Warning: the content of this Valentine’s Post contains
graphic images, language and experiences.
Now that I have your attention, let’s begin. I want to talk about America’s problem with
rape.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
It’s a post I’ve been stewing over for quite a while now and
the more newscasts I hear, the more stories told, the more images shared, the
more I know how important this post is.
I’ll try not to make this personal.
But it is personal.
One out of every two people in the world is a woman. Duh.
And one out of every three women is raped. Yikes.
Are you at work right now? Look
around you. How many women do you
see? So, statistically, how many of them
have been victims of sexual abuse? Still
at home this morning? Then, how many
women are in your family (moms, sisters, cousins, grandmas, daughters,
aunts)? Now, statistically, how many of
those women have been raped? Has rape
become personal for you yet?
I don’t care how Christian a home, how safe a neighborhood,
how rich a family… one in three… one in three.
You can’t say it’s not personal.
Like many sexual “things,” rape is not a typical topic for
the dinner table. Miscarriages, STDs,
masturbation, four play, even pregnancy are rarely discussed among families,
friends or in our education system.
Other than a quick, “Did you hear who’s going to have a baby?” Sex is a
topic that Mother’s big blue etiquette book has strictly labeled taboo. And sexual topics remained that way until
sometime past year.
But then the Republican party decided to throw in their two
cents.
Now, this is not a political post. I know many Republicans who are sensitive to
these issues and fight for women’s & gay rights (I don’t actually, but I’m confident
they’re out there). However, some of
their party members were highlighted in the news not only for saying abominable
things about women, but for saying scientifically false things about women, as
any fifth grader who didn’t sleep through their science lesson could tell you.
(For the record, as of February 14, 2013, impregnation
occurs when a sperm attaches itself to the egg.
No proof yet of any chemicals, muscle spasms, or magical mini-armies
within a woman’s body that can prevent that from happening… despite Republican assertions. If there were, I think we all would kiss the
pill and IUDs and all that other expensive stuff goodbye!)
In addition to Republicans raising the issue (thanks guys,
no seriously – thanks for raising the issue), you may have heard of something
called a smart phone and You Tube and all these other great marvels that modern
technology gives us. All of a sudden,
date rape and gang rape and all sexually deviant acts that are usually confined
to corn fields and corner bars and your cousin’s parents’ bedroom have made
their way to cyber space, and the world is waking up not to soldiers raping
women in Darfur, but to football players raping drunk teenagers at parties,
boys gang raping pre-pubescent girls, college kids committing suicide because
of their rapists are graduating with honors.
Did you miss the video of the jocks fingering a passed out
girl and eventually sticking their members inside her? Fortunately, this guy didn’t. And his criticism of America is SPOT ON. In fact, I don’t even know why I’m writing
this post. America should just watch
this video and be done with sexual deviance.
Did you miss the story of the 18 men who raped an 11 year
old girl? That’s probably because the
news reported it barely using the word rape, and asked the vitally important
question (note the sarcasm), “Where was her mother?” (if you can’t flat out
blame the child – the little girl – blame the next best female, her mom).
And if you’re going to say rape happens because of what
woman are wearing nowadays, I have two questions for you… 1. How lame are the
men in America that they can forfeit their morality, honorability and
accountability because of fashion? And
2. Here is brave lady who shows you what she was wearing when she was raped…
Pretty sexy, huh?
OMG, you guys this is nothing new! In something like 1995, I watched Kids, over at a friend’s house, and I
learned that for a teenager: drinking was dangerous, sex is scary, and AIDS is
easily spread. But thankfully, that
wasn’t a culture I typically ascribed to.
Fast forward fifteen years, and I hear some asshole on the
radio talking about how rape is God’s will, and all of a sudden, I lose control in my car. My head swings violently back
and forth and my feet begin shaking.
“Fucking Republicans,” I think. Only a fucking Republican would cause me to
have an episode in my car on my way home from work. And all I thought I had to fight was rush
hour.
Like I said, this is a graphic post.
But it’s personal too.
And now you get to hear my dirty little secret: I was sexually abused as
a child.
Truthfully, most women in your life, even those who weren’t
raped, can tell you stories of harassment, inappropriate touching,
discrimination because of gender, and the list goes on and on. You name it; we’ve all experienced it. We live in a grotesquely sexist society.
I too had my bucket list – not of stuff to do – but of stuff
done to me. The classmate who groped my
butt in public, and the pastor who told me to forgive him. The friend who “played house” by humping me
in my bedroom, and the mom who thought it was just kids being kids. The boyfriend who made me touch him. The boss who aimed spit balls at my boobs.
The colleague who told me who told me what to wear to work. The list goes on and on.
But I didn’t know how far back it went.
And that’s enough of my personal life for this blog, but
suffice it to say, there’s more. I am
the one in three. That’s why I’m so
angry. And that’s why I had a visceral
reaction to a republican on the radio, and almost wrecked my car.
Do you know what happens when you’re being sexually
abused?
If you’re awake and alert, you only see light. Maybe that’s God shining down on us in our
misery. Promising us that She is there,
that She will take away the face and the feelings and help our bodies defend
against the offense. Or you see
scenery. Not the perpetrator, but the
trees, the house next door, the sky, the ceiling, the color of furniture. You cling to what is real, stationary, and
everything else fades away.
Why am I telling you this and not my therapist? Because sexual deviancy starts at home. We have to teach our fathers, our brothers, and
our sons to treat women as beautiful sacred creatures, as equal to men. We have to teach our people that sex is
sacred, not a right or an opportunity or a toy.
We have to promote legislation that protects our grandmothers (yep, they
get raped too!), our mothers, our sisters and our daughters (and our sons – I
haven’t even touched on that aspect) and their sexual reproductive organs and
their dignity.
When I was in college they called me stringent, when I was
in grad school, they called me a femi-nazi.
But I’ll never forget listening to one Christian man give his testimony
at a graduation event, and hearing my name come up. “And I’d like to thank Ann, for not letting
me make jokes about women, and for teaching me that women are important
too.” I was proud then. It makes me sad now.
Have I become too laxidasical in my old age (smiley face –
I’ll be 35 in May)? Have I finally given
up on speaking up on behalf of women?
Truth be told, I didn’t know that people were legitimately
sexist against women until college!
(Thank you mom & dad). I
thought women jokes were like blond jokes (Why did the blonde get fired from
the m&m factory? She threw out all
the Ws!”), and were just silly ways to get a laugh. I didn’t realize they were founded in a
worldview – that women can’t do what men can.
That women are less. Unequal.
Products. Projects. Property.
It’s messed up.
Really, it is. And I don’t have
the answer. All I can do is write, and
grieve, and try to love every child and adult I come in contact with as the
whole and beautiful person God made them to be.
And I can write blogs.
And share youtube videos. And
pictures. And beg you, to please, get
help if you can’t control your sexuality.
And please, love the women in your life, protect them, stand up for
them, give them grace… because undoubtedly someone else won’t.
