Tonight is the annual TAKE BACK THE NIGHT rally on campus. I went last year, and I would have liked to go this year, but Jake's not feeling so great, and I thought I'd come home right after work with him. I know what it's like to feel shitty; it's nice to have someone nearby, even if you don't want them actively bugging you.
So I'm not at the rally.
What possible role could *I* have at a fucking Take Back The Night rally, anyway?
The first time I went to one, I was fifteen or sixteen. My mom took me to it Binghamton University. All these beautiful women, all of different shapes, sizes, races, sexual orientations... it was really quite beautiful to have so many women all in one place (and a few men, too, of course!) who weren't bitching at each other...
I was only fifteen or sixteen. I thought it was cool for a bunch of females to be hanging out. Add in some candles, add in some chanting, add in a hell of a lot of powerful emotions, and it was all pretty intense. My mom cried. I almost did.
After that...
1996: My first boyfriend used force on me during a sex act, didn't stop until I was screaming and crying; he later bragged about this to a bunch of people, right in front of me. I was 16.
1997: My dad told me that men are only ever going to want me "for one thing, and one thing only." It's stupid, but I still haven't exactly come to terms with the absurdity of that. I was 16.
1998: I was sexually molested by an acquaintance, who'd been told, twenty minutes earlier, that I didn't want anything to do with him, sexually. I was 20 miles away from town, and nobody would have heard me if I'd yelled. And by all accounts, he was fairly well trained in martial arts, even if he was scrawny. I was 18.
1999: Forced up against a wall by my father, who held me with one arm and raised the other up to strike me. He was angry at me for leaving the room, after a solid half an hour of being screamed at by his girlfriend. He refused to let me leave the house that night. I was 19.
1999-2002: Subjected to numerous incidents of being called all varieties of names, on a daily basis, while walking to and from work. Passing cars have shouted such things as, "fucking bitch, suck a cock!" and (to my companion), "fuck her, buddy, I did!" Ages 18-21.
2002: A kid who lived down the hall from me attempted to beat me up in a drunken rage, because he'd fallen on the floor and I'd mockingly kicked at him. He threw me down on the floor and began punching me, while all his friends stood there and laughed, including the hallway's Resident Assistant. I was 21.
2002: Spanked, hard, for being "bad." And no, it wasn't a cute sex game. I was 22.
(FYI, I hate the term "abuser." "Abuse" means, literally, "improper use." Human beings are not for "use," by other human beings; any attempt, by any individual, to USE another individual, for any purposes, seems improper to me. You can "abuse" your lunch privileges by coming back to work late; what kind of a word is that to use about a human being?)
This had happened to me since my first Take Back The Night rally.
And this wasn't the worst of it.
"Abuse," to me, when I'm deliberately ignoring the "use" part of the word, means an unjust, inappropriate, sometimes cruel, usurping of power. And yes, my power to do my own damned business, has been strongly impeded at times, by physical force and by emotional nastiness. (And really, I'm a pretty tough bitch I think; but telling your 16-year-old kid that she's never going to be good for anything but sex, goes sort of beyond the limits of letting it roll off one's back...)
But I want to tell you that the time I was MOST powerless, the time my power was most unjustly and inappropriately usurped from me, was in October of 2002. Furthermore, I believe it would not have happened to me if I had been a man. Thus, I can only conclude that, in October of 2002, I was the victim of an act of violence against women. Tonight, because I am not at the Take Back The Night rally, where dozens of young women are likely sharing stories of beatings and rapes, I would like to name my abuser for you here...
The name of my abuser, the name of the one who completely stripped me of my right to say "no," -- or "yes" -- and who placed unfathomable blame and guilt on MY shoulders over NOTHING I HAD DONE... the name of this abuser is RCW 10.31.100. This is the abuser that took away my right to choose how to manage my own relationship, and that took my lover to jail, WITHOUT my consent. This is the abuser that allowed armed police officers to come into my residence, ask me what I had done to provoke a drunken threat (um... given my lover the liberty to make the stupid mistake of drinking WAY too much? wanna blame me for that?). This is the abuser that forced me to sign away my right to being responsible for my own safety. This is the abuser that would have ruined a family any less loving than this one, that is STILL harming my lover, that still manages to make me feel guilty, that gives me nightmares sometimes, that very well could have ruined an absolutely wonderful relationship between a father and daughter -- could have prevented it from ever happening... This is the abuser that assumed I was too fucken stupid to make up my own mind, and so, lied to me, USED me -- in fact, MISused me -- to raise the population of the Thurston County jail.
I have not forgiven. I don't have any idea how I'll ever be able to forgive RCW 10.31.100.
Tonight, while the Take Back The Night women are chanting, lighting candles, and telling stories about rapists, I'm sitting here wondering how the hell MY voice got lost underneath a bunch of completely misguided feminist organizations, and the stupid white males who happen to make laws for them. What with the "women's" organizations prompting police officers to speak for me, and male politicians whole-heartedly buying into that, I'd really begun to think I was all alone.
...Until I came up with this......
Mandatory Arrest Is Not The Appropriate Solution.
This is about the most empowering thing I've read in years... If ever I get hit on the head and decide that my true calling is to be a lawyer, I'm going to work for the ACLU. I cannot tell you how much I love the ACLU. I don't feel so alone now.
I want you to know this...
Jake told me that there were men in jail who'd been arrested because the neighbors called the police during an argument. The girlfriend or wife didn't want the guy in jail, and said so... Oh, but too bad, lady. Mandatory arrest: RCW 10.31.100. Oh, and too bad for your sixteen kids who don't have a daddy anymore, too. The law has just made up your mind for you. You know why? Because you're a just a stupid woman. I've heard more horror stories about RCW 10.31.100 than I ever cared to hear. Neighbors, friends... it seems everybody knows (or WAS) a guy in jail because a girlfriend or wife unknowingly signed a paper that didn't include any fine print. People I barely know tell me stories about having been in jail, having been subject to a mandatory "no-contact order," etc. I'd give you names, I'd give you stories... but that's like giving the names of rape victims, don't you think?
Tonight, I light my candle to stop this. I am a very strong woman. I am capable of making my own decisions. And I am going to try my hardest to ensure that nobody EVER makes up my mind for me again.
I don't have the twenty bucks to send to the ACLU to become a member. I think I'll just search their website for an email address -- any email address -- and just send a thank-you note, for appearing to know what "victimization" really entails.
~Helena*