Too Damned Many

As usual I’ve been reading my favorite blogs and they’ve struck home with me this week. You see, when I started writing here at The Den it was simply a place where I could go and speak freely and anonymously about the world as I see it.

I never would have believed that the-world-as-I-see-it would inspire so much hatred and fear but it did. I remember when I first started getting comments; I was excited that someone out there was hearing me. But the first thing I noted was that yes, they were hearing me, but they fucking hated what I was saying. I’m not sure why, but I kept writing, often I look back and wonder why I kept going. Hell, I often look around me and wonder why I’m still writing.

*sigh*, my thoughts are becoming muddled and I’ve lost my direction. Let me try this again.

This week we’ve lost yet another blogger, one more voice silenced in a string of courageous women who have gone before her. When I read the news I shook my head sadly and fought the wave of emotion that swept over me. Sadness and despair took me for a moment. In the short time I’ve been doing this I’ve watched as woman after woman has taken a big breath and decided to start blogs. The circle of radical feminist bloggers is too small, so very, very small, but their spirit and their fight is big. They start blogs, one small voice that has decided to speak out, and then it begins. The trolls invade, the ‘pro-sex’ bloggers take notice, hell sometimes even other radicals argue with them. The point is that oftentimes they will just sort of disappear one day.

I’ve watched them come and go, I’ve watched radical voices crumple and disappear and I feel angry and I feel sad and I feel despair and all of these things I feel at the same time. I’ve come close several times to walking away from this project and goddess knows how many times I’ve read yet another article and shook my head in anguish at the unfairness of it all. So when I read that we’ve lost another voice it hits me like a personal H-bomb exploding in all of its dismal glory and it occurs to me as I shake my head sadly while holding back tears of rage that I will have to update my blogroll once more.

When I began doing this I never could have believed just how big this blog would become. I never would have believed just how many words of support I would have gotten but there’s another side to it as well, a side that radical bloggers everywhere experience. There is the sting of hate from both women and men and gods, don’t ever underestimate that sting.

I don’t know, perhaps it’s just me, maybe I’m speaking in generalities when I have no proof of anything but I think it happens to all of us, or most of us, or a large portion of us. We start blogging, wanting a ‘safe’ space where we can speak. I think in the beginning we all hope to have positive comments directed our way. We all hope that people will show up and say, “Hey! That’s exactly it!” I think we are also looking for confirmation that we’re on the right track, that we’re not freaks, that there are others who believe like we do.

Soon though the trolls come, I think that all blogs are found first by the trolls. I’ve sometimes posited that they have Nextel radios that they communicate with and when a new radical blog opens they call in to each other and report it. Regardless, the trolls seem to be able to sniff out a radical site quicker than fleas can sniff out a new puppy.

The trolls come and we realize that we are being condemned and hated. And then the other radicals show up and I think that we feel relief at first. We finally feel as though we’re not alone. Our blogrolls widen and we march on, the trolls don’t sting quite as badly because we have a circle of supporters and we go to each others blogs and we fight the trolls and we feel like we’re not alone.

Somewhere though, something shifts, perhaps it happens one day when we’re looking at yet another story of a woman being beaten and raped and left for dead in a dumpster, maybe it happens when we decide to stop shaving and we are rebuffed harshly in public and in private. Perhaps some ‘pro-sex’ blog finds us and begins to obsess over us, posting every day about what a big piece of shit we are, or maybe we pick up our first cyber stalker, the impetus changes but I think the effect is the same.

Suddenly that blogroll seems too small and abruptly it’s as if we are transported into a satellite view and we see that all around us there is this vile misogyny and hatred. We find that our co-workers, friends and family refer to us as ‘man haters’ we find that we are but one small person standing on a beach and scooping teaspoons of water out of the ocean one at a time. We look at the vastness of the ocean and it occurs to us:

We will die in the same world that we were born into.

All of our fighting and screaming, all of our defending and begging and frustration, all of our anger and sadness will die, impotent and ineffective for we are battling an army, the likes of which we never could have comprehended. We are, for all intents and purposes, trying to empty oceans with teaspoons.

And then we get it, we’re not fighting because we have any hope of any real change in our lifetimes. Hell, we’re not even fighting because we have any hope of change in our grandchildren’s lifetimes; many of us have given up hope at all and are certain that the situation will never really change. So why are we fighting? We’re fighting because what else can we do?

I know for me there was a moment when my bright eyed optimism failed and I saw the truth of what I’m doing in the harsh light of cynical despair. In the beginning I had hoped for real social change, I had hoped that speaking out; writing about it, trying to raise consciousness would beat back the tsunami that women live with.

I had hoped that a few well crafted posts about “What women have to do to ‘prevent’ rape” outlining how we walk to our cars with keys clutched between our fingers or how we forgo hiking and camping alone or how we always wonder whether or not our new boyfriend really would have stopped the other night after he nagged us for three hours to have sex with him.

I naively assumed that all it would take is to just let people know what was happening. I assumed that it was a matter of speaking out, of letting people hear it.

I didn’t understand how very far off base I really was. I didn’t account for, nor understand, the depths to which misogyny had been embedded in the very fabric of our lives. In short, I didn’t realize that I was trying to do the impossible. I looked at that ocean and thought it to be a lake and I looked around me and saw the other voices on my blogroll and assumed that the entire shore was dotted with them. I didn’t realize that there were only a handful of us and that the lake was an ocean and that the twenty or thirty of us were trying to do something that was impossible.

Gods, when that hit me I was devastated. I vividly remember sobbing huge tears in the shower, collapsing on the floor while the hot water ran in rivulets over my skin. I remember crying until there were no more tears to cry and my skin was pruney and wrinkled from the water. I remember looking down at my hands and understanding, fully and completely that this would be a battle that I would fight until I was old, until my hands really did look like the water soaked hands I was looking at now.

I realized that I would be fighting this battle until I died, an old woman with pruney hands, and I would hand my spoon over to the next young, naive woman and let her continue to try and empty an ocean.

There are days when I understand that this battle will not be won in my lifetime, and the sadness that envelopes me is too much to bear.

I will never walk free down the street, unafraid, unconcerned, as a human being walking amid other human beings.

I will never walk to my car without that niggling fear that we feel, without shifting my bags in my hand or wondering if my bag would be heavy enough to act as an effective weapon.

I will never feel confident enough to camp alone in the woods, unafraid and unconcerned.

I will never experience a day when I can fish at 2:00 am and when a man approaches me I can smile at him with no fear or misgivings in my heart and say, “Hi! How are you doing tonight?”

I will never experience a time when I can, without fear, without reservation, bring a man to my house and not have it even cross my mind that he would rape me.

These are only a scant few things that I will never experience. Other women have more of them, different than mine perhaps, but regardless for me there came a time when I understood completely that I will not change the world. That this world doesn’t wish to change and indeed, that it will actively resist any and all attempts I make to the contrary. No amount of anger, begging, sobbing or pleading will change it for me. It’s too entrenched. It will not happen in my lifetime.

When that realization hit me I was in a pool of despair, sobbing upon my shower floor and then sobbing some more until I was so dehydrated that crying anymore was not physically possible. When I got out of the shower Dubhe was worried and concerned and he said to me, “Oh BB, what you are doing is important” and he said it the way that a man, who has never felt the raw heart stabbing pain in their gut when they read of another woman who has been brutalized at the hands of men, says such things.

Despite his intentions his surety came from that place that men can afford to inhabit. After all, it was very easy for him to tell me to go on when he didn’t, and never would, feel the gut wrenching pain of reading that a woman was dragged to death by her abusive boyfriend, leaving a blood trail a mile long and that the residents were primarily concerned with the removal of the bloodstain.

He would never feel the raw fear, the edge that is felt when we find ourselves face to face with a stranger in the park. He would never feel the rumbling in the guts when your boyfriend gets mad in front of you for the first time and you become painfully aware of each and every single woman you’ve known who has been beaten, raped, groped, assaulted, slapped, hit, abused, fondled, ogled, catcalled, bullied and scared by men.

Of course he could easily tell me to keep going. Of course he could tell me to keep writing. Of course he could have hope when he didn’t feel each and every violation upon his own body. When he wasn’t forced to relive his own attacks each and every single time he wrote. Of course he could be courageous when it wasn’t his people who were being systematically enslaved, degraded, dehumanized, bred to death, outcast, mutilated and murdered.

But I couldn’t be so optimistic. When the death threats start coming and the rape threats start coming and yet another man writes you an email telling you that, “If I ever find out who you are I’ll fucking rape you to death you stupid cunt”,

When even other women wage a war on you, talking about you, screaming about how awful and stupid you are,

When perfect strangers feel entitled to create images of you being raped by animals,

When men feel entitled to stalk you and harass you for the crime of speaking,

When your mother tells you that you’re a ‘man hater’ while simultaneously believing and approving of everything you write,

When men use your story of abuse, rape and degradation as pornography and then write to you telling you that they orgasmed when you described your rape at the hands of men,

When friends, family and coworkers turn from you,

When your children tell you you’re ‘gross’ because you stopped shaving your armpits,

When people set up blogs designed for the sole purpose of telling everyone what an evil person you are,

When you see the influx of trolls coming and telling you that you’re stupid and worthless and crazy,

When you see the search terms that men are using, “Raped sluts”, “Beaten and raped whores”, “Bleeding ass fuck”,

You start to feel not so optimistic.

So, when I find out that we’ve lost another voice I sob silent tears that nobody will ever see but me. But what can I do? I feel torn. I sure as hell can’t tell them to stand back up and fight for a war that we will never win, or at least, one that we will never win in our own lifetimes. I’ve seen too much shit to believe that anymore. What do I do? When we’re fighting a battle we will never win? When society views us with generalized scorn and hatred? When our emotions, feelings, experiences are wiped away with a dismissive wave accompanied by the old refrain, “Well you’ve been abused but you have no right to be wary of all men”, or better yet, “You should let go of your anger, I know plenty of women who have been abused and they’re not angry”. When all of it can be dismissed with a wave of the hand and a pat on the head from some asshole man or some sex-pos woman then we realize that we’re fighting for the sake of fighting.

I cannot look any woman in the eye who has chosen to lay down and stop fighting and tell her to stand back up again. I cannot condemn them for they have reached that moment when they realize that they will be fighting their entire lives, sobbing all the time, begging men to stop, explaining themselves over and over again and they will never understand why they are so hated and maligned, until they die without the freedom of ever having lived without fear.

And when they express this notion they are greeted with such things as, “Well, men have to be afraid too!” or, “You know, you risk your life driving to the store in your car” and so on and so forth until they’ve explained it a dozens of times and they’ve heard analogies comparing rape to getting the flu or being in a car accident.

 

These are women who have come to understand that our own lifetimes are but drops in the bucket for we are fighting against ideologies that are thousands of years strong. Thousands of years of embedded ownership, oppression and humiliation, an entire society built upon the degradation of females in any and every way possible.

The news that schoolgirls were systematically separated from boys and murdered is not a point of interest. Men, on this very blog, continue to deny that women are even raped. In the face of statistics, studies and so forth they wave it away with a shake of their entitled hands and in so doing they ensure that their undeserved privilege will remain intact.

Some of us, myself included, moderate comments on our blogs to keep out the most vile and hateful filth that would be inflicted upon the women who post with us. But make no mistake, we still see those comments, and we still see the trackbacks and we still see the filth that is spoken of us. And after awhile we grow tired, as so many bloggers before me have done and they decide to lie down and be done with the whole nasty business.

Sometimes they just stop posting, I those ones on my blogroll as long as I can, always hoping and praying that they will come back, but unable to bring myself to beg them to stand with me once more. I will not beg them to subject themselves to the same vile hatred that so many of us experience.

How can I, a woman who feels the despair daily, a woman who has heard the same stuff that is directed at them, a woman who is certain that the screaming and begging and yelling will never bring about real change in my lifetime, ask another woman to stand in the face of it? How can I ask another woman to willing take the abuse that will invariably be meted out to her when I know, only too well, how awful that abuse is?

Just today I received yet another threat against my person in my inbox, another man who hates me and feels that he is entitled to write to me and threaten me with bodily harm. I am reminded sometimes of that scene from The Return of the King, when the forces of Gondor are amassed at the black gates and they’re calling Sauron out. At one point the camera pans up and we see Gondor’s forces standing in the middle of a huge wave of opposing forces. We know, as do the characters, that they have no way of winning, there is no hope.

How can I tell a woman to go into that battle knowing that there is no hope of victory?

In real life there is never a ring of power which will balance the scales. There is never a small hero who emerges to overcome the awesome forces of the opposite side. Indeed, in real life there is a certain failure that radical bloggers learn to deal with, there is knowledge that the oppression and degradation of women will not be overcome in our lifetimes.

So yes, I am deeply troubled when we lose another important voice, it cuts through all of the false bravado, all of the courageous words, and it reminds me that there are real, live women out there who are speaking this truth and dealing with a very real, systematic hatred and wave of violence for nothing more than speaking their minds. Do not be fooled by our tough words and our almost mocking tones, I think it’s safe to say that all of us are affected by the violence. We deal with it differently, but that doesn’t mean that the affect is any less real.

There are times when I am enveloped with a hopelessness so vast and so large that I hope for an apocalypse and no, that’s not an exaggeration. I have often heard bloggers stating that they must take time off, they must have a hiatus from all of it. Gods, I understand that feeling all too well, there are days when you read another story and everything just sort of leaks out of you. Days come when you don’t think you can bear to live another day in this world, when you wonder and daydream of a world where women are safe, where children aren’t prey and where men aren’t monsters.

On those days, when you read another article or see another story or look at another study or statistic you feel your heart sink and you realize that you are completely, 100% stuck. And no matter how loudly you scream, no matter how angry you get, that tomorrow another woman will have experienced the life altering event of rape and that your voice will do little to stop that ocean from consuming yet another of your sisters and it feels as if you simply cannot go on.

You feel as if your voice, your anger, your experiences, thoughts and emotions are impotent and useless. There is no escape from this world save death, no escape from the worry and the fear that men will never experience. There is no way out, no magic portal that we can escape through; we are well and truly stuck.

In those moments everything seems to close around me and my breath sticks in my chest and I need to hide. I need to walk away, to lay down for awhile and hand my spoon to my sister who will not condemn me for my exhaustion. And I shut down the computer and I don’t look at my email and I stop looking at comments and I just hide and pretend that today no woman will be raped. And I spend a day imagining a day in which a woman isn’t killed for the crime of being raped, and I imagine a day in which no woman has to submit to having a man scream “Nice ASS!” to her as she is walking down the street and I imagine that perhaps today is the day where no woman is beaten by her husband.

And then I think to myself, “BB, maybe today is the day that you should pack up your stuff and just go camping for the weekend?” and then I remember that I’m a woman, and to go camping alone and unprotected by a male is fraught with fear and difficulty.

And then I realize that saying such a thing aloud will most likely bring more condemnation my way and I realize that as I’m pondering these things a woman is being beaten so I go to my garden and I understand that as I’m pulling a weed out that a woman is being raped somewhere just because she is female. And so I come into the house and I turn on the radio and I understand that somewhere a woman is being enslaved for the purposes of being used sexually by men and that people would support this practice instead of condemn it. So I decide to turn on the TV and I watch as another pretty white woman is paraded across my television screen as another victim of rape, but of course I understand that I will never see the face of a black woman or a fat woman because they still don’t count as human beings.

And so it goes until I can take no more of it and my anger grows larger than my exhaustion and I pick up the laptop and find myself writing once more.

I’m sorry that this post seems so full of despair and so full of sadness and defeatism. I’m sorry that this isn’t a happy, jolly, optimistic post that promises everyone that if we only keep fighting we can make it stop. I apologize that I have succumbed to my own anger and sadness and despair and spread it onto my blog, the one place I have always tried to show a strong front, but right now I don’t feel very strong. Right now I feel anger but it is a useless anger for the 2000 people who will read this today are but a small drop of water in an endless sea, even with 20,000 or 200,000 thousand or 2 million or even 2 billion we are ineffective because right now, as I am typing this, there are 6,662,822,662 billion people on this earth, and now, …663, 754, 766, and so on. Every second I type the population soars and it continues to do so, it continues to rise; now there are 6,662,822,870, in the scant 30 seconds it took me to type this it has jumped again.

Even if 2 BILLION people agreed with me and fought with me and were busy spooning out this ocean out with their teaspoons we would still be woefully unequipped.

It is in these moments that I feel the most despair, when I think of the bloggers we have lost. When I look at my blogroll and see that there are those who haven’t updated in months and I think, My gods, this will never change.

But for some reason I am compelled to stand once more, as I hear the voices of my sisters screaming and begging and I know their fears and I feel their sobs and I am wrenched from my daydreams of equality and peace and a world in which we’re allowed to live in peace, unfettered and unafraid of the violence of men. I am pulled back to my feet and I continue to write and to speak and to delete the hate mail, rape threats and insulting comments from my screen even as I understand that I cannot delete them from my mind.
This is why bloggers quit. This is why brilliant voices are silenced. This is what happens when we stand back and look at the bigger picture and despair enters our hearts and we look to our sisters with tears in our eyes and say, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t do it. I just can’t do it anymore” and other women will hug those of us who simply can’t continue and we’ll embrace them either physically or spiritually in our writings and we’ll say, “It’s ok my friend. I understand and I’ll take your spoon for you”. And we do this with tears in our eyes and we wonder if perhaps we would be better off if we left with them, if we laid down on the beach and just let the ocean take us as well.

And some of us are able to see the ocean and we feel it lapping at our feet and we decide that even though we cannot empty it, even though we will never know a day when we will see results from what we’re doing, that we can’t stop. We try, gods, there have been days that I have begged to be released from this knowing. This awful, terrifying, horrible knowing. There have been days that I wished, with everything inside of me, that I could reverse that knowing. That I could go back to when I didn’t see it, back to when the ocean was invisible to me, just as the women standing on the beach were invisible.

But I can’t. And I keep trying to lay down but as soon as the waves lap at my feet I realize that I can’t just let it take me. And so I listen to the words of my brave sisters and I look up at them from the sand and I take their words and use them to lift myself back up because damnit, I don’t want to be swallowed whole.

To my sisters, to all the women who write, and speak and talk and fight. To all of you holding your spoons right now and looking at the vastness of what we’re doing. To those of you who have watched others lay down and feel frustration and sadness and who are fighting back tears.

I feel your pain.

Your words are treasured jewels to me. They are the hope that I can cling to and the fire under my ass and damnit, sometimes I hate you for speaking out. Sometimes I hate you for continuing to show me this ocean when all I want to do is lay back and let the waves wash over me. But somehow you always manage to inspire those few remaining words I have and your words and bravery and dedication manage to pull me to my feet once more even though I feel so tired and I’m still so very young.

 

You are all beautiful. You are all intense and amazing and brilliant. And Heart, while I read your words and see the stories about more women being devoured by the ocean and I grow angry at you for reminding me of it and pulling me to my feet once more, I love you for the inspiration that you give to me.

All of you are wonderful. All of you are incredible. Stormy, Sparkle, Spotted Elephant, Breatheinspirt, Lost Clown, OAG, Sam, all of you and so many more that I can’t name you all, thank you for making me mad. Thank you for enraging me in those moments when all I want to do is run into the ocean and let it consume me. Your words, your stories, your articles are inspiration to me.

There may come a day when I throw it in completely, when I am consumed by misery and sadness and despair and I lay down and I don’t stand back up, sometimes I hope that the day will come soon. Looking at the threads of my life that are spreading before me and knowing that as long as I am in this world, as long as I am alive and breathing and typing that I will be facing the raw hatred and condemnation that I have received thus far makes me terrified for what the remainder of my life holds.

When I feel the pain of another woman cutting deeply into my own soul I look out towards the future and know that there will be so many more moments like this one. So many more times when my heart feels as if it shall bleed all over my keyboard and I think to myself, “I’m sorry my darling sister. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t stop it for you.” And fuck, I’m not looking forward to a lifetime of those moments, yet, there is no other choice for me right now.

No, this post is far from happy. It’s far from optimistic, it’s far from anything even remotely resembling hope. This is a post of desolation and despondency, of fear and anger and the overarching feeling of being entirely helpless yet, perhaps it is also a peek into what others feel on those days that they post one line,

 

“I need a break.”

Before disappearing for weeks.

~BB

P.S.- I wanted to add that I am NOT going to stop writing. This is not a ‘goodbye’ letter but rather a letter of frustration. I’m not ready to lie down just yet 🙂

Also, some of you will have noticed that I opened comments on this post for the express purpose of showing everyone what goes on ‘behind the scenes’ on some blogs. These are the comments that we keep off the blog for obvious reasons. I think they’ll go a very long way towards proving my point once again.

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It’s Over

Well, it’s all over and I’m breathing a gigantic sigh of relief. Last Tuesday I went to Planned Parenthood for the first of 4 visits in an effort to end this pregnancy. The first thing that struck me when I walked through the doors on Tuesday morning was the security. I was first buzzed into an ‘antechamber’, a small room that led to the waiting room. It was concrete and sported a large bulletproof glass window (at least I’m assuming that it’s bulletproof because it had wire zigzagging through it). On the other side of the window sat a nurse who pushed a drawer to me from the other side. Inside the drawer was a sign in sheet where I had to write my name and the purpose of my visit on. Security cameras watched my every move.

I signed in and the nurse retrieved the drawer with a little lever on the inside. Dubhe and I were then buzzed through the security doors and allowed into the next antechamber. This next room was also utilitarian. Indeed, it could be described as depressing. Chairs lined the room and there were no magazines or reading material. Another large bulletproof window lined the wall where the nurses stood behind the glass looking through it to the people waiting on the other side.

There was another metal tray which the nurse pushed through the wall to me as she said something through a microphone. I couldn’t hear her at all, but saw a clipboard in the tray which asked for my medical history. I filled everything out and sat back down nervously. Three other women were in the room with me as well as Dubhe. Dubhe was the only man present and I will note that he was the only man present for all of the visits except for the one on Friday.

We waited another 15 minutes or so after I filled out my paperwork and I had enough time to take a good look around me. Behind the bulletproof glass was a series of security cameras which took in every angle on the parking lot and the security room I had originally passed through. The room I was waiting in now had no windows save for a small rectangular one near the ceiling; it too was covered in bulletproof glass. It’s safe to say that I was very aware of the security measures that were in place. A few minutes later the door opened and I was ushered into the next room.

This next room was completely different from the other rooms I had thus far seen. Where the others were obviously designed for security this back room was set up more like a ‘normal’ doctor’s office. A small waiting room was at the center and a short coffee table sat between several chairs, magazines graced the top of the coffee table.

Dubhe and I went back and I submitted a urine sample. On that first visit they did a vaginal ultrasound to confirm the age of the fetus, as we had suspected it traced back to the condom breaking on September 15th. The pregnancy was at 6 weeks, but the gestational age was at 4 weeks (the pregnancy date is from the first day of your last period, not from the date of suspected implantation so the pregnancy date was approximately two weeks older than the actual age of the fetus). The nurse who performed the ultrasound was very gentle and very, very kind. In fact, she put me at ease almost immediately and I didn’t do that ‘freeze-up-and-clamp-down’ thing that I do during almost every exam of that sort I’ve ever had.

She asked if I wanted to know if she saw multiple fetuses to which I nervously responded, “No way! I can’t take care of one, two of them won’t change my mind” she laughed as well and proceeded with the ultrasound.

After that I had some blood work taken by another nurse who was very adept at finding the vein on the first try then Dubhe and I went into another room to listen to the counseling session. The nurse who counseled with us gave us our options and I explained that I was interested in the Mifepristone rather than the surgical abortion. We discussed the pros and cons of all the procedures. She asked me a few times if I was sure that this was what I wanted and I vehemently said “Yes!” I explained the nightmare I’d experienced thus far and she was clearly frustrated by the roadblocks I had experienced.

I had to listen to a recording by the doctor before being released and having another appointment scheduled for the following day.

The next appointment was a short counseling session with the doctor who was exceptionally friendly and sweet. We talked a bit and she explained that there was a 24 hour waiting period during which I’m supposed to ‘think it over’, she then explained that by law she had to tell me that. I responded by laughing and saying, “Yeah sure, as if I’ve thought about anything else since I found out I was pregnant”.

This caused her to laugh heartily for a few moments and she rolled her eyes and said, “I know, every woman who comes in here has spent way too much time already thinking about it.” After about 15 minutes with the doctor I was released again and yet another appointment was made for Friday. It was then that I’d get the pills. I was told that on Friday Dubhe could not accompany me into the back for the pills and so forth, I assume that this was yet another security measure and so we smiled and signed the consent forms and so forth and we were released again.

Friday morning I went back, I was warned of the possibility of protestors on Friday and had to sign an acknowledgement of this when I left on Wednesday. We pulled into Planned Parenthood at 8:00 a.m. on a rainy, cold day. Apparently protestors love life except for when they have to get wet while loving it. The parking lot was empty, and I smiled happily to myself while chuckling over how a little bit of rain and cold kept them away like the plague.

We entered and I hugged Dubhe and left him in the waiting second antechamber while I went into the waiting room. I was given the first dose of medication, Mifeprex, which served to make the pregnancy unviable. I was given FAQ sheets by the bunches as well as instructions for how to use the remaining medication.

I was given Doxycycline (an antibiotic) to take for 7 days to prevent infection as well as a bottle of anti nausea medication, 4 tablets of Misoprostol and an Rx for Tylenol with Codeine. I was told that there would be few, if any, noticeable side effects from this first dose of medication. I was instructed to take the Misoprostol the following morning to begin the process of expelling the fetus which would already be unviable by the time the expulsion began.

Dubhe and I spent a nervous night on Friday. My mother had come up to help us through this entire process and we chatted lightly about how awful it was that the place was virtually Fort Knox. She recounted stories about the pre-Roe days and told me how my aunt nearly died from an illegal abortion. We discussed politics surrounding abortion and my mother nearly choked on her tea when she read the hate mail I have received over all of this. She was almost in tears as she shook her head in confusion that so many would wish her daughter death for the crime of having sex.

She was offended that others would seek to condemn me so readily, of course, my mother is fully aware of my health problems as well and looked at me with tears welling up in her eyes as she said, “BB, you could die if you had a baby? Why would perfect strangers want you to die?”

This launched a long discussion about feminism, misogyny and punishment through forced childbearing.

The next morning (Saturday) I awoke from a restless sleep and began the morning regime. I had been instructed to take another antibiotic in the morning, followed an hour and a half later by the anti-nausea medication, a half hour after that I was to take the 4 tablets of Misoprostol and place them between my cheek and gum and allow them to dissolve.

Around 11:00 am I put the Misoprostol in my mouth and waited for it to dissolve. I began to bleed at 1:00 pm though the cramping began long before that. Indeed, I was cramping before the tablets were completely dissolved.

The cramps were severe and I was very glad for the Codeine, although it put me a bit out of sorts and groggy which wasn’t exactly what I wanted either. Despite the pain I wanted to continue to move around, my mother is a nurse and she backed up everything I had been told about laying prone. I had been advised at Planned Parenthood that walking around a bit would help the process move faster and would also result in smaller clots.

My mother and Dubhe monitored my temperature and Dubhe talked to me when the cramping became severe. In some ways it felt much like labor, although not as brutal as laboring with a full term pregnancy. It was painful but it came and went, sometimes it hurt pretty badly and then it would kind of fade away for a little bit.

At 1:45 I passed a large blood clot. It was about the size of a ping-pong ball although that’s a rough guess since I didn’t actually see it. It fell down into the bottom/back of the commode and was lost from view before I could even see it. The clots became a bit unnerving, not because I was worried about life or because I felt guilt or anything like that but because, well, passing large blood clots is bound to be unnerving to anyone *smile*. However, after the first large one there were no other huge ones.

I cramped for quite awhile and passed clots ranging from pea sized up to ping pong ball sized although none compared to the first one. Gradually the cramping eased and I was able to sleep for a bit while Dubhe ran to get us some take out. All in all most of it was over by about 4:30 pm and while I had a few pretty bad cramps after that time they became steadily lighter. I dosed up again with Codeine before bed and slept like a rock.

Overall the cramping was much stronger than I expected and it even surprised me at times with its intensity. For me, the cramps were far worse than the cramps associated with a normal period. The bleeding was lighter than I expected and the clots were more numerous, although smaller than I had expected. Sunday I was exhausted all day, my body ached, particularly my lower abdomen where my uterus is. I passed a few more clots on Sunday but the cramping was gone and the clots were about the size you would get with an average period. The bleeding had quieted quite a bit although I was told that this could vary from woman to woman.

My mother made sure I was ok in the morning and then she left to get back to my father. I was glad for her presence.

Dubhe and I spent the day chatting and hanging out on Sunday and I hugged each of my children who were all aware of what was happening with mom. They all told me they loved me and they were glad that I was ok.

I’m not supposed to ride the horses for a few weeks or engage in any heavy lifting which will be tough not to do since I’m very active however I’m still pretty tired today though the soreness in my belly has subsided quite a bit. I feel no guilt at all and there has been no ‘buyer’s remorse’ as it were. From the beginning of this, for a multitude of reasons, I knew I could not and did not want a pregnancy. The process was tough on my body and involved some pain but it was well worth it.

 

In January Dubhe will be eligible for his health insurance to cover a vasectomy; we’re looking forward to that with great anticipation. Overall, this has been a learning experience for both of us and I can quite safely say, with complete sincerity, that anyone who says, “Women use abortion for birth control” has never, EVER had an abortion.

That notion was dispelled for the complete idiocy it is within a half hour of the cramps starting. It’s likely that having been through this procedure myself I will personally wring the neck of anyone who is stupid enough to suggest that particular fallacy around me ever again. I can firmly say that I do not believe that any woman uses the equivalent of a jackhammer to the guts followed by bleeding and clotting as well as no intercourse and ‘light duty’ for several weeks as birth control. The notion is completely absurd and it’s disgusting to me that the forced birth movement has tainted abortion so much that a generally held belief is that you can have one and it’s just like taking a pill or slipping on a condom.

Now, however, I’m tired so I’m going to close this post but I’ll apologize first for the typos. I haven’t spellchecked this and I don’t intend to.

~BB

Incoherent Ramblings and Stream of Consciousness Thoughts

October 9, 2006
8:37 am

Well, the pregnancy test came back positive. You know, I put on a brave face for my readers and many of them keep saying that I’m courageous and brave. But they’re wrong. I’m scared. I’m fucking terrified. I’ve never been in this situation before and, truth be told, I never quite ‘got it’ before now. I guess it’s something that you just can’t understand until you’ve actually been there, as I am now. But the fact of the matter is that I’m blogging about it and I’m getting the shitty comments and I’m getting the helpful comments as well. More kind comments than unkind and that, at least, is something.

But I’m still scared; I’m still terrified at what’s happening to me. Questions shoot through my mind like angry wasps buzzing in my ear.

What will the clinic be like?
How many protesters will there be?
Will I be strong enough to wade past them or will I crumble and be shamed as they so wish me to be?
What will the doctors be like?
Will they be kind?
Or will they try to guilt trip me?
Should I tell my friends and family or should I be quiet?
How can I keep pretending to be happy and brave when I’m actually terrified on the inside?
Will it hurt?
How will I get over my phobia of gynecologists?
Oh gods, I’m scared. I’m so scared!
Will I be able to get over the fear of the speculum?
Will I get that thing where everything clamps down from terror and they have to tell me to ‘relax’ over and over again?
Will the doctor be a male or a female?
Am I stupid to be afraid of all of it?
How can I deal with the resentment I feel at Dubhe for not getting any of this backlash?
Is it horrible that I feel resentment in the first place that he hasn’t been the target of hatred?
Will this affect our relationship for a long while to come?
Is it horrible of me that I’ve refused to have penetrative sex since this began?
If I have to have a surgical abortion will it be worse since my cervix is fucked?
When they start talking about hormonal birth control should I speak up and tell them that I can’t take it or just take a shot and deal with it?

Sure, I put on a brave face, don’t we all? And, when you write things of a decidedly radical feminist bent you’re subjected to quite a few negative comments. I get plenty of hateful, nasty comments, I’ve been threatened before and I’ve been screamed at and insulted and had horrible things said to me. To be honest, you kind of develop a thicker skin, or at least you pretend to.

Some days I can laugh in the face of it but other days I’m worried and scared and can summon little more than a half-hearted, insecure smile. Am I brave? No. I’m not. I’m the farthest thing from brave that I can be without moving into complete coward territory. But I sure can put up a big front sometimes, and even better, sometimes I even believe it.

I’ve asked myself countless times why I even mentioned this entire thing on the blog. What was I thinking? Where the fuck was my head? I chide myself and condemn myself for opening this seeming can of worms. I self-blame, telling myself that I shouldn’t complain about the hatred because, after all, I put it out there.

But see, the thing is that it makes me feel good to write. That is what I do. Writing is the medium that I love more than any other expression. I never in a million years expected it to blow up the way it did. I never expected the links and the comments and the helpful and not so helpful advice. What I expected was simply to rage at yet another injustice. To be frank I never felt fear when I wrote that first post about the EC fiasco. Hell, I’ve followed news stories of similar things. While I’ve been blogging I’ve watched the news as woman after woman had a hard time getting EC filled or failed altogether in their efforts.

I’ve read the stories of the pharmacists refusing EC to women who have been raped. I’ve read them and I’ve raged with them, I never, in a million years, expected my story, one more story among vast oceans of stories, to get the attention it ultimately got. And if that was a surprise then the larger surprise was the hate that was also doled out.

To be perfectly honest I haven’t focused too much on issues of abortion and so forth. In this blog I have explored, in detail, my abusive marriages and relationships, my rapes and the lens of feminism that they led me to. This space has been little more than a public sounding board, a way to tell the world that Yes, these things happen, Yes, they happened to me and Yes, I am trying to heal from them after so many years.

This blog was created as a place for self-exploration in a public forum; it is also something I never thought I’d do. I have always kept journals, but they have never been read by another soul before, and here I was spilling out all this shit and damnit, it felt good. But I only dealt with the stuff that hit very close to home. Those things that had directly impacted me and forced me to look at things through a different lens than I had ever used before.

So writing about the EC thing didn’t cause me fear or concern. As far as I was concerned it was simply one more story in a landscape dotted with similar stories. I reckoned that my regular readers would leave comments of support and that they would be, in a sense, a shoulder to lean on.

It didn’t actually turn out that way though. For some reason this story went bigger than I ever thought possible. Even though I have read countless stories in the newspaper and online and in other blogs about the very same thing, for whatever reason this story, my story, was elevated to attention status. And wow, did it ever get attention.

I have often wondered why a story that has been told so many times would get this sort of attention while so many others haven’t. I felt guilt, and actually still do to a certain extent. There is a not insignificant bit of guilt residing within me that the voices of so many other women were ignored but for whatever reason, mine was heard. My readers know that while reproductive choice is important to me, as it is with all feminists, my main focuses on this blog have been rape, defining it, redefining it and discussing it. As well as the exploration of pain that survivors deal with on a daily basis. I am also notorious for my anti-porn stance and I devote much of my writing to discussing these topics.

Abortion, EC and so forth have made appearances here but my focus has been pretty much limited to the things that I have personally experienced. So, here I was in this position that so many others have been in and, for whatever reason; my story was picked up and read. And goddamnit, that makes me feel like shit.

*sigh*

Anyway, after writing about the EC thing I saw another area of feminism that I had not previously seen on anything more than a superficial level. I saw hatred and misogyny that was every bit as vile and horrible as the standard stuff I get all the time. People left comments, many, many helpful and wonderful comments. People also got angry with me and acted in ways that were abhorrent, cruel and dehumanizing.

I was told that the people who wrote such horrible woman-hating sentiments were simply ‘being jerks’. It was suggested that there is a number of people out there who just get off on being assholes. It was also suggested that some of these commenters were even pro-choice but that they just enjoyed and thought it funny to randomly attack people.

I called bullshit then and I stand by that now. Quite frankly if there exists people in this world who truly have no stance on a topic, or even who support that topic, who say these sorts of things to other people just for giggles then this world is a far sicker place than I ever imagined. It has been suggested that some of the commenters were ‘just people who get off on this sort of thing’, and it has been argued that these same people just ‘get off’ on insulting, threatening and debasing all others ‘just for fun’. It has even been alluded to that these same people may even be pro-choice but just enjoy cruelty, debasement and degradation for the sheer enjoyment of it.

If this is true, then what it boils down to is this: These people get off on cruelty for the sake of cruelty. They need no agenda; they just get off on kicking people who are down. People who are in pain, or scared or people who just plain care about something.

I cannot think of a more terrifying individual to be around. I cannot, in my wildest dreams, imagine a person who agrees with abortion telling another person that they are worthy of death just to be cruel.

Anyway as I was saying before I got sidetracked. After the posting on EC I was surprised and shocked, yet I was happy to see that so many people were getting the message that this sort of thing is happening to so many women. I am but a drop in the proverbial bucket on this one, many women have gone before me on this and many will follow after me. I took the attention and all the knocks I received and told myself, “Well, at least this topic is getting more attention now”.

And with that I resumed my writing, always knowing that there was a chance that the EC didn’t work. I watched the days and wrung my hands. I read up on abortion protesters and on the stories of women who have braved these picket lines. I read up on herbal miscarriage formulas and hoped that the worst would not come to pass.

Last week I looked at the calendar and closed my eyes before sighing largely. I was late. The first day I thought that perhaps it was my nerves, when the morning of the second day came I decided ‘no more excuses’ and I got a test. I knew that there was a strong possibility that I was pregnant but I was terrified to face that reality, instead, I stalled that first day, hoping beyond hope that I was just nervous.

When that plus sign showed up I fell to the floor and cried. The EC had failed and I was facing down a dragon. I retreated from the blog for a few days, sobbing in fear and worry while I did more in-depth research on my options. I calculated back and knew that I was but a few weeks along, indeed, this last Friday was 3 weeks exactly since the condom broke. Dubhe tried to take as much time off as he could as did I, but eventually he had to go back to work and I sat here, alone, when I had work to do.

 

I wrung my hands some more when I thought about posting the story at
The Den. I remembered the bitter sting of the hateful comments that were posted over the EC and decided better of telling the story. Then, one evening I was chatting with Dubhe something became clear to me. I was being scared into submission by the same kind of people who place shame onto the shoulders of a rape victim while forgetting entirely the other party involved.

I asked myself a few questions, “Would it help or hurt if I write about it?” and I realized immediately that this story would very likely help other women while simultaneously hurting me. It’s likely that this is a story that has been replayed many times and if I was feeling alone and scared then surely there were others out there who felt the same. I looked back over my time blogging and came to understand that it was precisely the knowledge that I wasn’t alone in my experiences that helped me so very much.

Knowing that you aren’t the only person who has experienced something gives you an immediate sense of relief and begins to wipe away the shame caused by feeling alone. Understanding that my story may actually help someone else is what prompted me to write that last post. Of course, as part and parcel of the writing, I would be making myself a huge target. So I spoke to Dubhe and told him that I wanted to do this, I asked him to take over everything on the blog for a bit so I didn’t have to deal directly with it. He readily agreed and so it has been.

The nasty emails have been coming, along with the kind ones and, for the record Dubhe has said that there are far more kind emails than nasty ones. A fact for which I am eternally grateful. The same holds true for the comments, by far there are more kind comments than hateful ones.

This entire thing has brought so many things to the surface for me. In some ways I’m in a catch 22. I refuse to play the forced birthers game of “Prove why you’re an exception to my no abortion policy” while at the same time there are things that would invariably shed a completely different light onto the situation if people knew it.

The fact of the matter is that I’ve realized, through all of this, that there are so many factors in any individual situation that they almost become moot. For example: I’ve wondered, as has Dubhe, why he became completely invisible during all of this. It’s as if his dick completely disappeared from the equation and it does not escape me that if I were using the pill and still got pregnant I would be accused of being irresponsible or, more likely, having made a mistake taking it. Thus the pregnancy becomes my fault.

However, what if I said that the condom broke because of user error? What if I said that Dubhe didn’t use it properly? Ahh, but see, there’s the rub. I’m still at fault for not taking the pill. It’s still my fault because I should have known and the pregnancy is still my fault. More than that though, I’m playing the ‘prove why I’m an exception to the rule’ game.

What if I said that I can’t bear children without risk of death? What if I told everyone that I had some medical problem by which I couldn’t carry a child? Of course, that still becomes my fault because if I knew that then why didn’t I get my tubes tied? Why didn’t I succumb to expensive and invasive surgery that poses a whole host of different problems to women who undergo it? If I say that I do not believe that invasive surgery with massive side effects is an acceptable birth control method then I’m just asking for it anyway and thus, the pregnancy becomes my fault again. Not to mention that again I’m playing the ‘prove why I’m an exception to the rule’ game.

What if I said that for the last 18 months I did exactly what the forced birth camp says I should do and I ‘kept my legs shut’? What if I said that the risk of conception was too much a risk for me to take knowing that I couldn’t take hormonal birth control and didn’t have the money for invasive surgery? What if I said that I wouldn’t let Dubhe stick his dick in me for the last 18 months of our relationship? Of course, then I’m borderline abusive for withholding sex from him, and everyone in the world sympathizes with him. Then I’m a frigid bitch who wouldn’t put out and should have just used contraception anyway so that he wouldn’t have to suffer such a horrible fate as not being able to stick his dick inside his partner. Of course, then I’m pandering to the ‘I’m an exception to the rule camp’ once again.

I could go on and on and it may be that these stories are real, that these individual factors do indeed apply to me or it could be that these are factors that other women have had. Either way, I won’t be baring any of the details of what happened to me, even though perhaps those factors would indeed take some of the heat off of me they will serve no purpose but to undermine any woman who can’t ‘explain why she’s different’.

Instead what I’ve done is watch curiously as people act just like people and forget that Dubhe was involved and forget that the birth control was on his penis and forget that for each and every single woman out there there is an entire set of factors that you can’t even begin to grasp.

I can point out that forcing a woman to play the ‘prove it’ game is simply a trap crafted to make women feel as ashamed as they can be made to feel while explaining why they are ‘different’. The fact of the matter is that no woman is ‘different’. Each and every single woman who has ever found herself in these circumstances has an individual host of reasons that a pregnancy is a bad idea for them and all of those reasons are valid.

There are also those who have stated that my story is ‘too perfect’ to be real. To be honest there’s little that I can say to that but it doesn’t exactly surprise me to hear some stand up and say that I’m lying. Indeed, women who undergo traumatic, life changing experiences are often written off as liars. The default position is to disbelieve everything we say. A woman who has been raped is clearly a liar for some nefarious purpose and a woman who is impregnated is also clearly a liar.

 

It is a common tactic to say a woman is lying if she’s saying something that a given person doesn’t want to believe is true. It’s much easier to accuse a woman of lying and write her off completely than to admit that there are things that happen with stunning regularity that are just wrong. I suppose that I could send them a piss sample to prove it, but why the fuck should I have to do that? Sure there’s lots of things I could do to ‘prove it’ but I know this tactic, I’m quite familiar with it as it is the exact tactic that people (mostly men) will use to defame a woman who has accused a man of raping her.

Indeed, the similarities are stunning. I’ve heard that I ‘should’ have known to get online and get a prescription ordered. I’ve been told that I ‘should’ have kept my legs closed. I’ve been told that I ‘should’ have done more to stop it. That I ‘should’ have known better than to let a man near me. I’ve been told that if my story was real I would have done this, and this, and this, and this differently.

All of this sounds strikingly familiar to, “You should have done more to stop it”, “If he really raped you then you would have done X”, “If you didn’t really want to be raped then you would have done this, and this and this to stop it”, “If you had fought him more and kept your legs closed then you wouldn’t have been raped”, “You should have known what would happen if you went up to his hotel room”.

What all of this has in common is a desire to be able to put your hands over your eyes and not see what is happening around you. My story is not unique; I assure you that it is not some big conspiracy. If the fact that it is ‘too perfect’ for your liking unnerves you then think about this: Every time a pregnancy occurs it is ‘too perfect’. Indeed, a pregnancy can only occur under perfect circumstances.

I have been researching and it appears that the EC wouldn’t have affected this pregnancy anyway since it doesn’t do much if you’re ovulating. When the condom failed I was in that few day window of fertility and from what I understand EC wouldn’t have done a damn thing anyway.

 

The simple fact of the matter is that nobody has to believe me, indeed, I will offer no proof other than my word. This blog has always been a journey for me, in which I write down my experiences and look at them through a feminist lens. It was never intended to be anything but that but for whatever reason (I still can’t figure it out) people decided that they liked what I had to say and they began reading it.

When I started this journey I wanted to finally share with others the things I have been through and experienced but I was too frightened to share these same things with people I knew. I decided to use the blog as a kind of cloak, behind which I could tell all and someone might hear. I wouldn’t have to see the look of disbelief on their faces when I told my story and I wouldn’t have to hear the ‘well you should have known’ crowd when they stepped up.

This blog began because I was too frightened to talk about so many things. Indeed, I still possess much of that same fear and my guts are trembling right now as I think about crossing that line of protestors. In short, this space was created as a safe space for me where people just happened to like what I was saying. If anyone wishes to believe that this story is false then so be it, there is nothing I can do to tell you otherwise and, to be perfectly honest, I will not endeavor to ‘prove’ anything to anyone.

I know I said that I was on hiatus but I had an urge to write this morning and decided that I’d just go ahead and post it anyway. Heh, I haven’t even edited this as I’m pretty much exhausted from writing it all out and now, I feel the way I would feel if I spent a few hours sobbing. Kind of relieved, really tired, and for some strange reason, a bit cleaner if that makes any sense.


I’ll have Dubhe put in a proper update soon, or I’ll do it myself as I get more information. Oh and you’ll note that the beginning of this post probably reads like a journal entry. It was intended to be just that actually, an entry in my private journal I keep on the computer, until I got further in and decided that I would post it in the blog instead. In any case, I don’t expect this post to be much more than stream of consciousness writing kind of akin to vomiting onto paper and feeling less ill for the effort but I thought I’d stick it out there in any case.

~BB

The Hiatus Will Start After This Post

*sigh*. I haven’t felt motivated to post for several days for obvious reasons. Indeed, when I put up a quick update this morning I had planned to go outside and do a bit of garden work to clear my mind. However, I decided to delay my trip so I could read a few of my favorite blogs.

Over at The Axe Forgets The Tree Remembers I read a post by “Z”. It was a post in which she expressed frustration over how she hears fetuses being referred to in derogatory ways. Now, this post is not intended to attack Z, indeed, she makes a point that many would agree with, rather this post is intended as an explanation for the phenomenon that she has witnessed, at least on my part.

As I posted this morning the EC failed and I’m currently taking other steps while I gather the money I need to finish this thing once and for all. And you know what? Every time I think about it I refer to this fetus as a ‘parasite’, a ‘tick’ and other things I won’t even mention. Z expressed frustration and wondered why women would do this and I can answer her question. The answer may not sit well with her, or with anyone else, but nonetheless it is the truth.

I am fucking angry as hell that around every corner I am faced with people who believe that the life of this fetus is worth more than MY life, or the lives of my children.

It becomes a question of how much shit can you take before you begin to actually hate the thing in your womb. Since the start of this I have been told repeatedly that I didn’t deserve to live. I had a commenter tell me that if they ever met me they would rape me repeatedly before torturing me and murdering me in the most painful way they could (no, they didn’t tell me exactly how they planned to do this, I guess that they wanted me to leave it up to my own imagination).

I have been called a ‘filthy cum drinking whore who should do everyone a favor and stop breathing’. I have had emails sent to me in the guise of having helpful tips to cause a miscarriage but which really suggested lethal herbs. I have been given death threats, I have been called a murderer and I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been called a whore or a slut.

Just a few choice excerpts:

you dumb slut

you fucking retard

Ha ha, you’re a dirty whore

YOU DESERVED IT, YOU SLUTTY LITTLE WHORE

SHUT YOUR GODDAMN FUCKING MOUTH, CUNT

Your life is fucking worthless you goddamn slut

Please kill yourself now bitch

I hope you feel good about murdering your kid whore

Tough shit slut

You are a disgusting little shit of a woman

If I ever met you I’d fucking kill you like you murdered your baby, fucking whore

Die you fucking slut

Why don’t you just kill yourself now. People like you don’t deserve to live

Stupid whore. You spread your legs and now you want to murder a baby. I hope you get raped and murdered. Maybe then you’ll feel what that innocent life felt

This is a tiny sampling and this was the response I received at taking EC. How much can one person take before they begin to hate the thing inside of them? How many times can you listen to people tell you that you deserve to die, that they want to kill you? Or they want you to kill yourself?

How often can one person hear that a fetus is more important than their own life? Than the lives of their children? How many times can you be reminded that you are, to them at least, a sack of shit and not worthy of even living?

Am I cold hearted about this? You bet your ass I am. I’m angry that my life is apparently worth so little because I had sex. I’m angry that people would literally try to fucking murder me by sending me a list of fatal herbs via a ‘helpful’ email. And that is to say nothing about the picket lines I will most likely have to cross. That speaks nothing to the shame that this society will attempt to thrust upon me for this situation. It speaks nothing to the anger and rage I feel that the penis which was actually attached to the condom apparently becomes utterly invisible.

I resent this fetus. I resent the fuck out of the fact that something which is 1/16 of an inch long and which looks amazingly like a reptile trumps the life of a woman and her three children. I resent that this glob of cells which is smaller than a wad of snot is clearly valued more than the life of a 34 year old woman who is trying like hell to support her existing kids.

So Z, I can answer your thoughtful question. Some women treat embryo’s like parasites and say the most awful things about them and act in seemingly cruel ways because they’re fucking pissed that something that small can be worth so much more than the life they have struggled to build. And you know what? Maybe it’s putting our anger into the wrong place, I know that argument could be made, but sometimes, after you’ve heard one more person tell you that you should die or be murdered you get fed up.

When you see that pregnancy stick you understand that if you’re not willing to raise another child for 18 years and you need to get an abortion that you are about to become one of the most reviled and hated segments of society. When I looked at that fucking test and saw it come out positive I fell apart because I knew, in that moment, that I would be facing some of the most violent and horrific people out there. People who want to see me die, people who say the most vile, horrific things imaginable in the name of the ‘life’ that is inside of me.

Where is that anger going to go? When you know that you’re crossing that fucking picket line where those protestors will be screaming the same sort of shit that those commenters did, well….where does the anger go? When you understand that there are those that would fucking KILL you, leaving your existing children to be raised without a mother you start resenting that potential life more than you’ve ever resented anything before.

I know I do.

I resent that Dubhe was forgotten. I resent that I continue to get emails and hate comments because I took EC. I resent the misogynist language that people are using to describe me. I resent that there are so many that would have me put a gun to my head, or, better yet, they’d do it for me all because I had sex. I resent that something which should be so simple will require me to go to that clinic 4 times and walk through those hateful, nasty protesters over and over again to fix. I resent that while I worry about a fucking clinic bomber the man, who was wearing that condom when it broke, only needs to worry about how he will take time off of work.

I resent that this potential life is given more consideration than any of the lives that will be poorly affected by it. I resent that I need to cough up $450.00 for the fucking abortion pill and that my insurance won’t touch it. I resent that I am made to feel like I must explain myself or else face the wrath of the psychos. I resent that the same sort of shame is being forced onto me by this as the shame that was forced onto me when I was raped as a child.

I resent that if I talk to people about it, about my feelings, about my fear and my anxiety that I may very well be the target of death threats, hatred and condemnation.

I resent that so many people would like to see me hide myself because I was awful enough to consent to sex. I resent that this is an issue that, while I need, desire and want to talk to people about, I must hide from everyone because to tell them would mean that I instantly become a ‘worthless cum guzzling whore’ who deserves to be ‘brutally raped before being slaughtered in the most painful way I can think of’.

I resent that something so painful to deal with, something so terrifying and life altering is something that instead of getting support over I am condemned over. Do you know why I haven’t posted something long and thoughtful about this? Because I’m tired. I’m fucking tired. I can only be kicked back to the ground so many times before I start thinking that I need to just lay there and stop fighting against it.

I haven’t done something about it because I know the hate mail and the hateful, horrible, disgusting comments I will receive. Quite frankly I’m tired. I’m tired of weeding them out and I’m tired of seeing them. How many blows can one woman face before they begin to become angry?

And so what happens is that the malicious and horrible way that women are treated builds up inside until they become angry and resentful. What do you do in the face of such hate? You strike back. You strike back by attacking the thing that they deem to be more important than you. More important than the years you have spent building memories and building security.

Don’t think for a moment that there won’t be horrific comments and emails sent to me as fallout for this either. Don’t fool yourself into believing that it won’t happen. It will. It has and it will happen again.

So yeah, I’m angry. I’m pissed as fuck and I resent the hell out of this zygote for having more right to life than I do. I resent it tremendously and I resent that I have to have it in me one more day.

So, to all of you who wonder about the seeming cruelty of women when they speak of aborting in tones of laughter. Try to think about the hatred that they’ve experienced and understand that it is a tactic intended as a huge “FUCK YOU” to those that would say that the embryo inside of them is more important than their lives and the lives of their children. It’s the best they can do to fight back against people who want them dead. People who would seriously murder them.

Yeah, I’m resentful at this circumstance. But perhaps, to those of you who wonder why women are resentful, the more appropriate question would be, why do people feel entitled to strip these same women of all humanity and dignity for the sake of the fetus inside of them?

*sigh*. I know that this post will garner plenty of hate mail but I refuse to be shamed and to those of you who laugh and say I deserve it I say this: When the abortion pill starts working and I expel the parasite from my womb I shall dedicate it to you when I flush the toilet.

And THAT my friends, is a big FUCK YOU to everyone who thinks that this fetus is more important than my, or my children life.

Bite me.

~BB

(Z- I want to say that these last comments weren’t directed at you *wink*. I think that your post raises a question that many people have and, speaking for myself, I had an answer to it. The hateful remarks are dedicated to those people, both past, present and future, who will slam me and tell me that I’m worthless for making this decision. I hope that you understand that the anger here isn’t directed at you, but at those who have repeatedly tried to knock me down for being uppity enough to thwart them by taking control of my own reproduction.)

Published in: on May 31, 2008 at 2:13 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Waffles and Abortion

You know, I hear many forced birthers cite time and time again that abortion, EC and so forth are ‘bad’ because of the poor little baby. Often times these folks are of a religious bent and they try to guilt women by telling them that the ‘baby’ is just as good as a breathing human being. 


Now, I have many, many reasons for being (as one blogger put it) radically pro-choice. Some of these reasons carry different weights on different days. Clearly, one of the biggest reasons is because without reproductive freedom for ANY reason women aren’t free. My feminism ties very closely with my radical pro-choice views. My views on the environment also ties in closely with my pro-choice. I am not a moderate pro-choicer by any stretch of the imagination. I’m all for RU-486, or the abortion pill, being available to any woman who asks for it with no questions asked hell, I’d advocate over the counter sales if there are no health risks attached.

From actual mechanical abortions to Mifepristone (abortion pill) to EC to plain old birth control, at any time during the pregnancy and with no questions asked (other than actual medical questions) I’m pro-choice. One could say I’m ardently pro-choice, or even rabidly pro-choice *grin*.

One of the many reasons I’m pro-choice is due to my spirituality. I hear a lot of talk about the souls of these 2 week old ‘babies’ from the Christian camp who tend to believe that god on high has given someone a ‘miracle’ when he ensouled a fetus. Now, I don’t usually post about my own spirituality on this blog but some of you have heard me allude to my spirituality in a joking way over the EC thing and I’ve received several emails asking me about it so I’m going to go ahead and bite the bullet and tell everyone what I think about fetus’s and souls. Hopefully I can give everyone a good laugh while I’m at it and make everyone wonder if I’m serious or not *wickedgrin*. What follows is my interpretation of souls and babies and why abortion is a good thing.

Ok, let’s assume for a moment that all the religious types are right; let’s assume that humans and every other living organism has a soul. So here we are, a bunch of souls running around in human suits (or dog suits, or fish suits or whatever…souls aren’t just for humans you know *wink*). We’ve got our human suits and when we die we turn back into fun little blobs of spiritual energy, our souls are released from our suits when we die.

So, at the moment of death our souls just sort of leak out of our bodies and we’re just a ball of light that runs around all pure and happy and stuff.

Now, if you’re a Christian you may believe that you get whisked off to heaven or hell or wherever you’re supposed to go. If you’re a pagan you likely believe that you jump into another body and start again in a fresh suit. If you’re an atheist you believe that you just kind of blink out, but if you’re BB you believe that you kind of zip around creating as much havoc as possible.

Heh, let me explain. Here’s my theory:

Souls are like waffles! Yep, that’s right; we’re all like a great big bunch of cosmic waffles made up of all these little squares. Now, through our lives we are soaking in butter and syrup. Now normally we’d like a waffle that has lots of butter and syrup but for the purposes of my spirituality we’ll assume that butter and syrup are bad things. For the purposes of this analogy butter and syrup make our waffles mushy and unpalatable.

So, all our lives we’re soaking in butter and syrup. Now, some of us are big waffles and some of us are small waffles, like those tiny little waffles that are on the kids menu at restaurants. The reason that some of us are small waffles is because we may have become too soaked with butter and syrup to be a palatable waffle anymore. When this happens we have to undergo a painful ‘dewaffling’ process in which Mother has stripped us of the icky waffle squares and, being the master recycler that she is, recycled them and left you with however many squares were salvageable.

In any case, when we die our waffles sort of leak out of our human suits and we realize that we’re waffles once more. Normally we get really happy about this and say, “Awesome man! School’s out! It’s summer break!” and we prance around excitedly at the whole new world before us. We see all these other waffles kind of hanging out and having fun and we buzz away from our now defunct human suit and begin hanging out and having fun along with them.

We take a quick inventory of how many squares we have, sometimes we may have lost squares and sometimes we may have gained them, but then we’re off to party with the other waffles that are buzzing around.

Now, if you’re one of those gigantic belgium waffles you may hang out at slumber parties and make Ouija boards move on their own. Or maybe you’ll slam a few random doors and freak people out, who, after all, are still trapped in their human suits and have forgotten that they too are waffles. The bigger waffle you are the more fun you can have.

But there is a drawback. See, our human suits are also important. They act as a ‘battery’ that keeps us running and once that battery goes out you’re on borrowed time. If you’re a bigger waffle you’ll be able to have a longer summer break because all those nooks and crannies tend to hold more of a charge. But if you’re a smaller waffle then your summer break is shorter (maybe you have to go to summer school, I don’t know) the point is that if you’re a small waffle then you don’t have as many golden brown nooks and crannies that you can subsist on indefinitely.

Eventually all waffles become weak and then, a ‘miracle’ happens.

But before we can talk about the miracle we need to turn our thoughts to a newly impregnated female. When a female (whether that’s a human, or cat or even a housefly) is impregnated it changes her waffle signals. Once that little zygote is formed the waffle in the woman suit becomes a bit like a magnetic waffle. Yep, that little zygote needs a waffle to fill it and thus it begins to act like a magnet.

Now, here we have this woman kind of running around in her human suit but her energy has changed and now she’s a magnet and she’s running around oblivious to all the waffles who are hanging out at the pizza shop and enjoying summer vacation.

So this newly zygoted female is buzzing around and all the waffles are going, “OH SHIT! There’s a magnet! Get out of here! Run! Run!!” and the waffles scatter and bolt because they’re all having fun fucking around with slumber parties and passing themselves off as the Christian god to good pastors around the world (where do you think all those prophecies come from and the idea of the rapture? It’s really waffles talking to waffles in their human suits! Waffles are quite amusing when they realize what they are)

And so when a magnet shows up the waffles all bolt as quickly as they can. They run screaming from slumber parties and away from haunted houses as speedily as possible. It becomes a virtual waffle stampede! And this is where it gets fun.

As the waffles are running away screaming “The fuzz is here! Run! Run!” the bigger ones manage to outrun the smaller ones. And when the smaller and weaker waffles are too slow or too busy to notice the magnet coming their way they get sucked into the woman waffle whose energetic signature has changed with stupid sperm. Now, I think that the size of the woman waffle also plays a part in it. Maybe, if the waffle inside the woman suit is a big waffle, she can suck in the big waffles. I’m not too sure about this point and I haven’t given it much thought. However, the ‘miracle’ inside of the zygoted woman is more likely to be a busted waffle who couldn’t outrun the fuzz than an actual willing participant.

See, being a waffle is a bunch of fun. Hell, who wouldn’t want to scare people or talk people into believing that you’re a god or a faerie or dead Aunt Martha? And so the actual desire to be stuck in a suit again is pretty low. Most of the time waffles don’t want to go back to school, at least not until they’re ready. Now, the discerning waffles among us will realize when they’ve all but used up their battery and before they get sucked into another waffle they make a choice and they jump willingly into a waffle of their choice. But too many waffles get carried away with summer break and they party right up until their last night at which point they get sucked in anyway.

The problem is that there are way too many zygoted people running around and the poor little waffles can scarcely enjoy their well-deserved summer break without being sucked back in.

The good news is that we have abortions which give the waffle another shot at having fun. When we get abortions we release that poor waffle-napped waffle and free the little sucker so that she can continue to wreak havoc with Ouija boards around the world.

 

Unfortunately if the waffle was sucked into a woman waffle that has been seeping in the butter and syrup of Christianity then the poor waffle-napped waffle doesn’t stand a chance. And so the waffle is stuck in the zygote but it takes a long time for our waffle to forget how cool it was being a waffle and it remembers how much fun it had pretending to be Aunt Maude or making dishes fly out of cupboards and so it voices its frustration at being trapped by kicking relentlessly inside of its little waffle prison (human or animal uteri *grin*).

And then, when that waffle is born in a brand new human suit it screams and cries for no apparent reason because all of us old waffles stuck in our human suits have forgotten how much fun it is to be a waffle. The newborn baby is just pissed off and trying to tell everyone just how much it sucks that it’s stuck in another human suit.

Unfortunately the baby forgets soon enough, it’s like a coping mechanism for waffles because if they remembered just how much fun it was to be a waffle free of a human suit then all humanity would be committing suicide at the age of two. And of course that’s not good because then all the waffles are just running around with no Ouija boards to fuck around with and we wouldn’t want that!

Now, everyone has been both male and female waffles so one time you may get to be a magnet (which, after you die you remember and you laugh about) and the next you may get to be a waffle that runs scared from the magnet. It’s like a big game of waffle tag wherein sometimes you’re “It” and other times you’re “Not It”.

So you see, the ‘miracle’ of pregnancy is really just a waffle-napping *nodnod*, some poor waffle was just minding its own business when it got sucked into a magnetized waffle. To most waffles abortion is a boon because being stuck in human suits is uber boring compared to the fun you can have as a waffle.

The moral of the story? Think of the waffles, have an abortion.

~BB

Post Script:

The best part of this post is this: Is it satire? Or is it real? Is BB simply pandering to the trolls? You decide. Either way, I think that starting a ‘think of the waffles’ campaign is a good idea *nodnod*

Published in: on May 31, 2008 at 2:09 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Privilege, Man Hating and History

Since I began this blog I have received plenty of trollish comments, abusive emails and so forth. By and large the biggest thing I am accused of is ‘man hating’. Of course, every feminist has most likely been the target of this accusation more times than they can count so it comes as no surprise that a very vocal feminist gets this accusation leveled at her more than any other.

I’ve noted that most of the vitriol tends to come on the heels of those posts in which I refer to ‘men’ or ‘mankind’ or some such collective term that refers to groups of men or men as a whole. A little more recently this post brought me some staunch criticism. Indeed, most people were fine with the post in which I speak about how badly I was made to feel over the EC thing. Most people had no problems with me beating myself up and questioning myself. However, at the end of the post I outlined ways in which mankind has collectively caused so many problems in this big old world.

At the end of that post I purposefully bolded the man part of ‘mankind’ in an effort to make a point. Of course, this was a perfect formula for people (namely men, although I think there may have been a few women involved as well) to complain and send me emails. Time after time the emails said:

“Sure, I know that men may not have been the greatest in the past but your present use of the word is just wrong. We have changed the laws and now women have just as many rights as men do!”

Or some twist on this theme, indeed, I tackled this issue a little bit in the comments on the individual post but, as usual, I want to explore this a bit further. In the comments I was accused several times of going into an ‘anti-male rant’, I allowed a few of the comments through moderation but most I simply held back.

The consensus among those who disagreed seemed to be this (paraphrased):

“Women also denied you EC on that day. Therefore women are just as much to blame as men and the history of the world really has very little to do with it.”

To be blunt I’m calling bullshit on this and I’ll try to explain why. Societies, whether they are global, national or local, are not based upon an individual day. Rather, societies tend to evolve, they grow upon foundations that were laid out at the beginning of the society.

Now, changes can and do come to societies but because they are generally built upon tradition rather than a snapshot of an individual day that change will likely come slower. As a general rule the longer a given tradition has been coveted and held as truth the longer it will take to change a particular mindset.

Take for example the way this society views homosexuals. Sure, laws are on the books but just because a law has been created doesn’t mean that it will protect homosexuals. The true change will come when we have dug up the foundations upon which homophobia is built.

It is ludicrous as well as deceptive to take a snapshot of a given incident and not put it into a larger perspective. This tendency to do just that allows for a skewed picture of the actual problem. Feminism is an area in which we absolutely must look at the history beneath all incidents.

Now, I will not argue when someone says that a woman denied me EC when I needed it, this is a fact. My doctor (who is female) was the first in a long chain of people who treated me like shit. However, it’s important that we look at history, as well as the foundations upon which her decision was based. The individual doctor was at fault and I am in the process of finding another doctor. But to lay the blame solely upon her shoulders is also a cop out to neglect the role that society has played in her decision is also misleading. We must look a bit deeper to determine what her actions were based upon and it is there that we find the unsettling truth that I alluded to in the second post (linked above).

 

When we begin to look at her actions within a frame of reference we find that it’s likely she acted as she did out of moral compunctions. Indeed, most of these folks are of a decidedly religious bent and here in America that is code for Christian. Christianity is a religion made by and for men and its ideals are much the same as the woman-hating ideals of nearly every large, institutionalized religion.

It is imperative that we understand that women’s decisions are not made in a vacuum. Does this mean that we give them a ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card? Hell no, what means is that we must remember the history of women in this society when we decide just how much blame she should receive.

Societies are not built in a day, they are built over a long period of time and they are built on traditions. This society (as nearly every society in the world) was built upon the traditions that men found important. Women had little say in the traditions that men found to be important but it’s critical to understand that women also do not live separate and apart from those traditions. Was my doctor wrong? You bet your ass she was and I’ll be finding a new doctor as well as spreading the word about what she will and won’t prescribe. However, her decision to prescribe medication or not was not made in a vacuum. It was a decision that she came to after many years of living in this society and absorbing its traditions, expectations and so forth.

To suddenly say that women are just as responsible as men is a hollow argument. To suddenly say that women are suddenly, after thousands of years of living as second class citizens, just as responsible as those who created those traditions and beliefs is ridiculous almost beyond belief.

The practice of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) is a good example. In most of the places that practice this horrific tradition it is women who are actually performing the brutal procedure on girl children. Women are the ones who are wielding the knife and chopping up the genitalia of other women. However, I can’t think of any feminist who would hold the women who are engaging in this practice up to the same standard of responsibility as the men of that culture.

“But BB,” you say, “it’s the WOMEN who are doing it!”

Yes, you’re right. But why are they doing it? Why are they upholding this barbaric practice so faithfully?

And it is there that we find the problem, the practice is what men want and the women in these areas have been exposed to systematic abuse for thousands of years. Indeed, in some areas a woman who hasn’t had the procedure done will be outcast by all the males around her. She will be seen as dirty or promiscuous and no man will want to marry her, at the worst she can be cast from the village because she is seen as dangerous.

So while men themselves are not doing the actual cutting they are the driving force behind the procedure. When we step back and look at the history of these cultures we see a very clear picture emerge. The women are little more than the foot soldiers of the powerful males, and while their actions are individually wrong they are simply the vehicle by which men continue to exert their power and control over the women in the area.

In short when we see an individual woman acting in a despicable way we must, must, must look at the big picture and ask ourselves ‘why?’ It is at this point that I start to lose men and they start getting angry because the answers to the question of ‘why’ implicate them in something so large and awful that individual men wish to distance themselves as far as possible from it.

When we start asking ‘why’ we start seeing the foundations that men have built for this and almost every other society on the planet. Saying that men have been the instrumental force in the woman hating that happens in this country is no more dishonest than saying that white people are an instrumental force in the slavery of people of color.

When we look at racism we cannot get a clear picture until we look at the history of this country. By that reasoning when we look at sexism and the role that women play in it, we cannot get a clear picture without looking at the people who built, legislated for and actively promoted the culture of misogyny we now live in. To do anything but is to ignore history and the role that was played by the given sexes.

Feminists aren’t trying to excuse behavior of women who do shitty things; instead what they are attempting to do is show folks the basis of many of the behaviors that women may be engaging in. Only then can we begin to see the severe and I dare say, institutionalized phenomenon of the oppression of women. We must look at the entire picture to see the entire picture. And to do that, we must look at who wields the power.

Worldwide men have been at the helm; for the most part it is men who built the institutions and the laws upon which so many injustices have been committed. Historically speaking men have been at the forefront of the wars, death and destruction of this natural world, as well as at the forefront of woman hating, rape and rampant misogyny.

If we ignore that then we ignore the thousands of years of history that men have, by and large, controlled and created. These institutions do not die easily, particularly when there are still many who wish for them to be upheld and many more who derive very real benefit from them. When we have folks blaming prostitutes for prostitution rather than Johns we will never right the huge injustices before us.

 

The beauty of this worldwide system of oppression of women is that women have been recruited as being the ‘bad guys’. Women are often used as the foot soldiers of the men in power; they are used as the tools by which men can continue to live with unquestioned privilege and authority. Society grooms these women from birth, depending on where they live, it tells them that their genitalia is shameful, that they are worthless, that their importance lay in how many sons they can produce or how well they fake an orgasm. Are these women responsible for their deeds? Yes, of course they are, but so are the men in power who are pulling the strings behind all of it.

It’s a dirty truth to hear your gender be fingered for the state of affairs we have here but just because it’s painful to hear doesn’t mean that it’s not true. The urge to distance oneself from this macabre movie is strong but to do so is to deny the facts of history.

When I am accused of white privilege it’s frightening and the first thing I want to say is “No, not ME!” and become defensive. But the truth of the matter is that this accusation doesn’t come from an alternate dimension, it doesn’t just appear out of nowhere. When I look at the destruction that white people have foisted upon people of color around the world I am sickened to belong to that group. When I see the destruction we have wrought in Iraq and I look back to the destruction upon so many races throughout history I am sick to my stomach but to deny that history exists is pompous beyond anything I can even articulate.

Saying that actions and events of today have nothing to do with history is to deny that the history even existed. We cannot minimize the roles we have played even if it makes us feel like shit to own them. This lens works across the board. It does no good to take a singular incident and analyze it without also analyzing the culture and history that the incident was born in.

It’s very easy for a privileged class to look at the deeds of their forefathers and say, “Well, it wasn’t me who did that!” and then dismiss everything out of hand and accuse someone of just hating them for no reason. Privilege has a way of blinding one to the role that one has played and this also has the affect of alienating the oppressed class even further. It also renders the defensive person’s personal privilege and the benefits that come with that, completely invisible.

 

When we look at someone and level an accusation of ‘man hating’ at them because they are saying things that make us feel bad we also allow ourselves to not notice or forget the privilege that we are engaging in. Hell, the act of nullifying thousands of years of oppression is the HEIGHT of privilege. You don’t have to give it any weight because it’s not important to YOU.

Do any of you believe that women are happy about effectively being written out of the history books? Do any of you believe that women are thrilled about being kept out of lawmaking and politics? When someone levels a valid complaint against the powerful class they are seeking recognition to the harms done to their people, to deny that is to exist in a state of privilege that has never been afforded to the oppressed class. This same truth applies across the board; wherever oppression rears its head. Whether we’re talking about racism, sexism or homophobia this understanding is crucial.

So the next time I begin talking about the fact that women were written out of history, literature, politics, sciences (and many other fields!) I’m not ‘ranting against men’ I’m noting that there is a very real history of misogyny, fear and oppression that this society was built upon. To understand feminist theory we must also understand the roots of oppression that it is built upon.

Am I angry at the way men have kept women out of almost every powerful role? You bet your ass I am. Am I angry that women have been forced to be passive observers, their voices and protestations rendered invisible while men destroyed this planet, waged wars and committed atrocities that go beyond anything I can even imagine? Yes I am. What I want is this: I want for men to recognize their privilege and the roles that they and their forefathers played in creating this society, only then will we be able to attack the foundations of it and eradicate it.

Look behind the veil and understand that people don’t act in a vacuum. People act and react based upon roles, institutions and beliefs that are often ingrained for hundreds, if not thousands of years. Understanding is the key to making it stop; sticking your head in the sand and looking at one piece of a puzzle will simply allow the cycles to continue undimmed.

~BB

Responses to the Rapist Checklist

I posted the repost of the The Rapist Checklist yesterday and, as expected, there were quite a few comments that I garnered that were just teeming with indignant rage. As most of you know I don’t post nasty comments because I tire of the constant parade of trolls who shows up and needs to be dealt with. I’m unwilling to let their redundant crap go unchallenged but, after fighting the same unoriginal comment week after week after week, I grow tired of the same old song and dance.

However, sometimes I like to post their comments for everyone to see. It’s amusing to me as well as frightening that there are so many out there who simply don’t get it. In the spirit of a good roast I have decided to post a few comments regarding that post. So, without further ado I bring you a few of the unmoderated comments I received on that particular post.

Someone calling themselves “Cynical” posted an amusing comment. They reference several of the checklist numbers so I will copy and paste those here as well so that everyone doesn’t have to jump back and forth on their browsers to follow him. The original comment is in italics the quoted bits from the post are in bold and, of course, my current response is in the normal font.

Cynical says: On 13-15 Are you telling me I was raped when I was talked into it or nagged into it?

13. You are a rapist if you ‘nag’ her for sex. Because you manage to ply an eventual ‘yes’ from a weary victim doesn’t mean it’s not rape. You are a rapist.

14. You are a rapist if you try to circumvent her “No” by talking her into it. She’s not playing hard to get, and, even if she IS it’s not YOUR responsibility to ‘get’ her. You’re still a rapist.

15. You are a rapist if you manipulate her into sex when she doesn’t otherwise want it. If you say, “If you loved me you’d do X” then you’re a rapist. If you say, “All the other kids are doing it!” then you’re a rapist.

If you’re a man then the likely answer is No, you were not raped. If you’re a woman then perhaps you were. If you’re a woman who didn’t want to have sex but were frightened of what he’d do if you wouldn’t do it with him or felt as if there were no other choices, then yes, I would absolutely say that you were raped.

However, I get the feeling that this is a guy and, as such, the answer is most notably “NO”, you were not raped but of course, you already knew that you simply wanted to try and get the mean ol’ feminist with your idea of a silver bullet. You were fully aware that you weren’t raped but figured that you were the first man who ever approached me with your particular brand of logic and that you’d be able to shut me up or make me cower beneath the threat of your clearly superior logic.

Wrong.

You weren’t raped if you were talked into it and here’s why.

First off, do you ever fear being physically and violently raped if you tell a woman “No”? Of course not. You know that if you tell her “No” the worst that will happen is that she will ask a few times and then give up. Do you fear that if you raise your voice to her or even hit her if she continues to ‘nag’ you that you will be beat to death? That you will be held down against your will and penetrated? These are fears that huge numbers of women experience and fears that you will never, ever experience. The same sort of pressure for you is not there.

Secondly as a man in this society you have likely been socialized to understand that you are ‘allowed’ to do whatever you want in pursuit of getting your dick into some woman’s body. It’s clear that you don’t respect the word “No” which is a verbal boundary. Therefore, it’s likely that you have engaged in this behavior yourself since you clearly are unable to comprehend the importance of the word “No”, particularly as it pertains to females.

It’s also likely that you are/were much larger than the woman you bullied (i.e. ‘nagged’) into sex with you. Even if you weren’t you, as a male, have been socialized to be violent and ‘manly’ in your life. Violence, the threat of it, and the normalization of it, is something that men experience as acceptable during their formative years. Particularly in the pursuit of penetration.

Women, on the other hand, are unilaterally taught that violence is unacceptable and that they must never engage a man in violence.

The situation you put women into is literally a situation in which, if you decide not to listen to her repeated “No’s” she is forced to up the ante of violence, perhaps by hitting you? Screaming at you? Telling you that you are attempting to rape her? Screaming the word “NO” as loudly as possible?

You are forcing your ‘partner’ (i.e. victim) to up the level of violence, most likely going against everything that society has taught her to do from a very young age as well as breaking one of the largest taboos a woman can face that taboo being to precipitate violence against a male.

The woman you raped in this way also has a 1 in 3 chance of having been raped before and over a 50/50 chance of having been physically hurt by a male. With these other factors in mind it is far less likely that your victim would up the ante. Even if she was a woman who had never experienced ANY of these things she has certainly watched the endless parade of faceless women on television who are beaten, raped and murdered by men. These news stories are bound to have an effect, that effect will predictably be to not initiate violence against a man lest they risk becoming one of the nameless, faceless women on the nightly news.

The fact that you clearly don’t respect the word “No” as a boundary just as real as any physical boundary tells me that you very likely wouldn’t respect any boundary that she laid other than one that was clearly physical.

It is also clear to me that since it never occurred to you that a female could have a past that wasn’t what you believe it should be that you will likewise be incapable of actually understanding this argument because it would implicate you in a crime that you find abhorrent. Of course, you only find it abhorrent when the person engaging in the crime isn’t following the rules of engagement as you have decided them to be. In other words, rape is clearly only a crime when a woman is battered and beaten, not when she is frightened and says “Yes” to avoid becoming one of those battered and beaten women.

Of course, it’s also likely that you are reading this right now and are offended beyond belief because, according to you, you are a non-violent man and of course she should somehow intuit that you weren’t planning on becoming physically violent with her. Your victim(s) are never allowed to be frightened of you because it would bring into focus the actual wrongness of the act that you are perpetuating upon their bodies. As well as make you ponder on why you don’t believe that “NO” is a ‘real’ boundary.

You clearly do not respect the word “NO” and you clearly believe that she should, for whatever reason, up the level of violence to get you to leave her the fuck alone. In other words, you believe that she is responsible to stop you. SHE is responsible for making you leave her alone; she is also responsible if she fails in the expectation that she stop your repeated aggression. If she is unable to stop your violent and aggressive behavior then she must have ‘wanted’ it. If she gives in as a result of fear, worry, or perceived lack of choices when she is most likely outgunned, out-muscled and certainly out-forced by a man who has been socialized into violence then she is clearly at fault.

If she fails to provide you with a ‘good enough’ argument to ‘convince’ you to stop and leave her alone then she clearly wanted you to penetrate her. And of course, she should up that level of violence in such a way that she doesn’t offend you because then she’s in danger of pissing you off because she thinks you may be dangerous. You ARE dangerous but you hide beneath the cover that so many men like you hide behind. That cover being to ascribe power to her that she doesn’t actually have and then expect her to utilize that nonexistent power to make you stop. If she is unable to do that then she is clearly to blame and it’s a case of you being ‘confused’ rather than you bullying her for hours until she is so exhausted by repeated “No’s” that she gives in to you to hopefully get you to leave her the fuck alone. If she shows you fear and you see it mirrored in her eyes it would probably piss you off beyond recognition as it is likely doing right now.

So tell me, what exactly do you expect her to do to make you stop? Any woman that is with you must repeatedly and gently tell you “No” until you grow tired? Must she hit you with something? Does she need to give you an excuse that will allow you to ‘let her off the hook’? Why is her verbal boundary, her “No”, not enough? Why does it never occur to you that this may very well be a woman who has been either hit or raped before? Why do you feel that you can continue to pressure her for a yes? Do you think that if she says “No” 100 times that suddenly on the 101st time she is dying to have your big manly cock put inside of her? Do you believe that, even though she didn’t want you for the last two hours, somehow you are able to turn that tired “NO” into a Yes and she will love it?

 

I seriously doubt that you believe this as you are well aware that when someone is nagged or bullied into doing something they rarely, if ever, glean any real enjoyment for the act that they were bullied into. Therefore, it’s clear to me that your desire to penetrate another person’s body has absolutely nothing to do with her enjoyment, pleasure or anything of the sort. The verbal gymnastics and exhausting games that you employ aren’t so that you can penetrate her and feel a bonding with a person you consider an equal. Indeed, they are performed and carried out with the express purpose of ‘winning’ and the orgasm is simply a bonus.

No man who gives a flying fuck about women or who considers her to be an autonomous individual who is equal to them, will deliberately and continually push through a woman’s “No’s” until they get a “Yes”. The selfishness that is displayed to get her to a point of turning that No into a Yes precludes any logical thinking creature from believing that you, in any way, think of the woman you are penetrating as an equal.

Up to that point you selfishly refused to acknowledge her “No”, waltzing through her verbal boundaries and putting her into a position of risking violence against you. You forced her to play the ‘guess what you need to do to make me stop harassing you’ game.

You put her into a position where her “No” is meaningless to you and showed her, quite clearly, that you are fully capable, willing and able to continue to press her with whatever means necessary to get her to ‘consent’ to what you want to do to her. The fact that you utterly and completely ignored her “No’s” tells her that you are capable and willing to force her to either:

A) Hit you
B) Scream at you or
C) Otherwise put herself into a vulnerable position against you.

You have forced her to attempt to read your mind in an attempt to ascertain whether or not you could become violent. You clearly care nothing for her enjoyment as your actions indicate that you are primarily concerned with sticking your dick inside of her. Her “No” means nothing to you. Her tired “Yes” is all that matters.

And of course, seeing that you have grown incredibly angry with me right now for pointing this out to you, I can also safely assume that you expect the woman to also pretend to enjoy it after you have exhausted her into a “Yes”. If she lays there like a dead animal looking at the ceiling you will be mightily offended and so, she not only must put up with your incessant bullying but also, when she finally gives in, she must act as though she enjoys it. I suspect that you’re one of those guys who also believes that every woman you’ve ever been with has been brought to orgasm multiple times by penetration alone.

Here’s a clue, those screams are faked BECAUSE she knows that you’re a violent fuck who could turn into a complete monster if she doesn’t fake them.

On 29 (wedding night). Absolutely correct. Weddings can be exhausting. If it bothers you go sleep on the couch. If it really bothers you a lot, you can always go get an annulment in the morning, you aren’t ready to be married

29. If it’s your wedding night and she doesn’t WANT to have sex with you and you force or coerce her anyway then you’re a rapist.

So clearly you believe that marriage is all about a man sticking his member into a woman. Penetration is clearly the mark of a woman who is ‘ready’ to be married. Notice also that my phrasing on 29 was if you ‘force or coerce’ her and this is the language that you disagree with.

Obviously you believe that any woman who marries you forgoes her right to say “No” to sex. Because you’ve done her the presumably wonderful service of marrying her she owes you sex and if she doesn’t like it then she can just leave. If she doesn’t want you to harass her for hours on end then her options are to either sleep on the couch or divorce you. I wonder if you tell any woman you’re thinking about marrying that you believe she has no right to tell you “No” and have that “No” be respected before you marry her?

“NO” means nothing to you, even after you’ve supposedly bonded with a woman for the rest of your life.

Evidently to you, “In sickness and in health til death do you part” translates into, “As long as you let me stick my dick in you we’re fine but don’t you dare think that that pussy doesn’t belong to me and that I don’t have a right to use it when I wish. If you don’t like it then get the fuck out.”

You could add: don’t get mad at or criticize your guy for not taking no for an answer. If you didn’t mean no, you shouldn’t have said it. Don’t try to train your guy to take no for an answer.

Yes, because clearly in your world women don’t have that right and the only type of boundary that you will respect is the boundary in which she points a gun at your head and tells you to get the fuck out of her bedroom. I love how you give yourself unilateral permission to bully each and every woman you are with into sex with you. It also stands to reason that you probably believe that you are a wonderful lover.

 

The sickest part of all is that you likely also believe that you actually love your partners, in which case your definition of love is so twisted that I can scarcely contain myself from sobs for the poor female who is partnered with you.

Clearly to you, love is all about penetrating her. And it’s not orgasm you’re seeking, it’s penetration which to you, as to many men in this society, has morphed into a quick fix for power. If it were simply intimacy that you’re seeking then kissing, cuddling and so forth would be enough to fulfill you. And if it were orgasm you sought then you’d simply masturbate. However, you are undoubtedly one of those men who has decided that each and every time you get a boner that the woman you’re with should take care of that boner.

It’s a sad state of affairs when a man can refuse to hear a woman’s pleas of “No”, coerce, nag, bully and frighten her into sex. Expect her to then like it and pat himself on the back for being such a wonderful lover when she fakes 5 orgasms just to make him leave her the fuck alone. And then, on top of all that, to make a claim that he loves her.

Clearly your actions have nothing to do with intimacy, mutual respect or mutual satisfaction and everything to do with control, conquest and ‘winning’. You chase a woman as if she were a gazelle, conquer her with your repeated and likely frightening advances, and then expect her to enjoy being devoured.

Not only that, but you believe that this is a normal expression of love or affection between two people. You ascribe a woman power that you deny her. You say that she shouldn’t have said “Yes” if she didn’t mean it but you don’t allow her the option of saying “No”. You act as though you are giving her power that you really have no intention of allowing her because the only acceptable answer to your repeated (and likely pathetic) come on’s is a “Yes”. Nothing short of a baseball bat or a knee to the groin will stop you and not only is this considered ‘normal’ to you, it is also something that women should not attempt to stop.

Talk about twisted.

I disagree with you about 46. Anybody can be crazy or lie. Someone who never met him sued David Letterman for harassment (sic) for sending her coded messages through his show. If she had claimed he raped her, would disbelieving her encourage rape?I think it is the opposite. If we encourage blind faith in everyone who says she was raped, we lose credibility when we say “I believe her”. Then they could say “so what, you believe everybody, so your believing this particular victim doesn’t mean anything”.

46. If you don’t believe a woman when she says she was raped then you’re encouraging rape.

The false reporting for rape is the exact same as the false reporting for any other crime. About 2% of rape reports are false reports, just as 2% of car theft reports are false reports and 2% of robbery reports are false reports.

Of course, I’m certain that you don’t look to your friend who has just had his car stolen and say, “I think you’re lying!” Why? Because clearly, to you at least, women are lying manipulative bitches.

There is no other crime in which a victim is immediately thought to be lying except for those crimes that are perpetuated onto females. Have you ever looked at a news report where a home was burglarized and thought immediately to yourself, “They’re probably lying! If we assume that they’re telling the truth about being robbed then we lose credibility!”

Of course you don’t because to you, as you have so aptly illustrated in your comments, women are simply a means to an end. To you, women are lying, cheating, and thieving creatures that must be treated with mistrust and violence when necessary.

Who does this line of thinking benefit? Who does it benefit when you immediately disbelieve all accusations of rape? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure this one out. It benefits the rapists. It allows rapists to walk and it allows for public opinion of rape victims to be twisted to allow for men like you to rape without consequence.

A woman who is raped is much less likely to fight you off when you walk through her “No’s” because she’s intimately familiar with the violence that men are capable of. And so, in a quest to not be physically hurt she will wearily say “Yes” rather than risk being physically and violently violated. This benefits YOU specifically and in general it benefits each and every single man who uses the same tactics as you do. In other words, you benefit and continue to defend those benefits that physically violent rapists have given you and you also see no problem with that.

You are so willing to believe men over women but yet, you don’t question crimes that occur to men by other men. Even when the rates of false reporting for the crimes are identical. You never routinely question whether or not a carjacking was real, why?

Why is it that, even though only 2 out of 100 reports of rape are actually false, you insist that women are lying and that to believe them means that women everywhere will suffer from credibility issues? Again I ask, do you believe someone when they say they were robbed? Or do you interrogate them and tell them that “Anyone could say they were robbed! You probably sold your stuff to a pawn shop and then decided that you were robbed!”

If you don’t do this then I strongly suggest that you consider why you don’t.

I was going to post a few more comments but I’ve decided not to bother. They are much the same as this guy wherein they determine, without ever having looked it up, that women are liars and that most rape allegations are false.

Why? Because they, as much of society, have placed more weight on the truthfulness of men’s words than women’s. It doesn’t surprise me that so many men in particular don’t want to see any of these things as applying to them. Of course men like ‘Cynical’ want to keep the status quo, it allows them to unilaterally and without consequence, rape women who would otherwise run like hell from them.

~BB

Published in: on May 31, 2008 at 2:04 pm  Leave a Comment  
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A Note On Recent ‘Scientific’ Studies

Over the last couple of weeks I’ve gotten several links to articles which are reporting that pornography on the internet decreases rape rates. Apparently someone out there has decided that because reported rape rates have fallen it must be due to the vast amounts of pornography on the internet.

Here is one of those articles: How The Web Prevents Rape. I haven’t responded to any of this because, well, to be perfectly honest I really didn’t see the need to. When you take a stance like mine on pornography you start to see some really ridiculous ‘studies’ and this is no exception.

In this ‘study’ what the researchers did was to literally take the reported rape rates and then take reported internet usage, not just porn usage but internet usage as a whole, and when they saw that reported rapes were down, they inferred that it must be due to pornography on the internet.

There are so many reasons that this is a fallacious assumption to make.

1. Nobody bothered to ask what these people were doing online, it is, of course, assumed that people are browsing FreeXXX sites. Apparently these researchers think that men have nothing better than to peruse pornography sites all day.

2. Where is the consideration for the vast amount of work that women’s groups have engaged in designed to decrease rape? In one fell swoop all of the effort, time and money of women’s groups who have begun grassroots campaigns all over the place to prevent rape have been erased.

3. They didn’t correct or account for the fact that perhaps more women are simply not reporting rape. With the recent influx of women who have been charged with a crime when there isn’t enough proof to convict her accused rapist I think that this is certainly an extremely important factor to consider. Indeed, the climate surrounding the Duke case and many others like it has undoubtedly had an impact. I now speak to many women who immediately state that they would not, under any circumstances, report their own rapes.

4. The ‘researchers’ on this study clearly believe that rape is sex and nothing more.

Notice that these studies always compare reported rapes, not actual rapes. There are many problems with studies like this that place them unequivocally into the camp of junk science.

Only one of many problems is the equation of sex and rape. The underlying message beneath all of these studies is that men are seeking sex when they violently rape a woman. In a society which classes porn as little more than ‘naked people fucking’ the only conclusion that said society will come to upon hearing such a claim is that men are simply taking sex from females when they rape them.

This has extraordinarily troubling implications even if we assumed that it wasn’t a load of shit. It implies that men are so dangerous that they must literally be fed a diet of pornography to keep them from harming women. As a class they are so out of control and terrifying that if we don’t let them see women being fucked then they will violently take women against their will.

I know some men who would vehemently disagree with this idea and rightly so. I am often called a man-hater which is always amusing to me because when we really look at what researchers like this are trying to say it is clearly THEM who hate men. I personally believe that men are NOT out of control beasts that require a steady diet of degradation to relieve their terrifying urge to rape women. But this study, and studies like this one, always reduce men to creatures who are incapable of not raping unless and until we give them what they want.

Sex is not rape. Rape is not sex. I have done articles on this before, indeed, I have done many articles on the topic. Rape is violence and control using sex as the weapon. Rape is the action by which a man takes control and autonomy from a woman, sex is the tool. Rape is the culmination of deep seated hatred and lack of empathy by men against women. Penetration is merely one of the most effective ways in which they can degrade and dehumanize us.

To men, perhaps rape is simply sex. But to women who have been raped there is a very clear difference. Rape is about forcing a woman, through a myriad of ways, to succumb to the will of the man. For the rapist it is not penetration that he’s looking for, it’s the ‘kill’. It’s the victory of taking a woman that is the high and the rush. And this entire society condones and even conditions men to use whatever means necessary to get that ‘win’.

Women who experience this are fully aware of it. It’s not about the orgasm, it’s about the ‘win’ that they get when they bend a woman to their demands either by sheer force, threatening body language, taking her other options away or some other means.

So that is just one very large problem with this sort of study. Rape is not sex and sex is not rape. These are dangerous studies because they imply that if every man has his orgasm demands met then he won’t rape and this in turn, implies that to keep women safe we MUST feed men a steady diet of images of women that they can use and orgasm to. Even if we take the same assumption that the ‘researchers’ take and assume that porn is just good clean fun we are still left with troubling facts that are very hard to get around and terrifying to even the bravest of women. That message is this:

If women don’t placate men’s desire to orgasm then men will hurt women.

This mindset sets up a ‘blame the victim’ paradigm. It places the responsibility for male violence onto the shoulders of women. It assumes that women must give men the orgasm they desire or men will rape us to get more of it. In so doing this paradigm also creates a subset of women who will always be ‘fed’ to male desire, acting as a sacrificial lamb to keep the rest of us safe. When this mindset bears fruit it will always be in the form of victim blaming. Male violence against females will inevitably be blamed on females, either on the victim directly or onto females as a group because the theory rests on the notion that men cannot control themselves and must orgasm to real live women in order to be reasonably expected to control themselves.

Therefore a man who rapes a woman will always be held with less responsibility than the female whom he raped or females at large in the society. Because of his ‘need’ for orgasm clearly if she turned him on or did something ‘inappropriate’ it’s her fault.

The male drive for orgasm is likened to the predatory drive seen in large carnivores. We can’t really blame the lion, even if it’s a ‘tame’ lion, for lunging after the goat because that’s what lions do. When we slip into this sort of description for male orgasm then we almost invariably wind up saying, “Well, you can’t blame the guy for raping her because he was taken over by his desire to orgasm and that’s what men do.”

Other flaws in this junk science are that reported rapes reflect actual number of rapes. This particular story even assumes that violent movies curb the urges of men to be violent. It comes to this conclusion by assuming that when violent movies are running in the theatres that violent men are watching these movies instead of being violent against others.

As it pertains to rape however, I find it frightening that any ‘scientist’ would assume that reported rapes are the same as actual rapes. We have recently seen a virtual plethora of rape cases in which the victim is brutalized by the media and the public. Her accusations fall onto deaf ears because they assume that she is a liar. She then morphs into the villain in the media and openly on the internet, in newspapers and so forth. The Duke case is only one of these; many more cases follow behind this one.

Women understand that the moment a rape charge is leveled that the cries of “She’s a lying whore!” are soon to come. Because of this many women are deterred from reporting rape, add this to the basic assumption of people that rape is sex and she becomes even more afraid to report her trauma.

Recently there have been many cases in the media that have gone terribly wrong for the woman who reports the rape. In one case a young woman reported being gang raped by her boyfriend and his friend when she was getting ready for a party. The men, of course, claimed that it was consensual. When the young woman appeared before the judge he determined that she wasn’t “acting like a victim” and he dropped the charges against the men and instead charged her with filing false charges. Based upon nothing more than what he perceived a rape victim should act like.

In yet another case a woman was threatened with jail when she refused to watch a videotape of her rape and be cross-examined about it in front of the courtroom. She said that it would be too traumatic and utterly refused to do it. The woman was very nearly jailed for refusing to watch her own rape on television until public outcry softened the judge’s stance.

In case after case we see young women who have been violated run through the emotional trauma of criminal charges leveled against them if they don’t fit the preconceived notion of what a ‘good’ rape victim should act like. Strippers are clearly not ‘good’ victims, nor are prostitutes, nor are women who wanted to have sex, nor are women who dress provocatively or women who are drunk or women who got willingly drunk, or women who had consensual sex with their rapists in the past, or women who are wives to their rapists, the list goes on and on.

In trial after trial we see every manner of situation being described in the same way. Women watch as the media slashes at women who report rape and public outcry says that it’s a case of ‘boys being boys’. When young men write emails saying that they will kill a woman and then, later that day, they are accused of rape, their actions are still minimized.

When a videotape of young men raping a mentally handicapped girl, urinating on her, lighting her hair on fire and so forth, is brought into the public eye we immediately see the media encourage the sentiment that ‘boys will be boys’.

Women are not stupid and repeatedly watching and absorbing these horrific trials will have a very predictable effect on even the bravest of us. Watching women being called whores, sluts and would be porn stars is terrifying to all of us. Even when the rape has been videotaped we watch, in horror, as the victim is martyred in the community and has her name and image plastered around the town.

With stories like these women are afraid of speaking up and pressing charges. They refuse to be forced to explain themselves, explain why they wore what they wore and why they didn’t do this or that. They refuse to put themselves through even more trauma for the sake of a conviction and would rather try to heal on their own.

So no, ‘studies’ like these that claim that porn is reducing rape rates based upon little more than the observation that reported rapes are down while porn usage is up, are both dangerous and unfounded. I have much more to add to this but I find myself completely out of time for the moment. Perhaps I’ll come back later and add to this later but for now I have a stall to fix.

~BB

Published in: on May 31, 2008 at 2:01 pm  Leave a Comment  
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The Rapist Checklist (repost)

Ok, I was going to post something new and original today but I noted something in the comments. One of my old posts, entitled The Rapist Checklist has been paleoposted somewhere else once more.

Every now and then someone stumbles onto an old post and posts a link somewhere else. Now this post in particular really pissed off a bunch of people at the time and it continues to do so. I re-read it again this morning trying to see if I saw it in a different light now so many months after the original posting. It read the same as it did the day I posted it and made just as much sense to me.

However, you all would be amazed if you saw the sheer number of men who get ragingly pissed off by this post. For that reason alone I thought that it was worth reposting so today I’m copying it to this new post, just because I think it’ll be alot of fun to visit memory lane.

 

The Rapist Checklist

Some things to remember…

1. You are a rapist if you get a girl drunk and have sex with her.

2. You are a rapist if you find a drunk girl and have sex with her.

3. You are a rapist if you get yourself drunk and have sex with her. Your drunkeness is no excuse.

4. If you are BOTH drunk you may still be a rapist.

5. If she’s alternating between puking her guts out and passing out in the bed then you’re a rapist.

6. If she’s sleeping and you have sex with her you’re a rapist.

7. If she’s unconscious and you have sex with her then you’re a rapist.

8. If she’s taking sleeping pills and doesn’t wake up when you have sex with her then you’re a rapist.

9. If she is incapacitated in any way and unable to say ‘Yes’ then you’re a rapist.

10. If you drug her then you’re a rapist.

11. If you find a drugged girl and have sex with her then you’re a rapist.

12. If you don’t bother to ask her permission and she says neither ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ then you could be a rapist.

13. You are a rapist if you ‘nag’ her for sex. Because you manage to ply an eventual ‘yes’ from a weary victim doesn’t mean it’s not rape. You are a rapist.

14. You are a rapist if you try to circumvent her “No” by talking her into it. She’s not playing hard to get, and, even if she IS it’s not YOUR responsibility to ‘get’ her. You’re still a rapist.

15. You are a rapist if you manipulate her into sex when she doesn’t otherwise want it. If you say, “If you loved me you’d do X” then you’re a rapist. If you say, “All the other kids are doing it!” then you’re a rapist.

16. If you threaten her, or act in a way that SHE thinks you’re threatening her then you’re a rapist. If you puff up and get loud and frustrated while trying to ‘talk’ her into sex then you’re a rapist.

17. You are a rapist if you don’t immediately get your hands off of her when she says ‘no’. You are a rapist if you take your hands off of her and then put them back ON her after 10 minutes and she eventually ‘gives in’ to this tactic.

18. You are a rapist if you won’t let her sleep peacefully without waking her every 15 minutes asking her for sex. Sleep depravation is a form of torture and YOU are a rapist.

19. If you’re necking with her and you’re naked and you’ve already gone down on her and she says ‘No’ to sex with you and you have sex with her anyway then you’re a rapist.

20. If you’re engaged in intercourse and she says ‘No’ at ANY point and you don’t immediately stop then you’re a rapist.

21. If she said “Yes” to sex with a condom and that condom breaks and you proceed anyway then you’re a rapist.

22. If she picked you up at a bar looking for sex and then decides that she doesn’t WANT sex and you continue then you’re a rapist.

23. If she changes her mind at ANY point for ANY reason and you don’t immediately back off or you try to talk her into it and get sex anyway then you’re a rapist.

24. If you don’t hit her and she says ‘No’ you’re still a rapist.

25. If you don’t have a knife or a gun or a garrote and she says ‘No’ then you’re still a rapist.

26. If you’re a friend of hers you can still be a rapist.

27. If you had sex with her the night before but she doesn’t want morning sex and you pressure her for it anyway then you’re a rapist.

28. If you’re her husband you can still be a rapist.

29. If it’s your wedding night and she doesn’t WANT to have sex with you and you force or coerce her anyway then you’re a rapist.

30. If she’s had sex with you hundreds of times before but doesn’t want to on the 101st time then you’re a rapist.

31. If you penetrate her anally, orally or digitally against her will then YOU my friend, are ALSO a rapist.

32. Women do not owe you sex.

33. Buying her dinner does not entitle you to sex.

34. Paying her mortgage does not entitle you to sex.

35. Buying her clothing does not entitle you to sex.

36. Buying her lingerie does not entitle you to sex. It also doesn’t mean that she has any obligation to wear that lingerie around you.

37. Spending any amount of money on her does not, ever, entitle you to sex.

38. Seeing her legs or cleavage does not entitle you to sex.

39. If she ‘turns you on’ you’re not entitled to sex.

40. If she has fucked every man in a 10 square mile radius and she doesn’t want to fuck you and you have sex with her anyway, then you’re a rapist.

41. Her clothing is not a reason for you to rape her. Her LACK of clothing is no reason to rape her. If she’s wearing a thong and pasties you STILL have no right to rape her.

42. If she’s a prostitute and she says “No” then you’re a rapist.

43. If she’s a stripper and she says “No” then you’re a rapist. Likewise, if she’s a stripper and she’s been rubbing against your dick all night long and you follow her to her car and have sex with her against her will then you are ALSO a rapist.

44. If you watch a woman being raped without calling the authorities then you’re as bad as a rapist and you may also be a rapist yourself.

45. If you don’t fight rape then you accept rape.

46. If you don’t believe a woman when she says she was raped then you’re encouraging rape.

47. If you choose to remain friends with a man who raped a woman you are encouraging rape.

48. If you confess to the authorities that you raped a woman it does not exonerate you. You are not suddenly a model of good behavior.

49. If you ‘only’ raped one woman, you’re STILL a rapist.

50. You cannot tell who is a rapist by the way they look. Rapists are your friends, your brothers, your fathers and you won’t know it.

51. Do not get frustrated with a woman if she doesn’t trust you. SHE already knows that rapists don’t wear signs on their foreheads. Something you think is innocuous SHE may find terrifying.

Hmmm…I think that about covers it. Any questions? Good.

Oh, and feel free to add new ones in the comments and I’ll edit the post and put them up here for reference.

~BB

Published in: on May 31, 2008 at 1:58 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Link Dump

Monday again! I’ll be back in a few hours with a post, but for now I want to direct everyone over to The Margins and, more specifically to a few posts I was reading just this morning.

First, Heart has tackled the Andrea Dworkin misquotes from this article Tough Topic (here’s the rest of the article Part Two of the article). She’s done a fine job of pulling the relevant quotes and putting them into a much needed perspective. Thanks Heart, I had neither the resources nor the knowledge I needed to do such a fine job. Here’s the article by HeartDispelling Myths About Andrea Dworkin by Heart.

The other link I want to give everyone is also to The Margins, she’s put together a series of incredible posts on the rape of Iraq. In particular the rape and murder of Abir Hamzah by U.S. soldiers. I have not covered this story myself, in part because it’s incredibly triggering (so for those of you out there who like to say things to yourself like, “Geesh BB, how come you don’t get all up in the shit that’s REALLY important” I’d like you to think about that for a moment. Sometimes, I am truly incapable of getting all up in the shit of this shit)

In any case, she’s done a series of posts which are horrifying and well thought out.

WARNING: In the second post she posts photos that are triggering to the extreme. PLEASE proceed with caution.

First part is here, then, part two and finally, Part 3.

While you’re there check out some of the other articles. They’re very good.

Also, Amy’s Brain over at Feminist Reprise has done another spot on post titled, To All The Men Who Want To Touch Me. It’s a great read and I found myself nodding all the way through it.

And while I’m at it I may as well tell everyone about the new tarot deck I ordered over the weekend. It’s been out of print for a few years but I found it this weekend. Oh, did I tell anyone that I read tarot? Well, now you know *grin*. For several years I’ve been trying to find a deck that’s as ‘honest’ as my plain ol’ Rider Waite deck but which has imagery that I like better. So far I’ve managed to find the imagery that I connect with in a few decks but the readings weren’t ‘honest’ and they often felt ‘soft’ or ‘muddled’.

I’m hoping that this deck will finally give me what I’m looking for! It’s the Ancient Egyptian Tarot by Clive Barrett and while the symbolism follows the Rider Waite deck the images are way cooler.  (images could not be transferred, sorry – Editor)

Published in: on May 31, 2008 at 1:52 pm  Leave a Comment  
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