twitter | Megan's Head

Taking Sides

On April 14, 2018

In Cape Town, deeply personal, political

I woke up nauseous this morning. At first I thought I was physically ill, but the minute I turned on my computer and went to both Facebum and twitter in two different tabs but simultaneously, I felt the bile and my temperature rise.

Of course I see what I follow. This morning it was, in no particular order, the Israeli defence force’s slaughter of unarmed marchers, the bombing of Syria, a racist conflict on an aeroplane, a few incomprehensible decisions by Donald Trump, the glorification and vilifying of Winnie Madikizela Mandela, the mountains of plastic polluting our oceans, the online abuse of women, nasty jokes about vegans, vegans abusing dairy farmers, and pleas to donate to gay rights, animal abuse, the Palestinian cause, making theatre, and a sick child.

No wonder it feels like end of days. The thing I hate about social media is that it is devoid of nuance. Everybody is shouting and everything is so extreme. It is like living with the volume button stuck on rage. Everything is about taking sides. And if you are on the other side of anything you are open to abuse, from the side it looks like you are against.

I started feeling a bit frantic. The feeling carried on while we walked the dogs; Linus seemed to be a bit under the weather.

And then I came home and I saw that the seeds I had sown, literally, in the tiny patch of soil in our weenie front yard, had started to spring up. Poppy seeds make the tiniest green sprouts, smaller than an ant’s head, and there are the tiniest tomato shoots growing from where tomatoes fell off the miracle tomato vine that grew by itself and yielded the most delicious and unusual pear shaped cherry tomatoes, and I think I saw some sweet pea shoots (maybe).

I am not going back to social media today. I am going to buy special dog food for Linus. I am going to water my shoots with grey water, and I am going to a live discussion and meet up about whether there should be a creative policy around BDS in support of Palestine.

I will just post this link on FB and twitter so you can read about it and take sides.

Shamed on Social Media

By megan

On October 23, 2017

In Cape Town, deeply personal, political, small furries, Uncategorized

I wasn’t sure I was ever going to be able to come back here, but I guess it is like riding a bike: Fall off, climb back on again. I am not sure that if your legs are broken it is even possible, but, given time, even with broken but mending legs, it is said to be the best medicine. Right now I probably need this medicine. I am doing this with my heart in my mouth.

When is the right time to respond? Is it too soon? Is it too late? Will I be accused of starting it up again?

Just over a week ago I made a hideous mistake based on a completely knee-jerk reaction about a goat that I perceived was in distress. Coupled with my reaction was an idiotic post I made on a Facebook group that I am part of, asking for help. After I saw what had happened, and how the thing had spiralled down into hideous, racist, Islamophobic assumptions by idiots commenting on my post, I rushed to make a very public apology, so fast I even messed that up, and then apologised again, and then again. The family who I hurt accepted, and then later questioned and rejected my apology.

I will be very surprised if you, my readers, have not seen the resulting fallout from #goatgate, on social media, in the newspapers and on the radio. I was made fun of, threatened, trolled, called names. I was sent private messages of the most filthy abuse. My blog was targeted, my apology rejected, my personal details distributed, screen grabs (not including my apology) shared, my work threatened, my name ridiculed, my past discredited, my politics rejected. I was made fun of by South Africa’s comedians, I was given lessons in what I should have done, I was threatened and silenced and warned that my actions were indefensible. I was vilified by actresses in the industry; some who know me and some who don’t.

Three articles featured prominently on IOL, M&G and Cape Times. These were shared like holiday sweets on Facebook and Twitter. One of the articles was written by a Facebook friend. Not once was I asked for my side of the story, or even to comment. With all my contact information totally accessible to anyone (for abuse), I was not contacted by the ‘journalists’ even though I was quoted by them, when they lifted what I had written on Facebook. The only media outlet that made contact with me was Radio Islam who asked if I would come onto their morning show to give my side of the story. Of course I said yes. They were the only ones ever who asked.

Alongside the deep shame and humiliation I felt about this horrible thing was the powerless sense of my silence. I understood the temperature of the room and realised that anything I said was fuel to the fire and I had to keep quiet, get off social media and only invest in one-on-one interactions. It was clear that my apology didn’t support the narrative and was mostly left out of any further portrayals of me, the racist, hater, whitesplainer. Two people asked to meet with me, to hear what I had to say, of the hundreds who sent messages of abuse and name calling. Two people who were very offended by what I had done; one publicly and one privately schooling me and putting me in my place. These meetings have not happened yet.

The fallout has extended further into my world of work. I have always understood that I have a public profile that lends itself to controversy. I don’t do myself any favours by writing about theatre, here on meganshead and for Weekend Special. I saw two plays last week and couldn’t write about them. I knew that people would be looking at the ‘who’ of the review instead of the ‘what’, and that everybody would suffer.

When I think about it with a bit of distance the one thing that is funny is that I am always desperate for publicity for my work. I struggle to get media attention for my plays; always begging friends and colleagues for airtime and press. I haven’t been on the radio talking about my plays in years. I have to rely on my own small publicity machine on social media for any exposure. But all over all media, Megan Furniss – well known theatre maker, actress, director, famous in South African theatre circles, made headlines.

I still feel sick about this. I still feel silenced and ashamed. I still wish I could turn back the clock and take it all back. And yet, I know, in a world more gentle, and kind, my real concern for an animal in distress (regardless of it being part of a petting zoo at a children’s birthday party) would have been just that. Me. Super sensitive about an animal tied to a pole.

Opening A Can of Beans – Considering Veganism

By megan

On December 29, 2016

In Cape Town, deeply personal, diet, inspiration

I have wanted to become a vegan for many years but haven’t been able to bring myself to the point of actually doing it. It has mostly been about laziness; I kept on imagining that it would take considerable effort, and time and work. I have been a pescetarian/vegetarian for most of my adult life, and then, when I went on the Dukan diet I had to eat protein, so I ate fish, eggs and cheese a lot. In the back (and slowly moving to the middle) of my mind was the knowledge that vegan was really what I wanted to be.

I decided that becoming a vegan was going to be a new year’s resolution, and so I have been gradually preparing for it. I have been buying some stuff to have in the cupboard, I have made the switch to milk alternative in my coffee (delicious) and I have been reading ingredients labels with dedication (and fury; who knew that had egg in it?). I have also been listening, deeply, to Big friendly’s concerns. Becoming a vegan when you are married to a food fussy omnivore is problematic and challenging.

I have a few concerns about my lazy nature, my propensity for weight gain, and my tendency to overindulge. I could become a bread ball in a matter of weeks. But I am going to try and be as conscious and committed as I can. It most definitely looks like Cape Town is perfect vegan country, with restaurants, shops and even delis dedicated to providing for the fast growing vegan community, so there won’t be any stress there.

Where there is stress is on Twitter. Wow. In preparation for my transition I have read a lot on the internet; checked out recipes, blogs, science, pseudoscience, and deeply personal tips from vegans worldwide. I also decided to follow some vegan related people/things on Twitter. Bad idea. I got a DM from someone demanding I stop the killing NOW! I replied that that was why I was starting my journey, and promptly unfollowed them. Somebody else screamed at somebody else that dairy-free was NOT vegan and they need a disclaimer in their one line bio. And then there were the links that led to nothing but clickbait and ads. So, being a #twittervegan is not going to work for me.

I am going to have to tread carefully. A friend told me about how his sister who is a vegan gets abused and challenged by flesh eaters every day. Why? Shouldn’t it be the other way around actually? But, that is not who or what I want to become. I have already done that with smoking. Over half a lifetime of smoking and then 14 years of having quit made me into one of those rabid anti-smokers for a while, and it was hard work. Nah, I am too, too lazy for that.

But. I am going to need help. And suggestions. And great ideas. And encouragement. So if you have any or all of those, I am open, like a vegan recipe book.

Cape Town is Racist

By megan

On December 28, 2011

In Cape Town, complaints dept, deeply personal, political

I followed the #CapeTownIsRacist hooha on twitter. I watched it with the usual dismay. Nothing like a sweeping statement to draw the lines between, around and through the general masses and get tail feathers ruffled. And then it got personal, and people started name calling, and dredging up articles that proved their point and rallied to make sure #CapeTownIsAmazing became the toppest trend.

And, I have to say, I got so completely sad; particularly from the most common white response, which was the usual absolute denial and defensiveness. “Cape Town is Not Racist! Eva!” “Not us! You!” “How dare you generalise?” And more, and worse.

This got me thinking. Why would anyone say Cape Town is racist if it wasn’t? What would be the point of that? Surely, it is safe to assume that if someone said it, that was what they felt. And how could any single white Capetonian get all high and mighty and declare it ain’t so? How the hell would they know? Now I am not claiming that it is or isn’t true. I just think that the decent thing to do would be to shut up and listen, take notice and care deeply that a black person would feel that. Then, I would try my hardest not to try and convince the world on twitter that it wasn’t true, but to understand, care and change things. It is our problem, whether it is a perception or an action. And shouting about it being not true doesn’t make it so. I am deeply afraid that the defensive bleating might end up proving the opposite; since that’s what it sounds like. It sounds racist to me.

There is a better way of making friends and influencing people, white Capetonians. Know yourself.

Ironic?

By megan

On August 8, 2011

In political

Putting the fest to bed

By megan

On July 10, 2011

In deeply personal, G'town, theatre stuff

I wanted to write a general post with little bits and pieces, stories and skinner, before I forgot them and got straight back into real life.

I loved being at the fest this year. It was my first time ever that I went as an observer/writer/blogger, as opposed to performer or director, and the shift in stress levels was remarkable! My only wistfulness was that I had to drink all the wine at Bushman’s where I was staying, instead of in G’town, because I couldn’t drive drunk! I am also fired up about bringing work to the fest next year, which is a good sign.

Reasons (other than good shows) I loved the festival this year: I loved Garvey’s coffee at The Monument. I drove the 60 odd k’s in the morning for a macchiato in a real cup. More expensive than most of the meals I ate, but completely spectacular. I brought a bag of his coffee back for Big Friendly. I loved The Art Lounge and the cutey Argentinian boys who made great masala chai, gluwein, veg pies. It was bladdy cold hanging out there, but it was delicious. I loved Fusion (I think) at Cape Town Edge. Mark remembers everyone, and he makes us feel special. It’s also the best food, and jauling, at the fest. I loved being invited to perform at improv comedy at Cape Town Edge, as a fundraiser. I loved hanging with my little sisters and shooting the breeze, slagging off bad shows. Fiona (Shorty’s daughter) du Plooy and Candice (oh my word) D’Arcy are fantastic fest friends. I loved disagreeing with Simon Cooper about virtually every show we saw. I loved evening replays of some of the funny moments with Helen, Mike R, Anthony and Simon. I loved getting hopelessly lost and having Simon and Mike give up the best parking place to find me. I loved weeing with laughter at The Spur with Ntombi, Thembani and Connie. I loved banging into Strato, a Gtown local and friend, and catching up. I loved my chats to Toby and her sister about everything they had seen, and getting feedback on stuff I recommended. I loved Jon Keevy but didn’t see him enough. I loved free wi-fi at The Monument and at The Spur. I loved writing and posting reviews. I loved my media badge and bag, and all the comps I got, and the fantastic Cilnette in the media office. I loved being media (thanks Steve) and having more than my own blog to share my loud and opinionated voice with.

I hated the cold. I hated missing shows completely because of no electricity. I hated those moments where I realised I wasn’t going to see everything I was asked to see, and I saw the look I obviously gave every year to everyone, right back at me. I promise I’ll never do it again. I hated being so far away and leaving the passing of precious Bayla in the hands of Big Friendly. I hated that I was traveling home on my godson’s birthday! I hated that one or two rubbish shows got ‘ovations’ and accolades. I hated some CUE reviews. I hated what happened to the posters in the rain. I hated being manipulated into giving parking money by everyone who saw me leaving a parking spot even though I had found it all by myself.

I loved facebook and twitter and BBM for hooking me up, keeping me in touch and allowing me the occasional vent. It was a good one.

Megan's Head

A place where Megan gets off her head.

Tag: twitter (Page 1 of 3)

Taking Sides

Opening A Can of Beans – Considering Veganism

Cape Town is Racist

Ironic?

Putting the fest to bed

Categories

Tags

Archives