MSD accessed some people’s intimate texts and images. Photo: Getty Images
MSD accessed some people’s intimate texts and images. Photo: Getty Images

SocietyMarch 14, 2018

#MeTooTinder: One woman’s experience of dating apps and sexual assault

MSD accessed some people’s intimate texts and images. Photo: Getty Images
MSD accessed some people’s intimate texts and images. Photo: Getty Images

Dating apps have made meeting people to date and have sex with simpler than ever, but with their ease of use comes risks. Is it time we had a #MeToo conversation about Tinder?

PLEASE NOTE: this article includes graphic descriptions of sexual assault.

When the #metoo social movement emerged from the Harvey Weinstein fallout, I found myself becoming anxious every time I unlocked my phone and scrolled through my newsfeed. My partner said it was important that women were coming forward and sharing their stories, and I agreed. But the horrible feeling in my stomach was not about a lack of empathy, but rather a feeling of losing control over my own life, my own stories and how I related to them now. The #metoo movement made me remember things I did not want to, that I had pushed to the back of my mind, labelling them “silly accidents,” “my own fault,” and “too shameful to speak of”.

I used to do a lot of online dating. In theory, it’s appealing to be able to sell yourself from the comfort of your own home, especially for someone like me who is naturally awkward and would prefer not to have to strike up a conversation at the pub or join a hobby group. You can upload your best photos and take time to be witty about your life, your interests, your dreams and your dislikes, and all while sitting in your pyjamas.

Through online dating, I did meet some great people. I even dated one for three years. Then, newly single, I realised everyone seemed now to be using Tinder. Call me prudish or naive, but I didn’t realise the app’s reputation as a vehicle for hook-ups. I’m not altogether sure how to describe my experiences because they were incredibly varied: I had some dates that made me cringe and some that made me smile. But I soon learned that my expectation of finding someone for more than one night did not match up with most of the guys I met.

I remember two men from Tinder in particular. They’re the ones who stand out when I think about the #metoo campaign and my response to it. They are why I feel strongly about facing these experiences – and doing something, anything, to address what happened. I find it ironic that I paid for therapy to regain my own confidence after encountering these two men, when they who trampled on it went on as before.

Here’s my first story. I was travelling overseas for work and, not knowing anyone in the city, I found myself looking at local profiles on Tinder. One guy stood out to me more than the others and I swiped right. We began a conversation about music, art and whether ‘hard sciences’ were better than social sciences. He complimented me on my red hair. We shared the same mixture of ethnicities and upbringings in different countries and agreed that before I left we would meet. Was I attracted to him? Yes.

A show seemed to be the best place to have a date – always meet someone in a public space, right? He seemed as sweet and intelligent as I anticipated. After the show, we walked the streets and I forgot about the time. My vocabulary in his language was more limited, so soon we were strolling in silence. Before I knew it, we were in the apartment I had rented. At the time, I thought serendipity.

In the past, I’d felt beholden to perform sexual acts because men expected it of me, and this night I wanted to have a wanton night of pleasure – and our encounter was just that. Until it wasn’t. Until I tensed up because I was being pushed into a position of pain and my breath caught in my chest as it was pressed against the mattress. Until my neck twisted. Until I could feel him trying to penetrate me anally without lubrication and I tried to put my hands back to stop it, saying “no don’t, please”. But he grabbed them, continued, and I held my breath. I was unable to think, and the more painful it was, the more emotionally numb I became.

Afterwards, left bleeding on the bed alone, I did not blame him. I did not call the police. I felt such shame thinking of all the moments where I could have asserted myself. And that I had perhaps encouraged it. I even messaged a friend to tell her that the night had gone well.

On my return to New Zealand, I convinced myself it hadn’t happened. I made myself date more, trying to forget about it. I met some sweet men, but my heart wasn’t in it. I slept with men who just wanted sex because I didn’t want to connect on an emotional level. Looking back, I was trying to protect myself. Yet at a deeper level, I felt the same expectation I had in earlier sexual encounters: that as a woman I was there to please men sexually.

And then when I met someone – again, on Tinder – who I did like, genuinely, the night ended in disaster. He filled my wine glass up again and again, and I didn’t notice because I was so engrossed in the conversation; I thought, “finally, I’m laughing!”. I have little memory of what happened afterwards. I woke up the next morning with bruises around my neck and upper arms, and his equivocation: “I wasn’t going to do anything because I realised I would genuinely want to have you in my life as a friend. But then the wine happened…”

My neck hurt. I was confused. And I couldn’t sleep for days. In the aftermath, an acquaintance who is best friends with my ‘one-night stand’, called me a slut. He was interested in me, but I had been adamant that I would not sleep with him without getting to know him first. Apparently, the incident with his friend revealed my true character and he felt lucky because he had been ‘saved from a whore’ like me.

I didn’t tell him about the bruises. Or how I didn’t remember anything.

All I knew was that touching my neck sent shivers down my spine. That my vagina hurt and the swelling did not reduce for days. I told him that he had no right to slander me publicly while giving his friend a free pass. But the damage was done. Somehow I summoned the courage to forward my one night stand the horrifically abusive messages I had received from his friend.

His response? That he didn’t realise his friend liked me or he wouldn’t have given me all that wine or touched me. And his way of fixing it all would be to take his friend out the next night and find him a girl to sleep with. But I wasn’t fixed.

I have two reasons for writing this; they’re both simple messages I want to share. I hid away from my trauma and blamed myself for a long time. I cut off all of my hair because the man overseas whispered that he knew redheads “liked it dirty”. I acted normally because I wanted all the memories to disappear. But it was only when I accepted that these things happened, that I was sexually assaulted and taken advantage of and it was not my fault, that I began to heal.

Secondly, although Tinder and other online dating sites can be wonderful, I worry that there are other people who have had similar experiences to mine and felt it was their fault too. The two experiences I describe here are different from one another. Yet the shame that resulted was the same.

I know what many of you might be thinking. Why didn’t I call the police when I was sexually assaulted while overseas? Why did I not consider doing anything about this second incident, which happened here at home? And the only answer I have is perhaps why a lot of women in the #metoo movement did nothing at the time. Shame is an incredibly suffocating emotion, and it takes very little to convince yourself that you must have done something, or not done something, that led to the event in question.

Yes, we should teach women of all ages to be aware of the danger signs in any sexual situation, but I have learned after a lot of soul-searching and tears that there are no shades of grey to consent. There are no maybes, there are no half-yeses. Consent should be clear, it should be sought, it should be an on-going process. And it should not produce shame.

Like many things in our culture which should are not inherently shameful, there is a stigma attached to being sexually assaulted. So I am all for the honest conversations prompted by the #metoo campaign, even if they cause distress from time to time. But I would like to suggest another hashtag, #metootinder, to open up a dialogue about the role dating apps can have in sexual power dynamics, coercion and in my case, rape. We discuss the harassment we get from men every day in our work and public spaces. For me, #metoo is about having a space to tell my experience and own what happened to me. Because this movement is not static, and it’s time.

‘Gemma Stevens’ is a pseudonym.

If the events depicted in this story have been triggering in any way, please consider contacting any of the following organisations:

Rape Crisis

Women’s Refuge

Lifeline

HELP

 

Keep going!
Photo: Getty Images
Photo: Getty Images

SocietyMarch 13, 2018

How to cut the prison population by 50% in five years

Photo: Getty Images
Photo: Getty Images

The government is about to make a final decision on a 1500-bed expansion to Waikeria Prison that would make it larger than even the biggest prison in the UK. Anti-expansion campaigner Roger Brooking explains why building more and larger prisons is exactly the wrong solution to our incarceration epidemic.

Cutting the prison population by 30% – quick fix solutions

In September 2017, New Zealand’s prison population hit an all-time high of 10,470, of whom 2,983 or 28% were on remand. I give the background to and reasons for this boom in my column Explaining NZ’s record high prison population.

Whatever the causes, the situation is clearly out of control. The operating cost of our prison system is about $100,000 per prisoner or $1.5 billion a year. Before it left office, the National government put in motion plans for a new prison at Waikeria at an estimated cost of $2.5 billion. According to new justice minister Andrew Little, unless we start doing things differently, New Zealand will need to build a new prison every two or three years.

At the 2017 election, Gareth Morgan proposed reducing the prison muster by 40% over ten years. The Labour coalition wants to reduce it by 30% over 15 years. However, Andrew Little and Corrections Minister Kelvin Davis have been very vague about how they intend to achieve this while making no obvious effort to cancel the Waikeria plans.

Reducing the prison population is not difficult. The simplest approach is to repeal most of the ‘tough on crime’ legislation that has been passed in the last 25 years. There are also some easy administrative fixes which will reduce the prison population by up to 3,000 very quickly.

1. Reduce the number of prisoners on remand

Of all the punitive legislation passed since 1980, the Bail Amendment Act in 2013 produced the biggest bump in prison numbers. This disastrous piece of legislation was introduced after the murder of Christie Marceau by 18-year-old Akshay Chand while on bail. However, this was not a failure of the existing bail laws. It was the result of an inadequate risk assessment by the mental health services dealing with Chand, who was subsequently diagnosed with schizophrenia and found unfit to stand trial. He was released after a forensic health nurse advised Judge McNaughton that Chand had been taking anti-depressant medication for two weeks and could be “safely and successfully” treated in the community.

In response to the media outrage at the murder, led by Garth McVicar of the Sensible Sentencing Trust, the National government passed the Bail Amendment Act, making it much tougher for defendants to be granted bail. Projections by the Ministry of Justice claimed the new Bill would increase the number of prisoners on remand by less than 60. But three years later, there are 1,500 new prisoners on remand. None of them have yet been convicted of a crime. They’re being held in prison because a mental health nurse, not a judge, got it wrong and because National gave in to whipped-up moral hysteria. As a result, the Corrections Department says we need a new prison. We don’t. We just need to repeal the Bail Amendment Act.

2. Release more short-term, low risk prisoners

The other quick fix is to let out more short-term prisoners early. The Parole Act defines a short-term prison sentence as one of two years or less. Short-term prisoners don’t go before the parole board – they’re automatically released after serving half their sentence. In 2015, there were nearly 1,900 short-term inmates on a given day (although thousands more than this cycle through the prison within a 12 month period). The Board would be totally overwhelmed if it had to see all these inmates, many of whom are in prison for quite minor offences. So automatic release at the half-way mark is an administrative convenience.

A long-term sentence is anything over two years (from two years up to life). Since 1985 ‘tough on crime’ legislation has significantly increased the number of long term prisoners (see chart above); the number of people given ‘long term’ sentences between two and three years went up 475%. In 2015, there were 765 inmates in this group, out of a total of nearly 5,000 long term prisoners.

These prisoners can only be released before the end of their sentence if the Parole Board decides they no longer pose an ‘undue risk’ to the community. Most attend their first parole hearing after completing one third of their sentence. But that doesn’t mean they get out. In the last few years, the Parole Board has become increasingly risk averse and now less than 5% of inmates are released at their first hearing – after which they serve the rest of their sentence in the community under the supervision of a probation officer. Most long-term prisoners now serve approximately 75% of their sentence. The remainder serve their entire sentence.

So if the definition of ‘short-term’ was changed from two years to three years. That would allow an additional 765 inmates to be released automatically after serving half their sentence. Prisoners serving four or five years could be automatically released after serving two thirds. In 2015, there were 1,645 inmates serving between two and five years. Add this to the 1,500 no longer being held on remand and within five years, the population would be down about 3,000 – which is 30% within five years.

Prisoners also need accommodation and jobs when they get out. That requires long-term solutions, which would reduce the prison population by a further 20%.

Corrections Minister Kelvin Davis. (Photo credit FRANCOIS NASCIMBENI/AFP/Getty Images)

Cutting the prison population by 50% – long term solutions

Cutting the prison population by 30% is easy: repeal the Bail Amendment Act and allow more short-term prisoners to be released after serving half their sentence. But to get to 50%, we also need to stop putting so many people in prison in the first place. And we need to reduce the re-offending rate. Unlike the quick fixes, these will require some financial investment.

1. Increase the price of alcohol and decriminalise cannabis

Despite the endless scaremongering about methamphetamine and synthetic cannabinoids, alcohol is by far the biggest drug problem in the country. In Alcohol in our Lives, the Law Commission said 80% of all offending is alcohol and drug related. The Commission concluded that increasing the price of alcohol 10% (by raising the taxation component) was the single most effective intervention to reduce alcohol-related harm and would raise $350 million in revenue. It also recommended an increase in the legal age of purchase to 20, restricting the sale of alcohol in supermarkets (which now account for 70% of all alcohol sold in New Zealand), and an increase in funding for addiction and mental health treatment. The National government ignored all these recommendations.

Decriminalising cannabis would also help keep drug users out of prison. If the government wanted to be really bold, it could decriminalise possession of all drugs, as Portugal has done. This strategy is supported by the New Zealand Drug Foundation, which recently released Whakawatea Te Huarahi, “a model for drug law reform which aims to replace conviction with treatment and prohibition with regulation… under this model, all drugs would be decriminalised. Cannabis would be strictly regulated and government spending on education and treatment increased.”

This would make a big difference. In 2015, offenders with drug offences accounted for 13% of all sentenced prisoners. So apart from a few big-time drug dealers who would remain in prison, if personal possession was decriminalised, that’s another 800 people or so that could be treated in the community instead of in prison.

2. Increase the number of drug courts

Decriminalisation needs to be aligned with a significant increase in funding for drug courts. Here’s how they work: when someone appears in court with alcohol or drug related offending, the judge gives him a choice. Instead of sending him to prison for the umpteenth time, if the offender agrees to be dealt with in the drug court and go to treatment, he may avoid going to prison.

The offender comes back to court every two weeks so the judge can monitor his progress. The whole process usually takes about 18 months. If the offender successfully completes everything he’s told to do, he avoids a prison sentence. Those who ‘graduate’ say this process is much tougher than going to prison.

This is a highly effective intervention. But right now, there are only two drug courts in the whole country, and they ‘treat’ only 100 offenders a year. Over the next five years, New Zealand needs to increase the number of drug courts to at least ten. This will require a significant increase in funding for alcohol and other drug treatment services in the community, but it would keep at least 500 offenders a year out of prison. If drug courts were rolled out nationwide, even more could be managed in the community.

3. Increase funding for reintegration services

Sending fewer people to prison is paramount. Reducing the risk of reoffending is equally important. Currently, within 12 months, 28% of ex-prisoners are back inside. After two years, 41% are back in prison. These figures have changed little in the last 20 years, despite a massive increase in the availability of alcohol and drug treatment in prison; and despite a concerted effort by Corrections in the last few years to reduce reoffending by 25%.

The problem is Corrections spends approximately $150 million a year on rehabilitation programmes in prison – on programmes that don’t work. There’s a reason they don’t work. The reality is that 15,000 people (most on short sentences) are released from prison every year. Many are alienated from family and have nowhere to live. Very few have jobs to go to. Hundreds have no ID, no bank account and struggle to register for the dole. In Beyond the Prison Gate, the Salvation Army recommended that “That the Department of Corrections ensures all ex-prisoners are provided with six months of accommodation… and create industry schemes that will employ prisoners for … 12 months post release if they have no other employment.”

Here’s the crux of the problem. While the Department spends $150 million on rehabilitation in prison every year, in 2017 only $3 million was budgeted for supported accommodation – for an estimated 640 ex-prisoners. Until $150 million is also spent on half-way houses and reintegration services, the funding spent on rehabilitation in prison is money down the toilet.

There are many other options available. But until we have a government with the courage to ignore the moral panic perpetuated by the Sensible Sentencing Trust over the last 20 years, our prison muster will continue to proliferate. And billions of taxpayer funds will be wasted on the dubious delusion that locking citizens away creates a safer society.

Roger Brooking is a Wellington based alcohol and substance abuse counsellor. Read about his campaign to cut the prison population by 50% and sign the petition against the planned mega prison at Waikeria at cuttheprisonpop.nz.


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