A Cleveland kidnapping goes viral. Now what?

Three missing women were rescued nearly a decade after their disappearances.  (Photo courtesy of WKYC Cleveland).

Three miss­ing women were res­cued nearly a decade after their dis­ap­pear­ances. (Photo cour­tesy of WKYC Cleveland).

Three women, kid­napped as teenagers, were found alive on Mon­day after miss­ing for nearly a decade. The amaz­ing recov­er­ies of Amanda Berry, Gina DeJe­sus, and Michelle Knight from a house in Cleve­land defied the tragic end­ings of most lengthy disappearances.

The women were dis­cov­ered when Berry started to break through the door of the house where the women were being held cap­tive, catch­ing the atten­tion of neigh­bor Charles Ram­sey, who called police.

Each woman appears to be in good con­di­tion, despite years of sex­ual abuse lead­ing to vio­lent mis­car­riages and at least one child, who belongs to Berry. The unbe­liev­able dis­cov­ery of the women made national head­lines, deserv­ingly so. It is unimag­in­able what they endured, liv­ing in the home of a man who neigh­bors say knew at least one of the victims.

My ini­tial reac­tion to this mir­a­cle is sim­i­lar to many other North­east­ern Ohioans and count­less oth­ers who will hear about this res­cue. I am elated for the peo­ple who have a sec­ond chance to squeeze their daugh­ters, sis­ters, and friends close one more time. I am equally relieved a man capa­ble of such heinous crimes, and poten­tially the rel­a­tives who helped him, can­not hurt any­one else, at least for now.

The more cyn­i­cal part of me, how­ever, can’t par­tic­i­pate in this local cel­e­bra­tion with­out lament­ing the top­ics peo­ple won’t dis­cuss on the grim­mer side of this mir­a­cle. While I appre­ci­ate the news cov­er­age of the hun­dreds of peo­ple sup­port­ing these women in the streets, I won­der how many news out­lets will dis­cuss the real­ity of sex traf­fick­ing and the ways it con­tin­ues to claim mil­lions of vic­tims in both the U.S. and abroad. Will news out­lets dis­cuss the harsh real­i­ties of over­com­ing any type of sex­ual abuse, whether it is repeated or a one-time occur­rence? Will any­one con­sider why it’s so easy to be lost in a land where dis­ap­pear­ances aren’t daily news but daily norms?

We owe it to Amanda, Gina, and Michelle to make their story more than evening news, but instead, a cau­tion­ary tale. These women didn’t suf­fer so every­one could chuckle at Ramsey’s off­beat inter­view about sav­ing the women as it gains pop­u­lar­ity on YouTube, then go back to our daily routines.

Sex traf­fick­ing is an inter­na­tional epi­demic which didn’t start with Cleve­land and won’t end until it is rec­og­nized for the inter­na­tional cri­sis that it is. Maybe it took a local mir­a­cle to open Ohio’s eyes to sex traf­fick­ing, but I hope our col­lec­tive eyes don’t close before peo­ple take a stand against this dev­as­tat­ing practice.

Her­link: 

What will these women face going for­ward? (Video: WKYC Cleveland)

Editor’s Note: I chose the video fea­tured above because it is an attempt to look at the long-term effects the vic­tims may face as a result of their cap­tiv­ity and sex­ual assault. I find these dis­cus­sions too rare on tele­vi­sion and believe main­stream media dis­cussing the effects of sex­ual vio­lence legit­imizes that there are such effects to those who need such justification.

 

 

Posted in HerHealth, Sexual Violence | Leave a comment

Breaking the silence: A call to end rape culture from the intimidated

I experienced intimidation at my former high school, Ravenna High School, when I tried to report a faculty member's inappropriate pursuit of a student.

I expe­ri­enced intim­i­da­tion at my for­mer high school when I tried to report a fac­ulty member’s inap­pro­pri­ate pur­suit of a student.

Steubenville, Ohio.

That place meant much to few and lit­tle to many before a rape scan­dal, involv­ing foot­ball play­ers from Steubenville High School, rocked the small town, and ignited debates about sports enti­tle­ment, free speech, and rape prosecution.

Dur­ing a series of par­ties after a high school foot­ball scrim­mage, a teenage girl from West Vir­ginia was “allegedly” raped by mul­ti­ple mem­bers of the Steubenville High School foot­ball team. The vic­tim was car­ried from party to party, uncon­scious through­out most of the events. Num­bers of teens wit­nessed the crime(s), and none of them stopped it by call­ing authorities.

The vic­tim was unaware of many of the events until she started see­ing and hear­ing about the attacks via social media, such as Twit­ter and text mes­sages. Most of the Tweets, videos, and mes­sages about the inci­dent were deleted when the event became more heav­ily investigated.

Why is a rape case from August still rel­e­vant news?

The police force was accused of being lax with the evi­dence, includ­ing the treat­ment of on-the-scene wit­nesses who decided to speak against the main defen­dants in the case. Some feared the vic­tim would receive lit­tle to no jus­tice, but a blog­ger and a group of activist hack­ers started fol­low­ing the case, demand­ing the removal of pref­er­en­tial treat­ment for the foot­ball play­ers and expos­ing per­sonal con­nec­tions to the accused and some pub­lic officials.

Now, typ­i­cal to the cycli­cal nature of the Amer­i­can news cycle, peo­ple will get out­raged briefly, ques­tion how some­thing like this could hap­pen, and con­tinue about their day-to-day lives.

I’m tired of Amer­i­can news con­sumers treat­ing every news event as some­thing hap­pen­ing in some mys­te­ri­ous “other” place to some mys­te­ri­ous “other” per­son. When we fail to acknowl­edge the misog­y­nis­tic cul­ture that allows under­age ath­letes to feel as if they can gang rape a teenage girl because their tro­phies will get them out of it, we fail every per­son who will ever fall vic­tim to such a hor­rific crime as rape.

Steubenville is every other town or city in America. Shadows of the hor­rific effects of such sex­ist cul­ture linger in the hall­ways of high schools and col­leges across the country.

My home­town of Ravenna, Ohio was no different.

When I was a senior in high school, I learned what it meant to be a woman in a coun­try that often val­ues the skills of male ath­letes more than the safety of every­one around them.

I had a friend who babysat for one of the coaches there. This coach was mar­ried with chil­dren. Many val­ued his sta­tus in the Ravenna schools pro­grams because he was involved in so many sports.

The first red flag I had about this coach was when he told this friend her “boobs were nice and he could put his face in them.” I couldn’t believe my ears when she told me this, and I told her it was inap­pro­pri­ate for him to say such things for any reason.

The friend recon­sid­ered babysit­ting for him but con­tin­ued to help him, believ­ing his com­ments were a slip-up. Then, the coach left her a dis­turb­ing voice­mail, invit­ing her to a Cleve­land Cav­a­liers game, just the two of them, because he had been think­ing about her.

Imme­di­ately, I begged my friend to go to a coun­selor or prin­ci­pal about the sit­u­a­tion, but she instead stopped babysit­ting for him and wanted to let the inci­dent dis­ap­pear with time. I asked my friend to recon­sider and while she was present, I told a female teacher about what happened.

The teacher dis­cussed the sit­u­a­tion with other fac­ulty, and before I knew it, I landed in talks with the prin­ci­pal about my alle­ga­tions about the coach.

Except, there was no inves­ti­ga­tion. And there was no dis­missal or sus­pen­sion of this coach.

The prin­ci­pal dis­cussed the inci­dent with the coach before he talked to me and con­cluded my entire accu­sa­tion was a con­spir­acy. Accord­ing to the prin­ci­pal, the coach claimed to be close friends with my mother and knew about a large num­ber of par­ties I was attend­ing. In the coach’s opin­ion, I cre­ated this entire story about his inap­pro­pri­ate behav­ior to stop my mom from hear­ing about these par­ties I was attending.

I was shocked. There was a voice­mail prov­ing my story was true. There was not truth to this coach hav­ing any­thing close to a friend­ship with my mom, which could have eas­ily been proven by a phone call. I attended very few par­ties in my high school career. I was too busy being one of the school’s vale­dic­to­ri­ans, cap­tain of two sports teams, and main­tain­ing lead­er­ship roles in honor soci­eties and vol­un­teer groups.

And none of that mattered. 

The prin­ci­pal wrote me off as a news­pa­per edi­tor look­ing for scan­dal, and the coach con­tin­ued to coach. There were more rumors about him and other girls, and based on the lack of pun­ish­ment he received when he was caught harass­ing an under­aged stu­dent, I’m sure those rumors had validity.

I’ve never told that story pub­licly until this blog post. Even though I was try­ing to help my friend, a vic­tim, I was made to feel ashamed and embarassed because the adults who were sup­posed to pro­tect me were slave to a big­ger mas­ter than the truth. That prin­ci­pal chose to pro­tect a mediocre sports coach and a mediocre school’s rep­u­ta­tion instead of pro­tect­ing the past, cur­rent, and future stu­dents at that school.

That is the def­i­n­i­tion of rape culture.

It is a school, a city, a coun­try, or world where vic­tim­iza­tion breeds fear and secrecy and rapists and harassers receive con­fir­ma­tion of their normalcy.

Today, I am break­ing my silence. I refuse to be quiet about that school year that taught me to dis­miss my con­cerns when I per­ceive sex­ual harass­ment or vio­lence. I’m tak­ing back my power.

Now.

The best oppo­nent to rape cul­ture is the refusal to accept it. I will not be intim­i­dated. And for those who ever doubt telling their sto­ries, I hope you read this, and feel as if you don’t need to be again.

 

Her­links:

The New York TimesIs New Delhi So Dif­fer­ent From Steubenville? 

The New York Times: Rape Case Unfolds Online and Divides Steubenville

You may also be inter­ested in:

How to pick your out­fit appro­pri­ately by Grace.

Posted in HerActivism, War on Women | 2 Comments

My Boyfriend Raped Me, and Now I Have Chronic Pelvic Pain…

A woman describes her difficult journey to get to the realization she was being raped by her boyfriend.

A woman describes her dif­fi­cult jour­ney to get to the real­iza­tion she was being raped by her boyfriend.

Editor’s Note: The fol­low­ing post was sub­mit­ted to Herlinked.com by a guest author. In order to pro­tect her iden­tity, the author does not want her name released. The edi­tors stand behind the integrity and hon­esty of the author’s work. 

Never throw a frog in boil­ing water. It’ll know it’s in dan­ger and jump straight out. Now, if you put it in some cool water and crank the heat—it’ll be boiled half to death before it real­izes the heat’s on. This is the story of how I got boiled to damn near destruction.

I met Frank when I was 21. I was naïve, inex­pe­ri­enced. He was kind and funny. We hit it off and things became seri­ous. My first time with Frank, he fucked me like a blow-up doll. Frank had more sex­ual expe­ri­ence than I did, so I thought maybe that type of sex wasn’t abnor­mal. I believed Frank cared for me, and I couldn’t imag­ine he would try to make me feel cheap. Then, another issue arose. Frank often had trou­ble fin­ish­ing. Was it his depres­sion? I didn’t know. But, I loved him! I could work with this. But, when Frank began shar­ing grandiose sto­ries of his past sex­ual exploits, my con­fi­dence waned. Was I the issue?

To assuage my fears, I tried to fix the prob­lem. I bought sexy lin­gerie. His response: “I’m not a lin­gerie kind of guy.” I made efforts to gen­tly dis­cuss our sex life. To this, he responded in one of three ways: stare and ignore, make fun of me, or become angry. When we did have sex, some­times it was good. But some­times, I still felt like the god­damn blow-up doll Frank had fucked months ago.

Over the course of our rela­tion­ship, my self-esteem dimin­ished. I felt plain, pow­er­less, and small. The decline was grad­ual. In time, feel­ing like shit became the new normal.

As my self-esteem dete­ri­o­rated, so did my health. I already had a short his­tory of stress-induced chronic pain. This devel­oped after my sis­ter died sud­denly many years before. But, the pain was mild and I was never diag­nosed with a dis­or­der. I was in remis­sion for sev­eral years before meet­ing Frank. But, after we’d been together about four months, my pain returned. This time it was severe, and with many new and dif­fer­ent symp­toms. Flare-ups felt like the devil him­self was shoot­ing fire straight into my blad­der and vagina. Doc­tors were baf­fled. I started hav­ing anx­i­ety attacks. I was falling apart. Then, sex began to hurt—the pain rang­ing from minor to excruciating.

At some point, I don’t remem­ber when, Frank decided my body was his prop­erty. He would make a move. “No, I’m in pain,” I would say. He would keep try­ing. “I’m hurt­ing; I can’t.” He’d climb onto me any­how. He was “nice” about it, laugh­ing and smil­ing. How fuck­ing creepy. This sex was tor­ture. My vagina was an open wound to his sear­ing sand­pa­per dick. I would hurt for hours or even days after­ward. I lost sleep, dozed off in class. Even wear­ing jeans became painful.

Why didn’t I fight it? Kick him or scream “get the fuck off me”? Maybe I saw no point, him hav­ing ignored my protests again and again. Maybe I didn’t want to embar­rass him; given his sex­ual inse­cu­ri­ties, I ratio­nal­ized that he wanted to prove some­thing to him­self. I guess he did, because he never had trou­ble fin­ish­ing when he forced him­self on me. Maybe it was because my vagina was locked up in spasms like some god­damned vice grips. Did he think because I didn’t phys­i­cally push him off, I was giv­ing pas­sive con­sent? (Oh wait, there’s no such thing as pas­sive con­sent…) So I resigned, body spas­ming, spirit numb.

We had con­sen­sual sex some­times. Frank occa­sion­ally showed con­sid­er­a­tion for my pain. But the rough times per­sisted. Stress tore me down, becom­ing so severe that on one occa­sion, when he was unkind to me, I passed out from a tor­tur­ous flare-up and didn’t wake up for twelve hours. Between these spells, he was kind and caring…at times. That’s how I con­vinced myself he loved me—I clung to those rare dis­plays of ten­der­ness. I excused the inexcusable.

…And the pot simmered…

Con­tinue read­ing »

Posted in HerVoice | Leave a comment

This election is a matter of life or death

Kaley Costello founded “Run Against Rom­ney” to unite her pas­sion for fit­ness and her pas­sion for sup­port­ing a can­di­date who cham­pi­ons women’s rights. (Photo cour­tesy of Run Against Romney).

Peo­ple who say pol­i­tics are slightly per­sonal are absolutely wrong.

Pol­i­tics are com­pletely personal.

They define who we are, where we go, and what we have.

The elec­tion today requires a defin­i­tive ref­er­en­dum about what rights we believe we deserve and who we think our gov­ern­ment should protect.

Ohio is the unof­fi­cial “decider” of this elec­tion, and the vot­ers here are in the national spot­light, with their clash­ing view­points and con­cerns treated as a micro­cosm of the entire country.

One Ohio voter, who I know per­son­ally, demon­strates how a vote for Barack Obama is both a ratio­nal choice and neces­sity for pro­po­nents of women’s health and rights.

Kaley Costello caught HPV from a for­mer boyfriend, who she trusted with her heart and body. She not only received the news she had HPV, a com­mon dis­ease among Amer­i­can adults, but also dis­cov­ered she had a severe type, which could quickly lead to cer­vi­cal cancer.

Luck­ily, Kaley was able to get proper screen­ings and surgery because she was eli­gi­ble to receive care through the “Afford­able Health­care Act,” as she was young enough to receive care from a parent’s benefits.

Mil­lions of women who need pre­ven­ta­tive screen­ings, con­tra­cep­tion, or treat­ment for dis­eases that sig­nif­i­cantly affect women, such as cer­vi­cal and breast can­cers, cur­rently receive help through poli­cies or pro­grams Mitt Rom­ney would cut or eliminate.

Kaley is one of those women. Pol­i­tics is not some obscure idea that she can’t touch. A polit­i­cal con­vic­tion by Barack Obama is the rea­son she had pre­ven­ta­tive surgery instead of can­cer treatment.

Kaley started a move­ment, “Run Against Rom­ney,” to express her grat­i­tude and sup­port for Pres­i­dent Obama and his com­mit­ment to pro­tect women’s health. She encour­ages male and female run­ners to pur­chase “Run Against Rom­ney” shirts, to spread the word against Romney’s agenda dur­ing any­thing from a morn­ing run to a marathon.

When some­one sees a run­ner in her baby blue “Run Against Rom­ney” t-shirt, it is more than a polit­i­cal state­ment. It is big­ger than par­ti­san bick­er­ing. It is a com­mit­ment to the man who wanted all peo­ple in this coun­try to have a right to health­care. It is appre­ci­a­tion for a man who thinks fam­ily plan­ning and con­tra­cep­tion is a gov­ern­ment pri­or­ity, not nui­sance. It is a thank you to the man who believes Kaley’s body, and my body, and any other woman’s body is just that. Ours. And not any­one else’s.

I am proud of Kaley for telling her story. When sta­tis­tics have faces and voices, they are harder to ignore. Pol­i­tics are com­pletely per­sonal, and choos­ing a can­di­date defines you as a person.

Herlinked.com is proud to stand with Kaley and the mil­lions of women who will vote for Barack Hus­sein Obama because we refuse to lose the own­er­ship of our rights or our bodies.

We hope you take this elec­tion per­son­ally, too. Get out there and vote as if your life depends on it. Kaley’s did.

Her­link:

For more about Run Against Rom­ney and Kaley’s jour­ney, click here:

Run Against Romney

Posted in HerHealth, HerPolitics, Reproductive Rights, U.S., War on Women | Leave a comment

Need to vent about women’s issues? We need writers!

The edi­tors at Herlinked.com are look­ing for new con­trib­u­tors for the web­site.  We pride our­selves in tak­ing a snarky, yet refined point-of-view to the tough, and not-so-tough, issues of today’s woman.

The level of com­mit­ment to the site and the top­ics cov­ered are pretty flex­i­ble.  We are look­ing for writ­ers, video blog­gers and illus­tra­tors. Please check our con­tact page for the link to the appli­ca­tion.  Email Her­linked­blog AT Gmail.com (Take that spam­mers) if you have any questions.

Happy writ­ing!

The Edi­tors

Grace Cham­bers

Mar­chae Grair

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

SlutWalk Cleveland: No always means no

When I told some of my friends I was attend­ing a rally called “Slut­Walk,” I received more than a few odd glances.  When I fur­ther explained the walk is an anti-rape rally protest­ing vic­tim blam­ing, the glances were even more con­fused.  Many ques­tioned why the demean­ing word slut was incor­po­rated into an event with such a pos­i­tive message.

I have to admit, when I first heard the term Slut­Walks, I wasn’t enthused about look­ing into the event any fur­ther. I’ve always con­sid­ered the term slut as some­thing both men and women use to make women unnec­es­sar­ily ashamed about their expres­sion of their sex­u­al­ity. I couldn’t under­stand why peo­ple who sym­pa­thized with rape vic­tims would want to asso­ciate vic­tim sup­port with such hurt­ful language.

I was so wrong. 

When I saw a Slut­Walk event was com­ing to Cleve­land, I decided to take another look at the his­tory of the ral­lies.  Last year, a com­ment made by a Toronto police offi­cer sparked the first Slut­Walk. The offi­cer said women could lessen their chances of being raped if they “avoid dress­ing like sluts.”

Men and women united in Toronto  to express their out­rage about such a com­ment, and cities around the world took notice and had Slut­Walks of their own.

I was for­tu­nate enough to walk in Cleveland’s Slut­Walk on Sept. 15, and it was one of the most pow­er­ful expe­ri­ences I’ve ever had.  A group of us united at Williard Park to march down­town, chant­ing phrases of sol­i­dar­ity with those who have expe­ri­enced sex­ual vio­lence. When we returned to the park, vic­tims of rape told sto­ries of strug­gle, fear, and triumph.

I’ve never seen so many heroes and hero­ines emerge at once. I can­not imag­ine the courage it took to get in front of a group of strangers and share such a per­sonal tragedy. There were sto­ries about rapes at par­ties.  There were sto­ries about being raped by  fam­ily mem­bers. There were count­less accounts of women los­ing their pre­cious vir­gini­ties at the hands of rapists.

I was so empow­ered by the brav­ery of the men and women who chose to take a stand against the sense­less act of rape and the ridicu­lous notion any­one would ask for some­thing so destruc­tive to hap­pen to them.  I stand in sol­i­dar­ity with my broth­ers and sis­ters who fight every day to for­get when some­one ignored their right to decide what hap­pens to their bodies.

I came to the Slut­Walk as a sup­porter, but I left a slut. No mat­ter what some­one calls me and no mat­ter what I wear, it does not give some­one the rea­son to think my body is any­thing but mine.

Dona­tions col­lected at Slut­Walk Cleve­land went to the Cleve­land Rape Cri­sis Cen­ter. Dona­tions were approx­i­mately $800. If you live in the Cleve­land area and need to talk to some­one about being sex­u­ally assaulted, visit the center’s web­page.

 

Posted in HerActivism, SlutWalks | 1 Comment

24. Now what?

24. And won­der­ing what it’s sup­posed to mean. (Photo by Mar­cia Grair).

It might be a quarter-life crisis. Or just the stir­ring in my soul.”

Peo­ple can say what they want about the cocky swooner, but when John Mayer put these words in his song, “Why Geor­gia,” he became my hon­orary soul sis­ter, even though he released the song a decade before I could imag­ine what a quarter-life cri­sis was.

I may not plan on liv­ing until I’m 96, but I think I am in that quarter-life cri­sis stage right now. For those of you read­ing who are younger than 24, or who left 24 behind long ago, let me intro­duce you to a thing I call the awk­ward twenties.

Here are some hypothetical/not so hypo­thet­i­cal con­ver­sa­tions I’ve had in recent memory:

Con­ver­sa­tion 1:

Nosy per­son: So, what are you doing with your degree?

My thought: Think­ing of doing a Thelma and Louise dive off a cliff because I’ll never get my dream job, and I’ll be in debt until I’m 1000. Thanks for ask­ing what I’m doing with life, even though you Face­book stalked me enough to know the answer. Thank you even more for gloat­ing when I tell you I’ve been work­ing retail after graduation.

Real answer: I’m still look­ing for some­thing in my field.

Con­ver­sa­tion 2: 

Bit­ter per­son: So are you and (insert sig­nif­i­cant other) still together?

My thought: You’ve heard from every per­son except me that we broke up. You just want me to be sin­gle and angry like you so you can recruit me to lis­ten to Ala­nis Moris­sette with you forever.

Real answer: We are still the very best of friends. It just didn’t work out.

Con­ver­sa­tion 3: 

Rude per­son: Man, some­one put on a few pounds. Are you pregnant?

My thought: I will take a bow and arrow to your forehead.

Real answer: I like to eat and no longer have a free mem­ber­ship to a col­lege gym. Sorry?

 

Being 24 means I sud­denly went from the col­lege kid who knew every­thing, to the brand new adult who knows noth­ing.  I am forced to acknowl­edge all my dreams may not come true, and if they do, they might have a higher cost than I ever imag­ined paying.

I am judged by the peo­ple who think it’s either Wall Street or more edu­ca­tion. I am judged by those who think a ring­less fin­ger means an eter­nal mar­riage to my dog.  I am judged by those who think I should drink less on Sat­ur­day nights, even if I don’t drink the other six-and-a-half days of the week.

I gain weight in places I don’t remem­ber exist­ing. My favorite t-shirts are sud­denly more appro­pri­ate for some­one who grad­u­ated high school when I grad­u­ated col­lege.  My bud­get doesn’t accom­mo­date my free time, and my loca­tion doesn’t accom­mo­date my potential.

This is 24 in 2012.

Some­times, I feel so lost, but I’m not sure if that feel­ing is from a self-inflicted wound or a soci­etal pressure.

I’m sin­gle. I have a job, but not one I’ll have for­ever. I don’t have any chil­dren. I am in a lot of debt.

But, I’m also not dead.

I can’t speak for every woman in their mid-twenties, but I’m tired of my life’s uncer­tain­ties por­trayed with a direct cor­re­la­tion to fail­ure.  I may not have a mas­ters degree, and I might not have a fam­ily, but it’s by choice.  I want the career path I choose, and the part­ner I love, to be deci­sions that are per­ma­nent because they feel they should be, not because I’m forced to keep them that way.  I might take longer to make life choices than the mar­ried peers I see on Face­book, or the young mil­lion­aires I see in mag­a­zines, but it’s because that’s what is right for me.

Some­times, it’s dif­fi­cult to trans­late this “unachieved” hap­pi­ness to older gen­er­a­tions, but I real­ize I have an advan­tage they’ve lost.  I look at everyone’s par­ents, includ­ing my own, and they have divorced once or twice. They all had that point in their lives when they looked back and wished they would have done some things dif­fer­ently. Luck­ily, the place where they are look­ing back is where I’m stand­ing now.

Even at my age, I get nos­tal­gic, and reach for the music of my teens. Usu­ally, I stop at my John Mayer col­lec­tion. Then, I med­i­tate on that magic line.

I get it, John. I’m 24, broke, and alone.

But mine’s not a quarter-life crisis.

It’s just a stir­ring in my soul.

 

 

Posted in HerVoice | 3 Comments

How to “Pick your outfit appropriately”

It’s time to party, which means it’s time to choose my party out­fit. I want to look hawt but not so hawt that I “attract those not-so-respectful guys.”

Lucky for me, I found some tips on how to pull this off in “Sur­vival Guide: College-partying tips and how-tos that save your mind and dig­nity — Pick your out­fit appro­pri­ately.” This was pub­lished in The Louisville Car­di­nal:

It should be com­mon sense,” the author astutely observes, “but choos­ing the right attire for any occa­sion is cru­cial. Just in case you do attract those not-so-respectful guys,” the author sug­gests tak­ing the fol­low­ing pre­cau­tion­ary measures:

1. “Be sure to cover up the assets.” (Might I sug­gest an off-shore bank.)

2. “The goods should not be on dis­play for every­one.” Again with the commodification.

3. Wear “noth­ing see-through, too thin or too short.”

4. Show no bras or under­wear and “def­i­nitely no would-be cen­sored body parts.” (Exnay on the ass­less chapsay.)

I think it’s safe to assume based on cur­rent stan­dards of dress for men and women that tips #1–4 are meant for women. There is but one bro-tip:

5. “Guys should stick to clean shirts (if pos­si­ble).” If possible!

Remem­ber, this “common-sense” advice will help you in case you “attract those not-so-respectful guys.” Because how “not-so-respectful guys” react to you is some­thing you have con­trol over?

No. It is not.

Women (and men) have been and will be vic­tims of unwanted sex­ual atten­tion no mat­ter how they dress. After you’ve made it clear that the sex­ual atten­tion is unwanted but the per­son does not stop, it becomes sex­ual harass­ment. Sex­ual harass­ment is not caused by cloth­ing. It is caused by the “not-so-respectful guys” ASSHOLES who sex­u­ally harass.

Instead of telling women how to dress to avoid sex­ual harass­ment I don’t know maybe we tell men (and all peo­ple) not to sex­u­ally harass peo­ple at par­ties, on a boat, in a moat, eat­ing a root beer float?

Just a tip.

Posted in Kentucky | 2 Comments

President Clinton’s side dish

And the gold medal for “Most depress­ing thing I saw on the Inter­net today” goes to…

This is the most con­found­ing muta­tion of the Obama “Hope” poster I’ve seen yet.

Accord­ing to this graphic, the Clin­ton pres­i­dency can be summed up as “Great econ­omy, no wars, and a lit­tle some­thing on the side.”

There’s some­thing hor­ri­bly wrong with all three parts of that sum­mary, but I want– no NEED– to focus on the “and a lit­tle some­thing on the side!” part.

Let’s talk about Clinton’s “side dish.”

Lewin­sky was 22 years old at the time of the affair. Clin­ton was about 30 years her senior. He was also her boss, who just hap­pened to hold maybe the most pow­er­ful political/economic office in the world. She was his intern–the power imbal­ance could not have been any greater. He ruined her life by grossly and I think crim­i­nally abus­ing that.

The kicker is that the Amer­i­can peo­ple* Clin­ton sup­pos­edly served awarded Lewin­sky with half– if not all– of the blame, all the while won­der­ing why the most pow­er­ful man in the world would want to sleep with a woman as “dumpy” as her.

That’s vic­tim blam­ing at its finest, folks. And more than a decade after the affair went pub­lic, some of us still don’t get it.

 

*In the inter­est of full dis­clo­sure, I used to be a Clin­ton apol­o­gist. I went as Lewin­sky for Hal­loween sopho­more year, for instance. I’m not proud of that. I was all, “Amer­i­cans are such Puri­tans about sex” and “Jour­nal­ists would NEVER have asked Jack Kennedy about his affairs” and “Even the pres­i­dent has a right to privacy.”

Guess what? I WAS WRONG.

I turned 22 two years ago. Let’s just say I’m really glad I’m not 22 anymore.

 

Posted in HerPolitics | Leave a comment

Adventures in activism (or that time I argued with a Pro-lifer)

PARTOF

Last Fri­day was a land­mark occa­sion. Whilst inno­cently tabling at a com­mu­nity event for Unite Women dot org, I found myself in my first ever argu­ment with a “Pro-lifer.”

That’s Pro-lifer with a capi­tol P because it became quickly clear that the guy’s main rea­son for stop­ping by was to antag­o­nize us about abortion.

He blended in well with the other fair-goers: middle-aged, fit, wear­ing all neu­trals (it was an envi­ron­men­tal fair).

Here are the high­lights (these are close approx­i­ma­tions of what was said, as best as I can remember):

Con­tinue read­ing »

Posted in HerActivism, War on Women | Leave a comment

Swedish Greys - a WordPress theme from Nordic Themepark.