2017 – A Pace Odyssey

Greetings, readers of this blog. Real life has been so, so busy of late that blogging has really taken a back seat.

Funnily, when I moved back to the west, I somehow imagined that life would be much less busy; that I would have more downtime. I even harboured quaint notions of writing a book. However, that’s looking more like a pipe dream at present, and in fact the opposite has proven to be the case. Happily, it’s not because of workday drudgery – I’m lucky enough to have a job I adore, even though it takes up more time than is ideal – or time spent on a soulless commute. Rather, it appears it’s down to my rather worrying inability to say no. But life’s short, right? And when there are fun things to be done, there’s no time like the present to jump in and take part.

These days, when I write, it’s mostly for work, either in the day job, or for The Mayo News. Speaking of which, here’s (a slightly edited version) of the latest column, on just one of the things that’s filling my time.


 

Back in January, you may remember me sharing my new year’s resolutions in this column. As usual, mere weeks later I can barely remember these virtuous aspirations. The road to hell, and all that.

One thing I do remember however, is resolving to become a better runner.

Now, we must bear in mind that the bar was pretty low, given that I’d only run three times in the previous six months. One of those times was from car to house to escape a shower. Any progress on this front, therefore, was a guaranteed win. At the time, I think I may have harboured ambitious notions of running five kilometres every day for the month of January. That wasn’t at all delusional, was it? Looking back, I can’t help wondering whether I was still under the influence of the Christmas cheer when I signed up for that challenge, but needless to say, it didn’t happen.

Before you scoff, however, it wasn’t a total disaster. While I didn’t run every day (I mean, really, who was I kidding?) I did manage (mostly out of shame) to pull on my runners at least every two or three days. And something unexpected happened. Over the course of the weeks, I started to feel fitter. Now, this of course may to a normal person seem like a natural progression, but remember, we are not dealing with a typical athlete here. By the end of January, I found I could run those five kilometres without needing an ambulance on standby. I even started to enjoy it.  Somehow, in failing to achieve what I set out to do, I discovered my running mojo. There’s a lesson in there somewhere.

Of course, having reached these dizzy heights of achievement, the thrill started to wear off. I was craving a bigger hit, a stronger high. So I went and did what any notoriously flaky runner would do. I signed up for a half-marathon, obviously.

Look, I can only conclude that I’m in the midst of a mid-life crisis. For thirty-odd years I have regarded long-distance running with suspicion, much like the way a dog will look at a curled-up hedgehog or a child will look at an electric fence – with the assumption that by going there, there will inevitably be pain. I’ve always thought those people who ran distances for fun were a bit mad. Now, I suddenly want to be one of them? Anyway, seduced by the prospect of actually achieving something worth bragging about in 2017, I signed on the dotted line, victory speech already in mind.

Beautiful blonde woman running along the riverside

What I do not look like when running. 

Three weeks in, and I won’t lie – it’s daunting. I’ve entered a whole new world of jargon and terminology I never knew existed. Aerobic pace and anaerobic pace and lactate threshold and marathon heart rate and high intensity training zones. Luddite-like, I don’t even own a sports watch and the thought of learning how to use one stresses me out more than the thought of running thirteen miles. (THIRTEEN MILES. Mother of God.) The soles are about to fall out of my year-old running shoes and I can’t seem to dress for the weather, no matter what I wear. I’ve committed to training four times a week, and the sessions are already ominously long. I’m afraid of getting injured, getting bored, or just becoming a bore. But, barring disaster, I am seeing this out if it kills me. (God, I really hope it doesn’t kill me.)

 

Already though, the bug is biting. Last weekend, I ran an unprecedented (for me) 14 kilometres, and I swear, I felt like an Olympian. A very slow, very sweaty Olympian with old lady feet. But I’ve started to believe I might be able to do this.

D-day is the River Moy Half Marathon on 13th May. It’s on home ground, so should be special. I’ve decided not to set any timing targets, so there’s no pressure. Frankly, I don’t care how long it takes – I just want to cross the line. I also want to be one of those people who nonchalantly wears the souvenir top that subtly, smugly tells people I ran 13 miles (13 whole miles!) without dying.

I’ve learned a few things along the way; I’ve learned that if you run slowly, you’ll always get there eventually. I’ve learned that motivation comes in very different forms for different people. I’ve learned that encouraging oneself aloud on tougher runs may earn some funny looks, but is well worth the ridicule – whatever gets you through. I’ve learned that I feel happier in my head when I’m running regularly. I’ve learned that the support and encouragement of a group is invaluable. And I’ve learned that a long run in good company is the very definition of time well spent.

It’ll be an interesting journey. Here’s hoping it’s not the road to hell, in every sense of the word.

I’ll keep you posted.

 

 

Volunteers – the people who make the world go round

Working in the tourism and development sector over the past year has taught me a lot. It has taught me that when dealing with public bodies, everything moves agonisingly, achingly slowly. Patience is a virtue. It has taught me that diplomacy is the greatest untaught skill you’ll ever need, and it has taught me that in the West of Ireland, no-one ever reads emails. But most of all it has reminded me that frequently, good things happen because good people make them happen, and more often than not, in their own time and without payment.

Volunteerism is what makes the world go round in rural Ireland. From festivals to football games, funerals to fun runs, the success of community initiatives depends on people giving up their time, their energy and often their money, to work for free. They give up their time with their kids to go to meetings; they leave the fireside on dark, rainy winter nights to sit in community centres. They dream and aspire and plan and toil to make their communities better places to live. And it’s damn hard work.

Sometimes they don’t get it right. But you know what? At least they’re trying.

Volunteering is a double-edged sword. If you put yourself out there and put your neck above the parapet, you will be recognised and thanked for it. At the same time, you’ll probably be criticised if something goes wrong – usually by the perennial hurlers on the ditch who never lift a finger to contribute themselves. And volunteerism isn’t sunshine, lollipops and rainbows either. Working with a committee with people of differing opinions can be really challenging. There are times when you’ll have blazing rows, you’ll run out of patience and you’ll feel like throwing in the towel. Sometimes you will. But the sense of achievement you’ll get from being part of a successful event, and giving something back to your homeplace will generally far outweigh that – it’s a feel-good factor like no other.

I’ve heard it suggested that sometimes volunteers are only “in it for the glory”, for the ego boost, to make themselves look or feel good. And to that I say – if they are, fair play to them. There are far easier ways to get your ego boosted. And if contributing to your community makes you feel good, I can think of worse drugs to be taking.

Volunteering is a masterclass in compromising, listening and learning. The boss in the day job reminds me occasionally: “Being right is nothing – getting it right is everything”.  He’s good with the lines, but there’s truth in it. You might disagree with someone nine times out of ten, but if you can find that 10 per cent of common ground, everyone benefits. Learning to put aside the ego when you’re not getting paid isn’t easy, but speaking for myself, I’ve found it’s good to be reminded now and again that I don’t in fact, know everything and am occasionally wrong about stuff.

One thing that’s struck me since moving back west is the age profile of community volunteers. At every community meeting or event I attend, with a few notable exceptions, the people giving up their time to help out seem to be the people that have been doing so for the past 25 years. Where’s the new blood? Where are the twentysomethings and the thirtysomethings? Many of those who have been active in their community for years are getting tired and jaded, and want to pass the baton on, but are often left standing on the line for the want of a replacement. And that needs to change.

But maybe sometimes, it’s just a simple matter of picking up the phone and asking someone to help, or telling them what you need. Joining a committee or putting yourself out there can be daunting; sometimes a bit of encouragement is all it takes. And at the end of the day, we all like to feel wanted.

The concept of community is continuing to evolve, but increasingly, it feels like we are becoming less integrated and more isolated. But if you live in a community and avail of its facilities, its public spaces, its amenities, you have a responsibility to contribute to that community.

And who knows? You might even enjoy it.

This article was originally published in The Mayo News on 16th August 2016. 

 

Asking For It?

I’m aware that it’s been months since I last updated the blog, but I have been doing a bit of scribbling elsewhere, mainly for work and for the paper. There will be a day of retrospective column uploading happening soon. In the meantime I wrote this a couple of weeks back about consent. It was published in The Mayo News on Tuesday 16th November 2016. 

Many of you will have seen Louise O’Neill’s excellent documentary, “Asking For It” last week on RTE2 (Irish Times review of Asking for It here).  The documentary sees the acclaimed author explore the issues of consent and sexual assault in Ireland. O’Neill’s documentary is significant, in that it is probably the first time a conversation on consent has gone truly mainstream, and moved away from the feminist arena, where it has, of course, been talked about for decades.

“Consent” with regard to sexual relations seems like a pretty obvious concept; it implies that both or all parties have given their permission or are partaking willingly in sexual activity. It also means that ‘no’ means exactly that – no.

23 years ago, in another seismic moment for Irish women, Lavinia Kerwick became the first rape victim in Ireland to waive her anonymity when her rapist was given a suspended sentence. The 18 year-old was raped by her then boyfriend, William Conry after attending a disco in Kilkenny. The couple walked to the grounds of Kilkenny Castle grounds and lay down together, where they talked for a while, then, despite her protests, Conry started getting rough and raped Kerwick.

In court, Mr Justice Fergus Flood said there had been “a high degree of intimacy” between the two, and that Conry was now contrite. In description of evidence given by a sergeant, he said that “things got out of hand and just went too far”. This language suggests that the judge felt the events were beyond Conry’s control. An attitude – highly unflattering towards men, it must be said – that persists to a certain degree to this day.

I distinctly remember being in a room of adults where a heated discussion took place about the case. I recall a majority of the people – men and women – protesting that it wasn’t Conry’s fault. By wearing what she wore – a black top, black velvet mini and a red jacket – and by going alone with her boyfriend to this dark place, Lavinia Kerwick was “asking for it”.

These Neanderthal attitudes are what shaped many a generation’s attitude to sex and consent. Popular culture for years has espoused the notion that when women say no, it doesn’t really mean no – look at any James Bond movie or Indiana Jones movie for examples. In fact, men were legally permitted to rape their wives in Ireland until 1990. Combine this with the traditional Catholic shame associated with sex and the lack of basic sex education available to young people, and you have the makings of a sick society.

The question of consent doesn’t just apply to interactions between individuals, however. The State itself routinely shows contempt for consent when it comes to women. Tusla for example, funds a number of rape crisis centres in Ireland. According to Rape Crisis Network Ireland, the funding contracts between Tusla and the RCCs explicitly require access to information gathered from survivors by the centres. Outrageously, the State contracts specify that if the consent of the survivor to any such disclosure is needed, RCCs will have to obtain it – or breach the funding agreement. Such an outrageous stipulation makes a mockery of the notion of consent and in doing so, further violates survivors.

Add to this the fact that the State can also legally compel women to give birth against our wills by preventing us from accessing abortion services, or from travelling to obtain one (in the case of migrants). It has also subsequently forced women to involuntarily undergo Caesarean sections. Just this week, the HSE sought an order to force a pregnant woman at risk of uterine rupture to have a Caesarean section against her will, to vindicate the right to life of her unborn child – who was legally represented in court – a situation that arose as a direct result of the 8th amendment. Thankfully, the court ruled it would be a step too far to order a forced C-section, regardless of the risk to both.

The screening of “Asking For It” on a national channel brings the conversation on consent into the mainstream like never before. But is it any wonder Ireland has a problem with the concept, when women are reminded repeatedly from all sides that their bodies are not their own?

The great name-changing debate

Recently there’s been some talk in the national media about the practice of women taking their husbands’ surnames when they marry. A few days ago, two similar and thought-provoking articles in the Irish Independent by writers Barbara Scully and Dearbhail McDonald – both self-declared feminists – examined the merits of the custom, with each expressing some surprise that in this enlightened age of feminism, women should be taking their husbands’ names at all.

For women in Ireland, historically the practice of changing name after marriage has almost been a foregone conclusion. However, the sands as ever are shifting, and there has been a quiet, but growing resistance to the custom. The aforementioned articles generated much debate on social media – including Twitter, where people just love a good argument – and the exchanges threw up some interesting perspectives on the tradition.

Many women who had kept their names said they did so to retain their own identity. For some, it amounted to a political statement; a public rejection of traditional patriarchal structures and notions of submission and subordination. Professional women argued – many from experience – that name-changing can negate years of work put into building a strong reputation or personal brand. Some, rather less optimistically, maintained that they wouldn’t want to be still called by their ex-husband’s names when – when! – they got divorced.

On the other hand, there were women who for various personal reasons embraced the chance to rid themselves of their old name and make a fresh start with a new one. More enjoyed the unity symbolised by their family all having the same surname, while others had happily adopted the double-barrelled system. Some declared that they just liked the novelty, or simply the old-fashioned romance of it all.

Bride And Groom Enjoying Meal At Wedding Reception

Men also contributed to the debate, many of whom declared it wouldn’t bother them either way. However, as McDonald herself mentioned, once the subject of children was broached that perspective tended to change. A small minority had taken their wives’ surnames after marriage, while others visibly balked at the notion. (The very idea!) Men and women alike wondered how the process would work within same-sex marriages. All in all, the exchanges demonstrated once again that nothing is ever black or white; the beauty of it being the freedom that exists for people to make the choice for themselves. Indeed most women were adamant that the decision should be theirs; not dictated by husbands, families or interfering in-laws, and that their preference should not be assumed by others, either – something to bear in mind when addressing your Christmas cards!

On that note, such was the interest in the topic that following McDonald’s article, the Irish Independent even ran a poll on the topic, asking “Should a woman take her husband’s surname?” And therein lies the rub. Women are constantly dictated to – how they should behave, how they should dress, the body shape they should  behave. As feminists, surely we should be asking why on earth should a woman have to do anything? Why would anyone assume they have the right to dictate to women what they should – or should not – be doing with their own names? Why are we not asking why more men don’t offer to make the change? But ultimately, whose business is it, anyway?

Scully’s article suggested that we follow the leads of jurisdictions such as Quebec and Greece (you won’t hear that too often these days) in actually outlawing the practice of wives taking their husbands’ names. This restriction also applies in countries like Netherlands, Belgium and France.  Japan, on the other hand, legally requires couples to adopt either one of the spouses’ surnames when married – but unsurprisingly and somewhat disappointingly, this means that 96% of women make the change.

What seems ludicrous in all of this is the idea of the State having any say either way in what is a private matter.

Implying that women who change their name are somehow damaging the feminist cause is a contradiction in terms. While the feminist argument appears in the main to be that women who take their husband’s names are complicit in preserving a patriarchal structure, surely true feminism means promoting  the freedom of women to make their own choices – including taking their husbands’ names if they wish – and supporting and respecting that freedom, even if the outcome contradicts your own philosophy? Judging women for making this choice is unnecessarily divisive, and  . once again assigns women with sole responsibility for changing societal norms.

There are plenty of battles yet to be fought by women in the quest for equality. This should not be one of them.

This column first appeared in the print version of The Mayo News on Tuesday 4th August 2015

Service with a smile … it works both ways

With a month of country living under my belt after the move back west (God, it’s great to be home), the boxes are finally unpacked and I’m readjusting to the easier pace of life in the homeland. There’s plenty to love, but a constant source of joy is just how little time it takes to get from A to B. Because Dublin has approximately 94 sets of traffic lights per kilometre, sometimes the drive to pick up a litre of milk and a few spuds entails more braking than driving. Here, you just turn the key in the ignition and you’re there. Dorothy and her red slippers ain’t got nothing on life in Mayo.

It also strikes me daily how much friendlier people are. That’s part of our charm, but importantly, in a region depending so heavily on tourism, it’s also an essential business attribute. Hand in hand with that comes good customer service, which, it’s fair to say, is probably the norm. That’s why, when confronted with a bad experience, it jars all the more. But while the majority of encounters are positive, if truth be told, we could still sometimes do better.

As a customer, when you go to the shop to buy a litre of milk, or to buy a stamp in the post office, what are your expectations of that experience? Do you like to be greeted with a hello, some eye contact, a chat? Do you prefer to be handed your change, rather than it being slapped on the counter? Entering a clothes shop, do you expect a friendly greeting and an offer of help? On your weekly shop, do you prefer it when the cashier talks to you, not their colleagues? Most of all, is a smile important? Most of us would probably agree that these are the most basic tenets of customer service. Having someone go the extra mile thereafter is just the icing on the cake.

When the basics aren’t met, there is a knock-on effect. Chances are, if your experience in a shop is an unfriendly, unhelpful one, you’ll bring your money elsewhere next time. As a local, if you experience poor service in a restaurant or café, you’ll probably tell ten people about it. As a tourist, add TripAdvisor into the mix and tack on a few zeros. Poor service and lack of warmth in a business make for a poor tourist experience, and colour their entire impression of an area. Meanwhile, among locals it discourages loyalty. And whoever deals with customers is the face of that business, regardless of the name over the door. If that face is a scowling one, you’re onto a loser from the start. Little things, big implications.

There are, of course, two sides to every argument. Working in the service industry and dealing with the public can be no picnic, and years of retail management in a past life taught me that contrary to popular belief, the customer is most definitely not always right. On the contrary, they can be rude, confrontational and frequently downright mad. Working in fashion exposed me to all sorts, from the “I know my rights” brigade (they generally don’t) to those who think it appropriate to use your fitting rooms for their bodily functions (yes, even that one). Once, I went home with a black eye, the result of a shoe thrown at me by a gentleman I can only describe as being overexcited. So there is little doubt that facing the public on a daily basis can bring its challenges. If you’ve just been eaten alive by an irate customer, it can be hard to plaster on a smile to greet the next one.

High angle view of cashier with a line of people at the check-out counter

But good service is essential for business to thrive and survive. Taking pride in your business will garner respect from your customers, and not just in the hospitality industry. Visiting tourists become part of our landscape for a while, using our supermarkets, our filling stations, our corner shops. Their experiences help to build their impressions of our county, as well as building our economy. And for those of us at home, service with a smile can brighten the day. But remember, it works both ways!

This was originally printed in The Mayo News on 15th July 2015.

‘Yes, I said, yes I will yes’ – why ‘Yes’ x 2 is the way to go this Friday

With a mere few days to polling day, you’d be forgiven for being under the impression that we were voting on just one issue on May 22nd. Coverage of the marriage referendum has been so comprehensive, relentless and so repetitive, that it’s all the more surprising that media haven’t been focusing on the other choice being presented to voters – the proposal to lower the age of presidential candidates to 21 – if for no other reason than to just give us all a bit of light relief. But it’s highly likely a significant proportion of the population aren’t even aware they’ll be handed two ballot papers on Friday week. A fine example of democracy in action.

As fatigue begins to set in though, it’s likely we’ll see some half-hearted efforts in the next few days to publicly debate why we should allow 21 year-olds – people who may not even yet have started their first job – to run for President of Ireland.

The reactions to the proposal to date have tended to be predictably dismissive and a bit disparaging, which is disappointing. Granted, this isn’t the most pressing change that needs making in Ireland, but at a time when politics is crying out for an injection of youthful enthusiasm, the scorn that’s been instantly heaped on the suggestion without any detailed consideration subtly demonstrates how we really regard our young people. Surprisingly, even youth organisations have been relatively quiet on the matter, instead preferring to focus on the marriage referendum – which ironically, is a campaign with which young people have thus far engaged on levels rarely seen before. But perhaps they’re just being smart by not channelling their energy and resources into flogging a dead horse when there’s a far more pressing issue on the table.

Why is this amendment even being put to the people? Well, the issue arose during the Constitutional Convention, a forum of 100 citizens established in 2012 to discuss amendments to the Constitution. The Constitutional Convention had also sought amendments on housing rights, social security and healthcare services, but this was somehow deemed more appropriate. It’s a funny one; but it’s likely that the government felt backing a contentious, divisive and ground-breaking Constitutional amendment such as allowing two people in love to officially declare their commitment to each other a risky enough manoeuvre without creating further havoc. Best to play it safe on this one, because let’s face it, this government is already all too familiar with the sensation of egg drying into their whiskers.

So, what discussion have we heard to date in #PresRef, as it’s known in the online sphere? Well, the main assertion is that no-one aged under the age of 35 could possibly have the life experience, capability or maturity expected to carry themselves with dignity in this position of great importance. The majority seems to concur. Apart from perhaps the fact that allowing someone to become President in their twenties means you might get landed with paying the Presidential Pension for a few extra years, that, incredibly appears to be the sum total of the debate. Pretty incredible for something as important as a Constitutional Amendment.

The debate has failed on any level to counteract this argument by pointing out the inherent ageism, laziness and unfairness of it.  We are not voting on whether or not we will have a 21 year-old President, though given the level of opposition to it, you’d be forgiven for thinking that a Yes vote would automatically propel one of Jedward into Michael D’s still-warm seat in the Áras come 2019. I can tell you, however, I’d far sooner see either one  – or both of them in there – than the likes of Dana.

The key argument for voting YES to the Presidential amendment is that the current system is anti-democratic, because young people don’t even get the opportunity to present themselves to the electorate. They are currently automatically excluded based on an arbitrary number, rather than getting the chance to be elected or rejected on their merit, or lack of. There is no good reason for this, but plenty of good reasons for our young people – many of them perfectly talented, hardworking, intelligent and capable – to be given the opportunity to put themselves out there. They deserve, at the very least, not to be excluded from this process. And in fact, the key objection to this referendum should be that it proposes to continue excluding adults aged 18-21 from running for Presidential office – the only justification apparently being that it will then mirror the age at which you can become a TD.

So it’ll be two emphatic Yeses for me, because I want to see Ireland becoming a place that’s fairer and kinder, and it strikes me as more than  a little hypocritical to be voting for inclusiveness in one referendum while simultaneously opposing it in the other. But the joy of democracy is that we all have our say, so on Friday week, wherever you stand, be sure to have yours too.

jedward

An abridged version of this post appeared in The Mayo News on Tuesday 12th May 2015.

Gender Quotas – a necessary evil?

This article was originally published in The Mayo News on Tuesday 9th April 2015.

Spring is in the air, bringing with it longer days and glorious sunshine. But mixed with the scent of fresh cut grass and cherry blossom, there’s the distinct whiff of a general election, and while in theory, we’re nearly a year away from returning to the polls, politicians are already in full-on electioneering mode. One intriguing element of the next election will be the influence of gender quotas. All political parties will face losing half their funding unless at least 30% of candidates put forward are women.

A drastic measure? Consider this. 566 candidates ran in the 2011 General Election. 86 were women.  25 won seats, meaning that under 14% of our TDs are women – abysmal by international standards. Women’s skills and experience are therefore not proportionally represented in decision-making that affects everyone. This, despite acknowledgement that balanced political participation by both sexes means fairer, more effective democracies – something, surely to which we should all aspire?

So why aren’t women running for election? Commonly cited as barriers to proportional female representation in Ireland are the Five Cs: Cash, Culture, Childcare, Confidence and Candidate Selection. These five factors are interlinked, each impacting the other to create barriers to female participation.

Take cash, to start. Running for election is expensive. Women are economically less well-off then men (this is a fact!). Employments rates drop significantly when children arrive, and many women – who generally still bear primary responsibility for family life – balance this by working part-time, restricting public involvement. Last year, Mayor of Tralee, Pat Hussey resigned from Fine Gael, citing gender quotas. Women, he claimed were being “pushed in” by his party, excluding more experienced members. Mr Hussey, incidentally, claimed to have no problem with women joining councils, but felt factors like babysitting would make it prohibitively expensive for them – an attitude which sharply undermines the role of men in childcare. Which in turn, leads me to culture – the core of it all.

Women battle culture all the time. They’re expected to do more. We have higher expectations of them. Female politicians aren’t just judged on performance, they’re also critiqued on image, appearance, even their voices. When are male politicians subjected to such scrutiny? You can see why confidence, the fourth C is a factor. A key objection to quotas is that women will be selected purely to “make up numbers”; not because they are the best possible candidate. Essentially, a fear that quotas will elect incompetent women at the expense of good men. The economic crash doesn’t say much about the competency of those running the country at the time. Where was accountability and meritocracy then? Why are we now suggesting that women need to prove competency, where men never had to?

Finally, while all of the above contribute to candidate selection difficulties, there is a supply and demand problem. Parties select election candidates, so selector attitudes can contribute – if male candidates have been the norm, breaking the mould can be hard. However, a lack of supply of female candidates putting themselves forward (for the reasons above) restricts those who do want to run women. The vicious circle continues!

So is imposing gender quotas the means of breaking this cycle?

I’m not fully convinced. Quotas are a crude measure, which ignore the issues underpinning the problem. Rather, we need to address barriers that dissuade women in the first place. Childcare, for example, should be viewed not as a female issue, but as a family one. Family-friendly policies may help, but however – and here lies the critical argument! – unless women are adequately represented in the first place, who will drive the change necessary to attract more women into politics?

Evidence also suggests that increased visibility of females in politics can mobilise women, resulting in greater involvement. So while gender quotas aren’t in themselves the answer, I can’t help feeling that – as a temporary measure – they’ll help fast-track some reform necessary to encourage involvement, and so are worth a shot. I therefore reluctantly find myself in favour. Recognising and addressing the issue is a vital first step, so here’s hoping that the outcome of quotas can prove that this is more than just tokenism, and will result in solid, positives outcomes for society as a whole.