, and the common themes that can be found within them.

The chapter is split chronologically into three sections, following the order in which the case studies were addressed in the previous chapters. The findings discussed within each section consider issues of social media use, approaches to challenging each respective dominant gendered discourse, how power was understood in each case study, and points of tension and learning that can be drawn from each case study.

Crucially, the first section of this chapter builds on the discussions raised within Chapter Three to address how the relevant findings can potentially be applied and practised by other feminist activists performing social media-based campaigns. In line with one of the wider goals outlined across this thesis, the research aims to not only understand, but also contribute to broader feminist movements. Resultantly, the second section of this chapter is present in order to address this goal and assist in furthering future feminist campaigns of a similar nature. This is in line with previous work examining feminist activism; for example, Mendes (2015, p. 3) describes her work on SlutWalk marches as aiming to “contribute to a wider political project of the ‘storying’ of feminism and feminist activism”.

The final section of this chapter addresses the issue of power within each case study, and draws a series of points that are recommended to be addressed in future research, for the benefit of both researchers and feminist activists.

8.1 Collective Shout: Discussion of findings The first of the three case studies examined within this thesis was Collective Shout (CS). This section discusses the regulatory-based approach to change employed by the CS campaign, their understandings of the mainstream media’s representation as ‘sexploitation’, and how the billboard campaign launched against the Honey B’s strip club may have had inadvertent effects for sex workers. In addition to these points, this section also considers how the group used social media for effective short-term change, but their long-term goals of attempting to alter the self-regulatory system currently employed by the advertising industry was not achieved.

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CS was distinctive amongst the three case studies for using social media as a tool for regulatory-based change. Unlike the other two case studies, the CS group were already experienced in campaigning, and had previously approached a number of regulatory bodies to rally for changes within the mainstream media regarding the representation of women. As a result, CS’s use of social media was primarily focused on obtaining signatures for a federal parliamentary petition and agitating for change of regulation within the advertising industry – from self-regulated to state-regulated. Furthermore, and as noted earlier, CS was also the only campaign that did not use social media to undertake a level of consciousness-raising within their audience. Instead, the group’s wider understandings of power meant that CS approached challenging their respective dominant gendered discourse on an institutional level.

Notably, CS achieved the quickest and most straightforward indication of change out of the three case studies: the billboard advertising Honey B’s strip club that the campaign group had rallied against was removed shortly after their social media campaign was launched. However, even this level of change was obtained outside of the ‘official’ regulatory bodies; if CS’s social media campaign was not launched, and the group had instead depended entirely on the regulatory complaints process outlined by the ASB, the billboard would not have been removed. This is because, as discussed within the CS chapter, the ASB had initially determined that the billboard could remain outside the boys’ school, and was not breaching any of the ASB’s codes by doing so. It was only when CS launched their online campaign and obtained mainstream media coverage that the decision was made by the OMA to remove the billboard.

However, more lasting forms of change attached to this particular CS campaign did not eventuate. The change in legislation sought by CS through their online campaign – one that would see the advertising industry in Queensland regulated by a government body – was eventually rejected by the state government. The state government instead considered the current regulatory system to be “mostly effective” (Department of Justice and Attorney- General 2014, p. 4). Furthermore, there is no clear evidence that the federal parliamentary petition, for which CS gathered signatures through their social media pages, was ever submitted. As noted in the CS chapter, multiple searches of the federal Parliament’s Hansard archives showed no record of Gambaro, or any other Member of Parliament, lodging a petition on behalf of CS.

A number of conclusions can therefore be drawn from the CS case study. Firstly, CS’s use of social media proved to be effective in the short-term to gain mainstream media attention, and

178 ensure that the billboard was removed. Significantly, both of these achievements were made outside of the regulatory-based process that CS placed value upon: despite the group lodging their complaints with the correct regulatory body (the ASB), the billboard was removed as a result of the actions of Charmaine Moldrich, the CEO of the OMA. The complaints that CS lodged with the ASB were overruled, as the billboard had already been deemed appropriate by the ASB some months earlier. Therefore, despite CS’s decision to target change on a regulatory-based level, the billboard was ultimately removed as a result of their actions online – as opposed to any actions taken through the regulatory-based process alone.

As the campaign was oriented towards an understanding of change as a top-down process, it is notable that the group did not achieve long-term regulatory change. When campaign members were asked to identify what this specific campaign did achieve, Liszewski stated that advertisements for strip clubs could no longer be placed in that particular location; but to this, she added that this success was “limited” because the same billboard then appeared “down the road in another location”. Social media therefore failed to provide a platform through which regulatory change was achieved in the long-term. This long-term goal of regulatory change was, according to CS, achieving a system in which advertisers did not self-regulate. Ultimately, this was not achieved through no fault of CS’s: instead, the Queensland Government, after initiating an inquiry into outdoor advertising and billboards, concluded that it was satisfied with the current system.

Perhaps one of the most significant factors that needs to be weighed against understanding CS’s short-term success with the billboard removal is the right of sex workers to operate legally, and without censure. As highlighted within the CS chapter, the campaign’s approach to sex work was one of understanding women within the industry to be a “commodity” whose bodies are “for sale” (CS 2013d). Resultantly, CS campaigners did not consider, nor care, that the removal of the Honey B’s billboard might have had adverse effects for the women employed at the strip club.

These views are rejected by other Australian feminists – both those interviewed for this research, and elsewhere (Lumby 1997; Jeffreys 2010a). In particular, CS’s lack of consideration and thought regarding the implications of their long-term goal of banning explicit outdoor advertising is a demonstration of the group’s lack of consideration of the rights of all women – including sex workers. This relates back to issues of power both within and external to feminist activism. As noted within the CS chapter, no submissions were made to the Queensland parliamentary enquiry into outdoor advertising from groups representing sex workers – nor did

179 any of the individuals opposed to the proposed legislation formally identify as sex workers. Instead, opposition to the proposed legislation was found within industry groups representing advertisers.

Power, as it is played out within this case study, is framed as something used by both CS and advertisers to obtain a variety of goals. For advertisers using women’s bodies to sell a particular product, this chapter considers such action to be a form of objectification and a denial of agency, in line with Nussbaum’s suggestions (1998). However, CS also wields a form of power in dismissing the rights and entitlements of sex workers. In framing sex work as something that is inherently harmful to all women, CS demonstrates the need for self-described feminist groups to fully consider and consult with affected groups prior to launching campaigns that may influence their livelihood.

8.2 Sack Vile Kyle: Discussion of findings Sack Vile Kyle (SVK) was the second case study examined within this research. This section considers how SVK approached challenging a dominant gendered discourse through an advertiser boycott, their understandings of change as a result of their campaign, and their rejection of the label ‘feminist’ with the group. Furthermore, this section also examines issues of power as used by the SVK campaign, with particular reference to the regulation enforced by the ACMA following Sandilands’ initial comments.

Of the three case studies, each group approached social media platforms in a different manner. The method employed by SVK – one of a closed Facebook group, with limited members – ensured that although the group remained largely private in nature, it also limited the group’s growth into a wider campaign outside of their initial goal of removing Sandilands from 2Day FM. The reason for choosing this particular approach was outlined by SVK campaign members as being largely due to wishing to avoid trolling by members of the public and Sandilands’ supporters. Although the reasons for doing so were well founded (as the campaign did endure a hacking attempt, and lost a number of organisational files stored within the Facebook page), this choice led to a limited wider engagement by the group.

However, SVK’s use of social media to specifically target and petition relevant companies that advertised on the 2Day FM station was noted as being particularly effective. Campaigners spoke of organisational tools shared across the private group designed to assist the team in furthering their advertiser boycott. These tools included rosters designed to ensure that group

180 members would take regular shifts to listen to the station, lists of which companies had already been contacted and their relevant contact details, and templates used by campaign members to communicate with advertisers. Notably, these tools and resources could be easily shared across the group because it was private in nature. If the Facebook group was instead public (as were the remaining two case studies), the group members ran a greater risk of being harassed by Sandilands’ supporters. The risks of encountering trolling and harassment whilst undertaking feminist and women’s-based activism online is being increasingly noted in the literature (Jane 2014), and SVK’s experiences – alongside those of DtJ’s – are in line with these observations. As a campaign tool, social media platforms need to be fully considered by campaigners for risks associated with privacy, sharing, and harassment. Although campaigners in the SVK group could freely share information and tools, the closed Facebook group may have limited the growth and expansion of the campaign.

SVK campaigners understood the campaign’s success to be drawn primarily from three areas: making it “financially unviable” for 2Day FM to continue to employ Sandilands; ensuring Sandilands received formal discipline from the ACMA; and for the group to form a wider collective outside of the Sandilands campaign. In line with Risman’s three dimensions of gender structure, these goals can be seen as respectively existing within the institutional level for the first two goals, and the interactional level for the final goal.

SVK campaigners’ understandings of success are somewhat varied, and dependent on the outcomes of various goals. Although the group ultimately failed to ‘sack Kyle’, one campaigner did state that she believed his eventual departure from 2Day FM was partially due to their campaign. Furthermore, they also viewed the loss of $10 million in advertising money from 2Day FM as a success. Drury stated that she felt that the advertising boycott approach “absolutely worked”, with McMillan adding that she thought the boycott campaign “taught [2Day FM] a lesson.” SVK group members also felt that they were restricted by the name of the campaign, and that the name “Sack Vile Kyle” brought with it a specific goal that some campaigners did not always embrace. This point – one of appropriate campaign names – will be returned to in the key learnings section of this chapter, as it is central to the growth of a campaign along the lines of each case study discussed in this thesis.

The second goal for the campaign, as understood by SVK campaigners, was one of the administration of formal discipline of Sandilands by the ACMA. As discussed within the SVK chapter, at least one SVK campaigner made a complaint about Sandilands to the ACMA – resulting in an investigation into his comments about Stephenson. The ACMA investigation

181 spanned a number of months, and ultimately concluded that Sandilands had breached the Commercial Radio Australia’s Code of Practice. In particular, the ACMA found that Sandilands had aired content that was likely to offend community decency standards (ACMA 2012b). However, the ACMA’s resultant penalty was that Sandilands should no longer make any further statements that may offend generally “accepted standards of decency” (Today FM v ACMA 2012, p. 6), and that this condition was to last for five years. However, campaigners did not view this decision as a success for the campaign; instead, Drury stated that campaigners felt Sandilands “hadn’t been disciplined enough”. To this, Allardice said that she thought the ACMA was a “paper tiger”. In short, the understandings of change as drawn from this particular goal were viewed by campaigns to have been unsuccessful. As argued within the SVK chapter, their perceived lack of success in relation to this goal was despite the campaigners following the appropriate complaint protocol, as outlined by the ACMA. From the perspective of campaigners, their goal of ensuring that Sandilands was “disciplined” by the ACMA failed because of the poor regulatory standard enforced by the ACMA itself.

The campaign’s final goal was one of growth and a wider campaign focused on more than Sandilands’ comments alone. Ultimately, this goal did not come to fruition. The SVK campaign struggled to establish longevity and relevance outside of the comments made by Sandilands. This contrasted with the success of DtJ – the third case study in this thesis, and one that was established only three months after the last public comments made during the SVK campaign. However, SVK campaigners stated that, although their campaign lacked endurance, members of SVK made a number of significant contributions to the DtJ campaign; in effect, assisting and supporting another campaign to ensure its long-term success.

Notably, the DtJ campaign was forthright about its stance as a feminist group. The contribution made by some SVK campaigners to the group was also notable for the fact that not every person within the group identified as a feminist, or perceived SVK as a whole to hold any specific feminist values. Resultantly, none of the three campaigners interviewed for this thesis identified SVK to be feminist in nature: this is despite two of the interviewees personally identifying as feminists. In large part, each campaigner stated that the campaign’s lack of open feminism was as a result of the large, diverse group of people involved in SVK. For example, McMillan stated that although she felt SVK had an element of feminism within it, there were some people within the group who “just wanted to get Kyle”. Another interviewee, Allardice, said that she was not a “rampant feminist”, and that she felt the SVK space was not particularly feminist because she was never attacked for showing “kindness… towards men” – something that she had previously experienced in other feminist spaces.

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The understandings of power within the SVK campaign were that of power emerging from the bottom up; that is, campaigners using their collective power to agitate for change on a number of levels outlined above. Campaigners used social media to amplify their voices, and readily identified a sense of collectivity within their group. Social media was acknowledged by campaign members as being a key factor to the group’s success – particularly in relation to the advertiser boycott. This was further reinforced by Sandilands himself, who remarked almost 10 months after his initial comments that he felt he was the subject of a cyber bullying campaign at the hands of SVK (Duck 2012). The power of social media to unite individuals into a wider collective is such that it is a strong indicator and supporter of the wider argument of this thesis: social media provided a platform for SVK campaigners to challenge a dominant gendered discourse related to representation of women in the mainstream media.

8.3 Destroy the Joint: Discussion of findings The third, and final, case study analysed within this thesis was Destroy the Joint (DtJ). This section, similarly to the previous two, examines how DtJ used social media to challenge a dominant gendered discourse, and the campaign’s understandings of change as a result of their actions – particularly in relation to consciousness-raising through an online platform. However, this section also evaluates DtJ’s growth from a single-issue campaign into a wider, multi- platform group. Importantly, the issue of intersectionality within DtJ is also addressed, as it emerged as a primary critique of the group during the interview process. Finally, this section also discusses how power was understood within DtJ as being a collective voice for campaigners online.

The approach of DtJ to social media stands in contrast to that of SVK. Where SVK chose a private Facebook group, initially limited to approximately 250 people, DtJ created a public Facebook page and a popular Twitter hashtag within 72 hours of Jones’ original comments. The public nature of the campaign’s Facebook page and Twitter hashtag ensured that the group experienced high levels of interest and support following Jones’ initial “destroying the joint” comment. This support was only exacerbated by Jones’ subsequent observations about Gillard’s father “dying of shame”, and DtJ’s resultant advertiser boycott. Notably, the DtJ advertiser boycott was both structured similarly to and coordinated with the SVK model. But, where the DtJ campaign used consciousness-raising and its public Facebook page to build a wider community, the SVK group remained focused on one issue, and was largely unable to build a broader base of activists.

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However, alongside the support the DtJ campaign experienced, campaigners also faced high levels of online harassment and trolling, primarily through the group’s public Facebook page. Campaigners interviewed within the DtJ chapter outlined that the moderators who handled the trolling on the Facebook page were carefully selected, in order to ensure that they also were not “infiltrated by trolls”. Despite these attempts at trolling through Facebook, DtJ’s growth and transformation into a wider multi-platform group was primarily facilitated through social media.

The growth of the DtJ campaign was evident in the campaign’s decisions to move beyond the Alan Jones advertiser boycott – and how successful the group was in doing so. The campaign’s growth was not hindered by its choice to shift focus from an individual’s comments. Instead, campaigners identified that they chose to focus on what Gibbs said were “broader feminist” issues. During this time, campaign members also noted a shift in how the DtJ Facebook community approached discussing feminist issues in online posts. The DtJ chapter argues that the campaign used social media to facilitate a level of consciousness-raising within its audience, and that this took place primarily within the comment threads and posts on the DtJ page. This can be seen through one of the examples provided, in which a campaigner, Gibbs, notes an incident where DtJ posted an article about the rape and murder of a woman in India. In the comment thread of the post, Gibbs noted that people were “still in the victim-blaming space”, but that this perspective “really did shift”, and within three months the DtJ community “wouldn’t tolerate those attitudes any more”.

Significantly, the DtJ case study also addressed the tensions felt within the campaign regarding the issue of intersectionality. A number of DtJ campaigners acknowledged that the group needed to further commit to representing various marginalised groups – for example, Hill stated that DtJ needed to make more attempts to reach “lower socio-economic women” through the DtJ Facebook page. Further to this, another moderator, Kim, said that they felt they were constantly hitting their head “against a brick wall trying to get more discussion about issues of class and race” within DtJ. The concerns raised within this section of the chapter are indicative of wider tensions felt across contemporary feminism – and issues that have been particularly significant since feminism’s second wave.

Similar to SVK, the DtJ campaigners placed value on their collective voice, and understood some of their perceived power to emerge as a result of this collective. Several campaigners – alongside activists external to the movement – said that there was a “chorus of disapproval”

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(Badham), an “important voice” (Oakes), and a collection of more than “20,000 pissed off women” (Gibbs) behind the DtJ campaign. The DtJ chapter identified that the power within DtJ lay within in its collective – but that this, in turn, was due to the fact that DtJ could continue to grow its voice due to the consciousness-raising it performed online. DtJ acted as an initial point of resistance to a particular dominant gendered discourse: one about the capabilities of women to possess political power. However, DtJ has since used social media as a platform to grow and act as further points of resistance, and as a site of consciousness-raising for a number of other issues related to gender equality.

It is fitting that DtJ is the final case study, as it is understood to be the most effective at using social media to challenge a specific dominant gendered discourse. Although the group has gained a number of critiques, its growth from 2012 onwards signified a larger shift in how feminist activism is organised and enacted. It is this particular issue that the following section seeks to address: the key learnings that can be drawn from each campaign, and practically applied by future feminist activists.

8.4 Key learnings This section of the conclusion addresses a goal raised within the introductory chapter: that this research was undertaken not only to understand, but also to contribute to broader feminist movements. This thesis has been undertaken as a political activity – one that aims to further enhance and develop the feminist movement as a whole, in line with Cook and Fonow’s suggestion (1986).

Each of the subsections below outline a particular learning that can be drawn from the conclusions in each of the case study chapters. The learnings themselves vary from approaches used for social media based campaigns, through to broader feminist approaches to activism as a whole. The sections are deemed to be ‘key learnings’ (and not ‘recommendations’ or ‘suggestions’) as it is felt that this term better speaks to the nature of thesis: one which looks to speak relationally to feminist activists.

8.4.1 Campaign length, endurance and scope Of the three case studies examined within this thesis, two are still active around issues of women’s rights and gender equality. The campaign that is no longer active, SVK, was also the one that was somewhat restricted by its name and approach to using social media. This learning therefore addresses the tactics employed by SVK in using social media, how they can

185 be contrasted with the remaining two case studies, and the potential links this may have to campaign length and endurance.

The campaigners involved in SVK highlighted that they felt restricted by the name of the campaign. Drury stated that they “didn’t want to give Kyle a lot of attention”, but the name “Sack Vile Kyle” resulted in a goal that she felt did not reflect her personal approach to the group. To this, Drury added that she felt that SVK was a “horrible name for a campaign”, and that the campaigners “always had a problem with that name”. When asked why they chose that name for the campaign, Drury said that someone within the campaign had called them “Sack Vile Kyle”, and that their campaign was resultantly defined by this name. Another campaigner, Allardice, added that it was “a pity that… Kyle didn’t have a catch phrase we could have jumped on the bandwagon with”. Allardice’s comment was made in reference not only to the name “Sack Vile Kyle”, but also to the DtJ campaign and Allan Jones. The DtJ campaign was made up of people that SVK campaigner Drury understood to be media trained, explicitly feminist in nature, and therefore “women with a voice, and quite a bit of power”.

Consequently, one of the central learnings that can be drawn from the SVK and DtJ campaigns relates to the name of the campaign. Importantly, the name of the campaign was understood by interviewees to also impact on the scope and goals of the group. In the case of SVK, not everyone campaigner wanted Sandilands to be ‘sacked’ – nor did they wish for the campaign to be singularly focused on Sandilands. Drury said that SVK campaigners tried to change their focus “along the way, because it was more than just Kyle”. Close consideration should therefore be paid to a campaign name, and how this corresponds to the wider goals and scope of the campaign as a whole. In the case of SVK the group felt limited by the campaign name, and was unable to easily change direction or focus as a result. However, this may also speak to the nature of the public sphere on social media: one in which social fragmentation has given rise to an era of personalised politics enacted online (Bennett 2012), and people will come together for certain issues, only to eventually disband or disengage with the collective.

Notably, this particular submission may not be relevant for all future feminist groups. In some cases, activists may wish to deliberately limit the aim and scope of their campaign through their campaign name (Trott 2017). As noted within the DtJ campaign, there are risks associated with activist burnout and stress in a campaign that has no definite end point. A number of DtJ campaigners stated in interviews for this thesis that they had left the group either permanently, or for an indefinite break, as a result of burnout. Resultantly, there are additional considerations to be weighed for and against an expansive campaign name and scope.

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8.4.2 Social media use and campaign growth Alongside issues of campaign longevity and scope are those of campaign growth through social media. This learning is again drawn primarily from the SVK case study, as the campaign stood alone in its approach to having a private Facebook group as its campaign base. In contrast to both the DtJ and CS Facebook pages, the SVK group elected to have a private, member-only Facebook group for the duration of the campaign. As argued within the SVK chapter, this – in addition to the group’s name – limited the campaign’s ability to further progress and develop.

The SVK Facebook group was not always completely private in nature. In the first instance, any individual with a Facebook account could join and contribute to the SVK group. However, Drury outlined that the decision was made early on to change the Facebook group settings to private. Prompting this decision was a particular attack that was launched upon the group by another campaign, in which SVK lost a number of important organisational files stored within the page. Significantly, the SVK group had also encountered problems with people “joining the [SVK] group and just coming in and harassing [others]”. When asked who she thought these people were, Drury stated that she suspected they were “just Kyle [Sandilands’] mates”. As a result, the settings to the group were changed so that people could request to join the group, but could not participate in the group itself until an administrator approved their request. Drury added that the administrators – of which she was one – “really had to screen everyone who was coming in, and look at their Facebook [page], to have a private group was the only way we could function”.

An additional motivation for SVK’s page remaining private was due to fears of misrepresentation in the mainstream media. This was emphasised by McMillan, who said that she found certain members of the SVK group were there primarily to “get Kyle”, and she found herself needing to “gently correct” these members within the Facebook group when they called Sandilands names, because she felt that Sandilands’ “body size [was] not an appropriate means of attacking him”.

The experience of SVK campaigners can again be contrasted to those within the DtJ campaign. As stressed by Drury, one of the reasons for the SVK Facebook group to be private was fear of trolling and harassment by those external to the campaign. In the case of DtJ, the campaign was centred on a public Facebook page, in which anyone could post comments or images. As a result, trolls almost immediately overwhelmed the campaign’s Facebook page – Hill described the Facebook page as initially being “overrun” with them, and said that the level of trolling was

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“extraordinary”. In the first instance, the original DtJ campaigners recruited friends and fellow activists to moderate – and then, according to Hill, took the step of asking other regular commenters on the DtJ page to assist with moderation duties.

Due to the intense trolling and harassment directed at DtJ, the Facebook page comments were very tightly monitored and scrutinised by moderators. Hill said that DtJ moderators had “quite strict rules about how they behave and how they moderate the page… because of the extensive amount of trolling.” Every time a new moderator was added to the team, Hill said they would undergo an induction session, followed by a series of training sessions, prior to being able to commence moderating the page itself. Gibbs estimated that there were upwards of 40 DtJ moderators in the first 2 years of the campaign, each of whom had undergone the training outlined earlier by Hill. This training ensured that moderators would be able to act in a manner which, according to Donayre, was “professional”, and allow them to “make a decision and a judgement about what was allowed to be on [the Facebook page] and what wasn’t”. Furthermore, each moderator was assigned an individual number they could use when commenting on threads as the DtJ page – Hill said that this was so each person could “identify themselves… without having [to give] their real name, just because it got so hairy [with] the threats and the challenges and the pushback.”

Aside from the issue of trolling, DtJ moderators also identified a commitment to ensuring that people were, in Gibbs’ words, “not being assholes to each other” on the page. Gibbs added that this meant moderators on the DtJ Facebook page “spent time… supporting the [DtJ] community to be adults… to have robust debates [without] name calling, don’t degenerate into that sort of stuff.” Drury compared her experience in running the private SVK page to that of the public DtJ page, and said that she perceived DtJ to “moderate their page very well, and they pull people up [for those insults]… if you want any sort of credence, or if you want to be taken seriously, you really have to monitor that stuff.” Hill added that DtJ had an underlying “strong positive focus”, and moderators wanted the page to be “positive, welcoming, [and] friendly”, with a “strong [no] swearing policy”.

Accordingly, the central learning that can be drawn from the experiences of the SVK and DtJ campaigns with Facebook groups is related to the use and moderation of Facebook pages, and associated consequences. In particular, private Facebook pages for a campaign may prove more straightforward in the short-term – but can ultimately inhibit campaign growth and development. This is evidenced by a quote from Drury, who said that SVK campaigners were all “pretty new to it [campaigning], and so it was easier to just shut it [the Facebook page] down,

188 and really try and manage it”. By “shut it down”, Drury is referring to the privacy restrictions placed on the Facebook page in order to manage trolls.

Equally, if a campaign wishes to leave their Facebook page open to the public, it then runs the risk of being subjected to troll attacks and behaviour classed by Gibbs as “being an asshole”. A public Facebook page for a feminist campaign should be prepared for these attacks, and have moderators in place if they wish to ensure an effective message is conveyed by the campaign. Furthermore, these moderators may also require additional training – both on the campaign’s wider values, and on what constitutes reason for comment removal or a user ban from the page.

In addition, social media platforms such as Facebook are not yet at the stage in which they can effectively moderate users’ Facebook pages alone, without assistance from moderators. The learnings outlined within this section are particularly applicable simply because Facebook is yet to introduce an effective means of moderating troll attacks on its pages itself. If a feature of this nature were introduced, less time would be spent by campaigners ensuring that their pages were free of troll attacks – something that earlier research by this author has been noted to result in burnout and stress (Gleeson 2016a). Resultantly, campaigners should closely consider their approach to using social media, and the consequences of having either an open, public page, or a closed, private page for campaign growth, potential trolling, and the workload of moderators.

8.4.3 Consciousness-raising within campaigns Consciousness-raising was used by both DtJ and SVK as a method of facilitating growth and awareness. In particular, consciousness-raising was used as a tool to enhance the knowledge and sensitivity of both DtJ and SVK’s audiences to feminist issues and politics. This section addresses the role of both of these campaigns as a consciousness-raiser, and why these roles are necessary for the wider progression and acceptance of the feminist movement as a whole.

As outlined within the literature review, consciousness-raising was traditionally used to explore women’s common gender experiences (Ryan 1992), and to allow women a space to analyse and discuss their own oppressions. This personalisation of oppression and injustice often led to the women who participated in the consciousness-raising groups of second-wave feminism to become more politically motivated. Across this thesis, consciousness-raising has been framed as a technique employed by each campaign to resist dominant gendered discourses. This was most evident within the DtJ campaign, but was also visible within both the CS and SVK groups.

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Within the DtJ chapter, campaigners reflected on how consciousness-raising was effectively employed as tool within a few months of the campaign commencing. In particular, consciousness-raising was used when DtJ began broadening the scope of the campaign beyond its initial target of Jones and the advertisers boycott led by the campaign. Gibbs noted a particular instance in which commenters on the DtJ page initially approach the issue of a woman being raped by employing attitudes of “victim blaming”. However, Gibbs then said that these attitudes shifted during three months across late 2012 and early 2013, to the point where DtJ community members “would not tolerate those attitudes any more”.

DtJ was also understood by Gibbs to be performing a role in feminism more broadly that was, at first, “fairly feminism 101”. Gibbs expanded to say that the campaign did “some really basic work around race and class and stuff [and] we did [so] with a fairly conscious agenda…because it’s a way into talking about so [many] more complicated things”. Gibbs then concluded by saying that the campaign was “using some pop culture… as a way into talking about more complicated things in terms of power and power relations.” Consciousness-raising, in this respect, was approached by the DtJ campaign as something through which they could reach their audience on a level that members of the community would easily understand and relate to.

An example of this was given by Gibbs, who said that when she first commenced posting articles as a DtJ administrator, she would:

[P]ut up…more complicated things [on the Facebook page], and people would kind of go ‘I don’t understand’…then one of the others would put up something about something sexist in an ad and they would get 300 comments and I’d just go, ‘Okay, I’m really not doing this right’.

Notably, moderators of DtJ also observed that one of the side effects of focusing on issues that were “feminism 101” in nature was that it sometimes meant sacrificing issues that spoke more explicitly to intersectionality. The tensions and critiques of DtJ were outlined within the relevant case study chapter, but some comments made by interviewees are also relevant to issues of consciousness-raising and education. One example was given by Kim, who said that they felt a sense of frustration in attempting to achieve a wider level of discussion about race on the DtJ Facebook page. However, Kim also recognised that DtJ were “able to get the

190 message across in such a way that it appealed to your average every day person; and that’s the first step in any kind of political movement”.

In the case of SVK, consciousness-raising was implemented by group members in order to highlight a specific dominant gendered discourse related to women and their physical appearance. Although SVK’s employment of consciousness-raising is not as clear as DtJ’s, SVK members spoke of wanting the campaign to foster a wider collective in which consciousness- raising could be performed on a broader level. Drury said that SVK’s concerns went beyond Sandilands’ comments, and that the group also wished to address “other media representations of women”. However, the SVK did not achieve this goal; something that this thesis argues is a result of the group’s decision to limit access to their Facebook page. However, locating their consciousness-raising on the interactional and individual levels enabled SVK campaigners to contribute to the DtJ campaign. Group members provided advice and support to DtJ campaigners; these contributions were later identified by one DtJ campaigner (Gibbs) as being “incredibly valuable”.

Social media platforms provided both the SVK and DtJ groups to perform consciousness-raising on the interactional and individual levels. Consciousness-raising in both groups helped shape the attitudes of campaigners towards dominant gendered discourses, and in the case of DtJ assisted the group in its more long-term growth. This is in line with wider contemporary feminist literature, in which social media has been suggested as a tool which allows women to connect and communicate with wider feminist communities (Keller, Mendes, and Ringrose 2015; Mendes 2015). As the current literature demonstrates, individual feminist activists (Brierly Newtown 2015; Gilmore 2017a; Liddle 2016a; Rentschler 2015) and groups (Jimenez 2016; McLean and Maalsen 2013; Reestorff 2014; Towns 2016) have readily embraced social media as a platform to assist in change-creation. Consequently, this particular learning – one of consciousness-raising through social media - is one that feminists may well be alert to. However, the further consideration of intersectionality within the DtJ campaign further complicates this learning.

The issue of intersectionality within the DtJ campaign was noted within the previous chapter as being somewhat challenging. The group’s approach to using consciousness-raising around “basic” feminist issues as a “way into” more complex discussions of power was one that was viewed by people both within, and external to the campaign, as divisive. Consequently, the key learning evidenced from how DtJ employed consciousness-raising as a tool for the education and growth of its audience is that full consideration and attention needs to be paid to issues

191 often attached to gender – such as race, class, gender identification, sexual preference and disability. Clearly, Gibbs’ method of posting about “more complicated things” on the DtJ Facebook page did not resonate with the page’s wider audience: however, this should not mean that these issues are fully dismissed in favour of only discussing those that directly relate to DtJ’s supporters. Issues of feminism and intersectionality can, and have, been effectively discussed in other forums with a very basic, educative approach. Furthermore, if DtJ wishes to grow beyond its initial audience of what was perceived by Hill to sometimes be “white, middleclass women”, these issues need to be drawn out in ways that seek to include, rather than perplex, large portions of what DtJ understands to be its audience. Intersectionality within feminist campaigns is an issue that both DtJ and CS grappled with; the next section considers CS’s approach to change, and how this change was perceived by some to unduly affect and obstruct other women.

8.4.4 Change that obstructs other women The third key learning that can be drawn from this thesis is sourced largely from the CS chapter, and relates to how a campaign’s goal may adversely affect the opportunities and employment prospects of other women. One of the chief goals of the CS campaign was to limit the advertising power of businesses that elect to use ‘explicit’ content: in particular, strip clubs. In the short-term, the campaign was understood to be successful – the billboard advertising Honey B’s strip club was removed with a number of weeks of CS’s campaign being launched. However, the campaign did not fully deliberate on and examine the implications of their campaign for women employed at Honey B’s and other strip clubs, and sex workers. This section considers how campaigns that claim feminist roots need to also consider how their works may affect other women and marginalised groups.

Within the CS chapter, a number of campaigners were asked to reflect on how their campaign may have affected the employment opportunities of women working at the Honey B’s strip club. Tankard Reist responded that she wanted “those industries of exploitation to stop”, whilst Liszewski said that the “natural result [of shutting down strip clubs] is that there are women who may be choosing or coerced to be stripping who no longer have that option.” Tankard Reist, (Tankard Reist 2016), Liszewski, and Roper each stated that CS advocated for the Nordic model of outlawing sex work – a model in which the people who seek out sex workers are prosecuted, not the workers themselves.

CS campaigners outlined a range of reasons that formed the foundation of their opposition to sex work. Liszewski said that strip clubs were problematic on a broad scale, because they

192 reinforced the idea that women were to be “seen as sexual objects [and] this is increasingly their options for employment [being] narrowed”. She added that the sexual objectification of women might be:

[R]einforcing this idea that women are sexual objects and they exist for sexual gratification means… if you fit the mould, then you can fast track your way into employment at a strip club. If you don’t, then you end up in employment where you are facing discrimination based on your appearance, because it’s part of a culture that reinforces appearance as being one of the most important [things] and sexual appeal as being what is most important about women.

This is not to say that CS campaigners did not understand that their campaign may have had adverse implications on women employed at Honey B’s or other strip clubs. Instead, campaigners said that it was not a concern of theirs. As addressed in the CS chapter, when Tankard Reist was asked if she was concerned about limiting the work of women at strip clubs, she responded by asking, “Do I care?” The concerns of CS clearly lay more with how the work of women employed in the sex industry had perceived undue effects on women as a whole, rather than how their campaign may negatively impact other women’s employment – primarily because campaigners viewed this form of employment to be contributing to the sexualisation of women on a broad level.

The views of CS are anchored in a wider debate prevalent amongst feminists; where on one hand sex work is understood to be either exploitative and reflective of wider power dynamics, and on the other hand it is viewed as an industry in which women willingly choose to enter (Phipps 2014; Smith and Attwood 2013). Consequently, this research further contributes to a long-standing and contested debate in feminist activism and academia regarding sex work. However, in doing so it also seeks to highlight the importance of feminist activists seeking change that restricts other women or vulnerable groups. This was earlier explored in relation to issues of intersectionality within DtJ, but finds further relevance here as a framework for understanding the consequences of change on different levels.

In line with earlier arguments (Jeffreys 2010a; Nussbaum 1998; Showden 2011), this research supports the right of women to claim agency in using their bodies in a manner they choose. Although the is an ongoing concern regarding the omission of important voices that speak issues of class, race, and power in literature and commentary regarding sex work (Phipps 2014), this

193 should not detract from the wider purpose of CS’s campaign: to ‘protect’ some people by sacrificing the potential employment of others. As discussed within the CS case study chapter, contemporary feminist campaigners, academics and women within the sex industry were divided when it came to supporting CS’s campaign. Some actively opposed CS speaking on behalf of feminists or women as a whole: this can be seen in the critiques of Wilson (2015), and the contributions of other interview participants (as outlined in the CS chapter).

To return to the key learning that emerges from this chapter, the view of this thesis is that feminist campaigners (along with activists as a whole) should fully consider and understand the implications of their work for other women and marginalised groups. In the case of CS, their campaign actively sacrifices the employment opportunities and occupations of some women to benefit a perceived other, wider group of women. However, CS neither consulted with nor assessed the needs or either of these groups. Instead, CS was driven by the perspective of campaigners that the sexualisation of women within the sex industry results in the wider objectification of women in the mainstream media – an issue complicated by debates surrounding objectification as a whole (Nussbaum 1998).

This is indicative of a failing of CS to understand and enact wider intersectional values. Returning to the earlier definition given of intersectionality within the literature review, it is seen by Crenshaw as a description for considering disadvantage as existing outside not on a single categorical axis, but instead within a wider, interlocking system (1989). Experiences of oppression can sit within and alongside each other, and as Winch (2014) argues, to understand these experiences is to then comprehend why some feminists and their campaigns are more visible than others. In the case of CS, the group’s dismissal of sex workers as being “desperate women” (in the words of Tankard Reist) fails to acknowledge the agency of these women in actively choosing to undertake stripping, or other forms of sex work. Furthermore, CS’s campaign for removing all outdoor billboards advertising strip-clubs limits the potential income of these workers, and in turn may affect their employment prospects and livelihoods.

It is therefore the recommendation of this research that campaigners fully consider the impact of their work when discussing marginalised groups and people – particularly when it may it goes against the direct wishes of these groups, and may affect the employment prospects of these same people. Furthermore, feminists in particular may wish to approach campaigns of this nature with a view towards inclusivity and intersectionality when considering sex workers and their role within the feminist movement. Discussion between campaigners and sex workers is considered to be advantageous for campaigners as a method of understanding and working

194 alongside others to achieve an outcome that does not disadvantage a specific group of women. To echo an oft-repeated statement by the Scarlet Alliance, campaigns of this nature should not be “about sex workers without sex workers” (Scarlet Alliance 2008).

8.4.5 Change as pursued through structural organisations This area addresses change as pursued through structural organisations, and the consequences and effects that result from doing so. Specifically, this section examines change as a process that was pursued almost wholly by CS, and at least partially by SVK, as being sought through regulations and formal structures. The pursuit of change based on a top-down process is framed within this section as not always being wholly effective; but this section also does not call for a complete rejection of these formal systems.

As considered within the CS and SVK chapters, change was sought by both campaigns on a structural level. In the case of CS, the campaign initially sought change through a formal complaint lodged to the ASB. When this complaint was rejected, CS then created a petition that the group had planned to lodge in the federal Parliament. Finally, and of most significance, the campaign made a submission – and eventual presentation – to the Queensland Parliament’s Enquiry into Sexually Explicit Outdoor Advertising.

Ultimately, the change that was sought by CS through each of these measures was not fully achieved. In the instance of the campaign’s complaint to the ASB, the billboard was eventually removed. However, as indicated by the CEO of the OMA Charmaine Moldrich, the issue of the billboard, and CS’s campaign, was brought to her awareness through social media, rather than CS’s complaint to the ASB. Furthermore, despite the committee in charge of the Queensland parliamentary inquiry reaching a number of recommendations that were in agreement with suggestions made in CS’s submission, the Queensland Government eventually rejected these recommendations, preferring to allow the advertising industry to continue to self regulate.

In this instance, CS’s efforts to influence change within the advertising industry through top- down processes was largely unsuccessful. This is through no fault of CS’s alone, as it took the relevant steps within the current outlined regulatory processes to effect change. Complaints were lodged with the correct organisations; submissions were made to the necessary inquiry. However, the system itself allowed another organisation - in this case, the Queensland Government - to make the final decision on whether any form of regulatory change would take place.

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This was echoed by SVK’s experience in making a formal complaint about Sandilands’ comments to the ACMA. The group took a number of steps in order to register an objection; these steps involved firstly lodging a complaint with Sandilands’ employer, 2Day FM, waiting the required 60 days for a response, and then lodging another complaint to the ACMA. Following this, the ACMA launched its own investigation into Sandilands’ comments. The ACMA eventually concluded that although Sandilands had breached his industry’s Code of Practice (Commercial Radio Australia 2013), it could only further reinforce the same Code that Sandilands had already breached – meaning that if Sandilands once again breached this particular section of the Code, only then would there be further consequences. However, as it stood SVK campaigners interpreted the ACMA’s decision, in this instance, to be “useless” (Drury), and the ACMA to be a “paper tiger” (Allardice).

Unlike the CS campaign, SVK also sought to challenge the dominant gendered discourse relevant to their group through a social media-based advertiser boycott. Campaigners noted that they found social media to be more useful than the formal steps undertaken through the process set out by the ACMA. McMillan noted that the “only way” SVK could have undertaken a boycott of that nature was through social media. Social media also allowed for more flexibility in the chosen platforms and methods of campaigners, which, as Drury noted, meant that 80% of the boycott took place through online documentation.

To expand upon these experiences to the wider issue of top-down and bottom-up power, it is clear that campaigners in both the CS and SVK groups had limited perceived success in attempting to challenge their respective dominant gendered discourses through official organisations and structures. Instead, in both cases the decisions that were made by these bodies were done so outside of the reach of each campaign. Conceptually, power within this thesis is understood to exist as something that does not originate either solely from formal structures, interactions between individuals, or within one’s self. As a result, methods of resistance can also be employed on a variety of levels in order to target these respective forms of power.

Notably, the lack of perceived success within formalised structures may also be indicative of wider issues within the Australian media regulation system. A number of campaigners noted matters they understood to be problematic within both the ACMA and ASB systems. Most significantly, these involved Sandilands’ repeated offences receiving minimal penalties from the ACMA, and the ASB’s continued rejection of what CS viewed to be a sexually explicit image in an inappropriate location. Although a systematic assessment of the full capacity of each of

196 these bodies is outside the scope of this thesis, it is clear that a top-down approach alone is not always effective when it comes to resisting and challenging dominant gendered discourses in the mainstream media. Consequently, the learning that can be drawn from these experiences of campaigners is one that further accentuates the need for social media and engagement for feminist campaigners who aim to challenge how women are represented in the mainstream media.

To return to the issue of power and points of resistance that can operate within social media forums, the following, and final, section of this chapter conceptualises the role of power within each case study. Furthermore, it summarises how the unique space occupied by each case study led to a form of dominant gendered discourse being challenged through social media.

8.5 Power and dominant gendered discourses The final section of this chapter, and the thesis as a whole, addresses the argument made across this research, and the attached research questions. It considers how power was employed by each campaign to challenge dominant gendered discourses in the Australian mainstream media, and notes the various outcomes of approaching these challenges through a variety of top-down and bottom-up structures. Finally, this section also notes a number of departure points for future research and feminist activism within Australia.

Power, in each of three case studies examined within this thesis, has been understood in diverse ways and employed to different effects. As noted in the introduction to this thesis, power itself is understood to come from a multitude of places, both above and below, and to exist from one moment to the next (Foucault 1976). Of further significance is the view of power as productive – and, therefore, subject to be challenged and intervened into. Each case study analysed within this thesis has formed a particular point of resistance to challenge dominant gendered discourses in the mainstream media; furthermore, it has also undertaken these challenges on a variety of different levels, with varying degrees of perceived success.

As noted within the final key learning of this chapter, both CS and SVK employed an approach to power that saw them seek to challenge their respective dominant gendered discourses through regulatory-based means. The levels of perceived success within each campaign as a result of this method of challenging dominant gendered discourses was somewhat limited – in both cases the campaigns’ formal complaints were dismissed, with little in the way of formal

197 consequences for the mainstream media organisation responsible for reiterating each discourse.

In contrast to these experiences of power as enacted from the top-down, DtJ’s use of social media to challenge a dominant gendered discourse was viewed by campaigners to be broadly successful. DtJ’s use of social media to directly address Jones’ comments is understood in this thesis to enact power from the bottom up – that is, external to institutional structures and organisation. In this sense, DtJ’s challenge is somewhat more difficult to formally quantify. However, the goal of this research has not been to measure change itself, but to seek campaigners’ views on how effective their methods were. In the instance of DtJ, campaigners largely felt that DtJ was effective in challenging Jones’ views. Women within the DtJ campaign cited DtJ’s efforts at consciousness-raising and the campaign’s consistent growth as factors in viewing the group’s wider success.

Finally, it is beneficial to re-state the initial research questions raised in the introduction of this thesis. These questions were:

1) How have Australian women’s and feminist-based groups used social media to attempt to challenge gendered representations of women in the Australian mainstream media? 2) Were these challenges to forms of power understood to be successful both by the campaigners, and by those working within a broader media, feminist, and regulatory context? 3) What could future campaigners of future consciousness-raising efforts practically apply from this study of social media challenges to the representation of women in the Australian mainstream media?

A number of points can be concluded in answering these questions. Firstly, social media was used differently by each campaign, with a variety of results. Social media was used within advertiser boycotts, as a central organising hub for campaigners, and as a tool to raise consciousness within a campaign’s audience. The understanding of how to challenge dominant gendered discourses alone was one in which each campaign differed, and their approaches to using social media reflected this variation.

Perceptions of success as a result of these challenges were mixed, and were further complicated by the Australian media regulatory environment. Additionally, in one case, the campaigners’ views of success were also problematised by the potential impact of their

198 campaign on other women – namely, the employment and potential stigmatisation of sex workers. Those outside of each campaign also held different views of success, with other feminist activists, academics, and those whose expertise allowed them a wider view of the campaigns perceiving each group as having a number of different impacts on each dominant gendered discourse.

Finally, activists involved in future challenges to dominant gendered discourses who elect to use social media can practically apply a number of elements of this research to their campaign. In particular, the points raised within the key learnings section earlier are significant for their observations regarding public and private Facebook groups, the moderation of comments on Facebook pages, the ability of groups to effect change from the bottom up, the consideration of potential consequences of a campaign on members of other marginalised groups, and attempts at intersectionality within a campaign.

The objective of this thesis has been to contribute to women’s liberation by producing knowledge that women can use themselves – this is in line with suggestions made by Acker, Barry, and Esseveld (1983). As has been noted earlier, academic research can fall short of incorporating feminist activists and voices, with the result being that published perspectives regarding feminist campaigns and voices do not accurately represent the goals, perspectives, or perceived outcomes of a particular campaign group (for an example, see Cook and Hasmath 2018, and Gleeson 2018). Subsequently, this thesis has aimed to move beyond description to provide learnings that are both relevant and timely for feminist activists. The timeliness of this thesis is demonstrated by the growth in literature considering digital feminist activism (Carter 2014; Fadnis 2017; Kangere, Kemitare, and Michau 2017; Kim 2017; McLean and Maalsen 2014), and consequently, contributes to a wider field of research. It also considers two specific gaps within the existing literature: how feminist and women’s-based campaigns have used social media to challenge dominant gendered discourses, and how consciousness-raising was utilised by each case study to challenge these same discourses.

The arguments made in each of the three case study chapters also indicate a number of points of departure for future research. As noted throughout this thesis, research investigating feminist campaigns – and feminism more broadly – should ideally aim to give back to feminism as a whole, particularly when it directly draws upon the knowledge of feminist campaigners. Further examination of the effects of online harassment and trolling on feminist campaigns would be particularly beneficial for a number of activists; as indicated within this research, each case study experienced a level of harassment and trolling that impacted on their

199 campaign. Another area that warrants further consideration is the investigation of tensions between various feminist schools of thought – in particular those felt between the CS campaign and other contemporary feminist groups.

This chapter has analysed multiple outcomes from the research which, when examined together, reveal crucial perspectives for feminism research and activism. Whilst academia has explored feminism as a whole for many years, understanding how feminist activists have used social media to perform a level of activism is a relatively new area of research. Furthermore, studying the role that consciousness-raising plays within each online campaign is of additional significance. This research therefore fills two specific gaps within the literature, related both to how activists have challenged dominant gendered discourses in the mainstream media, and to the role that consciousness-raising plays within each of these campaigns in furthering a variety of feminist goals.

Finally, although this research makes the original contributions to research outlined above, the primary motivation for undertaking this thesis was based outside of the academy. The knowledge and findings discussed within this research have been written with a wider feminist activist audience in mind. It is therefore hoped that this thesis contributes to and advances Australian contemporary feminist campaigns, and aids activists in their efforts to challenge dominant gendered discourses in the mainstream media.

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Appendix Item One: Email notification of ethics clearance

To: Dr Esther Milne; FLSS Ms Jessamy Gleeson

Dear Esther and Jessamy

SUHREC Project 2013/132 An examination of how to challenge and change a gender stereotype in the Australian mass media

Dr Esther Milne, Ms Jessamy Gleeson, Dr Diana Bossio; FLSS Approved Duration: 28/06/2013 to 01/08/2014

I refer to the ethical review of the above project protocol undertaken by a SUHREC Subcommittee (SHESC1). Your responses to the review, as e-mailed on 27 June 2013, were put to a SHESC1 delegate for consideration.

The delegate would like you to reassess the phrasing of the words in bold in the consent information statement:

‘”Within these interviews, participants will encounter questions related to their understanding of women’s representation within the mass media, and how their organisation/movement has interacted, understood and potentially produced in these representations."

I am pleased to advise that, as submitted to date, the project may proceed in line with standard on-going ethics clearance conditions here outlined.

- All human research activity undertaken under Swinburne auspices must conform to Swinburne and external regulatory standards, including the current National Statement on Ethical Conduct in Human Research and with respect to secure data use, retention and disposal. - The named Swinburne Chief Investigator/Supervisor remains responsible for any personnel appointed to or associated with the project being made aware of ethics clearance conditions, including research and consent procedures or instruments approved. Any change in chief investigator/supervisor requires timely notification and SUHREC endorsement.

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- The above project has been approved as submitted for ethical review by or on behalf of SUHREC. Amendments to approved procedures or instruments ordinarily require prior ethical appraisal/clearance. SUHREC must be notified immediately or as soon as possible thereafter of (a) any serious or unexpected adverse effects on participants and any redress measures; (b) proposed changes in protocols; and (c) unforeseen events which might affect continued ethical acceptability of the project. - An annual report on the progress of the project is required by 30 June 2014 as well as at the conclusion (or abandonment) of the project, unless otherwise indicated. - A duly authorised external or internal audit of the project may be undertaken at any time.

Please contact the Research Ethics Office if you have any queries about on-going ethics clearance. The SUHREC project number should be quoted in communication. Chief Investigators/Supervisors and Student Researchers should retain a copy of this email as part of project record-keeping.

Best wishes for project.

Yours sincerely,

Sheila Hamilton-Brown For Sally Fried

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Appendix Item Two: Invitation to participate in research

Dear [Name],

My name is Jessamy Gleeson, and I am currently a PhD candidate at Swinburne University of Technology. I'm writing to formally invite you to participate in a research project I am conducting in relation to related to the representation of women in the mass media.

The purpose of this research is to investigate how feminist movements can challenge and change women’s representation in the Australia mass media. My research is being supervised by Dr Esther Milne and Dr Diana Bossio.

Due to your involvement and expertise in [campaign or organisation name], I feel that your input and opinions on [area of expertise] would greatly add to the depth of research. Your participation will be of great assistance to my work, and will offer you the opportunity to discuss your thoughts regarding women’s representation with the media. In particular, I'm interested in discussing [campaign names]. I'd really like to discuss the implication of this campaign in terms of [media representation and regulation issue] in Australia.

The research will involve an individual interview (with the potential of a follow-up interview), lasting between 60 – 90 minutes that would take place at a time and date jointly appropriate. If you would like to participate in this study, or for further details regarding the interviews or my research, please do not hesitate to contact me via the following email address: [email protected]

Kind regards, Jessamy Gleeson

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Appendix Item Three: Consent information statement

Consent Information Statement

Project Title: An examination of how to challenge and change women’s representation in the Australian mass media.

Coordinating Supervisor: Associate Supervisor: Main student investigator:

Jessamy Gleeson Dr Esther Milne Dr Diana Bossio PhD Candidate Head of Humanities, Arts Lecturer Faculty of Life and Social and Social Sciences Faculty of Life and Social Sciences Faculty of Life and Social Sciences Swinburne University of Sciences Swinburne University of Technology Swinburne University of Technology [email protected] Technology [email protected] 0431 032 987 [email protected] 03 9214 8107 03 9214 8195

Introduction to the Project and Invitation to Participate: This project is a part of the requirements for the principal researcher’s doctorate research. The project involves a series of individual interviews (with the potential for follow-up interviews) with a variety of respondents. These respondents have been selected by the primary researchers as having qualified expertise and experience within areas relevant to the research. The research is being conducted in order to investigate how feminist movements can successfully challenge and change the representation of women in the Australian mass media.

You are invited to participate in these interviews, where you will have the opportunity to give your views and opinions on how women’s representation in the mass media can be positively affected by feminist movements.

What your participation will involve:

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You will be asked to participate in an interview (including possible follow-up) lasting between 60 to 90 minutes. Your interview will be electronically recorded, and later electronically transcribed.

Participant rights and interests – Free Consent/Withdrawal from Participation

Valid consent is to be obtained from participants through the use of the attached consent form.

You have the right to withdraw your participation from the project freely, without question or explanation, at any time throughout the interview.

Participant rights and interests – Privacy & Confidentiality

Your signed consent form, the audio recording of the interviews, and the electronic transcription of the interviews will be stored in secure locations. The signed consent forms will be stored in a locked filing cabinet at Swinburne University, whilst the electronic recordings of the interviews will stored within a password protected folder at the main student investigator’s computer at Swinburne University.

Throughout the period of the study, respondents will be assigned a coded participant number. The data connecting participants to their coded numbers will be stored in an encrypted spread sheet within the main student investigator’s computer at Swinburne. The electronic files (both the recordings and the transcriptions) will be stored within password protected folders within the main student investigator’s computer at Swinburne University.

Upon the study’s completion, all electronic files will be transferred and stored within a password protected USB drive for the mandatory statutory period of five years before being deleted. The signed consent forms will be stored in a locked filing cabinet at the primary supervisor’s office, and will be shredded at the same time as the password protected USB drive is destroyed.

Follow up arrangements will be made with participants to ensure the accuracy and, in some cases anonymity, of the collected data. This will be achieved by sending participants the relevant section of the thesis that their interview is included within, and asking participants to

205 ensure that the information is both accurate, and in applicable cases, anonymous. This process is important for both participants who choose remain anonymous, and participants who have not.

Research output As outlined above, the data collected in the interview will be used within a PhD thesis. It may also be used in further academic publications or presentations by the primary researcher. A copy of the section of the thesis relevant to your participation will be made available to you via email. At this time, each participant can check for accuracy – and in the case of participants that have elected to remain anonymous, ensure that they cannot be identified within the data.

Further information For further information regarding the project, please contact: Dr Esther Milne Head of Humanities, Arts and Social Sciences Faculty of Life and Social Sciences Swinburne University of Technology [email protected] 03 9214 8195

This project has been approved by or on behalf of Swinburne’s Human Research Ethics Committee (SUHREC) in line with the National Statement on Ethical Conduct in Human Research. If you have any concerns or complaints about the conduct of this project, you can contact:

Research Ethics Officer, Swinburne Research (H68), Swinburne University of Technology, P O Box 218, HAWTHORN VIC 3122. Tel (03) 9214 5218 or +61 3 9214 5218 or [email protected]

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Appendix Item Four: Consent information form

Swinburne University of Technology

Consent Instrument for Interview Participants

Project Title: An examination of how to challenge and change women’s representation in the Australian mass media

Principal Investigator(s): Jessamy Gleeson

1. I consent to participate in the project named above. I have been provided a copy of the project consent information statement to which this consent form relates and any questions I have asked have been answered to my satisfaction.

2. In relation to this project, please circle your response to the following:

§ I agree to be interviewed by the researcher Yes No

§ I agree to allow the interview to be recorded by electronic device Yes No

§ I agree to make myself available for further information if required Yes No

3. I acknowledge that:

(a) my participation is voluntary and that I am free to withdraw from the project at any time without explanation;

(b) the Swinburne project is for the purpose of research and not for profit;

(c) any identifiable information about me which is gathered in the course of and as the result of my participating in this project will be (i) collected and retained for the purpose of this project and (ii) accessed and analysed by the researcher(s) for the purpose of conducting this project;

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(d) my anonymity is preserved and I will not be identified in publications or otherwise without my express written consent.

By signing this document I agree to participate in this project.

Name of Participant: ……………………………………………………………………………

Signature & Date: ………………………………………………………………………………..

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Appendix Item Five: Complete interviewee list

Group A - Campaigners Kate Drury - Sack Vile Kyle Jackie McMillan - Sack Vile Kyle Roz Allardice - Sack Vile Kyle Melinda Tankard Reist - Collective Shout Melinda Liszewski - Collective Shout Caitlin Roper - Collective Shout El Gibbs - Destroy the Joint Jennie Hill - Destroy the Joint Christine Donayre - Destroy the Joint

Group B - Media producers and activists Van Badham Karen Pickering Cath Manning Catherine Deveny Sarah Oakes Fury Celeste Liddle Nabila Farhat Simone Flanagan

Group C - Academics, and member of political and regulatory groups Julie Collins Louise North Charmaine Moldrich Julian Thomas

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