This was recited as a 6.5-minute monologue into my phone while driving on November 1, 2017, immediately after #MeToo started. Reading dozens of stories or rape, abuse, and harassment left me raw, infuriated, and clear-sighted. I made minor edits for clarity and used the punctuation I felt conveyed my expression, rather than making it strictly grammatical.
Patriarchy is a system that gives more power to men and allows men to control women's bodies, money, power, legislation, and so forth and so on at the expense of women. Patriarchy-- and its sibling misogyny-- is part of our culture. If you've grown up in our culture, you've participated in this system whether you like it or not. Even if you're a woman you've participated in it because it's part of our culture and how we understand the world, how we expect things to be. It takes quite a bit of uncomfortable work to realize that this is what's going on. It takes even more work to undo those patterns that we're accustomed to. I don't want every guy to give some mea culpa of "I did this, I did that," or --alternatively-- "I've never done anything to make a woman feel unsafe." I don't want to hear some list of "I thought she was into it but then she said she didn't want it," "I don't know, why is she lying?" Instead of all of that nonsense, I'd rather have men acknowledge that we live in a misogynistic patriarchy that (whether they like it or not) they have participated in-- to the detriment of half of our society. Because of patriarchy, women have not been believed, they haven't been listened to, they've been silenced when they've tried to speak up about it. They've been told: you're a slut anyway, you're probably just lying for attention -- all of these tired tropes are thrown at us in an effort to discredit the way that we've been describing our actual existence and our actual lives. Even though one woman isn't considered believable, now that a million women have spoken online, now we're credible; it's harder to ignore.
Since this is a society-wide issue, it is more than just looking at your own individual actions. I think it's incredibly important and instructive to look at your own actions and be more thoughtful in your actions moving forward, but it's not just what you do, it's also what you don't do. If you see someone being harassed, do you ignore it? If you hear your friends making disparaging comments about women, do you say anything? If you're watching my favorite movie, Beetlejuice, with your kid and you see Beetlejuice trying to kiss and grope Geena Davis' character while she is literally pulling away and saying no, do you just let that go as a normal 'some people are creepy' type thing, 'this is a thing that can happen,' or do you pause and say 'in 1989 when this movie came out, this was more normal in our society. But nowadays that's actually considered a sexual assault and it's really damaging and traumatizing to experience that. So while we think it's funny that he's doing it, it's actually really not funny when someone's doing it in real life.'? Do you comment on cultural things that are oppressive, or do you let those things slide by? So it's not only "what have I done?", because then it's too easy to say "I haven't done anything." You have to look at the culture that we live in because patriarchy is a cultural phenomenon. You have to do your part to change the culture that overwhelmingly benefits men. Part of that might be changing your own behavior, but as long as men are the ones who are the majority of syndicated journalists, op-ed writers, newspaper editors, publishers, translators, filmmakers, etc, as long as that power imbalance is in place unquestioned, then patriarchy is still going to have our society in its grasp.
Showing posts with label rape culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rape culture. Show all posts
Monday, July 29, 2019
Snow Falling on Cedars
Snow Falling on Cedars is a book that was lauded in 1995 for its smooth narration between present and past, charming descriptions of a small island, and its message of the folly of racism. Some at the time objected to the book because it included some sex scenes. Of course, nowadays modern readers are not at all shocked by a few explicit details.
But this modern reader does not have time for casual rape. Most people still hold a limited understanding of rape: a crazed man jumping out of the bushes and attacking someone. But there are other, more subtle forms of rape. There’s date rape, where someone you know makes sure that you get too drunk to consent and then takes advantage of you. There’s raping someone who is already unconscious. There’s begging and threatening someone until they relent and let you have sex with them. And there’s casual rape. This is a term I coined to describe surprise penetration from a familiar partner. Because it’s someone you trusted and you’ve been intimate with, because there was no violence, it’s hard to immediately understand that you’ve been violated. But it comes down to this: do women get to decide when they are penetrated?
Seriously, do they?
As #MeToo has brought sexual assault into everyday conversation, some people have expressed confusion about how to know if your partner wants sex. After all, women are mysterious and finicky creatures who are incapable of human communication, right? Do we need to always ask, wonder these naysayers, for every single thing? If you suck that much at human interaction, then yes, you do need to ask. Inviting someone back to your room, taking off their clothes, etc. are all indicators that they are interested in some sexual contact. However, they may change their minds at any time. They may want sex but not at that very moment, they may want sex but not in that way. Maybe she did want to have sex, but after talking or cuddling or kissing for a while, or whatever she needed to want penetration. If you penetrate someone when they are not ready or expecting it, you just put your desires above her needs. And I’m not talking about her need for cuddling, I’m talking about her need to determine what goes into her body and when.
Here's the scene in question. Hatsue and Ishmael are two teenagers in the 40's conducting a secret interracial affair. Hatsue is about to leave for an internment camp, and had been feeling guilty about doing something that she has to hide from her family. It describes their foreplay, in which Ishmael's hands and genitals do all kinds of pressing and traveling, and Hatsue "lets" him. She does take some action but it is primarily Ishmael who moves things along.
herself that boy is good, boy is shown to be good by “helping” her get dressed as if it’s easier for two people to put underwear on than one, girl apologizes. Cool.
To be clear, I’m not against rape in literature. Rape has been a common part of life, although it doesn’t have to be. What I’m against is including a casual rape and then acting like everything’s OK. This is exactly what normalization looks like. These are the instructions for boys: no means no, but silence, other words, crying mean yes. These are the instructions for girls: at some point a boy will surprise penetrate you, and you should do whatever mental gymnastics are required to accept that he has control over your body and you don’t; and no matter what don’t let his feelings get hurt.
Casual rape was the most unacceptable part of this book. But there were other little bits and bobs of misogyny. Here’s 3 more BONUS packs of bullshit.
I understand that heroes can be complicated-- when they’re male. Ishmael can be the hero even though he was garbage. Fine. But women protagonists never get to be complicated. The patriarchy cannot tolerate a women it doesn’t like or doesn’t understand according to its concepts about what women are. Don’t believe me? Look at Hillary Clinton. People lost their minds at a female politician who made hard choices in her career. Male politicians are seriously considered even if they’ve said or done the wrong thing before. But female politicians must be some hybrid superlady of motherly benevolence but not remind anyone of their sexless, nagging mother. Part of the reason, as Rebecca Solnit says, is the stories we tell. Complicated male heroes are in all our stories--the Bible, the Odyssey, Snow Falling on Cedars. But complicated female heroines are absent. This reinforces the patriarchy.
I found Snow Falling on Cedars in the English department bookroom at my school, which means someone used to teach it. And I’m sure it’s still taught at other schools. But in the era of #metoo, it’s time to take a second look at what we’ve accepted as literature. If we want the children to grow up in a less-rapey world, we need to change the stories we tell them; or at the very least revisit them through a feminist lens. It makes my skin crawl to think of students reading and discussing this text without taking a hard look at the male creepiness and sense of entitlement therein; teachers who glossed over the problematic passages, inadvertently teaching the students that this behavior is unremarkable, expected, mundane. I’m not saying we shouldn’t teach any controversial, problematic, or complicated texts. I’m saying we shouldn’t teach texts that reinforce systems of oppression rather than challenge them. “Doesn’t encourage casual rape” seems like a pretty low bar moving forward, but it’s a good place to start.
But this modern reader does not have time for casual rape. Most people still hold a limited understanding of rape: a crazed man jumping out of the bushes and attacking someone. But there are other, more subtle forms of rape. There’s date rape, where someone you know makes sure that you get too drunk to consent and then takes advantage of you. There’s raping someone who is already unconscious. There’s begging and threatening someone until they relent and let you have sex with them. And there’s casual rape. This is a term I coined to describe surprise penetration from a familiar partner. Because it’s someone you trusted and you’ve been intimate with, because there was no violence, it’s hard to immediately understand that you’ve been violated. But it comes down to this: do women get to decide when they are penetrated?
Seriously, do they?
As #MeToo has brought sexual assault into everyday conversation, some people have expressed confusion about how to know if your partner wants sex. After all, women are mysterious and finicky creatures who are incapable of human communication, right? Do we need to always ask, wonder these naysayers, for every single thing? If you suck that much at human interaction, then yes, you do need to ask. Inviting someone back to your room, taking off their clothes, etc. are all indicators that they are interested in some sexual contact. However, they may change their minds at any time. They may want sex but not at that very moment, they may want sex but not in that way. Maybe she did want to have sex, but after talking or cuddling or kissing for a while, or whatever she needed to want penetration. If you penetrate someone when they are not ready or expecting it, you just put your desires above her needs. And I’m not talking about her need for cuddling, I’m talking about her need to determine what goes into her body and when.
Here's the scene in question. Hatsue and Ishmael are two teenagers in the 40's conducting a secret interracial affair. Hatsue is about to leave for an internment camp, and had been feeling guilty about doing something that she has to hide from her family. It describes their foreplay, in which Ishmael's hands and genitals do all kinds of pressing and traveling, and Hatsue "lets" him. She does take some action but it is primarily Ishmael who moves things along.
"Let's get married," he said again, and she understood what he meant. "I just... I want to marry you."Ok, so to recap: girl is crying, boy penetrates girl, girl is “shocked” and moves away, girl reminds
She made no move to stop him when he slid his hand inside her panties. Then he was peeling them down her legs, and she was still crying silently. He was kissing her and pulling his own pants to his knees, the tip of his hardness was against her skin now and his hands were cupped around her face. "Just say yes," he whispered. "Just tell me yes, tell me yes. Say yes to me. Say yes, oh God say yes."
"Ishmael," she whispered, and in that moment he pushed himself inside of her, all the way in, his hardness filling her entirely, and Hatsue knew with clarity that nothing about it was right. It came as an enormous shock to her, this knowledge, and at the same time it was something she had always known, something until now hidden. She pulled away from him --she pushed him. "No," she said. "No, Ishmael. No, Ishmael. Never."
He pulled himself out, away. He was a decent boy, a kind boy, she knew that. He pulled his trousers up, buttoned them, and helped her back into her panties. Hatsue straightened her bra and clasped it again and buttoned up her dress. She put her coat on and then, sitting up, began meticulously to brush the moss from her hair. "I'm sorry," she said. "It wasn't right."
"It seemed right to me," answered Ishmael. "It seemed like getting married, like being married, like you and me were married. Like the only kind of wedding we could ever have."
"I'm sorry," said Hatsue, picking moss from her hair. "I don't want you to be unhappy."
"I am unhappy. I'm miserable. You're leaving tomorrow morning."
herself that boy is good, boy is shown to be good by “helping” her get dressed as if it’s easier for two people to put underwear on than one, girl apologizes. Cool.
To be clear, I’m not against rape in literature. Rape has been a common part of life, although it doesn’t have to be. What I’m against is including a casual rape and then acting like everything’s OK. This is exactly what normalization looks like. These are the instructions for boys: no means no, but silence, other words, crying mean yes. These are the instructions for girls: at some point a boy will surprise penetrate you, and you should do whatever mental gymnastics are required to accept that he has control over your body and you don’t; and no matter what don’t let his feelings get hurt.
Casual rape was the most unacceptable part of this book. But there were other little bits and bobs of misogyny. Here’s 3 more BONUS packs of bullshit.
- Ishmael stalks Hatsue. He literally watches her house and follows her around. Because he “likes” her. She never finds out. He never thinks about whether his actions might be problematic.
- A female character gets introduced, and the author tells us all about how she hit puberty and got boobies, and what her boobies were like, but even though she was a naughty girl who could “shape the behavior of men,” she “never flirted.” And then, her boobies changed after breastfeeding her kids, and it was a little sad. Can you imagine a female writer introducing a character’s backstory with “SHE GOT TITTIES!”?
- After the war, Ishmael still has a thing for Hatsue even though she broke up with him, went to an internment camp, got married, and had kids. He longs to have physical contact with her, which she rebuffs when he’s stupid enough to say something about it. After Hatsue’s husband’s murder trial, Ishmael finally reveals the exonerating information and sets him free. Hatsue tells him she’s grateful and kisses “him so softly … like a whisper against his cheekbone.” So, in case you missed it, the lesson is that if a woman says no to you, rescue her from something and then she’ll give you what you want! Because she OWES you.
I understand that heroes can be complicated-- when they’re male. Ishmael can be the hero even though he was garbage. Fine. But women protagonists never get to be complicated. The patriarchy cannot tolerate a women it doesn’t like or doesn’t understand according to its concepts about what women are. Don’t believe me? Look at Hillary Clinton. People lost their minds at a female politician who made hard choices in her career. Male politicians are seriously considered even if they’ve said or done the wrong thing before. But female politicians must be some hybrid superlady of motherly benevolence but not remind anyone of their sexless, nagging mother. Part of the reason, as Rebecca Solnit says, is the stories we tell. Complicated male heroes are in all our stories--the Bible, the Odyssey, Snow Falling on Cedars. But complicated female heroines are absent. This reinforces the patriarchy.
I found Snow Falling on Cedars in the English department bookroom at my school, which means someone used to teach it. And I’m sure it’s still taught at other schools. But in the era of #metoo, it’s time to take a second look at what we’ve accepted as literature. If we want the children to grow up in a less-rapey world, we need to change the stories we tell them; or at the very least revisit them through a feminist lens. It makes my skin crawl to think of students reading and discussing this text without taking a hard look at the male creepiness and sense of entitlement therein; teachers who glossed over the problematic passages, inadvertently teaching the students that this behavior is unremarkable, expected, mundane. I’m not saying we shouldn’t teach any controversial, problematic, or complicated texts. I’m saying we shouldn’t teach texts that reinforce systems of oppression rather than challenge them. “Doesn’t encourage casual rape” seems like a pretty low bar moving forward, but it’s a good place to start.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
but getting raped still sucks some of the time (part III of the Rape Chronicles)
I saw the Matches 38 times from 2002 to their last show in 2009. Those were formative years-- part of high school, college, and the beginning of my adult life. In fact, I consider the last Matches show the last day of my childhood-- I had just started two jobs, paying my own rent, and going to school again. Once they went on hiatus, I didn't know if I'd ever have that feeling of completely losing my shit to a band again. I've written about them before , as have many others. It was so sad when they broke up. They sold out the Fillmore (capacity 1150).
You can imagine my joy when they announced this summer that they'd be playing a show in November. Even five years after The Matches broke up, I was still friends with many people from shows. Everyone was so excited, posting pictures and status updates with a lot of exclamation points. I had about 30 seconds of that before I realized I'd probably have to see my rapist. Instead of the unadulterated joy that my friends were experiencing, I was just ambivalent. One show turned into 3 in a row, which for me also meant another chance (one show was on Shabbat) to come face to face with the creature who felt like my "no, do not put your sex organ into my body" wasn't worth listening to. I had six months to see how it would turn out: would I scream at him and then weep in my car for 30 minutes like last time? Would I get drunk and physically assault him? Would I assault him while completely sober? Would that make me miss part of the show? Would my friends help me? Does this mean I have to tell my 18 year old sister that I'd been raped? I got to stew in these questions for half a year. Yay.
My dreams have changed in the past year. Not dreams as in goals, but dreams as in sleeping. I used to have dreams that someone was after me and was going to rape me (these predate the actual assault, which did not involve any chasing.) Now when there's a rapist in my dream, I beat the shit out of him! I've never gotten into a fight in my life. No one gets hurt from these attacks, but I also don't get raped, which is nice, and I'm able to continue my dreaming free of fear. I had dreams of kicking Rob's ass, and also of seeing him and feeling nothing. I tried to hold onto that feeling.
Despite my best attempts to fortify myself, I wanted to feel safe at these shows. I felt I needed to do something, rather than passively take whatever comes. My friends, however, were not on board. One friend advised me: "Don't anticipate something bad happening, then you'll just have anxiety the whole show. Surround yourself with friends and you won't interact with him. It's gonna be fun!" A very zen stance to take, and one I wish this friend would take in her own personal issues, but I digress. Another friend said there was nothing I could do about it so there's no use worrying. I'd say that's a good attitude to take when waiting to get back a paper or to see if that one guy texts you back. But being viscerally, face-to-face reminded that there exists a person who thinks my body was created for the sake of his wiener is different. Being reminded that while I've had to live the past 6 years (happy rapiversary to me!) as a rape victim who hates touching people, he's gotten to continue his life, doing what he normally does with his dick-- that's something different. It was an isolating feeling.
I reached out to a new friend who had also been raped, and she was solid. She understood where I was coming from and was not dismissive. She also helped talk me down. Should I contact the core group of fans and tell them what happened? Should I contact the rapist himself? Should I contact his friend in the band? Can I take out a restraining order? We came up with priorities.
First, I contacted one of the guys in the band, who I'd become friends previous to getting raped by his best friend. I didn't even know if they were still friends. I asked him if Rob would be at the shows. He wouldn't answer that questions, he suggested we all "act like adults," and he said he didn't believe me. Sorry if that was harsh, he said. He also said he hadn't heard my side of the story. I'd offered to tell him what happened at the time, but he said he didn't remember that. He suggested we get coffee after the tours. Sheesh. On the one hand, fuck him for not believing me. On the other hand, it's curious that he hasn't written me off completely and wants to hear what I have to say. On the other...foot, um, I don't want to lose The Matches. I love their music, I love the band members, I love what being an L3er meant, I love that we're still connected after all these years. I didn't want to lose all of that because one member of the band -- who is otherwise a great guy -- has a weird soft spot for a creepy dude accused of rape who literally everyone else hates. Talking to Band Guy did not help.
So I talked to Rob. I was hoping to avoid it coming down to that, but I needed him to stay the fuck away from me in order for me to feel safe. I didn't want to be hiding from him, keeping my eyes on fixed spots to avoid accidentally seeing him. That should be his job. Here's our conversation. His response reminds me of Jian Ghomeshi's faux-anguished facebook post when his shit hit the fan.
Me: Hello, rapist. The day after raping me you offered to not go to any more Matches shows. I declined that offer because I wanted to avoid drama and wanted to forget about everything. It was the day after getting raped and I was confused about what to do. A year later, I saw you at a concert and told you to stay the fuck away from me, to which you said “OK.” I’m taking back my initial leniency and taking you up on your original offer. I’m going to all of the shows here except on Friday. I expect you to stay the fuck away from me.
Rapist [with commentary from yours truly]: You know damn well I never raped you, and I will not allow you to slander me anymore just so you can get more attention. It's sick the way you seem to feel okay turning a momentary misunderstanding ["no" could mean so many things!] into a justification to hurt me so much [who's the real victim here??]. Your baseless accusations already costed [sic] me my career as a teacher, and apparently that wasn't enough for you. You know I never deserved any of this. [That's hilarious and amazing considering he "taught" at his mom's daycare center. Did she hear about this? I used to fantasize about telling her, imagining our solidarity as women would override her maternal love. Maybe dreams CAN come true!]
I never intended you any hard. I really liked you, [redacted]. [Why are you doing this to me? *sob*] And I thought you'd given me consent. I thorught we were both having *fun* with kink/BDSM. [We were not doing any kind of kind or BDSM at the time of the rape. The kink/BDSM we did was all consensual.] We'd both talked about wanting to do what you now claim you never wanted.[We specifically had a conversation about me not wanting to have sex with him, which made him angry. At no point did we discuss an interest in anal sex.] As soon as you made clear that you didn't want to keep playing, it was over. [Again, we weren't "playing," and I was the one who got up and ended it when I realized what he was doing. He had already ignored my two no's, or as he would have it, "misunderstood."] I realize you must be hurt, and I really do feel genuine sympathy for you, but I can no longer take the blame for how you feel. [You got raped but I didn't do it!] I don't think it's really me you're mad at. [You probably have some deep-seated psychological issues which you're taking out on me for reasons unknown.] Everyone I know of who has ever met or seen or known you only sees you as an attention-seeking drama queen because of this. [Maybe taking a shot at her self-esteem will work? If I may: while I certainly ran around like a crazy person at shows when I was 17-20, I never hooked up with any band guys or tried to (there was one guy who was technically in a band who I hooked up with when I was 18, but I hadn't seen his band yet, and that's not why I wanted to hook up with him), I never got into drama with anyone, no fights, no drugs or drinking, no imagined romantic relationships (quite common!) I went to shows, sang and danced/moshed, hugged band guys, got home by 12:30. Also, everyone I've talked to who knows him was not surprised.] You're embarrassing yourself. If you want to press charges, go for it. (I'd LOVE a chance to clear my name once and for all, and recoup some of the expenses for the hell you've given me.) But you don't get to just make this sort of accusation without repercussions. If you attempt to slander me further, I will absolutely file a restraining order and take you to court. [You can't file a restraining order for someone "slandering" you. I like how he switches to threats here after starting off the paragraph going for sympathy.]
And, of course I will be at the shows. They're my good friends [the other 3 hate him, according to another band member's sister (and also everyone else)] and my best friend. Not to mention the fact that they're my former employers [I'M VERY IMPORTANT], and I'm working those shows. I have far more of a right to be there than you ever had. [I'm powerful and you're not!] You're essentially planning on showing up to my work to tell me I can't be there. [Seems unlikely that the Matches would be paying him this time around, but OK.] Pretty strange behavior for a supposed rape victim. [LOL] This is a momentous occasion for so many people. Please don't make it all about you. [Why won't you just sit down and be quiet?] If you feel you have to go, please do. Enjoy yourself. But if you don't know off the bullshit, you are going to end up in serious legal trouble. [More threats.]
I hope you find whatever it is that you need in order to heal from this. [See how nice and therefor not-rapey I am?] I regret having taken any part in a situation that led to you being hurt. Please seek help. If I can do anything for you (aside from avoiding Matches reunion shows), please don't hesitate to ask.
I love how he took every angle on this one- sympathy, anger, threats, concern, belittling/self-aggrandizing. It made me sick to read it, and it's making me feel ill writing about it again. But, can anyone read that and not feel creeped out? I think my creep-detector is way more sensitive than other people's (I've learned from experience!), but this raised so many red flags. I'd love to not be a rape victim. But, alas.
The Matches added a "secret" show on Wednesday night, across the parking lot from iMusicast, where it all started. I had dinner with a friend, and I didn't want to start the car afterwards. But I did. We got to the show, and I didn't want to get out of the car for half an hour. But I did. The battle between excitement and dread was still playing out in my head.
You can imagine my joy when they announced this summer that they'd be playing a show in November. Even five years after The Matches broke up, I was still friends with many people from shows. Everyone was so excited, posting pictures and status updates with a lot of exclamation points. I had about 30 seconds of that before I realized I'd probably have to see my rapist. Instead of the unadulterated joy that my friends were experiencing, I was just ambivalent. One show turned into 3 in a row, which for me also meant another chance (one show was on Shabbat) to come face to face with the creature who felt like my "no, do not put your sex organ into my body" wasn't worth listening to. I had six months to see how it would turn out: would I scream at him and then weep in my car for 30 minutes like last time? Would I get drunk and physically assault him? Would I assault him while completely sober? Would that make me miss part of the show? Would my friends help me? Does this mean I have to tell my 18 year old sister that I'd been raped? I got to stew in these questions for half a year. Yay.
My dreams have changed in the past year. Not dreams as in goals, but dreams as in sleeping. I used to have dreams that someone was after me and was going to rape me (these predate the actual assault, which did not involve any chasing.) Now when there's a rapist in my dream, I beat the shit out of him! I've never gotten into a fight in my life. No one gets hurt from these attacks, but I also don't get raped, which is nice, and I'm able to continue my dreaming free of fear. I had dreams of kicking Rob's ass, and also of seeing him and feeling nothing. I tried to hold onto that feeling.
Despite my best attempts to fortify myself, I wanted to feel safe at these shows. I felt I needed to do something, rather than passively take whatever comes. My friends, however, were not on board. One friend advised me: "Don't anticipate something bad happening, then you'll just have anxiety the whole show. Surround yourself with friends and you won't interact with him. It's gonna be fun!" A very zen stance to take, and one I wish this friend would take in her own personal issues, but I digress. Another friend said there was nothing I could do about it so there's no use worrying. I'd say that's a good attitude to take when waiting to get back a paper or to see if that one guy texts you back. But being viscerally, face-to-face reminded that there exists a person who thinks my body was created for the sake of his wiener is different. Being reminded that while I've had to live the past 6 years (happy rapiversary to me!) as a rape victim who hates touching people, he's gotten to continue his life, doing what he normally does with his dick-- that's something different. It was an isolating feeling.
I reached out to a new friend who had also been raped, and she was solid. She understood where I was coming from and was not dismissive. She also helped talk me down. Should I contact the core group of fans and tell them what happened? Should I contact the rapist himself? Should I contact his friend in the band? Can I take out a restraining order? We came up with priorities.
First, I contacted one of the guys in the band, who I'd become friends previous to getting raped by his best friend. I didn't even know if they were still friends. I asked him if Rob would be at the shows. He wouldn't answer that questions, he suggested we all "act like adults," and he said he didn't believe me. Sorry if that was harsh, he said. He also said he hadn't heard my side of the story. I'd offered to tell him what happened at the time, but he said he didn't remember that. He suggested we get coffee after the tours. Sheesh. On the one hand, fuck him for not believing me. On the other hand, it's curious that he hasn't written me off completely and wants to hear what I have to say. On the other...foot, um, I don't want to lose The Matches. I love their music, I love the band members, I love what being an L3er meant, I love that we're still connected after all these years. I didn't want to lose all of that because one member of the band -- who is otherwise a great guy -- has a weird soft spot for a creepy dude accused of rape who literally everyone else hates. Talking to Band Guy did not help.
So I talked to Rob. I was hoping to avoid it coming down to that, but I needed him to stay the fuck away from me in order for me to feel safe. I didn't want to be hiding from him, keeping my eyes on fixed spots to avoid accidentally seeing him. That should be his job. Here's our conversation. His response reminds me of Jian Ghomeshi's faux-anguished facebook post when his shit hit the fan.
Me: Hello, rapist. The day after raping me you offered to not go to any more Matches shows. I declined that offer because I wanted to avoid drama and wanted to forget about everything. It was the day after getting raped and I was confused about what to do. A year later, I saw you at a concert and told you to stay the fuck away from me, to which you said “OK.” I’m taking back my initial leniency and taking you up on your original offer. I’m going to all of the shows here except on Friday. I expect you to stay the fuck away from me.
Rapist [with commentary from yours truly]: You know damn well I never raped you, and I will not allow you to slander me anymore just so you can get more attention. It's sick the way you seem to feel okay turning a momentary misunderstanding ["no" could mean so many things!] into a justification to hurt me so much [who's the real victim here??]. Your baseless accusations already costed [sic] me my career as a teacher, and apparently that wasn't enough for you. You know I never deserved any of this. [That's hilarious and amazing considering he "taught" at his mom's daycare center. Did she hear about this? I used to fantasize about telling her, imagining our solidarity as women would override her maternal love. Maybe dreams CAN come true!]
I never intended you any hard. I really liked you, [redacted]. [Why are you doing this to me? *sob*] And I thought you'd given me consent. I thorught we were both having *fun* with kink/BDSM. [We were not doing any kind of kind or BDSM at the time of the rape. The kink/BDSM we did was all consensual.] We'd both talked about wanting to do what you now claim you never wanted.[We specifically had a conversation about me not wanting to have sex with him, which made him angry. At no point did we discuss an interest in anal sex.] As soon as you made clear that you didn't want to keep playing, it was over. [Again, we weren't "playing," and I was the one who got up and ended it when I realized what he was doing. He had already ignored my two no's, or as he would have it, "misunderstood."] I realize you must be hurt, and I really do feel genuine sympathy for you, but I can no longer take the blame for how you feel. [You got raped but I didn't do it!] I don't think it's really me you're mad at. [You probably have some deep-seated psychological issues which you're taking out on me for reasons unknown.] Everyone I know of who has ever met or seen or known you only sees you as an attention-seeking drama queen because of this. [Maybe taking a shot at her self-esteem will work? If I may: while I certainly ran around like a crazy person at shows when I was 17-20, I never hooked up with any band guys or tried to (there was one guy who was technically in a band who I hooked up with when I was 18, but I hadn't seen his band yet, and that's not why I wanted to hook up with him), I never got into drama with anyone, no fights, no drugs or drinking, no imagined romantic relationships (quite common!) I went to shows, sang and danced/moshed, hugged band guys, got home by 12:30. Also, everyone I've talked to who knows him was not surprised.] You're embarrassing yourself. If you want to press charges, go for it. (I'd LOVE a chance to clear my name once and for all, and recoup some of the expenses for the hell you've given me.) But you don't get to just make this sort of accusation without repercussions. If you attempt to slander me further, I will absolutely file a restraining order and take you to court. [You can't file a restraining order for someone "slandering" you. I like how he switches to threats here after starting off the paragraph going for sympathy.]
And, of course I will be at the shows. They're my good friends [the other 3 hate him, according to another band member's sister (and also everyone else)] and my best friend. Not to mention the fact that they're my former employers [I'M VERY IMPORTANT], and I'm working those shows. I have far more of a right to be there than you ever had. [I'm powerful and you're not!] You're essentially planning on showing up to my work to tell me I can't be there. [Seems unlikely that the Matches would be paying him this time around, but OK.] Pretty strange behavior for a supposed rape victim. [LOL] This is a momentous occasion for so many people. Please don't make it all about you. [Why won't you just sit down and be quiet?] If you feel you have to go, please do. Enjoy yourself. But if you don't know off the bullshit, you are going to end up in serious legal trouble. [More threats.]
I hope you find whatever it is that you need in order to heal from this. [See how nice and therefor not-rapey I am?] I regret having taken any part in a situation that led to you being hurt. Please seek help. If I can do anything for you (aside from avoiding Matches reunion shows), please don't hesitate to ask.
I love how he took every angle on this one- sympathy, anger, threats, concern, belittling/self-aggrandizing. It made me sick to read it, and it's making me feel ill writing about it again. But, can anyone read that and not feel creeped out? I think my creep-detector is way more sensitive than other people's (I've learned from experience!), but this raised so many red flags. I'd love to not be a rape victim. But, alas.
The Matches added a "secret" show on Wednesday night, across the parking lot from iMusicast, where it all started. I had dinner with a friend, and I didn't want to start the car afterwards. But I did. We got to the show, and I didn't want to get out of the car for half an hour. But I did. The battle between excitement and dread was still playing out in my head.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
In Which I Go Back in Time and Slap Myself
I've been dating.
I try to keep an open mind, but I also don't want to put up with bullshit.
It's a fine line.
One thing that I can't handle is flattery. I'm not talking about some kind of fake (or real) modesty, insecurity, or a dislike of receiving compliments. I'm talking about:
-false compliments (i.e. "You look sexy" when you just got back from the gym and your booty crack is sweating through your pants.)
-gazing (looking at a woman like she's magic, especially if she doesn't think you're magic.)
-superfluous compliments ("You're really smart" when you are actually smart, but you didn't say anything smart enough to warrant that assessment.)
-over-dramatic moments of affection or admiration (see gazing)
However, I did not always feel this way. A mere 6 years ago I wrote a blog (my second one ever- it was waiting a while to be written) about how flattery (though I didn't use that word) creates confidence, which leads to fun nakedness, essentially. It now seems like a how-to guide for douche bags.
Unfortunately, flattery no longer inspires confidence in me. It creeps me out. It makes me feel like someone is trying to manipulate me. And, doubly-unfortunately, manipulation was the #1 favorite tool of the dude who raped me. I bring that up not in a I-was-raped-and-therefore-traumatized way, but in a this-is-the-behavior-of-a-rapist way. Some guys who flattered me did not engage in any non-consensual sexual acts with me, and I was happy that someone put in the effort to make me feel attractive. Rob, on the other hand, definitely used flattery as a way to gain my trust and make me think that he respected me-- and therefore my body and my limits.
I cannot believe that at one point in my life I did not recognize flattery as manipulation. I had a lot of fun fooling around with various dudes; it was super validating of my idea of myself as sexually potent and desirable. I thought rapists would be douchey and aggressive and were probably hiding in bushes. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they are (seemingly) sweet, gentle, charming people who you know. I want to go back in time and slap myself for my naivete.
But that brings up other problems:
1) Why should I slap myself? I should go back in time and punch HIM! No victim blaming, thank you.
2) Could I handle the fact that some apparently sweet dudes are rapists when I was in my early 20's? People have been describing me as jaded and cynical since I was 7, so I wouldn't want to add more disillusionment on top of that.
This time I don't have solutions to those problems. Normally, this is the part of the post where I'd end with some (attempted) righteous, witty, or wise conclusion. I don't have one of those. There's no lesson here, just shock and mild shame at the fact that the best advice I could give to guys was to flatter women in order to get them naked.
I try to keep an open mind, but I also don't want to put up with bullshit.
It's a fine line.
One thing that I can't handle is flattery. I'm not talking about some kind of fake (or real) modesty, insecurity, or a dislike of receiving compliments. I'm talking about:
-false compliments (i.e. "You look sexy" when you just got back from the gym and your booty crack is sweating through your pants.)
-gazing (looking at a woman like she's magic, especially if she doesn't think you're magic.)
-superfluous compliments ("You're really smart" when you are actually smart, but you didn't say anything smart enough to warrant that assessment.)
-over-dramatic moments of affection or admiration (see gazing)
However, I did not always feel this way. A mere 6 years ago I wrote a blog (my second one ever- it was waiting a while to be written) about how flattery (though I didn't use that word) creates confidence, which leads to fun nakedness, essentially. It now seems like a how-to guide for douche bags.
Unfortunately, flattery no longer inspires confidence in me. It creeps me out. It makes me feel like someone is trying to manipulate me. And, doubly-unfortunately, manipulation was the #1 favorite tool of the dude who raped me. I bring that up not in a I-was-raped-and-therefore-traumatized way, but in a this-is-the-behavior-of-a-rapist way. Some guys who flattered me did not engage in any non-consensual sexual acts with me, and I was happy that someone put in the effort to make me feel attractive. Rob, on the other hand, definitely used flattery as a way to gain my trust and make me think that he respected me-- and therefore my body and my limits.
I cannot believe that at one point in my life I did not recognize flattery as manipulation. I had a lot of fun fooling around with various dudes; it was super validating of my idea of myself as sexually potent and desirable. I thought rapists would be douchey and aggressive and were probably hiding in bushes. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they are (seemingly) sweet, gentle, charming people who you know. I want to go back in time and slap myself for my naivete.
But that brings up other problems:
1) Why should I slap myself? I should go back in time and punch HIM! No victim blaming, thank you.
2) Could I handle the fact that some apparently sweet dudes are rapists when I was in my early 20's? People have been describing me as jaded and cynical since I was 7, so I wouldn't want to add more disillusionment on top of that.
This time I don't have solutions to those problems. Normally, this is the part of the post where I'd end with some (attempted) righteous, witty, or wise conclusion. I don't have one of those. There's no lesson here, just shock and mild shame at the fact that the best advice I could give to guys was to flatter women in order to get them naked.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
getting raped eventually sucks less
It's been five years since I got raped, which sucked.
But it sucks less than it did then. Partially in a "time heals all wounds way," and partially in a "SUCK ON THIS, RAPE!" way.
I think about it fleetingly every day, and I wish I didn't have to deal with that. Some days I think about it a lot. I talked about the details with someone today, and it made me shake.
Rape is a lack of power, autonomy, respect, humanity.
Fuck that! Now I use rape to make me more powerful.
I reached out to other people and gained strength from their numbers. (Turns out everyone's been raped/almost raped/has a sister/friend/roommate who got raped, too.) Rape is a deeply private, personal attack-- it happens within your own body! It doesn't go this way for everyone, unfortunately, but I found tons of support all around me when I started looking. Not everyone was supportive, which cost me some friendships, but some people who weren't even close to me were solid as fuck.
I decided that I'd start looking at the issue of rape more, and that strengthened me, too. Reading about rape lead me to misogyny, rape culture, patriarchy, and a host of other ideas that helped me understand how thousands of men go from innocent infant to rapist. However, understanding did not breed sympathy! I got mad, and now I do whatever I can to punch patriarchy in its face.
Rape can make you feel isolated, but being open about it has made me see how absolutely not isolated each rape is. Shit is systematic. Gaining an understanding of rape-- even when getting raped seems to destroy everything you understood about people, your body, boundaries-- gave me the tools to speak out louder and clearer against rape, rape culture, and all the factors that contribute to it.
Besides friends and reading, yoga and dance also helped me reclaim my body and my sexuality. Yoga speaks for itself-- go to 5 classes and see what happens!
The sassy, witty, sarcastic, smart-as-fuck ladies at Jezebel.com were also a sustaining force in my recovery. They sent a clear, consistent anti-rape message in a language I could understand (sarcasm!) As crazy as it sounds, just being reminded that rape is not OK was crucial for me as I developed an understanding of the issue. It's not like I thought rape was OK beforehand, but my rapist tried to convince me that it was a misunderstanding and that I actually wanted it, and it was very convenient to believe him instead of accepting the truth! Since then I've read countless hilarious articles about the myriad ways that women have their rights, bodies, freedom, and autonomy violated-- besides rape!
Five years later things are looking good for me, and I am infinitely grateful for that. I'm lucky that I have supportive and radical friends (because apparently "rape is bad" is still a radical idea), that I had life goals and was able to take huge steps toward fulfilling them, and that I've been financially stable since then. Many women aren't as lucky. Getting raped made me significantly less emotionally stable in the short term, and it was just luck that I made it here. Many women struggle for years or the rest of their lives to gain back what they lost when they were violated. I don't have a snarky analysis of that; it's just fucking awful.
I still experience post-rape side effects. I haven't had sex since then, which may be a direct result or may just be how I am. (Funny sidenote: after two months of dating, I told a guy I was ready to have sex. I also told him that I could never be his girlfriend. He got mad and cited Martin Buber at me.) Anyway, my sense of "I could get raped" is way heightened. Males probably don't think about this much (that's what male privilege is all about), but I know all the ladies know what I'm talking about. Just being alone in a room with a guy sets off a little alarm deep in my brain. I don't let it control me, but it's there. Looking into the nitty-gritty of rape culture has led me to some pretty ugly things: appalling statistics, revenge porn (exists!), how men silence, oppress, and --wait for it-- rape women on the daily in every conceivable situation-- business, the Internet, literature, on the bus, etc. Some things are triggering for me. That means that otherwise innocuous things (whether relating to rape or not) will cause my brain to flood with cortisol, putting me on edge. At this point those things are fairly predictable, but sometimes they change.
I feel good about where I've come since then. But I'll always (as far as I can tell. Will keep you posted.) carry around a little of the baggage, fear, and cynicism. I'm doing what I can to turn all that rage (because women are allowed to feel rage, btw) into righteous anger, strength, power, and peace. (Stay tuned for the next blog: How to balance righteous anger and peace.)
But it sucks less than it did then. Partially in a "time heals all wounds way," and partially in a "SUCK ON THIS, RAPE!" way.
I think about it fleetingly every day, and I wish I didn't have to deal with that. Some days I think about it a lot. I talked about the details with someone today, and it made me shake.
Rape is a lack of power, autonomy, respect, humanity.
Fuck that! Now I use rape to make me more powerful.
I reached out to other people and gained strength from their numbers. (Turns out everyone's been raped/almost raped/has a sister/friend/roommate who got raped, too.) Rape is a deeply private, personal attack-- it happens within your own body! It doesn't go this way for everyone, unfortunately, but I found tons of support all around me when I started looking. Not everyone was supportive, which cost me some friendships, but some people who weren't even close to me were solid as fuck.
I decided that I'd start looking at the issue of rape more, and that strengthened me, too. Reading about rape lead me to misogyny, rape culture, patriarchy, and a host of other ideas that helped me understand how thousands of men go from innocent infant to rapist. However, understanding did not breed sympathy! I got mad, and now I do whatever I can to punch patriarchy in its face.
Rape can make you feel isolated, but being open about it has made me see how absolutely not isolated each rape is. Shit is systematic. Gaining an understanding of rape-- even when getting raped seems to destroy everything you understood about people, your body, boundaries-- gave me the tools to speak out louder and clearer against rape, rape culture, and all the factors that contribute to it.
Besides friends and reading, yoga and dance also helped me reclaim my body and my sexuality. Yoga speaks for itself-- go to 5 classes and see what happens!
The sassy, witty, sarcastic, smart-as-fuck ladies at Jezebel.com were also a sustaining force in my recovery. They sent a clear, consistent anti-rape message in a language I could understand (sarcasm!) As crazy as it sounds, just being reminded that rape is not OK was crucial for me as I developed an understanding of the issue. It's not like I thought rape was OK beforehand, but my rapist tried to convince me that it was a misunderstanding and that I actually wanted it, and it was very convenient to believe him instead of accepting the truth! Since then I've read countless hilarious articles about the myriad ways that women have their rights, bodies, freedom, and autonomy violated-- besides rape!
Five years later things are looking good for me, and I am infinitely grateful for that. I'm lucky that I have supportive and radical friends (because apparently "rape is bad" is still a radical idea), that I had life goals and was able to take huge steps toward fulfilling them, and that I've been financially stable since then. Many women aren't as lucky. Getting raped made me significantly less emotionally stable in the short term, and it was just luck that I made it here. Many women struggle for years or the rest of their lives to gain back what they lost when they were violated. I don't have a snarky analysis of that; it's just fucking awful.
I still experience post-rape side effects. I haven't had sex since then, which may be a direct result or may just be how I am. (Funny sidenote: after two months of dating, I told a guy I was ready to have sex. I also told him that I could never be his girlfriend. He got mad and cited Martin Buber at me.) Anyway, my sense of "I could get raped" is way heightened. Males probably don't think about this much (that's what male privilege is all about), but I know all the ladies know what I'm talking about. Just being alone in a room with a guy sets off a little alarm deep in my brain. I don't let it control me, but it's there. Looking into the nitty-gritty of rape culture has led me to some pretty ugly things: appalling statistics, revenge porn (exists!), how men silence, oppress, and --wait for it-- rape women on the daily in every conceivable situation-- business, the Internet, literature, on the bus, etc. Some things are triggering for me. That means that otherwise innocuous things (whether relating to rape or not) will cause my brain to flood with cortisol, putting me on edge. At this point those things are fairly predictable, but sometimes they change.
I feel good about where I've come since then. But I'll always (as far as I can tell. Will keep you posted.) carry around a little of the baggage, fear, and cynicism. I'm doing what I can to turn all that rage (because women are allowed to feel rage, btw) into righteous anger, strength, power, and peace. (Stay tuned for the next blog: How to balance righteous anger and peace.)
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