People choosing not to attend something because of someones presence (who has frankly done nothing wrong) is a terrible argument and that would leave many people open to discrimination.
Let's step away from the subject of women self-excluding from meetings, because I think your preconceptions about women are getting in the way.
This is a thread from twitter. I'd like you to read it and then consider very carefully indeed whether you still think it's a "terrible argument". The reality is that when there are no restrictions on entry to a space, you simply replicate the real world in miniature, which many people are unable to participate in. The voices and groups of people that dominate normal public life will dominate the small space in exactly the same way. If you do not have any entrance criteria, marginalized groups may be indirectly excluded, and that may constitute indirect discrimination.
thread follows
I asked a close friend for his thoughts on what I should tweet for #WorldAIDSDay. He’s what he sent me.
A thread from a gay man living with HIV.
1/ On 27th July 2015 I was diagnosed with HIV at Chalmers street clinic, Edinburgh. It really ruined the festival for me that year.
2/ I barely left my flat for four weeks. I also didn’t wash, change my clothes or eat regularly. I cried a lot and thought about suicide even more. I did leave the house daily to attend hurriedly arranged appointments at Chalmers Street because they had got it wrong obviously.
3/ They hadn’t. Didn’t see a single show at the fringe either. I’d split up with my partner 2 months earlier. I lost my new job, that happens when you don’t turn up for 4 weeks. So new start completely fucked then. Rent isn’t free so you can imagine how my finances were going.
4/ It felt like everything was ending. I mean, it was. I was on the edge of a complete mental break and suicidal. I was dragged back from the edge by the amazing team at the Chalmers Street Clinic and the ever-patient Gay Men’s Health Edinburgh.
5/ I couldn’t talk about this with anyone who was not a gay man. I’m not saying that’s reasonable or fair. But yes, I wanted to exclude everyone who was not a gay man from that conversation, in that space.
6/ I’d previously volunteered for Gay Men’s Health. One time, a couple of straight kids knocked the door looking for “johnnies”. They were swiftly told to beat it, with appropriate directions to the nearest family planning clinic.
7/ The member of staff explained that their services and funds were explicitly for gay men. Although they didn’t, they could employ exclusively gay men if they wanted to. It’s weird but I always remembered that and in that moment it’s what brought me comfort.
8/ I felt able to reach out and talk to them. They could accommodate my need for exclusion. Gay men only. My safe space. They had women on staff, heterosexual mothers & everything. However, my request for gay councillors was handled with nothing but compassion & understanding.
9/ I needed the services of a councillor as much as the doctor because two things had become apparent. 1) I was HIV positive. This condition is fatal if you do not receive treatment. 2) I wanted to kill myself. This condition is fatal if you do not receive treatment.
10/ I could not have got through it without the help of Gay Men’s Health. I would not have contacted them if they were not specifically gay. I wouldn’t have been able to talk to anyone who wasn’t a gay man. More than that I needed to feel safe in asking for that.
11/ I think I probably would have ended it all if I couldn’t access those services. If they had been “Queer, Gender Diverse, Non-binary, Trans People’s Health” I would not have contacted them. My fear of talking to anyone who is not gay regarding my HIV would have prevented me.
12/ I don’t like to talk about HIV. I don’t like to talk about me having it. Don’t mistake that for me having even half a fuck to give about what anyone else thinks about my diagnosis. Because I don’t. No fucks given. That’s the easy part.
13/ It’s what I think that’s the problem. I’m not ashamed, I just can’t forgive myself. And I hate myself for getting it. I don’t talk about it openly because I would hate it more if other HIV positive people heard it and thought I thought the same about them. I don’t.
14/ Most people with HIV blow my mind with their bravery and the example they set. I wish I was like them. I’m not. I still need someone to talk to sometimes. I still need that person to be a gay man. I still need those services and spaces.
15/ Happy endings only happen in massage parlours. This, unfortunately, is real life. Things have got better. I’m not a danger to myself or others most of the time. I’m adjusting. Still. I’m not trying to weaponise my diagnosis against anyone.
16/ Many different people from different communities have HIV. Everyone is important and should be equal in rights to treatment. My HIV diagnosis emphasises to me the importance of services specifically for gay men. Be it mental health or specific medical ones.
17/ It troubles me that in a world where queer theory & gender ideology reign supreme, where gay men won’t exist, that our services, & specifically their funding, won’t exist either. When it comes to the mental health aspect of my treatment, I still want to speak to a gay man.
18/ I still want to be ‘exclusionary’ & talk to someone who is like me. Even if that means excludingbuttergasptrans people. We hear a lot about suicide prevention & lived experience. Services that are specifically for gay men prevent suicide. That’s my lived experience.
19/ I would have tweeted about this myself, instead of anonymously, but didn’t want to open myself up to that sort of online abuse that comes from saying anything that doesn’t include trans; just for standing up for services aimed at supporting any distinct group.