This one is for you @graygender. Thank you for giving me permission to write and publish it.
I have a daughter person who is non binary. Their pronoun is they.
I thought I had a daughter. When they were born they presented as female, they continued to present as female and to be honest with you, if you didn't know they were non binary you would continue to think they were female.
But they are not.
And, not that they need my validation for it, that is fine.
I thought I gave birth to a daughter. Turns out I was wrong. It happens, I am not omnipotent and I make mistakes.
The one mistake I didn't make though was to grieve for the daughter I lost.
I see my friends come out as Trans* and hear stories about how their parents are devastated. They mourn and grieve for their loss of a son, loss of a daughter. They weep and wail at the grandchildren they think they will never have, the weddings that they will never be able to plan, the dress they will never buy.
(Completely ignoring that none of that is true. It might just not be in the way you invisaged.)
It makes me really, really sad for them.
If only they would realise that they never lost a son. They never had a son.
If only they would realise that they never lost a daughter. They never had one.
If only they would stop treating their children like possessions just because they raised them.
If only they would spend the energy they use on rending their clothes and covering the mirrors rejoicing that this person they raised was raised with enough confidence to say 'No, actually, this is not my gender.'
If only they could see that by their coming out they are being honoured as parents.
Once upon a time I thought I had a little girl. Gorgeous and beautiful and funny and clever and loving and amazing.
Now I know I have a non binary daughter person. Guess what? They are still gorgeous and beautiful and funny and clever and loving and amazing.
And brave. And stronger than they think. And I am honoured to be their mother.
I do not grieve for my long lost daughter. I can't. She never existed. It is energy wasted. And I would rather spend the energy getting to know the person they always were.
So, I say this to the to parents of Trans* people everywhere.
When you grieve for what you have lost you invalidate your child. You devalue them. You tell them that they are not good enough. You tell them that what they could bring in terms of weddings and grandchildren means more to you than they do.
Society will already tell them that they are freaks and not normal and different. You should be the place that reassures them that they are the wonderful human beings that they always were.
Don't make a half assed attempt at using their pronouns. Getting it right isn't even a fraction as difficult as the dysphoria they will feel when you misgender them.
If they choose a new name, then honour it. Saying you will always think of them as their birth name denies their agency and they will already get enough of that.
Don't out them without asking permission. As interesting as your child is, as proud of them as you are IT IS NOT YOUR STORY TO TELL. They will tell it in their own way and in their own time. Or not. Their choice.
If your child is a trans woman, please don't try to make her conform to your idea of womanhood. She will have her own and she should be allowed to explore that.
If your child is a trans man please don't expect him to suddenly be into football if he wasn't before.
If your child is non binary then welcome to the club. You might not be able to work out exactly what gender if any they see themselves as. You know what, you don't have to. As long as they are happy and comfortable then your job is just to accept and support.
It is as easy as that.
And anyone pretending it is hard, anyone grieving for the child they lost is missing both out on a lot and the fucking point.
Sunday, 9 November 2014
Saturday, 8 November 2014
On Reclaiming The Night
Last night myself and my daughter person @graygender went to the Reclaim The Night march in Bristol.
I had been on pro choice marches, anti fash marches, the lovely A to B ones that the TUC kindly arrange. I have been to Burston School, Tolpuddle and save the NHS marches. You would think I could call myself a veteran.
I wasn't ready for this.
Having made our placards, we headed into town. Grace wrapped up as if ready for an Arctic winter and me hobbling on my broken toe. We grabbed burritos and were still the first ones there apart from the marshals.
So we sat. Waiting for the others to arrive. Waiting for the chance to get together with other women who are sick of the slut shaming. Sick of the victim blaming. Sick of not feeling like we can walk the streets safely at night.
And arrive they did. Women, men, families. Dad's wanting to let their daughters know that they stood by them and their right to autonomy and safety.
And in the middle of all these people. A sad looking woman with a black eye. Wandering round looking confused and bemused and like she felt slightly out of place.
I didn't take a picture of her because sometimes dignity and privacy trumps an iconic photo.
I watched her for most of the night. This woman with a visible reminder of violence. Most of us have hidden our scars and you wouldn't know we were survivors unless we told you. And here, in the midst of us was a woman with a black eye.
I am not sure I have the words to describe how I felt looking at her. The memories of my own black eyes and broken bones assailed me but I felt supported by my sisters and they wouldn't drown me. More on this woman later.
We started off the event with a minutes silence round some candles to remember the women who have been killed by male violence. Didn't realise it was going to be so emotional.
Grace and I cried all the way through it. Then all the way through the poem that was read by an amazing woman about how she was finding a new pride in being able to live and laugh again.
Then Grace turned to me and whispered 'they're all here.'
And they were. We felt them. All the women that could have been us. The ones who didn't survive. The ones who shouldn't have died.
We felt them.
And we marched for them.
We shouted for them.
We honoured them.
We stopped the traffic. We carried our placards high and proud. We blew whistles. We basked in the glow of sisterhood.
I heard very young women crying because it was the first march they had ever been on and it was the first time they had felt proud to be women.
I saw old women on the pavement applaud us in tears and shout 'THANK YOU' as we went past.
I heard an 11 year old girl scream 'I HAVE A BRAIN AND YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SEXUALISE ME!' defiantly into the night.
And I was proud. I was proud of every single woman who was there. I was proud of who I was. I was proud to see a transgender flag with us. I was proud to see most of the men who marched with us do so from the back, recognising that this was a moment for women to scream and shout and demand an end to catcalling, to blaming us for our own rapes because we dare to go outside after dark, an end to killing us because they can, because we will be reduced to someone's wife, girlfriend, mother, daughter.
So what of the woman with the black eye.
I caught sight of her again during the march. She was crying and she was smiling. She was walking with her head held high. She was alive.
Who knows what she went home to that night. Who knows how long her very visible euphoria lasted.
I don't. I only know that in that moment she looked free. And that made the marching on a broken toe worth it.
There was a rally and after party, but we didn't stay for that. PTSD being what it is, we can't all always stay for that kind of thing. Too loud, too busy.
It looked like fun though.
So we took our placards and went home. Where we ended up having a conversation about victim blaming on the bus with a woman who said 'I agree with what you just said, but...'
This happens a LOT. People who say they agree then go right on to say something really victim blaming like women shouldn't get drunk if they don't want to get raped.
*sigh*
Also in this category of truly unhelpful are those who try and derail with the what about teh menz argument.
Yes, men sometimes get catcalled too. Does it make it ok? No. Does it give men free reign to do it? No. Are men in danger of their lives if they don't respond or do respond? No.
This is a world where we have Julien Blanc telling men how to choke women into sex. Am I going to die in a ditch over a woman shouting nice arse at a man. No.
So, despite the men who wouldn't go to the back of the march, despite the twitter trolls who tried to start a row on the #reclaimthenight hashtag, despite everything, for that night it was ours. We reclaimed it. We felt safe with our sisters.
Tonight, tomorrow and all the other nights?
Well we still have work to do. Much work.
But we are up to the job, and we will win.
Solidarity sisters
Deeva xxx
I had been on pro choice marches, anti fash marches, the lovely A to B ones that the TUC kindly arrange. I have been to Burston School, Tolpuddle and save the NHS marches. You would think I could call myself a veteran.
I wasn't ready for this.
Having made our placards, we headed into town. Grace wrapped up as if ready for an Arctic winter and me hobbling on my broken toe. We grabbed burritos and were still the first ones there apart from the marshals.
So we sat. Waiting for the others to arrive. Waiting for the chance to get together with other women who are sick of the slut shaming. Sick of the victim blaming. Sick of not feeling like we can walk the streets safely at night.
And arrive they did. Women, men, families. Dad's wanting to let their daughters know that they stood by them and their right to autonomy and safety.
And in the middle of all these people. A sad looking woman with a black eye. Wandering round looking confused and bemused and like she felt slightly out of place.
I didn't take a picture of her because sometimes dignity and privacy trumps an iconic photo.
I watched her for most of the night. This woman with a visible reminder of violence. Most of us have hidden our scars and you wouldn't know we were survivors unless we told you. And here, in the midst of us was a woman with a black eye.
I am not sure I have the words to describe how I felt looking at her. The memories of my own black eyes and broken bones assailed me but I felt supported by my sisters and they wouldn't drown me. More on this woman later.
We started off the event with a minutes silence round some candles to remember the women who have been killed by male violence. Didn't realise it was going to be so emotional.
Grace and I cried all the way through it. Then all the way through the poem that was read by an amazing woman about how she was finding a new pride in being able to live and laugh again.
Then Grace turned to me and whispered 'they're all here.'
And they were. We felt them. All the women that could have been us. The ones who didn't survive. The ones who shouldn't have died.
We felt them.
And we marched for them.
We shouted for them.
We honoured them.
We stopped the traffic. We carried our placards high and proud. We blew whistles. We basked in the glow of sisterhood.
I heard very young women crying because it was the first march they had ever been on and it was the first time they had felt proud to be women.
I saw old women on the pavement applaud us in tears and shout 'THANK YOU' as we went past.
I heard an 11 year old girl scream 'I HAVE A BRAIN AND YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SEXUALISE ME!' defiantly into the night.
And I was proud. I was proud of every single woman who was there. I was proud of who I was. I was proud to see a transgender flag with us. I was proud to see most of the men who marched with us do so from the back, recognising that this was a moment for women to scream and shout and demand an end to catcalling, to blaming us for our own rapes because we dare to go outside after dark, an end to killing us because they can, because we will be reduced to someone's wife, girlfriend, mother, daughter.
So what of the woman with the black eye.
I caught sight of her again during the march. She was crying and she was smiling. She was walking with her head held high. She was alive.
Who knows what she went home to that night. Who knows how long her very visible euphoria lasted.
I don't. I only know that in that moment she looked free. And that made the marching on a broken toe worth it.
There was a rally and after party, but we didn't stay for that. PTSD being what it is, we can't all always stay for that kind of thing. Too loud, too busy.
It looked like fun though.
So we took our placards and went home. Where we ended up having a conversation about victim blaming on the bus with a woman who said 'I agree with what you just said, but...'
This happens a LOT. People who say they agree then go right on to say something really victim blaming like women shouldn't get drunk if they don't want to get raped.
*sigh*
Also in this category of truly unhelpful are those who try and derail with the what about teh menz argument.
Yes, men sometimes get catcalled too. Does it make it ok? No. Does it give men free reign to do it? No. Are men in danger of their lives if they don't respond or do respond? No.
This is a world where we have Julien Blanc telling men how to choke women into sex. Am I going to die in a ditch over a woman shouting nice arse at a man. No.
So, despite the men who wouldn't go to the back of the march, despite the twitter trolls who tried to start a row on the #reclaimthenight hashtag, despite everything, for that night it was ours. We reclaimed it. We felt safe with our sisters.
Tonight, tomorrow and all the other nights?
Well we still have work to do. Much work.
But we are up to the job, and we will win.
Solidarity sisters
Deeva xxx
Friday, 24 October 2014
Queer Emergency- In Support Of Allison Woolbert
This plea came from a very good friend of mine who is genderqueer.
"queer internet i need your help there is an emergency
Sunday, 19 October 2014
On Cultural Appropriation - An Ongoing Conversation
This is a conversation that has been ongoing with my daughter person for over a year now and I still haven't totally got my head around it.
If this post is a bit rambling then that would be why. Also, these are my views. I don't claim to speak for PoC, Woc, hell, I don't speak for anyone but me. You may not agree with me, hell, I don't agree with myself sometimes but please, if you have to disagree, just don't be a dick about it.
It is all I ask.
So, what is cultural appropriation?
This has become a problematic question in itself really. When is wearing a bindi acceptable? Should I be allowed to wear flip flops/dreadlocks/chinese tattoos/black face/yellow face/sari/chi pao/native American headdress?
Can I twerk without being racist?
I am not going to say yes or no to any of these things. I am just going to give my opinion and hope that it leads to the conversation carrying on.
TWERKING.
Do I find white women twerking inherently racist? No, I don't. No more than I find black women dancing ballet racist. Do I think it is culturally insensitive? Not sure. However, I do find myself thinking the following.
When I dance, when my sisters (both familial and not) dance we do what has become known as twerking. (Thank you so much white folks, what comes naturally to us was crying out for a name *rolls eyes*) I have only ever thought of it as dancing. It is the dancing I do because I cannot do any other kind of dance when I hear the beat and riddim to mek me wine up me waist and grine up me hips.
It is instinctual, it is tribal it is just what I do.
Now compare that to Miley Cyrus wiggling her behind at a bloke singing 'I know you want it.' It becomes not about feeling the music, but about a peacock display of sexuality designed to attract a man.
Am I overly comfortable about what this says about the hyper sexualisation of black women and how they are viewed by white people? No. Am I gonna lose sleep over a bit of twerking. Also no. Despite being told I should by a white woman.
She told me twerking was racist. I told her I didn't think it was and asked her for her reasoning. Her answer was, I shit you not, 'well, I went on Google and there were a bunch of black people saying it was.'
Hate to break it to you but lumping people of colour in all together as one homogeneous lump and expecting us to all think and feel the same about anything... Bit racist. Just saying.
TATTOOS
Gonna admit now that I have two Chinese tattoos. One says 'Lucky' and the other says 'Vow'. I know this to be the case as I properly checked them. I am not someone who has the character for 'Woman' and who sees this reproduced atop the door of all the female toilets when they go to China.
I had them done as my first two tattoos (I now have had ten) and they are personal to me. Why did I get them in Chinese? I hate to admit it but I thought it looked more exotic than if I had them done in English. Yep, I was that dickhead.
Did it make me think that I was now Chinese and as one with the people? No. I wasn't and still am not (hopefully) that much of a dickhead. I am kinda amused at myself now that I have grown up a bit and would not have a different language inked on me again.
Was it appropriative? Yes. I think it was.
Not sure whether to believe me? Picture this photo below as an actual tattoo on a Chinese person.
Now imagine they are showing it off to all their friends. Oh how wise and trendy they must look. 'But what does it mean?' ask their dewy eyed friends.
'It means to keep breathing as the water rises all around you.'
Get my point now?
CHI PAO
Do not get me wrong, I do not see this as serious as say, having worn a chi pao (which I do wear because they are one of the very few dresses that suit me) and doing yourself up in yellow face *cough* Katy Perry *cough*. And while I am at it actually, why oh why is it that we are rightly up in arms about anyone in black face (there is a bloke who tried to get served on Bar Boulevard at Glasto who will NEVER do it again) but we don't as a society really talk about the fetishising of Asian women?
Black and white minstrel show? Barbaric. The Mikado? Traditional.
Fuck off.
We have appropriated the Chi Pao so much that most of you won't even know what I am talking about until I say Suzy Wong dress.
If you are going to wear one (and I have no intention of giving them up) at least refer to them by their proper name. Don't be a dick about it.
BINDIS
I like them. I think they are beautiful and spiritually they work like a wand when I wear one on my brow chakra. I like how women look when they are wearing them. Actually this is kind of my sticking point on the whole subject. Can I wear one without disrespecting the culture they come from? I bloody hope so as I do love them.
NATIVE AMERICAN HEADDRESSES
Just no. I am deeply offended when I see anyone who isn't Native American wearing one. There is no reason to ever wear something that was symbolic of being a warrior at one with nature. No reason at all. Every time I see someone wearing one I want to punch the fucking shit out of them for trivialising the oppression and near destruction of a people. I am glad that Glasto have banned them for next year. I would expect them to do the same to people who were wearing a yellow star of David or slave manacles and garb as 'fancy dress' too.
CORN ROWS/DREADLOCKS
On the very rare occasions I have cornrows I feel the fingers of all the women down the ages on my dad's side of the family doing my hair. It is a powerful thing for me as I have very little that links me to them other than the family curry recipe handed to me by my Aunt Veronica. I don't have a problem with something this intricate and beautiful being fashionable, but for the love of all that is both holy and unholy, IF YOU ONLY USE WHITE MODELS THEN THIS IS NOT BLOODY OK. OK?
Then I have a problem. Then it is appropriation. It is stealing something and ignoring its nappy haired heritage.
Oh, and white people with dreadlocks...
If you MUST have them then at least do them properly. Do not have that stinking, matted clump of weetabix looking shit on the back of your head and think you are at one with Ja. It irritates me. Do them properly and for fuck's sake keep them clean. Especially if you use public transport.
So much more I could talk about but like I said, this is the start of the conversation, not the end and I am actually really keen to hear your thoughts.
Just, much like cultural appropriation, don't be a dick about it.
If this post is a bit rambling then that would be why. Also, these are my views. I don't claim to speak for PoC, Woc, hell, I don't speak for anyone but me. You may not agree with me, hell, I don't agree with myself sometimes but please, if you have to disagree, just don't be a dick about it.
It is all I ask.
So, what is cultural appropriation?
This has become a problematic question in itself really. When is wearing a bindi acceptable? Should I be allowed to wear flip flops/dreadlocks/chinese tattoos/black face/yellow face/sari/chi pao/native American headdress?
Can I twerk without being racist?
I am not going to say yes or no to any of these things. I am just going to give my opinion and hope that it leads to the conversation carrying on.
TWERKING.
Do I find white women twerking inherently racist? No, I don't. No more than I find black women dancing ballet racist. Do I think it is culturally insensitive? Not sure. However, I do find myself thinking the following.
When I dance, when my sisters (both familial and not) dance we do what has become known as twerking. (Thank you so much white folks, what comes naturally to us was crying out for a name *rolls eyes*) I have only ever thought of it as dancing. It is the dancing I do because I cannot do any other kind of dance when I hear the beat and riddim to mek me wine up me waist and grine up me hips.
It is instinctual, it is tribal it is just what I do.
Now compare that to Miley Cyrus wiggling her behind at a bloke singing 'I know you want it.' It becomes not about feeling the music, but about a peacock display of sexuality designed to attract a man.
Am I overly comfortable about what this says about the hyper sexualisation of black women and how they are viewed by white people? No. Am I gonna lose sleep over a bit of twerking. Also no. Despite being told I should by a white woman.
She told me twerking was racist. I told her I didn't think it was and asked her for her reasoning. Her answer was, I shit you not, 'well, I went on Google and there were a bunch of black people saying it was.'
Hate to break it to you but lumping people of colour in all together as one homogeneous lump and expecting us to all think and feel the same about anything... Bit racist. Just saying.
TATTOOS
Gonna admit now that I have two Chinese tattoos. One says 'Lucky' and the other says 'Vow'. I know this to be the case as I properly checked them. I am not someone who has the character for 'Woman' and who sees this reproduced atop the door of all the female toilets when they go to China.
I had them done as my first two tattoos (I now have had ten) and they are personal to me. Why did I get them in Chinese? I hate to admit it but I thought it looked more exotic than if I had them done in English. Yep, I was that dickhead.
Did it make me think that I was now Chinese and as one with the people? No. I wasn't and still am not (hopefully) that much of a dickhead. I am kinda amused at myself now that I have grown up a bit and would not have a different language inked on me again.
Was it appropriative? Yes. I think it was.
Not sure whether to believe me? Picture this photo below as an actual tattoo on a Chinese person.
Now imagine they are showing it off to all their friends. Oh how wise and trendy they must look. 'But what does it mean?' ask their dewy eyed friends.
'It means to keep breathing as the water rises all around you.'
Get my point now?
CHI PAO
Do not get me wrong, I do not see this as serious as say, having worn a chi pao (which I do wear because they are one of the very few dresses that suit me) and doing yourself up in yellow face *cough* Katy Perry *cough*. And while I am at it actually, why oh why is it that we are rightly up in arms about anyone in black face (there is a bloke who tried to get served on Bar Boulevard at Glasto who will NEVER do it again) but we don't as a society really talk about the fetishising of Asian women?
Black and white minstrel show? Barbaric. The Mikado? Traditional.
Fuck off.
We have appropriated the Chi Pao so much that most of you won't even know what I am talking about until I say Suzy Wong dress.
If you are going to wear one (and I have no intention of giving them up) at least refer to them by their proper name. Don't be a dick about it.
BINDIS
I like them. I think they are beautiful and spiritually they work like a wand when I wear one on my brow chakra. I like how women look when they are wearing them. Actually this is kind of my sticking point on the whole subject. Can I wear one without disrespecting the culture they come from? I bloody hope so as I do love them.
NATIVE AMERICAN HEADDRESSES
Just no. I am deeply offended when I see anyone who isn't Native American wearing one. There is no reason to ever wear something that was symbolic of being a warrior at one with nature. No reason at all. Every time I see someone wearing one I want to punch the fucking shit out of them for trivialising the oppression and near destruction of a people. I am glad that Glasto have banned them for next year. I would expect them to do the same to people who were wearing a yellow star of David or slave manacles and garb as 'fancy dress' too.
CORN ROWS/DREADLOCKS
On the very rare occasions I have cornrows I feel the fingers of all the women down the ages on my dad's side of the family doing my hair. It is a powerful thing for me as I have very little that links me to them other than the family curry recipe handed to me by my Aunt Veronica. I don't have a problem with something this intricate and beautiful being fashionable, but for the love of all that is both holy and unholy, IF YOU ONLY USE WHITE MODELS THEN THIS IS NOT BLOODY OK. OK?
Then I have a problem. Then it is appropriation. It is stealing something and ignoring its nappy haired heritage.
Oh, and white people with dreadlocks...
If you MUST have them then at least do them properly. Do not have that stinking, matted clump of weetabix looking shit on the back of your head and think you are at one with Ja. It irritates me. Do them properly and for fuck's sake keep them clean. Especially if you use public transport.
So much more I could talk about but like I said, this is the start of the conversation, not the end and I am actually really keen to hear your thoughts.
Just, much like cultural appropriation, don't be a dick about it.
Thursday, 16 October 2014
On The Violence Inherent In Rape...
Have been asleep most of the day as I have finally succumbed to the inevitable consequence of standing on a picket line in the pouring rain for four hours on monday.
Managed to have a conversation on Facebook about rape in between sleeps though.
I saw this quote "Rape is about violence, not sex. If someone hit you with a spade you wouldn't call it gardening".
I don't know who originally said it, I would attribute it if I did, but after all the Judy Finnegan crap spouting this week about how Ched Evans should be allowed to play football because his rape wasn't violent it struck a chord with me.
Now, what I wasn't prepared for was the reaction it would get from someone I knew to be a survivor. My Bio Mum.
She was responding to this from a very good and very intelligent male friend of mine.
" I remember a conversation many years ago with a criminologist. Her view was that less than 10% of rapes were sexually motivated - the real motivation is power, it is all about subjugating the woman; the sexual act is the weapon, not the end."
Her reply stunned me.
" Her views are probably from a text book. Most men, fortunately have a built in mechanism that stops them from crossing the line, however sex is the motivator to rape and is coupled with a desire to use dominant force to get it over physically weaker women, in most cases. That is my opinion about the issue of rape."
From a survivor, this struck me as horrific. From a survivor that I learned to think from it struck me as really sad.
So, this post is for my Bio Mum and all the other women of a certain age who were brought up to think that sex is a thing that a man does to a woman rather than a loving (or sometimes not, sometimes just for the fun of it) thing that happens between adults of consenting age who are enthusiastically consenting.
Her views would have been from controlled research. I'll be blunt. If rape was about sex it would actually make things easier for me as a feminist and a survivor. I really don't want to go into your personal stuff mum, I know you are a survivor too but your story isn't mine to tell.
I will say though that domestic rape, which is the most prevalent type, not stranger rape, though only an idiot would suggest that it doesn't happen, is rarely about the sex. It happens when a person (am being very careful not to gender here) wants sex, yes, but look at the background. If the other partner hasn't wanted sex for a while then there is likely to be a reason for that.
Rape in a domestic situation is not a thing that happens in isolation. There is typically a background of abuse and control. When the abusive partner sees control waning, then rape is an easy way to get that back.
But what about the prerequisite horn needed? Well, that will be borne of a desire to see the other partner subjugated and controlled. Plus, when we think about what causes a hardon in men, that can happen from being warm on a bus.
From my personal perspective the sex wasn't even all that great for them. One of them could only finally cum if he hit me in the face at the same time. And he was always angry afterwards that it wasn't very good. His penis was at best only ever at half mast. He wasn't horny, he was angry at me for being me and this was his way of punishing me for getting out of his control, however momentarily.
So, it doesn't require the abusive partner to be horny, and I will be frank, if anyone is that horny they can go and have a wank. Consent is a cultural construct rather than an inbuilt mechanism that is somehow missing or broken in a rapist.
To think that somehow we are all saved from being constantly raped because of something inbuilt abrogates responsibility from the rapist and puts it firmly on the shoulders of the raped. Short skirt, drunk, leading him on, being outside, looking so damn sexy all the time... You have all heard the victim blaming shit I am talking about and this adds to it.
Which is disgusting.
The point I was originally making is that all rape is violence. There is no hierarchy of good/bad violent/not violent as every single time it takes a part if you and kills it dead.
You never get back that part that thinks that it wouldn't happen. It is a constant possibility with EVERY person you meet and that makes the violence never go away...
Besides the fact that women are not actually weaker (patriarchy tells us we are and we act accordingly) talking about the why of rape takes away from the fact that rape is in and of itself a violent act.
In all rape, even in those very rare occasions where it is about sex, there is the weight of entitlement that tells rapists that they have the right to take what they want, regardless of consent because they are entitled to it. And that, my friends, is violence in itself. When we derail the conversation to talk about the why, we leave the victims behind and make it about the rapist. And you know what? Society already leaves the victim behind. And that in itself is also violent.
Then another one of my friends piped up. I love this friend dearly. She is one of my favourite people in the world and also a survivor.
"But surely, we need to look at the 'why' so we can try and find a way to prevent it happening? I agree totally that rape is about power and violence but understanding why that violence occurs surely means we, as a society not as individuals, can work to prevent it? Or have I missed the point?"
To which I reply with the following.
Kinda.... but not entirely. We know the why. Entitlement, patriarchy, rape culture etc. We need to be focussing, I think, on busting the myths and teaching informed consent. We need to be teaching our women that the only person responsible for their rapes is the rapist and we need to be teaching our men that not only does no mean no, but that only an enthusiastic yes means yes.
We need to teach women that being catcalled in the street is not a compliment. We need to teach men not to treat women as objects.
We need to teach women and men about coercion, control and abuse and how to tackle it. we need to recognise that whereas it is Not All Men who rape, it is Yes All Women who are in danger of it.
We need to tell men that they are not entitled to women. That the Friendzone should not be a thing they retreat to and get narky about because they didn't get their dick wet.
Another quote comes to mind and I will end with it.
"Men are afraid women will laugh at them. Women are afraid men will kill them."
Margaret Attwood.
Managed to have a conversation on Facebook about rape in between sleeps though.
I saw this quote "Rape is about violence, not sex. If someone hit you with a spade you wouldn't call it gardening".
I don't know who originally said it, I would attribute it if I did, but after all the Judy Finnegan crap spouting this week about how Ched Evans should be allowed to play football because his rape wasn't violent it struck a chord with me.
Now, what I wasn't prepared for was the reaction it would get from someone I knew to be a survivor. My Bio Mum.
She was responding to this from a very good and very intelligent male friend of mine.
" I remember a conversation many years ago with a criminologist. Her view was that less than 10% of rapes were sexually motivated - the real motivation is power, it is all about subjugating the woman; the sexual act is the weapon, not the end."
Her reply stunned me.
" Her views are probably from a text book. Most men, fortunately have a built in mechanism that stops them from crossing the line, however sex is the motivator to rape and is coupled with a desire to use dominant force to get it over physically weaker women, in most cases. That is my opinion about the issue of rape."
From a survivor, this struck me as horrific. From a survivor that I learned to think from it struck me as really sad.
So, this post is for my Bio Mum and all the other women of a certain age who were brought up to think that sex is a thing that a man does to a woman rather than a loving (or sometimes not, sometimes just for the fun of it) thing that happens between adults of consenting age who are enthusiastically consenting.
Her views would have been from controlled research. I'll be blunt. If rape was about sex it would actually make things easier for me as a feminist and a survivor. I really don't want to go into your personal stuff mum, I know you are a survivor too but your story isn't mine to tell.
I will say though that domestic rape, which is the most prevalent type, not stranger rape, though only an idiot would suggest that it doesn't happen, is rarely about the sex. It happens when a person (am being very careful not to gender here) wants sex, yes, but look at the background. If the other partner hasn't wanted sex for a while then there is likely to be a reason for that.
Rape in a domestic situation is not a thing that happens in isolation. There is typically a background of abuse and control. When the abusive partner sees control waning, then rape is an easy way to get that back.
But what about the prerequisite horn needed? Well, that will be borne of a desire to see the other partner subjugated and controlled. Plus, when we think about what causes a hardon in men, that can happen from being warm on a bus.
From my personal perspective the sex wasn't even all that great for them. One of them could only finally cum if he hit me in the face at the same time. And he was always angry afterwards that it wasn't very good. His penis was at best only ever at half mast. He wasn't horny, he was angry at me for being me and this was his way of punishing me for getting out of his control, however momentarily.
So, it doesn't require the abusive partner to be horny, and I will be frank, if anyone is that horny they can go and have a wank. Consent is a cultural construct rather than an inbuilt mechanism that is somehow missing or broken in a rapist.
To think that somehow we are all saved from being constantly raped because of something inbuilt abrogates responsibility from the rapist and puts it firmly on the shoulders of the raped. Short skirt, drunk, leading him on, being outside, looking so damn sexy all the time... You have all heard the victim blaming shit I am talking about and this adds to it.
Which is disgusting.
The point I was originally making is that all rape is violence. There is no hierarchy of good/bad violent/not violent as every single time it takes a part if you and kills it dead.
You never get back that part that thinks that it wouldn't happen. It is a constant possibility with EVERY person you meet and that makes the violence never go away...
Besides the fact that women are not actually weaker (patriarchy tells us we are and we act accordingly) talking about the why of rape takes away from the fact that rape is in and of itself a violent act.
In all rape, even in those very rare occasions where it is about sex, there is the weight of entitlement that tells rapists that they have the right to take what they want, regardless of consent because they are entitled to it. And that, my friends, is violence in itself. When we derail the conversation to talk about the why, we leave the victims behind and make it about the rapist. And you know what? Society already leaves the victim behind. And that in itself is also violent.
Then another one of my friends piped up. I love this friend dearly. She is one of my favourite people in the world and also a survivor.
"But surely, we need to look at the 'why' so we can try and find a way to prevent it happening? I agree totally that rape is about power and violence but understanding why that violence occurs surely means we, as a society not as individuals, can work to prevent it? Or have I missed the point?"
To which I reply with the following.
Kinda.... but not entirely. We know the why. Entitlement, patriarchy, rape culture etc. We need to be focussing, I think, on busting the myths and teaching informed consent. We need to be teaching our women that the only person responsible for their rapes is the rapist and we need to be teaching our men that not only does no mean no, but that only an enthusiastic yes means yes.
We need to teach women that being catcalled in the street is not a compliment. We need to teach men not to treat women as objects.
We need to teach women and men about coercion, control and abuse and how to tackle it. we need to recognise that whereas it is Not All Men who rape, it is Yes All Women who are in danger of it.
We need to tell men that they are not entitled to women. That the Friendzone should not be a thing they retreat to and get narky about because they didn't get their dick wet.
Another quote comes to mind and I will end with it.
"Men are afraid women will laugh at them. Women are afraid men will kill them."
Margaret Attwood.
Sunday, 5 October 2014
On Self Loathing Dressed Up As Empowerment
So This fucking monstrosity happened.
A woman who runs a dating website for Cougars to meet Cubs has come up with a potion to improve your old, rotten, loose and wrinkly vagina.
Apparently she now has the vagina of a 25 year old!
This is a good thing because younger men like things nice and tight and wrinkle free and young looking and, you know, TIDY down there. It makes things all better for them.
Get the fuck out of my face.
For a start, genitals are not supposed to be fucking tidy. They are just there, doing their thing, being genitals. And honestly, any one thinking that a vagina is untidy who is in possession of a penis needs to fuck all the way off. They are not the tidiest of things either are they. That is because they are not supposed to be. And yet patriarchal standards of beauty has women spending millions every year on plucking and waking and shaving their vaginas in an orgy of self loathing dressed up as empowerment.
Wrinkle free? Do fuck off. What is this obsession with smooth vaginas? Really, if you want your partner's vagina to look like it belongs on a 12 year old then you have some long hard questions to ask yourself. Really.
Tight. Where to start? Interestingly enough the article suggests that doing pelvic floor exercises at the same time as using this self loathing gunk. Maybe, MAYBE it is the exercises that would increase tightness and not the muck you are shoving up your vagina, which, by the way, shouldn't have stuff put up it. The vagina is a wonderful thing that takes care of its own moisture and if hormones mean it is drying out a bit then visit a doctor. Don't be shoving bloody egg whites and honey up there.
It's shit. I might make money out of telling women that wearing a hat while doing pelvic floor exercises makes their vaginas tighter. (Hint. It wouldn't be because of the bloody hat.)
But this isn't even what saddens me the most. I am saddened by the fact that women in their 40's think that they have nothing to offer a younger man apart from a nice vagina. Not their experience, not their life view, not their humour, maturity, knowledge. None of that. Just a vagina. That I have sisters that think that a vagina is the only reason someone would want them saddens me beyond belief.
That this bloody woman and her vagina snake oil is selling self loathing as empowerment makes me angry.
Your vagina is not all you have to offer. And regardless of your age or how many children you have had, your vagina is just fine. In fact it wonderful and gorgeous and perfect just the way it is.
Take your egg whites and make a meringue. Poor some honey on it and enjoy. Your vagina will thank you.
A woman who runs a dating website for Cougars to meet Cubs has come up with a potion to improve your old, rotten, loose and wrinkly vagina.
Apparently she now has the vagina of a 25 year old!
This is a good thing because younger men like things nice and tight and wrinkle free and young looking and, you know, TIDY down there. It makes things all better for them.
Get the fuck out of my face.
For a start, genitals are not supposed to be fucking tidy. They are just there, doing their thing, being genitals. And honestly, any one thinking that a vagina is untidy who is in possession of a penis needs to fuck all the way off. They are not the tidiest of things either are they. That is because they are not supposed to be. And yet patriarchal standards of beauty has women spending millions every year on plucking and waking and shaving their vaginas in an orgy of self loathing dressed up as empowerment.
Wrinkle free? Do fuck off. What is this obsession with smooth vaginas? Really, if you want your partner's vagina to look like it belongs on a 12 year old then you have some long hard questions to ask yourself. Really.
Tight. Where to start? Interestingly enough the article suggests that doing pelvic floor exercises at the same time as using this self loathing gunk. Maybe, MAYBE it is the exercises that would increase tightness and not the muck you are shoving up your vagina, which, by the way, shouldn't have stuff put up it. The vagina is a wonderful thing that takes care of its own moisture and if hormones mean it is drying out a bit then visit a doctor. Don't be shoving bloody egg whites and honey up there.
It's shit. I might make money out of telling women that wearing a hat while doing pelvic floor exercises makes their vaginas tighter. (Hint. It wouldn't be because of the bloody hat.)
But this isn't even what saddens me the most. I am saddened by the fact that women in their 40's think that they have nothing to offer a younger man apart from a nice vagina. Not their experience, not their life view, not their humour, maturity, knowledge. None of that. Just a vagina. That I have sisters that think that a vagina is the only reason someone would want them saddens me beyond belief.
That this bloody woman and her vagina snake oil is selling self loathing as empowerment makes me angry.
Your vagina is not all you have to offer. And regardless of your age or how many children you have had, your vagina is just fine. In fact it wonderful and gorgeous and perfect just the way it is.
Take your egg whites and make a meringue. Poor some honey on it and enjoy. Your vagina will thank you.
Thursday, 2 October 2014
On The Paedophile Hunter
Been poorly most of the week which is a bit shit if I'm honest. Nearly went into work today, managed to get dressed before I started throwing up, so I am back in bed and musing on a programme I saw On Channel 4 last night.
The Paedophile Hunter.
Basically, Stinson Hunter (cool bloody name btw, was destined to either be a crime fighter or a rapper with a name like that) sets up fake profiles of young girls on the internet and waits for men to try to groom them. He then, after many (disgusting) conversations, arranges to meet the men. When they turn up they are greeted by Stinson and his crew and filmed. All evidence is passed to the police.
Then they put the film, info and links to the conversations on the internet.
So far, so good. So I thought. Then I gave it a bit more thought.
For background:
Any readers of this blog know that I am a survivor of many types of abuse. Physical, emotional and sexual. Regular readers know about who abused me, and how I have handled it over the years. But they don't know about the time it was the police.
I was 14 and walking home in the rain. A car pulled up and a man told me to get in and he would give me a lift home. I said no and kept walking. All those Stranger Danger talks at school had obviously sunk in. He kept following me up the road at a walking pace telling me to get in. I'd get wet, he said. He wouldn't hurt me, he said. My mum would want to make sure I was home safe, he said.
This carried on for the whole mile I walked home. I hid in someone's garden at some point. He waited and continued to follow me when I emerged. Don't be silly, he said. He got out and took my arm and tried to pull me into the car. At that point I screamed and ran. He still followed me till he saw me go through my own front door.
When I got in I told my mum what had happened and we rang the police. I gave them a complete description of the car, the man, the incident and the number plate.
They didn't even come round. They rang back and told me that they had been to his house and asked him and he said he had been at home all day. And they believed him. BECAUSE HE WAS A MAGISTRATE.
Would I have wanted Stinson and his team to take him out? You bet your ass I would. Do I still, 30 years later wonder if he ever managed to get a girl in his car? Yep. Still happens now and then.
So do I have a problem with Stinson Hunter getting these disgusting creatures exposed and off the street? No. I do not.
Do I wish it were the police instead? You betcha. I have a problem with vigilantes you see. I have a problem with mob mentality and the kind of sensationalism that leads to paediatricians being driven out of their homes. I have a problem with Stinson linking to the chats that he had with these men. I have a problem because even though there were no real girls involved, and I understand that sensationalising it has the desired crowd funding effect, there is something that feels sordid about being able to read what this scum wrote to what they believed to be girls as young as 11.
Do I have any sympathy with the idea that exposing these men might drive them to suicide? No. That may be a failing in me but I cannot muster up any sympathy for a dead Paedophile. Not any. I can muster up plenty for their victims. You know, those girls and boys who end up self harming, broken and suicidal themselves, but not an ounce for the perpetrators. I'm sure there is some human tragedy in their stories somewhere but I can't find it in myself to give a shit.
Do I think they should be killed? No. I am against the death penalty for many reasons. The main one being that I truly believe that when we condone state sanctioned murder we lose our own humanity, but I also think that you believe in human rights or you don't. If you take them away from one sub set of people, how long is it before they come after yours? You don't have to like it, but I do have to abide by my principles.
So there you have it. Well done Channel 4 for a thought provoking documentary and thank you Stinson for getting some of this scum off the streets.
But please stop linking to the actual chats. It isn't necessary and it feels, well, kinda paedy.
The Paedophile Hunter.
Basically, Stinson Hunter (cool bloody name btw, was destined to either be a crime fighter or a rapper with a name like that) sets up fake profiles of young girls on the internet and waits for men to try to groom them. He then, after many (disgusting) conversations, arranges to meet the men. When they turn up they are greeted by Stinson and his crew and filmed. All evidence is passed to the police.
Then they put the film, info and links to the conversations on the internet.
So far, so good. So I thought. Then I gave it a bit more thought.
For background:
Any readers of this blog know that I am a survivor of many types of abuse. Physical, emotional and sexual. Regular readers know about who abused me, and how I have handled it over the years. But they don't know about the time it was the police.
I was 14 and walking home in the rain. A car pulled up and a man told me to get in and he would give me a lift home. I said no and kept walking. All those Stranger Danger talks at school had obviously sunk in. He kept following me up the road at a walking pace telling me to get in. I'd get wet, he said. He wouldn't hurt me, he said. My mum would want to make sure I was home safe, he said.
This carried on for the whole mile I walked home. I hid in someone's garden at some point. He waited and continued to follow me when I emerged. Don't be silly, he said. He got out and took my arm and tried to pull me into the car. At that point I screamed and ran. He still followed me till he saw me go through my own front door.
When I got in I told my mum what had happened and we rang the police. I gave them a complete description of the car, the man, the incident and the number plate.
They didn't even come round. They rang back and told me that they had been to his house and asked him and he said he had been at home all day. And they believed him. BECAUSE HE WAS A MAGISTRATE.
Would I have wanted Stinson and his team to take him out? You bet your ass I would. Do I still, 30 years later wonder if he ever managed to get a girl in his car? Yep. Still happens now and then.
So do I have a problem with Stinson Hunter getting these disgusting creatures exposed and off the street? No. I do not.
Do I wish it were the police instead? You betcha. I have a problem with vigilantes you see. I have a problem with mob mentality and the kind of sensationalism that leads to paediatricians being driven out of their homes. I have a problem with Stinson linking to the chats that he had with these men. I have a problem because even though there were no real girls involved, and I understand that sensationalising it has the desired crowd funding effect, there is something that feels sordid about being able to read what this scum wrote to what they believed to be girls as young as 11.
Do I have any sympathy with the idea that exposing these men might drive them to suicide? No. That may be a failing in me but I cannot muster up any sympathy for a dead Paedophile. Not any. I can muster up plenty for their victims. You know, those girls and boys who end up self harming, broken and suicidal themselves, but not an ounce for the perpetrators. I'm sure there is some human tragedy in their stories somewhere but I can't find it in myself to give a shit.
Do I think they should be killed? No. I am against the death penalty for many reasons. The main one being that I truly believe that when we condone state sanctioned murder we lose our own humanity, but I also think that you believe in human rights or you don't. If you take them away from one sub set of people, how long is it before they come after yours? You don't have to like it, but I do have to abide by my principles.
So there you have it. Well done Channel 4 for a thought provoking documentary and thank you Stinson for getting some of this scum off the streets.
But please stop linking to the actual chats. It isn't necessary and it feels, well, kinda paedy.
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