Hannah Gadsby: Nanette Page #7

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You're a lady f*ggot.

I'm allowed to beat the

sh*t out of you," and he did!

He beat the sh*t out of

me and nobody stopped him.

And I didn't... report

that to the police,

and I did not take myself to

hospital, and I should have.

And you know why I didn't?

It's because I thought

that was all I was worth.

And that is what happens when

you soak one child in shame

and give permission to another to hate.

And that was not homophobia,

pure and simple, people.

That was gendered.

If I'd been feminine, that

would not have happened.

I am incorrectly female.

I am incorrect, and that

is a punishable offense.

And this tension, it's yours.

I am not helping you anymore.

You need to learn what this feels

like because this... this tension

is what not-normals carry

inside of them all of the time

because it is dangerous to be different!

To the men...

to the men in the room, I speak to

you now, particularly the white men,

especially the straight white men.

Pull your f***ing socks up!

How humiliating!

Fashion advice from a lesbian.

That is your last joke.

All my life,

I've been told that I'm a man-hater.

I don't hate men, I honestly do not.

I don't hate men.

But...

there's a problem.

See, I don't even believe

that women are better than men.

I believe women are just as

corruptible by power as men,

because you know what, fellas,

you don't have a monopoly

on the human condition,

you arrogant fucks.

But the story is as you have told it.

Power belongs to you.

And if you can't handle criticism,

take a joke,

or deal with your own

tension without violence,

you have to wonder if

you are up to the task

of being in charge.

I'm not a man-hater.

But I'm afraid of men.

If I'm the only woman in a

room full of men, I am afraid.

And if you think that's unusual,

you're not speaking to

the women in your life.

I don't hate men, but I

wonder how a man would feel

if they'd lived my life.

Because it was a man who sexually

abused me when I was a child.

It was a man who beat the sh*t

out of me when I was 17, my prime.

It was two men who raped me

when I was barely in my twenties.

Tell me why is that okay.

Why was it okay to pick me off the

pack like that and do that to me?

It would have been more humane to

just take me out to the back paddock

and put a bullet in my head

if it is that much of

a crime to be different!

I don't tell you this...

so you think of me as a victim.

I am not a victim. I tell you

this because my story has value.

My story has value.

I tell you this 'cause

I want you to know,

I need you to know, what I know.

To be rendered powerless does

not destroy your humanity.

Your resilience is your humanity.

The only people who lose their humanity

are those who believe

they have the right

to render another human being powerless.

They are the weak.

To yield and not break,

that is incredible strength.

You destroy the woman, you

destroy the past she represents.

I will not allow my story...

to be destroyed.

What I would have done to

have heard a story like mine.

Not for blame.

Not for reputation, not

for money, not for power.

But to feel less alone.

To feel connected.

I want my story... heard.

Because, ironically, I

believe Picasso was right.

I believe we could paint a better world

if we learned how to see

it from all perspectives,

as many perspectives

as we possibly could.

Because diversity is strength.

Difference is a teacher.

Fear difference, you learn nothing.

Picasso's mistake was his arrogance.

He assumed he could represent

all of the perspectives.

And our mistake was to invalidate

the perspective of a 17-year-old

girl, because we believed

her potential... was

never going to equal his.

Hindsight is a gift.

Can you stop wasting my time?

A 17-year-old girl is just

never, ever, ever in her prime!

Ever!

I am in my prime!

Would you test your strength out on me?

There is no way anyone would dare...

test their strength out on me,

because you all know...

there is nothing stronger

then a broken woman

who has rebuilt herself.

To the men in the room...

who feel I may have been

persecuting you this evening...

well spotted.

That's pretty much what I've done there.

But this is theater, fellas.

I've given you an hour, a taste.

I have lived a life.

The damage done to me

is real and debilitating.

I will never flourish.

But this is why... I must quit comedy.

Because the only way...

I can tell my truthand put

tension in the room is with anger.

And I am angry, and I believe

I've got every right to be angry!

But what I don't have a right

to do is to spread anger.

I don't.

Because anger, much like laughter,

can connect a room full of

strangers like nothing else.

But anger, even if it's

connected to laughter,

will not... relieve tension.

Because anger is a tension.

It is a toxic, infectious... tension.

And it knows no other purpose

than to spread blind hatred,

and I want no part of it.

Because I take my freedom of

speech as a responsibility,

and just because I can

position myself as a victim,

does not make my anger constructive.

It never is constructive.

Laughter is not our medicine.

Stories hold our cure.

Laughter is just the honey that

sweetens the bitter medicine.

I don't want to unite you

with laughter or anger.

I just needed my story heard,

my story felt and understood

by individuals with minds of their own.

Because, like it or not,

your story... is my story.

And my story... is your story.

I just don't have the strength

to take care of my story anymore.

I don't want my story defined by anger.

All I can ask is just please

help me take care of my story.

Do you know why we have the sunflowers?

It's not because Vincent

van Gogh suffered.

It's because Vincent van Gogh

had a brother who loved him.

Through all the pain, he had a

tether, a connection to the world.

And that... is the focus

of the story we need.

Connection.

Thank you.

Then you hang up the phone

And feel badly for

upsetting things

Crawl back into bed

To dream of a time

When your heart was open wide

And you loved

things just because

Like the sick and the dying

And sometimes when you're on

You're really f***ing on

And your friends,

they sing along

And they love you

But the lows are so extreme

The good seems f***ing cheap

And it teases you for weeks

In its absence

But you'll fight

And you'll make it through

You'll fake it if you have to

And you'll show up for work

With a smile

And you'll be better

And you'll be smarter

And more grown-up

And a better daughter

Or son, and a

real good friend...

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