Recent events seem to have focused the attention of Australia on women’s issues (arguably) more than at any time since the 1970s and 80s, and social media is proving to be a very effective way of fuelling discussion. People are writing and talking about women, and more importantly about men’s attitudes to women and that can only be a good thing.

Watching Tracy Spicer’s exploration of the state of women in today’s society, and reading David Leser’s absorbing and brave dive into male guilt,  I feel compelled to confess to a rather large dollop of guilt worming its way through my brain.

Herein lies a story. An old story of some triviality without doubt, but one which has nevertheless caused me to unpack and examine a few things about myself at this particular time of my life.

As a long time devotee of hanging around in cafes, moving to Sydney’s inner west on 2010 was just about the best thing that had happened for a long time. I love my home in practically every way, including the diverse inhabitants and the generally high level of tolerance and respect. It didn’t take long back then to find my ‘local’ cafe – decent food and coffee, a bit of an institution with a sunny backyard and a team of friendly efficient young women, most of whom were friends of my son.

Back then the owner of the cafe was what is generally termed in Australia a ‘character’ or maybe even a ‘larrikin’: a father of 4, loud, opinionated, cheerful and given to long discussions with patrons about sport. His political opinions were akin to those of Alan Jones and about as well informed. Annoying – barely tolerable in fact – but hey –  I ccould always sit out the back and the other staff were lovely

But wait, there’s more, he also had opinions about the physical attributes and f**ability of the young women and the girls from the local high school who frequented the cafe or passed by on the footpath. He would air these opinions loudly and quite graphically, not quite in front of the subjects, but engaging any men or boys present in the discussion and ogling.

 I’ve since learnt that several girls who worked there quit because of his constant sexism & harassment. I’ve learnt that my son and his male friends were deeply uncomfortable when a 40 something bloke engaged them in discussion about their sex lives, I’ve learnt that they squirmed when he discussed their female friends in sexual terms.Yet no-one, young or old, male or female openly did or said anything apart from quit or just stop going to the cafe.

At the heart of the patriarchy lies fear and control. While many may have been offended by the cafe owner, few if any had the guts to take him on and weather the inevitable results. The overbearing, overwhelming, arrogant .. maleness.. is enough to give pause to all genders and ages. The knowledge that reason and any attempt at rational discussion will be met with derision and abuse has served the patriarchy well and is now serving the right wing conservatives extremely well. I realise, to my shame, exactly how complicit I was in the whole thing. Did I stand up and say something? Did I ‘Destroy the Joint’? No – of course I bloody didn’t, I just sat there, trying not to listen, trying to ignore the feelings of anger and discomfort.

And then Julia Gillard happened: that speech, that incisive verbalisation of every woman’s anger about the crap that happens every day, Roll on a few years and the #metoo hashtag roared in, and my guilt has only deepened.

Why didn’t I stand up and tell him to shut up, why did I not gather my things, give him the dressing down he deserved and walk out with my head held high?  What type of example did I set for the high school girls and young women who work for him? What the hell was wrong with me? I can attempt to justify my lack of action only by referring to my fear of confrontation and my lack of desire to be publically humiliated, and I can contextualise that by reference to my age. I’m a woman in her 50s , largely invisible (as many before me have written) and often ignored. But that’s no excuse – I was a coward, I am a coward and I vow to do better.

I’d love to think I’d have turned the humiliation of being called names, being attacked for being humourless, unable to take a joke, for being a bitch, a hairy legged feminist right back around.  I want to have revelled in giving back as good as I got, maybe upending a table on my way out the door.

This guy was our local Tony Abbott, Mark Latham or Scott Morrison-  so sure of himself and his persona of the loud lovable bloke. the larrikin who ‘tells it like it is’ and fuck political correctness. Confident in the knowledge that he is louder and more intimidating that anyone who might disagree with him, always with a chorus of blokes who will laugh at his jokes and back him up ‘it’s only a bit of fun love, just flirting, lighten up’. He’s a man’s man – a manly man – a virile man – a father of daughters, a mother’s son, a wife’s husband.

 I’m good at giving my opinion on my blog, on twitter, in conversation – and taking on bigots and racists online … aren’t we all? But to my shame, I am no Julia Gillard, Penny Wong or Tarana Bourke. Like them, I still deal with sexism and now agism every day, but unlike me they don’t  just shut up and take it. I don’t sit in approval as my sisters are demeaned, but I’m certainly not on my feet and that, at the end of the day, amounts to the same thing.

It is often said that social media is a substitute for action, first world problems, an outlet for whining, a bunch of middle class coffee sipping wankers in a bubble talking among ourselves.  I’ve signed the petitions and written on the facebook wall and liked the posts, I’ve tweeted, retweeted and favourited, but I’m deeply ashamed to say I never destroyed that particular joint up the road.

The enormity of the #metoo movement, and the increasingly insistent and loudly public voices of my sisters around the world demanding that we be heard, understood and allowed to exist in an equal environment, has given me cause to celebrate how wonderful women are when we unite. I’m hopeful that our long period of strident racism and sexism masquerading as anti political correctness and ‘I’m entitled to my opinion’ might be on its way out. And from this day on I vow to upend a table next time some bloke exerts his maleness to the detriment of others instead of just letting braver people than I cop the response.