On Women Defending Themselves

makingfists:

1. They tell us to carry mace, flashlights, whistles
A gun.
And then sell us pants with no pockets.

2. “Well, you got a purse,” the man says.
Yeah, just excuse me while I fumble through
my bag in a dark alleyway.
I’m sure my attacker will patiently wait.

3. They say don’t drink.
And then tell us to
Ruin his libido with piss.
I don’t know about you,
But I get stage fright even with a full bladder. 

4. They say take a martial arts class,
Learn to defend yourself.
Ten years into that pursuit now, myself
And my sensei’s never turned to me and said,
“Why don’t you wear your heels into class?
Wanna make sure you can do a proper take down in them.”

5. “Don’t wear your hair up,” says the person
Who’s never fought loose, waist-length hair in a windstorm.
Or pulled it out of sticky lip gloss for the umpteenth time.

6. “Carry your keys between your fingers like a weapon.”
Because three inches of dull metal
Is really menacing to someone who is bigger and stronger 
And determined to hurt me.

Everything Will Burn!: TW: Rape; Racism; Sexual Assault - Why my Rapist's Race is Relevant →

musingsofanawkwardblackgirl:

I often point out the race of my rapist, and a lot of people think I have an issue with white men due to it. That is not the case, but there is a good reason why I point out his race. As a child of diaspora my people (black women) were raped by white men and it…

[TW: rape denial]

shallowxgraves:

When a girl accuses a man of rape, and he denies it, make sure you don’t believe her because one time one girl you heard about from a friend totally lied about being raped, and go ahead and stand up for him because there isn’t a rape happening every 2 minutes in the US or anything

A Letter To The Guy Who Harassed Me Outside The Bar →

Here are some things you should know about my week: I’m on the phone with my mom on my way to yoga when a guy leans out of a doorway, drags on his cigarette and gestures with his pelvis how much he is enjoying my yoga pants. I’m walking home from the grocery store and a middle-aged guy, maybe high, maybe drunk, yells at me, “Get back here, girl!” I’m waiting for the bus when a carful of bros whips by; one leans out the passenger window, points at the girls waiting at the bus stop and yells, “Yes, Yes, No…Yes!” After work, I’m walking from the train to my apartment and four teenagers are trailing me, discussing my body, guessing measurements; they know I can hear them.

*****

Sometime, when you’re ready for a change of perspective, download the Google plug-in “Jailbreak the Patriarchy.” A quick click flips the pronouns and other gendered words in whatever digital content you’re reading, exposing sexist or sexualized word choice, structure, and style. Boom, bias exposed! Give it a whirl with coverage of female politicians and ask yourself whether anyone would spend this much time discussing Joe Biden’s hairstyles. Try it with pop stars and imagine a world where a teenaged girl could, without being pilloried, comfortably talk about her sexuality using the same language as 18-year-old One Direction singer Harry Styles. Jailbreak whatever you want, just to see what it looks like on the other side.

When will someone make a gender-swapping plug-in for real life? Where’s my magic button, the switch I can flip to show men like you what it feels like on the other side of your “jokes” and “compliments”? Maybe the first time someone comments on your ass in public you’ll take it as a compliment, but what about the next 12 times? How will you like having a private conversation interrupted so that some dude can get in a lame sexual pun or a rude gesture to impress his friends? What about your personal space? How do you like sharing that with aggressive strangers? You don’t get it because in your world, this is just you being clever and hilarious, just a little light-hearted late-night banter! Where’s my sense of humor? Dude, you are the third, or fifth, or ninth man this week to be rude to me, to think that what you want—to get a rise from your friends, to make your desire known, to make me uncomfortable, to project some twisted “proof” of your virility into the air—is more important than my comfort or safety. This is not an anomaly. This is constant.

Click the title for the full article.

Modesty, Body Policing and Rape Culture: Connecting the Dots →

bialogue-group:

The hyper-vigilance of fundamentalist men and women to root out “immodesty” conceals a hatred of female sexuality: secondary sex characteristics should not be visible except in approved circumstances. The system is designed to ensure that the only time a man is “turned on” by a woman is when he is allowed to act on his urges: in the marital bed. In other words, if a woman’s body is visible, it ought to be available for sex. Although I don’t think many men think this consciously, the idea crops up in misogynist rhetoric all the time. “Immodest” women are “asking for it,” or it’s “false advertising” if a woman in a short skirt won’t go home with you, or (in the terms of the Christian patriarchy movement) a woman “defrauds” a man (literally, deprives him of a right or property) by allowing herself to be attractive in a situation wherein sex with her is illicit or unwanted.

Could anyone link me to an article or video about the gang rape in new delhi?

I don’t understand how that happens on a moving bus, and I can’t find any details on if the driver was a part of it, or if the perpetrators threatened him as well, etc. Like were there only the rapists + the girl and her friend on the bus? Or were there people around watching? I’m having trouble finding articles from when it originally happened, I can just find them on the girls condition and the protests.

"Okay, so here's why girls don't get flattered when guys comment on their bodies." →

pilgrim—soul:

A few months ago, you said I looked “objectively really hot, actually, you’re definitely the hot one of us.” I laughed and thanked you because we have the kind of relationship that allows for that kind of banter. Your phrasing amused me. I took a little bow.

You asked me why girls get upset when guys comment on their bodies, and wondered why my reaction to you was different than, say, a girl’s reaction to a random guy on the street. Why I was mildly flattered, instead of scared or angry. You honestly didn’t understand, and wanted to know.

I tried explaining, but I think I left you more confused than I found you.

I have a better explanation now.

The first time I can remember a guy staring at my boobs, I was in eighth grade. I didn’t even notice; I was still a kid and was largely oblivious to such things. My dad, however, did notice, and started glaring at the twentysomething stranger ogling his thirteen-year-old.

I could maybe have passed for fifteen back then. There was no way anyone would have mistaken me for an adult. That wasn’t the issue, though. To that guy, it wasn’t about who I was or how old I was. I was a set of boobs to him, not a person, certainly not a child.

My experience is pretty common. Girls start getting unwanted attention at a young age, and it happens for the rest of our lives. Men yell things at us on the street and invade our personal space on the bus or trolley when there are plenty of other seats. They try to look up our skirts when we sit down. They don’t listen when we try to rebuff them. We see reports of yet another girl raped on her way home last weekend, another woman whose body was found in a ditch. We’re told not to go out alone at night, to take someone with us even if we’re only driving to the store or the library or the gas station. We’re told to carry our keys like weapons, to park in the lot instead of the structure because it’s better to get rained on than raped and murdered. We’re told not to walk alone even during the day. We’re told close friends might rape us if they’ve had a bit to drink because they’re men, that it’s wrong, but it happens sometimes and we should be on our guard.

Imagine hearing that from the age of five. Imagine being told from childhood that men are more likely to hurt you than women are. Imagine knowing that, though you might be smart and well-trained, men will almost always be bigger and stronger than you, and you wouldn’t be able to beat most of them in a full-on fight. I can best my brother at arm-wrestling, yeah, but that doesn’t have many practical applications.

Now imagine that one of the people you’ve been taught to regard as a threat to your body says he wants your body. If he really does, you’ll have a hard time stopping him, and people will treat you as an object lesson for others, like you’d done something wrong for “letting” him hurt you. They’ll ask why you didn’t do more to protect yourself, why you wore that dress, or walked into the parking lot at that time, or talked to that person. Why you went out after dark or flirted with someone at a party.

I’m not saying all men are awful. I’m saying that decent men should be the norm, but there are a lot of men who aren’t, and who make us feel unsafe in our normal lives. We can’t tell the difference between decent people and potential rapists by looking.

What you said to me was meant as a compliment, and I took it as such. That’s because I’ve known you since we were kids, and I know you didn’t mean any harm. We have the kind of relationship where words like yours are appropriate, and you’ve never strayed outside the bounds of what’s okay. I don’t have that kind of relationship with the car full of drunken guys I walked past on the way home from D&D last weekend.

Girls get upset when guys comment on their bodies because we’re being treated like sources of pleasure, not people. We get angry because we can’t go about our business without having to worry about sexual predation. We get scared because, when it comes down to it, if a guy tried to act on his shouts of “Hey baby, nice tits, keep it up” we probably wouldn’t be able to stop him, and some would blame us.

Girls get upset because we’d much rather be seen as people, not just bodies.

[STRONG TRIGGER WARNING FOR RAPE AND ASSAULT] When I was 16, I had a fake I.D. and decided to go to a gay bar by myself because some friends bailed on me. While there, an older gentleman bought me a drink. He wasn’t a creeper, and he definitely wasn’t unattractive. I accepted the drink and began talking to him. No big deal. As the hour progressed, I felt myself feeling strange. I mentioned that I felt like I had a headache, and this guy helped guide me out of the bar. As we were walking down the street, the thought of, ‘Oh god, he’s drugged me, I’m going to die’ came to my head. I tried to get away, but I was so drugged up that I could barely walk, let alone speak. It also didn’t help that I had really large ‘goth’ platform shoes because I was going through a phase. Anyway, this guy brought me to his suv and began undressing me. As a final act of defiance, I hit him over the head with my platform shoe. He then punched me, and I remember thinking, ‘Why don’t they ever give workshops to gay guys about being victims of rape too?’ While I was as careful as possible, I never saw the guy slip something in the drink. I even watched the bar tender make the drink. Anyway, I lied there completely paralyzed while this pervert was lubing up. I locked eyes with his for a moment, and that’s when it happened. A very large and angry drag queen opened the door of the vehicle and beat the shit out of my attempted rapist. She and her other drag friends helped dress and care for me while the police arrived. I was saved by a group of guardian drag queens. They were basically the modern day ‘angels from heaven.’

milesjai:

videk:

welcome-to-the-sinners-ball:

imgayitsok:

God bless drag queens.

I will always reblog this

Whenever drag queens are present, you best believe they will save the fuckin day.

this is awesome

My class today