Gender balancing will not tackle issues of inequality

During the NUS National Conference 2013 earlier this week, a controversial topic was brought up and deliberated by delegates from universities across the UK. The issue was on ‘Gender Balancing’, and whether the NUS should adopt a policy where at least 50% of its executive and 50% of its student delegates are made up by women.

Motion 701 was being whispered around conference like a dirty word, one which was not spoken aloud for fear of debate and outcry. The debate itself lasted nearly an hour, with the delegates voting on the controversial motion to be decided by a secret ballot. In a narrow victory, delegates decided to vote against the motion.

There was no applause by the audience, in fact the situation in Sheffield City Hall was so hostile you felt like you were sitting in the middle of a Coalition cabinet meeting. People moaned about the result, others complained that the result was bad for women and female students.

If anything, I think the result was a good thing. The problem with gender balancing is that it does not solve anything. It just coats over the problem of gender inequality with a whitewash.

For those that don’t understand what gender balancing means, it’s the idea that we should set a quota for the number of women in an executive panel like the NUS, to make it more equal and fair for women. The subject has cropped up in the world of business, where efforts have been made to increase the number of women in company boardrooms.

Although I do believe that in this society, the hegemonic views of men in society have oppressed women for far too long, gender balancing in my view just isn’t the answer. We seem to be content on using women as a number, objectifying females to boost a figure on a spreadsheet in the name of equality.

The idea that selecting female candidates for roles such as the NUS on the basis that they’re a woman and not for their ideas is degrading. It doesn’t represent anything, it just proves that people are naïve about the benefits of gender balancing.

The arguments for motion 701 were that “discrimination and oppression in society often means women students are underrepresented”. This argument seems slightly ambiguous. If the argument is that society is oppressing women, surely we should be attacking society and the government to do more, rather than focus on putting more women in the boardroom. You need to get to the core of the problem to resolve it; voting for at least 50% of candidates to be women will only exacerbate the issue.

20^th century society has often put the man at the top of the food chain. But that is changing, the 21^st century is becoming more equal. Think about education results; more girls are consistently achieving higher marks then boys at school and college. During the Olympics, it was thefor their sporting triumphs and presenting styles. Over the last decade, women in politics have had a much bigger voice – Harriet Harman, Theresa May etc; all showing how women can achieve through their hard work and determination alone.

Even the NUS proved that their concerns about gender inequality are unfounded, a union where more than 50% of students are women. 3 out of the 6 executive members from the NUS elected by students this week were women, including our new NUS president Toni Pearce. They were picked for their policies and pledges, not to meet a quota. They were elected on merit, not sex.

Inequality is still apparent in our society, I certainly don’t deny that, but voting to elect people on their gender and not their policies is unequal. Voting for gender balancing by the NUS would have been a case of ‘ten steps back’ for women.

Lets look at raising the profile of women in society by working with businesses, in government and in education together, but also focusing on minority groups; ethnic minorities, disabled groups and the LGBT community. Positive change and campaigning will always prove more pivotal than a token woman sitting at the boardroom table.

Coming out has brought me closer to my family

It’s taken me five years to accept I’m gay. Five years of anxiety, denial, depression, unease and deceit. Five years to acknowledge my sexuality and prepare to tell my family. How long did it take them to accept it? About five seconds.

Coming out to my family and friends was perhaps my proudest achievement of 2012. I might have bungee jumped off a bridge in New Zealand and volunteered as a Games Maker at the Olympics, but nothing compares to the relief of finally accepting and being accepted as the person you really are. It has boosted my confidence, made me feel at ease with the world and brought me closer to my family.

It was midway through secondary school that my feelings towards boys started blossoming, although in hindsight it was probably earlier then that when the feelings were noticeable. Flashback to my hot neighbour across the road and it all comes flooding back. I had a love of drama, singing and dancing from such an early age, which for most parents would raise the alarm. It’s certainly something my mother was well aware of.

“You’re really gay? I’ve known since you were nine!” was her response when I came out to her in early September last year. Picking the perfect moment - she was driving when I told her - she pushed her foot down slightly harder on the accelerator then she would normally as we drove up the dual carriageway. Car crash averted, thankfully.

I knew my Mum would take it well. In fact, I knew she knew. When I was still curled up inside her womb she famously told my grandmother that I would grow up to be a ‘ballet dancer’, much to my grandmother’s horror (she declared I’d be a footballer. I hate football. Sorry Grandma.) So even from birth it looked like I was destined for the life of a gay man. And here I am. Happy, comfortable; out and proud.

Nevertheless, it still took me five long, emotional years to accept it. Secondary school is no place for a gay boy. I was taunted by boys for being ‘camp’, quizzed by bitchy girls about my sexuality and ridiculed for my love of acting and the limelight. Thankfully, I hid it well. Choosing to ignore it at first proved the best option, and kissing girls and having a couple of girlfriends kept the bullies at bay. But a boy who hated sport, was only friends with girls and loved Hairspray and Strictly Come Dancing was always going to be coming out the closet at some point.

College swiftly passed by and again, the rumours persisted, but my stance remained the same. “It’s just a phase,” I’d repeat to myself every day. I used to make resolutions every new year that I wouldn’t look at a man in a certain way, that I wouldn’t watch any indecent videos online, but it took only a few days for my hormones to get the better of me and admit defeat as I flicked through Youporn.

Living in the country didn’t help things. No one was gay, apart from the stereotypical gay’s who everyone loathed and who I tried to avoid on most occasions. There was no one to talk to. There were perhaps one or two friends I knew at school who felt the same way, but speaking with them only made me more and more confused. Bottling it up and trying to forget about it made me depressed and emotional. It meant I kept my distance from my family, locked myself up in my room away from my family and their rumours. On one occasion, when I overheard my mum and younger brother discussing my sexuality (he used to tease me regularly, despite being very welcoming and protective now), I felt so low I was determined to change.

University was the moment for change. Getting away from my family seemed the perfect opportunity to forget about my previous feelings and start afresh. Knowing no one else was perfect, it meant people didn’t gossip about you or question your sexuality. It was perfect. I was kissing girls, living the life of a fresher.

But I was living a lie. Deep down, I knew the act couldn’t last forever. The other good thing about university is that the majority of people here are open and liberal about attitudes to sexuality. I mix with lesbians, bisexuals and gays on a day-to-day basis and no one complains, no one stares and no one is secretly gossiping about you behind your back.

On one drunken night, I kissed a boy who was staying with my friend for the weekend. I knew what I wanted, I knew I had to finally do it and face up to it. And it felt good. From that point on I knew I was gay, I just had to learn to be comfortable with it. A few months down the line and after meeting a few guys through Twitter for dates, I finally met one who made me see me for who I really was. A 19-year-old student hoping to crack the world of journalism, who also happens to be a homosexual. It was the first moment in all my life that I finally felt comfortable, and most of all, happy.

And from then on, I’ve never looked back. Soon after telling my Mum, I told my university friends and childhood pals. All were happy for me, even if most of them were unsurprised. Coming out was easy. Trying not to make a big deal out of it was reassuring, like a weight lifting from your shoulders. Once I had told a few key friends, I waited for the rumours to do the talking. Now most people know and there have been no problems.

My relationship with my family however has been the key change. Short of throwing me a ‘coming out’ party and belting out that infamous Diana Ross song, my Mum stood by me as I told the rest of my family. Despite a few shocks by one or two relatives, everyone has been understanding and supportive. Now I’ve told them, we can go back to normal. And that’s just it, I am normal. I have not changed who I am; my personality hasn’t gone from a moderate Neil Patrick-Harris to an over-excited Alan Carr.

I’m still Kieran. The white elephant in the room has been addressed and there are no more awkward glances between my family, glances that ask, “Is he? Isn’t he?” I can even joke about it to my Mum, who recently sent me a 'coming-out' card with two Ken dolls from Barbie getting married. I guess I can only thank the woman who bought me Abba Gold as my first album when I was ten (yes that happened, and yes my favourite song is Fernando.)

So my big bad secret turned out to be the best thing that could have ever happened to me. A happy, single gay man looking forward to a successful, colourful future.

(Picture: the card my Mum sent me)

Quick note to say if you want to discuss any issues I've raised or the experiences I've been through, or if you just fancy a natter, you can talk to me through my twitter account: @kieranwatkins or via email, kdj_says_hey@hotmail.co.uk