Even the Landscape has Changed

     I am aging.  No doubt about that.  I have lived long enough to have gained a whole new vocabulary.  Here is a partial and highly incomplete list of words which at one time were rare or unknown (or their meanings have been added to and altered):

hacker
cracker
fuck you, N.S.A.
hashtag
Open Source or G.T.F.O.
remailers
coding
virus
man-in-the-middle
spell check
cypherpunk, nerd, geek, techie 
troll, sock, sock puppet
fluffy bunny, witch wars, big meanie poo-poo heads
404
blue screen (of death)
distro
surveillance
drones
manifesto
ninja
Anonymous
famefags, egofags, leaderfags
Centrex
fanfic
crash

     I was hunting through one of my collections of links and I started to reflect on these things.  The Interwebz has caused a profound alteration in the landscape of daily living.  From the rabid shopper who can "charge it" via the computer screen to the heart patient with arrhythmia whose cardiac specialist can now check on "what's happening" via a modem link and telephone wire to the copyright monopolists who have virtually killed fair use through the prodigious use of lawsuits and court orders, there is no innocence left.

     The innocence that I used to have the privilege of dwelling in fled in terror as I became more and more proficient in the use of my computer.  Suddenly, I was plugged in.  With a click of the mouse, I navigated my way across news sites and tech articles.  I could read fanfic, check out art exhibits, find a meet-up.  I found to my horror that genocide is a modern occurrence.  I discovered people who were like me with similar interests. 

     Having the computer and skating the Net soon wasn't enough.  I learned some digital art skills [which translated into an ability to edit professional photographs and many other things], traveled about and met some of my blogging buddies, picked up bits of coding, started defining the causes I wanted to fight for. 

     A strange thing occurred.  The causes that I started taking action on began to define me.  The stories and the struggles of others left their mark.  My anger became directed.  I was angry [and am angry] at the politicians who do not get what "transparency in government" means, the politicians who want to dictate laws governing human behavior based on their personally held religious convictions, the politicians who lied about things.  I was angry [and am angry] at the organizations that wish to collect our data, interfere in our lives, and offer false reassurances that we must sacrifice some measure of privacy in order to obtain some measure of safety as they define it.  The rallying cry of "All for one and one for all!" does not imply that we must blend in and conform like chocolate chip cookie dough facing a hot oven.  I know that.  But the people and places that are on my shit list do not appear to know that.

     So has the radical grown up?  No.  I think it's more that the radical has awakened from a deep and treacherous sleep.  The train has derailed and sprouted wings.   

radical sapphoq says:  Freeware has replaced free love.   


a few links just because

http://blog.thesecuritydialogue.org/

http://www.nsaspying.com/

http://keywordresistancefront.com/

http://www.codecademy.com/

https://pressfreedomfoundation.org/securedrop#faq

https://pressfreedomfoundation.org/encryption-works

http://www.activism.net/cypherpunk/manifesto.html

http://www.activism.net/cyber/

http://www.activism.net/cypherpunk/hackers.shtml

http://www.comedia.com/hot/jargon-4.4.6/html/koans.html

https://www.cdt.org/

http://www.qmail.org/top.html

http://www.openprivacy.org/

Dear People Who Have Been Raped

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 that I was raped, I kneed him in the groin and kicked him in the balls with my steel toed boots.  On that particular night, anger was my truest friend.

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