@sdguy You talk about tone, but it seems pretty darn tone deaf to me to say that this article is sexist, and to think that the appropriate place for this type of discussion and your comments is THIS ARTICLE. That is not the story she's telling.
@M M'cubed Hmm, perhaps the fact that most men who are sexually assaulted are assaulted by other men? No matter who the victim is, the perpetrator is almost always a man.
@sdguy I appreciate that you recognize your comments were poorly worded. I stand by my assessments that you were rude and nit-picking where you have no place.
This is the author's personal story, and the personal stories of people she knows. Even though this is the internet and you're technically free to say anything you want, it's still rude and disrespectful to tell her that what happened was her own fault, or her story is irrelevant. You wouldn't say that to a friend who told you this same story. This isn't a case study; the author is a person.
Your comment is exactly the kind of thing that shames and discourages victims of abuse from talking about what happened to them. I think we can both agree that the best thing for breaking cycles of abuse, particularly the types we don't hear much about, is to encourage more people to report and talk about their experiences.
Again, there is nothing in here that calls all men out as abusers, but points out a trend of abusive men in positions in power. She writes that she shared stories with other women, who were all harassed by men. Then she refers to the abusive men as "These men." The only way the author could have been more explicit is if she posted a disclaimer stating that not all men are rapists, and who does that benefit? Does this sort of personal account really warrant qualifiers?
Thank you. This is so heartbreakingly resonant.
Thank you for writing this, Emma.
I feel like something is changing in certain communities right now, and articles like this are a part of it. We are finally telling the things that men do. This is going to be ugly. But I'm so glad it's happening.
i'd like to comment with something aside from feeding the trolls, so thank you for this. it was beautifully written, and insightful.
@M M'cubed alright, but here's the thing. this piece is about an experience of rape culture. this experience, this piece, and rape culture are not about men. men do get raped. more women get raped. this is because women have been thought of as chattel for millenia, and only now is this starting to fade away, SLOWLY.
men do not have to worry about the possibility of getting raped on a daily basis, men do not have to see men getting raped on tv/movies on a daily basis, men do not have to worry about what they wore when they were raped, it's not about men when frats regularly distribute pamphlets that say, "NO MEANS ANAL!"
ebola sucks, but this piece wasn't about ebola either. not everything is about men at all times. we can have a discussion that isn't about men, sometimes. try to think about the piece without reflexively worrying about men, and see where that gets you.
2001. Art College. I was 20 Years Old.
Enter middle aged, sandal wearing curator, quite well known in our city who took an interest in my artistic development and wanted to help me by lending me some books and art journals. We'd socialised before; art openings, hitting the town with vising artists, uni lectures and the like but always in a group. On this occasion he invited me over, just me, to discuss the books and my latest body of work. I was flattered and a little proud that such an eminent person wanted to mentor me/strike up a friendship.
I guess I'd felt a vibe coming from him but dismissed it. I had a boyfriend! I was a nobody in my career! I was horribly poor and wore paint stained clothing! He was like 25 years older that me! I decided to stop being cynical and accept some help for once. I was hungry to succeed at the time.
I took some cheap red wine (which I was embarrassed to give knowing his tastes were infinitely more refined) which he offered to open as soon as I got there at 1PM. I refused. He took me for a tour of his house that also served as an exhibition space. He was very proud of his father's architecture that harks to the minimalist period.
At the top of the stairs he paused at his sister's childhood bedroom. I laughed at crazy orange, yellow and brown smiley face daisy wall-paper untouched since the 70s.
The next room on the tour was his bedroom, where he led me in to show me his Eames 'La Chaise' and describe its fluid lines. He sat down on the bed and patted the space next to him.
I said: "Oh shit! I'm late for xxxxxxx. But thanks for the tour!"
He said: "No problem. Let me get those journals for you."
A few months later I called his house to discuss when should I return the journals, or should I leave them by the door? His voice mail announced that I had contacted the residence of Douglas and Marabella and that I should leave a message. I did. I didn't get a response.
Not even a year later he happened to come into the shop where I worked. "How are you!?" and hugs were exchanged. He was not very happy. He looked drawn and worried. He said "Marabella lives with me and she's 7 months pregnant. It's the worst thing that could have happened. In don't want children!"
"oh, well, ummm. Hey it'll be fine! At least you have someone to inherit your house to." Yeah. I'm still only 21 at this point and not handling this with decorum.
Marabella was a third year student, one year behind mine.
Ascholarsparrot: What if the reality is worse, though, and that it's the positions themselves - those positions of power and influence - that birth the motherfuckers. ?
"We wait for the victims of abuse to be the ones to take power away from their abusers, instead of working actively to ensure that these motherfuckers never get that far in the first place."