It is not your fault. When society tells you that the rape was "her" fault, society lies. When polite company whisper about short skirts or being wasted or walking around after dark, they lie. When a defense attorney gets in your face about your rep, when a politician refers to you as a slut, when your rapist is defended by your neighbors-- lies, lies, lies. When you are ready, you will join thousands of women and a few men in proclaiming, "This rape is not a thing of fault. It is not about sex or flirting or being loose. You lied to me. I won't tolerate it anymore."
We live in a rape culture. Rape culture says it was our fault. Rape culture says we brought this upon ourselves, we should have known better, we were bad kids, rebellious women, wimpy men, we were irresistible, manipulative, we lied. Rape culture says our rapists could not help it, we were too available, we led them on, this thing didn't happen, impossible, we wanted it. Rape culture says women [and a few men] are property to be protected or abused and subject to the whims of our protectors. Rape culture says we are not worthy, that feeling sexy is wrong, look where that got us, that rape is molestation, that rape is sex without permission, that rape is the privilege of the conquerors. Rape culture demands that we teach our daughters to defend themselves so we sign them up for self-defense classes, to not put themselves in danger, to be demure. To behave. Rape culture demands that our sons be manly men. Rape is an act of violence. This rape culture that we live in is composed of many acts of violence.
Our rapists have depended upon our shame and our fear. We give in. Sometimes we are not judged to be legally able to make our own decisions since we have not reached "the age of majority." Sometimes we are advised not to press charges. Sometimes we are too wounded and involved in survival and we just cannot do it. Sometimes we die.
The first time after I was raped, I was advised not to press charges. The second time after I was raped, I watched as my rapist's defenders gathered around him in a tight circle. They were determined to protect his reputation at any cost. I was expendable. Both men-- years and miles apart-- claimed that they were not in control of their actions. "I had to," said the first one. "I couldn't help myself," said the second one. The third time
Anger is messy. Rage is frightening. In a rape culture, we are not supposed to be angry. We are not supposed to feel rage. We are supposed to forgive the people who have hurt us. Because that is what our holy men tell us to do. We are supposed to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and carry on business as usual. We are told that it takes two to create a problem, that we played a part in this, that we have to look at ourselves and own up to our share of the responsibility. We will be washed away pure as the driven snow. Or, we are the damaged goods bringing shame to our families. We are taught to negate ourselves. We are taught to behave.
Now is the time to gather together, those of us who are able, and begin the process of dismantling the rape culture. Some of us will carry signs, risk arrests, hold vigils, take our messages to the streets. Some of us will name what happened to us for the first time in our lives. Some of us will write, using the web to let people know what happened and to demand justice. Some of us will do other things.
Each of us can do something.
To my sisters in India, to my sisters in Steubenville, to my brothers and sisters in behavioral facilities that live in fear of being raped and beaten by staffers or by other kids, to the little ones who are raped by the very people who are supposed to be protectors, I dedicate this blog post. To my male friend who told me that he was raped by an older woman when he was a teen, I dedicate this blog post. To those who have died, I dedicate this blog post. Do not give up. We need you. Together we will heal and live.
radical sapphoq
