Why I withdrew from Adelaide Writers’ Week

Antisemitism, like all the other forms of bigotry and hatred, has been ramping up over the last few years. No wonder, given that its expression, previously driven underground by the much maligned ‘political correctness’, is now openly condoned by so many powerful people.

However, I don’t just single out the rise of antisemitism because Jewish people have told me about it. I do so from personal experience.

It is only in the last few decades that my family became aware of my father’s Jewish origins. There is literally no memory of Judaism in his family, no residual rituals and certainly no religious belief or tradition.

Despite our Jewish last name, none of us identify as Jews. I am of Jewish descent, which is of no more or less importance to me than my Scottish or Northern English heritage. I had never knowingly experienced antisemitism, although I have certainly experienced misogyny, especially since the rise of the right-wing tech bros who seem to thrive on the abuse they encourage on their social media platforms.

Then, about a year or so ago, someone replied to something I’d posted on Twitter (I refuse to call it X) with ‘She’s a Jew’, as if that alone was enough to discredit whatever opinion I might have.

I was nonplussed. It’s hard to respond to such a dismissal. To deny being Jewish would be to accept that such an identity could be seen as an insult, something I adamantly reject, but to accept the description felt disrespectful, a form of cultural appropriation.

It was the first time, as a privileged white woman, I had ever experienced racism. And racism is fucking awful. It feels annihilating, as if your very right to exist is threatened.

Since then, I have experienced more antisemitic abuse. The worst was a GIF of a rat squeaking as it nibbled some cheese with the words ‘Jew-noises’ emblazoned across it.

Shocking, revolting and disturbing, but I am aware it is a mere fraction of the abuse those who identify as Jewish receive. Despite the misogyny (and ageism), which I have grown so used to it barely registers, this blatant, almost self-congratulatory race hate opened my eyes.

I am now much more aware of the chilling effect such bigotry can have – against Jewish people, certainly, but also against followers of Islam, all black and brown people, especially Indigenous Australians, and the LGBTQI community including the shameless bullying of trans people. I have always loathed it, but as its belligerent, sneering and foul stench has mushroomed and infected all our lives, I now also fear it.

Given the horrific slaughter on Bondi Beach on December 14, we all need to fear it. But we still need to be able to talk about it – respectfully, openly but also robustly.  Especially, I believe, as debating, discussing and challenging one another helps inoculate us against another of my fears; the fear of becoming infected by bigotry ourselves. If someone hates me, it is incumbent on me to resist hating them in return.

When I saw that Dr Randa Abdel-Fattah had been uninvited to the Adelaide Writers’ Festival, my heart sank. When individuals are made the scapegoat for the swirling emotions that understandably follow an event like Bondi Beach, I know that I cannot join in.

This does not mean I endorse every word Dr Abdel-Fattah has said, or every attitude she may or may not hold. It means that I believe she should be heard and not singled out for public humiliation. Argue with her, boycott her sessions, write angry posts and letters to the editor. Ask her a hard-to-answer question at any public appearance.

But if Writers’ Festivals are going to uninvite people who may have controversial or even transgressive opinions, what happens next?

First, the chilling effect of her banning will spread. Many already double-check themselves before daring to express an unpopular opinion or even just a nuanced one. There is nothing bullies despise more than context and nuance – the lifeblood of writers. This chill will only intensify as people worry what effect their words may have on their next opportunity or gig. It can only result in more timidity and dumbing down.

Second is the outrageous disrespect shown to the brave and admirable Artistic Director of the festival, Dr Louise Adler. I have been on the boards of arts companies and one thing I learnt is that supporting the right of your creative leader to make their own decisions is non-negotiable.

A commission has been suggested to ‘oversee’ the Artistic Director of AWF in the future. I cannot imagine anything less helpful for an exciting, messy and dynamic festival. What creative thinker worth their salt would would want such a job?

Finally, as I said in my statement when I withdrew, authoritarianism and its brutal brother fascism are rising all around us. They thrive on controlling, squashing and censoring ideas they do not like.

I refuse to participate in that.

Jane Caro AM is an author, broadcaster, columnist and social commentator. In 2018, she a won the Walkley’s June Andrews Award for Women’s Leadership in Media. She is the author of two best selling novels, The Mother and Lyrebird.