If you laugh at jokes about raping people I will laugh at my fist punching your throat because sure it’s violent and demeaning but I think it’s funny so why aren’t you laughing get off the floor and stop whining I am trying to assert that my desire to make a joke out of your traumatic experience is more important than your pain it’s called Freedom of Speech read a book.
(via delacroix)
Source: tinydragongina
I don’t know if rape jokes encourage rape culture. I don’t care. You still shouldn’t tell them.
Statistically, if you have told a rape joke to a group of more than five people, one of the people you told it to was a rape survivor, possibly of multiple rapes. They will not necessarily disclose this to you; rape apologism is endemic in society and most rape survivors are cautious about whom they tell. Some may even be too ashamed of their rape to admit it to anyone, or because of rape-minimizing narratives like “men can’t be raped” and “I consented to oral, so I couldn’t have been raped” may not admit it even to themselves. The fact remains: if you’ve told dozens of rape jokes in your life, then you have almost certainly told a joke that minimizes or trivializes rape in front of a survivor.
And if you put as your Facebook status “I totally raped at Halo today” for your two hundred Facebook friends to see, statistically, you have just reminded thirty-three people of one of the worst experiences of their entire lives.
To describe how well you did at a video game.
Good job!
So, I just got done sobbing my eyes out.
I’ve spent the past hour reading several pieces on sexism, so I was already pretty bummed out. And then I came across a rage comic with a rape joke so horrifying and so disgusting that the only emotion I could feel towards whoever made it was sadness. Because how could anyone’s mind ever possibly be shaped to think that such a joke was okay? How could anyone POSSIBLY think that stripping an individual of their control over their own body is OKAY?
So yes, I cried. And no, I’m not going to show you the comic because I closed that tab harder than I’ve ever before closed an Internet browser tab, and I don’t want to ever see it again.
Rape jokes are NEVER funny, and I pity those who think they are. Please keep your twisted, foul, low-life “humour” to yourself.
Source: machistado
We live in a society where consensual sex is censored, but rape jokes are totally fine.
Think about that.
Have I ever had “ANY unwanted/undesired physical or sexual contact”?
Earlier in this pregnancy, I filled out my “Initial Health History” form for prenatal and birth care. You know: check the box if you’ve experienced severe headaches, diabetes, all sorts of things. After the usual “Emotional abuse,” “Physical abuse,” “Sexual abuse,” I got to this very interesting item: ”ANY unwanted/undesired physical or sexual contact.”
read the link. so spot on.
[trigger warning LIKE WHOA at the link for rape culture, coercion, and general unwanted attention]
Because I can hardly stand the thought of these constant erosions of personhood seeming normal to our daughters and sons.
READ THIS
This was deeply unsettling to read. Because yes, every single thing that she touched on has happened to me, and yes, I consider myself to be one of the “lucky” ones. Ugh. I have had disrespectful doctors, forceful boyfriends, really creepy “friends.”
This should not be the way things are.
Please click the link and read this. It’s not long I promise, but it is so, so good.
Source: manifestfreedom
Today A Man Touched Me On The Subway And So I Hit Him
I’m writing this on the R train as it rattles slowly along toward Brooklyn. I’m headed to pick up my 6-month-old daughter. I’m writing because I’m still reeling from what occurred on the Times Square subway platform a few moments ago. I was walking to the end of the station as I always do. I saw a man, a stout, balding, nondescript looking troll, staring at me as I walked toward him. I watched as he slowly extended his arm and fingers, in particular his pinky finger, so it would make contact with me as I walked by. I’m wearing a skirt. It all happened quickly, in seconds, as these things always do, and sure enough as I passed him his hand jutted out and stroked my thigh. Without thinking I turned around and hit him as hard as I possibly could. I didn’t even stop walking, nor did I say anything. I did turn around to look at him as I hit him, and his face was one of shock but not of surprise. He knew why I had hit him; he just couldn’t believe he hadn’t gotten away with it.
Ive been sexually harassed so many times since my adolescence that I’ve lost count, but I’ve never reacted like that before. Normally I think, process, choose my words. There was no brain power that went into the decision to smack this asshole; it was pure instinct. As I headed away from him I immediately regretted not verbalizing my anger and yelling at him too, but I imagine that choice was instinctive as well. Besides, I think he got the message.
I am not someone who condones violence. But I’m so tired of my safety and personal space being invaded over and over again. I am a 32-year-old woman. I am a mother. I am not someone you can fondle without my consent because you feel like it, nor is any other girl or woman. Not my friends. Not my daughter.
When I’ve explained sexual harassment to men in the past I’ve been struck at their confusion over why it is a big deal. How is someone whistling at you threatening, they ask? Here is what they don’t understand. Those moments, which may seem insignificant and small, create an unsafe environment in which women are forced to live. Last month, after I yelled at some men in a car who made kissing noises at me, I was terrified to then walk down a quiet downtown street out of fear that they’d circle around in their car and hurt me. These moments force us to operate in a state of fear. They define who is in control and who can have their control taken away. And I’m so fucking tired of it that I’m starting to snap. I’m now hitting people. Because as much as I want to believe my daughter will not have to live with this same fear 10, 20, 30 years from now, I know that she will. And nothing makes me more sick to my stomach.
read this, too.
(via stfuconservatives)
Source: katespencer
