Very Tough. Until Mike Tyson Walks In...

There is something particularly revolting about a man in uniform displaying his physical authority against a young woman. The badge, the backup, the equipment - and somehow, we still end up with a cheerleader on the ground. What a magnificent advertisement for keeping the public safe.

The footage reportedly shows Arizona State University cheerleader Eryn Bonner being shoved down and later restrained against a bicycle during a July encounter with Tempe police. Police allege she interfered with an arrest and punched an officer. Those allegations matter and should be examined. So should the force used against her. One does not conveniently cancel out the other.

But apparently, we are supposed to see a uniform and immediately switch off every functioning brain cell. “She should have stayed back.” Yes, perhaps she should have. That still leaves the rather large question of whether a trained police officer handled the situation with the restraint we ought to expect from someone entrusted with that much power.

Training should mean something beyond learning how to put someone on the pavement. Judgement. Composure. The ability to manage a chaotic situation without making it considerably uglier. Otherwise, what exactly are we paying for? A short temper with a pension?

Which brings me to Mike Tyson. Imagine this officer being thrust in for two rounds of supervised boxing with him. Suddenly, I suspect, the enthusiasm for physical confrontation might evaporate. There would be a touching new appreciation for negotiation, personal space and resolving differences through calm discussion. Possibly a previously undisclosed hamstring injury.

Funny how appealing restraint becomes when the other person can flatten you.

My disgust is directed at the apparent force in this encounter, and I want it properly scrutinised. Bonner’s lawyer has called the force excessive; Tempe police say the incident is under administrative review. That review needs to produce a credible explanation and meaningful consequences if misconduct is established.

I am tired of “a difficult job” being offered as though it ends the conversation. Plenty of people do difficult jobs. Nurses deal with frightened and aggressive patients. Teachers manage volatile classrooms. Carers cope with distress, confusion and unpredictable behaviour. We still expect them to control themselves.

Police should face that expectation too, especially given the authority they carry. The public should be able to question an officer’s conduct without being accused of wanting criminals to run the streets. Demanding professional policing is a fairly modest request.

A badge ought to come with enough accountability to make its wearer think carefully before using force. If this officer crossed the line, he should have to answer for it without the uniform cushioning the landing.

And if he considers that unfair, perhaps he could explain his position to Mike Tyson. From a sensible distance, naturally. Suddenly, distance might seem very important.

She Matters Podcast | Sherele Moody

A Caution? You Have Got to Be Bloody Joking.

Apparently, wanting to visit a shopping centre without getting caught in a violent brawl is now asking a bit much. Buy some groceries, browse the shops, take the kids out - and hope nobody decides to turn the place into their personal fight club. I am bloody disgusted that ordinary people can have their day hijacked by this sort of selfish, aggressive behaviour.

So Sunday’s brawl at Melbourne’s Highpoint Shopping Centre sent families seeking safety in shops, while security guards trying to intervene were struck. Police arrested two boys, aged 15 and 16, and a 19-year-old man. The boys received cautions for affray; the man was released without charge.

Cautions. After that reported chaos, I find that response deeply unsatisfying. I want to understand how it adequately addresses the harm done to everyone around them. Because the people who happen to be nearby matter, too. Their safety should count for something before someone ends up seriously injured.

I am sick of the expression “just kids” being wheeled out as though teenagers cannot possibly understand that punching people is wrong. Most teenagers manage to go shopping without terrorising anyone. They catch up with friends, eat something, waste their money and go home. Being young does not make violence inevitable, and it certainly should not make it acceptable.

My view is straightforward: young people convicted of serious violence should face real time in custody when the seriousness of their offending warrants it. A meaningful sentence. Something that reflects the harm they caused and protects the public. Their age should inform the response, but it should not swallow every other consideration until the victims barely feature.

And yes, provide education, counselling and rehabilitation during that time. Give them the opportunity to come out with better judgment and some prospect of a decent future. I can support all of that while still expecting consequences. Concern for a young offender’s future does not require the rest of us to shrug off what they have done.

What about the people working in these places? Retail workers should be thinking about stock, customers and when they can finally take their lunch break. Security staff deserve to finish a shift safely. Putting on a uniform does not mean agreeing to be somebody’s punching bag. Nobody’s hourly wage is compensation for being assaulted.

Then there are the parents trying to keep their children safe. I cannot imagine having much interest in an offender’s excuses while trying to get a frightened child away from a fight. You would want the danger stopped. Afterwards, you would want to know that the response took it seriously.

I want public spaces where decent people can get on with their lives. Where older people, people with disabilities, families and workers can move around without having to plan how quickly they could escape if violence breaks out. That is a reasonable expectation of a shopping trip.

Of course individual responsibility has to be established properly. Arrest alone does not prove guilt. But once serious violent offending is proved, I want a justice system prepared to impose serious consequences, including custody where warranted.

The public should not have to wait for a tragedy before its safety is treated as urgent. I am tired of the aggression, tired of the entitlement, and tired of ordinary people being expected to absorb the fear and disruption.

Go shopping. See your mates. Have a bloody coffee. But if you choose violence, you should face consequences that match it.

He Gets Parole! They Get to Keep Being Afraid.

I am so bloody tired of reading stories in which a man destroys women’s lives and then the conversation turns to how nicely he might settle back into his own.

Pierre Raphael Mol, who sexually assaulted six women, has been granted parole and is scheduled for release on October 4. Authorities cite assessments of low reoffending risk. One survivor, Ashley Yakimchuk, has expressed fear that he will seek revenge. He is to live in a Corrective Services managed facility. Those are the reported circumstances. My reaction is disgust.

I understand that parole involves supervision. I understand that there are assessments, procedures and people whose job is to weigh the evidence. But I want to know where a woman’s ability to sleep without fear sits in all that paperwork. How much weight does her peace carry? Because being told someone is considered a low risk must be very cold comfort when you are the person frightened of what he might do.

Women looking for work should be able to answer an advertisement without walking into a predator’s trap. They should be able to trust that a professional setting comes with professional boundaries. Mol used modelling work to lure women to his studio. At his 2024 sentencing, the judge criticised his understanding of consent and continued victim blaming.

That makes my skin crawl. The exploitation of trust. The entitlement. The belief that another person’s body is somehow available because you have decided you want access to it. There is nothing complicated about the principle here. A woman agreeing to work with you has agreed to work with you. You do not get to invent further permissions.

And I have absolutely no patience for the tragic downfall of a talented man. His reputation, his career, his standing in the community — why should those things soften our judgment? Talent is not a character reference. You can create something beautiful and still behave appallingly. Women do not owe you forgiveness because someone admired your work.

What infuriates me about these stories is how easily the language becomes tidy. Rehabilitation. Reintegration. Risk assessment. All necessary concepts, perhaps, but none of them captures what it means to be afraid in your own home. To wonder whether speaking up has made you a target. To have done the hard, frightening thing of reporting an assault and then face another round of uncertainty.

I am not claiming to know what Mol will do after release. I am saying that a survivor’s fear deserves more than a reassuring phrase. I want protection that is concrete, support that is accessible, and answers that make sense to the women who have to live with this decision.

We keep encouraging women to report sexual violence. We ask them to endure the questions, the exposure, the court process and the possibility of being disbelieved. Then we need to show them that their safety matters after the sentence has been handed down, too.

I want these women to have ordinary, uneventful days. To go somewhere without looking over their shoulders. To sleep. To feel that their lives belong to them.

That should be a central measure of justice. And I am sick to death of wondering whether it even makes the list.

Some men suck. It is why secretwomen.org will someday be reality! :)

Cancel the Wedding. Get Some Dignity.

“Too much to forgive,” says a friend of Isaac Heeney’s fiancée, according to the latest reports. If that reflects how Steffie Waters feels, I can understand it. What I struggle with is the familiar expectation that a woman should spend weeks weighing up whether her own peace is worth more than a relationship that has become a public bloody circus.

Heeney was among five Swans players suspended for breaching club standards. There is also an ongoing police investigation, with no charges laid. Those allegations remain unproven. The club’s disciplinary action, however, is a fact—and its standards were apparently more than these professional adults could manage.

Professional football demands discipline. Training schedules, dietary requirements, recovery sessions, team meetings. An entire organisation devoted to helping grown men make good decisions. Yet somehow, once the football is put away, basic good judgment becomes an advanced elective.

Then comes the aftermath. The damage control. The worried conversations about a promising career. The sympathetic discussion of what he stands to lose. Marvellous. Can we spare five minutes for the woman whose engagement has become something strangers discuss over breakfast?

I have very little patience for the idea that she should now help rescue the situation. She agreed to marry a man. She did not apply to become the human shield in front of his reputation.

And if she stays simply because he’s handsome, famous or exceptionally good at football, well; I think that would mean she gets what she deserves. You’re choosing a husband, love, not filling a vacancy in your fantasy team. 

We are far too impressed by sporting talent. Give a man a guernsey and suddenly people start explaining away behaviour they wouldn’t tolerate from the bloke next door. 

I’ve had three ex-husbands. I understand that leaving isn’t always simple, and I won’t pretend an Instagram photograph tells us what is happening privately. But I’ve also learnt that the years you’ve already spent with someone are gone. 

If I were in a relationship that had reached “too much to forgive,” the wedding would be off. I wouldn’t be waiting for another beautifully worded apology or a convincing performance of regret. I’d be making arrangements for my own future.

He can manage his career with his club, his advisers and whoever else is paid to sort it out.

She has a life to get on with. I hope she chooses it.

Rob Lowe Has Broken My Heart. He Doesn’t Know It Yet.

Rob Lowe was asked to name his best on-screen kiss, and he answered immediately: Nastassja Kinski. They kissed in The Hotel New Hampshire back in 1984. Apparently she was so beautiful that he was nervous.

I have taken this news with the dignity you would expect from a woman whose in her sixties. I’m going to lie down for a bit.

Of course, Nastassja Kinski is gorgeous. I’ve seen her. I’m not disputing his eyesight. What I object to is Rob Lowe still remembering a kiss from 1984 while I’ve spent the intervening forty-two years being available in a purely theoretical sense.

The really annoying part is that he’s still gorgeous himself. Rob Lowe has somehow kept the face and the hair. It feels excessive. There ought to be a limit. Boy... He ought to try being a woman. There is no such thing as a gorgeous, craggy woman!

He’s been married for decades, I’m happily spoken for, and the kiss happened on a film set before many people reading this were born. None of which makes my disappointment any less real. I didn’t ask for an explanation of who his favourite was. I was quite content not knowing.

So congratulations, Nastassja. You won a competition you probably didn’t realise was still running. As for Rob, I’ll forgive him eventually.

Probably by lunchtime.