The patriarchal media and its victims

It’s hard being a victim. The very word implies submission to a violent or aggressive act, one in which we were overpowered and controlled. It makes us feel helpless and vulnerable. Being a victim or coming across as one leaves us open to further victimisation. And so we prefer to say we are survivors. We were able to overcome the horrific circumstances that threatened to shut us down and because we have survived we deserve praise for our resilience and ability to rise up. To do this, we need recognition. Firstly to recognise for ourselves that we fought hard and that it wasn’t our fault. Our clothing is not to blame, nor our looks or the time of day. Secondly, that our supporters believe us and in doing so protect us from further harm, defining the line for what is acceptable, ensuring that we do not begin to believe the lies our media and politicians spin in order to control our movements and associations.

A sex scandal is what happens when a supposedly happily married media ‘personality’ cheats on their long suffering, eternally loyal partner. Why it is any of our business, I won’t pretend to understand but for the sake of a comparison, that is how it reads to me (and I hope for most people). My aversion to the phrase aside, I strongly object to those words being used to describe CHILD ABUSE/STATUTORY RAPE (where patriarchy calls the underage victim willing and ‘older than their years’). In one article exposing the child abuse/sexual violence perpetrated by the voice of Elmo (yes, really), he is described as having ‘sexual relationships’ with underage ‘accusers’. Minors cannot consent to ‘sexual relationships’.

NON CONSENSUAL SEX IS RAPE.

(You can read the article here http://huff.to/WMoubA)

The writer of this article calls it underage sex and suggests the voice of Elmo continues to experience ‘misfortune’ as a result of the allegations. Hey Elmo, it really is bad luck that you’ve been caught abusing children. Maybe if we tarnish your young victims with the sort of language that implies something sexual happened but they’re only making it known now cos they want to see you go down, you’ll be spared a proper punishment and the victims will be ridiculed instead.

What do Berlusconi, Dominique Strauss Kahn, Jimmy Savile and Elmo have in common? They have raped and abused and violated women and children without their consent. In the British press, they are all allegedly involved in ‘sex scandals’. There are numerous attempts on behalf of the patriarchal press and media to silence the victims by giving a platform to the perpetrators (‘I’m not an abuser and that’s the end of that. Now give me money’) and using language to convince you of their innocence. Victims do not want to be associated with a sex scandal. It is sordid and implies they were actively involved in some way. By implicating the victims and suggesting that they are in some way to blame, patriarchy ensures that survivors remain victimised. It creates a barrier for other victims to speak out too. It normalises abuse by rebranding it as just sex and the ‘accusers’ as jilted lovers or scroungers after their 15 minutes. Just like the many women who believe partners have more rights to their bodies than they themselves do (wish I’d been there when patriarchy invented this one) even when she doesn’t feel like it, the message we are consistently given is that there are levels of rape and your rape isn’t even rape rape. In fact rape rape is extremely rare so in this way patriarchy has convinced you that sexual violence against women just isn’t even a thing (what rape culture?).

This is one of many examples I could give regarding the way news is reported in a patriarchal system and how it influences society’s attitudes to victims of gender related crime. In as many weeks, 2 perpetrators of domestic homicide murdered their wives before committing suicide. Neither case was reported to involve domestic abuse. There was an emphasis on the behaviour of the murdered woman in the run up to the incident, perhaps she liked a drink and was ‘bubbly’ (read overly friendly/in your face). There were no indications as to the behaviour of the perpetrator except maybe he’d had a spell of depression (sympathy please) and don’t forget what an amazing personality/leader/sportsman he was and what a loss this will be to the world. The language used attempts to invoke sympathy for the abuser; it paints a tragedy not a brutal murder.

It is powerful and influential and they know this.

..Don’t even get me started on child ‘porn’.

Why I’m STILL A Feminist (and evermore proud)

It’s freakishly daunting when your close male friends plead with you to think of all men as rapists. You laugh nervously, a little unsure of what to say, and somewhat annoyed that they’d fuel your natural paranoia. Most men don’t rape, I like to think, but the few that do; control all women. To hear that most men are in fact capable of rape and have thought of it is unfathomable, right? I insisted it couldn’t be true, I was too horrified to accept it. But then, in the debacle that was the Assange defence, politicians and media types tripping over themselves in a bid to redefine rape, in a man’s world, it all became glaringly obvious; my male friends were right. The world was in a frenzy because there was a serious risk that the definition of rape as victims see it would raise serious questions over their own sexual histories. No means no. It doesn’t sometimes mean yes. It doesn’t matter if you fall asleep having just had sex, waking up to find someone inside you is a violation. The person penetrating you whilst you slumber has not registered enthusiastic consent. They have selfishly chosen to tend to their own desires; your body is merely a receptacle. Now, because we are programmed to believe we are receivers and our bodies are there for pleasure, many of us believe this behaviour to be NORMAL and wrongly think that this is not rape. NON CONSENSUAL SEX is rape.

Being followed on the high street is a violation too. Wolf whistles, cat calls, honking horns…  Daily reminders that menz are all around you, and you exist for their viewing pleasure. Nice tits. Fit arse. “Keep it up”. I’d have a go on your missus (this actually happened). Once, I was sat on a bus into work. A slimeball sidled up and sat next to me and proceeded to rub his leg against mine. Believing it to be a mistake, I moved my leg away but he just spread his legs further and continued to invade my space. Livid, I shot up and bellowed at him to move out of my way. “You fucking princess,” he spat. I had the audacity to call him up on his violation of my body and personal space. Fellow passengers looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust, as if I’d just phlegmed up my breakfast. I was shaken but proud of myself. Maybe he’ll think twice the next time he picks on a seemingly short Asian girl (I’m 30 for the record).

It’s all fair and well interviewing a few privileged white women (or token black women with blonde hair) and coming to the conclusion that feminism is outdated or repugnant even, but here’s what I  (an ex Muslim, British Asian woman of Pakistani/Kashmiri descent on a below average income, very much below average height) think. Feminism is thriving and it’s about to explode. Patriarchy is rubbing his hands with glee  right now, he’s got his best puppets in government so he’s feeling comfortable expressing himself, happily contorting reality to fit his own sexual needs. This makes Feminism very angry. He’s stomping down on independent women; shrinking down the job market, ensuring that women cannot stand on their own two feet. Independent mothers are the scourge of Broken Britain so he makes them pay and leaves them underfed and unable to break away from violent partners. I predict a riot; feminists of the world are uniting as we speak. Heck, I’ve made some wonderful friends these past few weeks.

Whenever I see an article condemning feminism, I don’t think “oh no, I think I’m the only one”, I think “ha, the bastards are really shitting themselves” and give myself a big pat on the back and a chocolate éclair. Patriarchy is the 2 year old that believes he is the centre of your world and you do everything for him. He thinks he can hurt your cause by denigrating it.

Instead, he comes across as a two year old saying ‘shit’ repeatedly just so he can get your attention.

A victim confronts her rapists – MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING

With the world frantically apologising for rapist Assange, it goes without saying that rape victims everywhere will be feeling traumatised and hesitant to report. The past few weeks have triggered old feelings for many as teh menz go about explaining to those being raped what constitutes a ‘legitimate’ rape. It leaves us feeling like we shouldn’t bother reporting, even when we know we didn’t consent.

The following is a description of what many rape victims go through, in trying to reconcile the trauma with fact.

We need to believe victims, we need to support them. Rape is rape.

(X was raped by two men; M being her ‘first love’ and A, his best friend. Two years after she was raped, X received an unsolicited email)

Message from a rapist

“I just wanted to say I’m so sorry for what happened never should have. I wish one day we can talk. Do think about you sometimes and just wonder what going on in your life. Take care. M”

A couple of years pass without any correspondence and then..

On FB, A wrote:

“Never cared for an explanation before this”

Traumatised, a friend responds on X’s behalf:

“You don’t know me and I have little interest in knowing any of you, but as someone that cares for X deeply, and seeing as you’ve all tried to make contact with her recently, I’m going to take this opportunity to point a few things out to you.

Yes, she was drunk that night. Yes, a part of her wanted to have sex with you M. No, she did not want to have sex with you A. Yes, it was rape.

M’s sister, I’m sure you’re upset by what happened, but your suggestion that she asked for it by getting drunk and not listening to your advice to stay away from your brother, is just the kind of told-you-so quip a girl who has suffered so horrifically doesn’t need to hear.

No girl asks to get raped.

New laws have been passed to protect girls in exactly the same situation: if a girl is drunk and says no, it’s rape.

I think it’s pretty sick that you keep images of her torment on your laptop M.

Please don’t try to contact her. That night changed her. She’s not the meek eager-to-please little girl you all once knew. She’s tough as nails is our X.

If you pursue harassing her, she will contact the police.

Just let it go. You could have destroyed her life, but you didn’t. Be thankful for that. I hope this disgusting ordeal has taught you not to do this to another girl ever again. I wish you all peace. S”

A responds to S’ email:

“I’d like to say thank you for responding to me.  I’ll respect yours and X’s wishes to not contact her – this was the only time I tried in two years but only because I never had a way of contacting her until now.  If I did, I would have tried long ago, but I realize now that it might not have made a difference.

I don’t wish to rehash that night – the way you described it is disturbing and very hurtful, and I don’t agree with it, but this isn’t about me.  I feel absolutely terrible that it made X feel that way.  I hated not knowing all this time, but your email made me realize that things ended badly.

I don’t blame you if you don’t share this message with X – you sound like a caring friend and I can appreciate that.  If you do, please tell her that I am truly sorry for being part of something that caused her pain.  I know this sounds crazy, but I felt a strong connection with her from the moment I met her.  Things happened the way they did, but it was never my intention.
I hoped that I might see her again when in London, but I know that will never happen.

Again, please tell her I’m sorry.”

A proceeds to send X an email anyway:

“Not sure what to say.  I never had the chance to talk to you after that night but I really wanted to.  I asked M about you 100 times.  I guess now I understand a little better.

I know you probably don’t want to believe anything I say, but the impression it seems you have of me and the person I really am are very different.  Look, I respect your feelings and I want to try and see things from your side if you’ll share that with me.  I remember that night and I want to share my feelings too.  They are not what you expect…”

X responds:

“It’s taken me a long time to make sense of things and face my demons and now I have nothing but curiosity, but its taken a long time to get to this. That night, before you’d even turned up, I’d drunk so much my judgement was already way off. I keep thinking back to my behaviour, silly things that I’d done, how I’d brought it on myself.

I really enjoyed being at the club, dancing, getting drunk. For the first time, I didn’t feel uncomfortable around M, didn’t feel like the sap he’d always made me feel. Ironic really, it was the first time I’d trusted him. When we were in bed, I was a fool for letting him touch me and for getting carried away. The enormity of the situation didn’t strike home until you were asked to join in. I said no (admittedley I didn’t scream it) a fair few times and in the end I gave myself two choices; scream and make it more harrowing or lie back and play numb. M, the twat who always insisted on using contraception mocked me with ‘wouldn’t it be funny if you did get pregnant? you wouldn’t know the father until it was born’ before chucking the condom over his shoulder. I asked him not to hurt me and you did too, I thought you were on my side. Until you said you wanted to have a go too. He ripped my pyjamas because I’d tied a knot in the drawstring. What part of that was consensual? At some point, after it was all done, you left to sleep in the other room. I asked M many times why he’d allowed for something like this to happen and he said, so carefree, that if it had been any other one of his friends he wouldn’t have stood for it but you, you were like his brother. What the hell does that mean?!?

Why were you guys forcibly taking pictures of me? When I was trying to wrap myself up in the duvet? Do you know I got an infection after that night? Not transmitted but as a result of the trauma? That I had bruises on my wrists, thighs?

How can the picture be any different in your head?”

A responds:

“I know saying sorry doesn’t change anything, but I really am.  I remember M telling me that we would be driving down to *place* and didn’t tell me much of who we were meeting.  I remember I was exhausted because I hadn’t slept in two days and I didn’t think I would have fun.  Then he stopped to pick you up and everything changed.

At that point, I didn’t know the relationship you had with M.  I could tell there was some history, but I didn’t know the extent of it.  When we were in bed, I felt incredibly awkward.  On the one hand, I understood what was going on, and yet I felt so attracted to you, and more than just physically and I believed that you felt that way too. I know that shouldn’t make sense and maybe that’s where I am totally wrong.  I tried to control my feelings, and then I slipped up.  But X, I didn’t do it to ‘have a go’.  I’ve never been that way, and I will never be that way and I wished many times that I could talk to you just to let you know.

Now years later I have a chance to talk to you about this – I still think about you from time to time.  Partly because of the strangeness of that night and partly because somehow I knew you were hurt, and I didn’t want that.  I hope we can continue to talk.

P.S. I never saw the pictures after that day, and I really believe they are gone.”

X replies:

“There’s a reason why I decided to have this out with you than him. As far as I’m concerned he never existed. He came into my life when I was 15, when I was vulnerable and manipulated my feelings, treated me with very little respect. I was just his girl this side of the pond. I developed an eating disorder because of all the crap he’d feed me about how hot and slim his girl was, how he could never treat me as anything but a shag. He broke my heart so many times going as far as taunting me with lines like “you’re the second girl I’ve fucked today”. I was so stupid, I let him, year after year until that occasion. I can understand now why it may have been strange for you and why you wouldn’t have been feeling what I was feeling where, for the umpteenth time, he just used me and left. I remember telling him the two of you had to leave ‘cos I was moving out of the house the next day and that the chap from the agency saw me as a sister and how would he feel if it were his sister in the same position. He just scoffed, going as far as calling his mum a vessel and his sister someone he shares DNA with. I’m just sorry it took me so long to realise his intentions. Apart from his girl, his views on women are misogynistic and quite dangerous. I’m sorry you got dragged into it.”

A’s final email to X. X is so disgusted by some of his suggestions, she cannot continue.

“ X, I shouldn’t have made my version of that night sound overly romantic because thats not fair to you.  I too thought most of the night was great and I had alot of fun, but I realize the morning was insensitive.  I really did try to get M to contact you after that day because I didn’t feel good about it, and I thought he was lying when he said he couldn’t reach you anymore.  After about 1 year I gave up.  Then I tried sending you that email and I got that response from your friend, and I can’t believe how much that email bothered me. At first I was offended, then I was pissed off about it, and then I was hurt and very sad that I had something to do with making you feel that way.  I think it hit home that things were worse than I expected.  If I had to defend myself and my actions regarding the things that happened that night, I think I could, but I wish I held back.

I always wanted to tell you that I think you are beautiful and that you have a sweet personality.  That probably sounds gross coming from me

How have things been for you these last few years otherwise?  Have you found someone that treats you well?  Would you rather stop the emails now that we’ve discussed it?”

There are many that will say, well, it can’t have been that bad else why would she still speak to them? Trauma works in mysterious ways. Victims need closure and if the State cannot provide it, what are they to do?

If X now chose to report, would she have to answer questions about why she allowed herself to get so drunk? What about the clothes she was wearing? The fact that she’d had previous sexual relations with one of the rapists, would they deem it consensual? 

An open letter to the funny makers

You’re funny, we get that. That’s why you’re on TV and have a massive following on Twitter. You made it. You’re an intelligent person, you’re likeable; it’s what makes you so successful. The world is your oyster.. Do you think if you chose to avoid a subject like rape, the world would suddenly fall out from under you? Tickets wouldn’t so well, reviews maybe not so favourable? Who are you trying to please? Is that because you consciously know that a significant number of your fans relish this sort of ‘humour’ because they believe it to be true? Do you like it because it’s true..?

When you make a joke about rape, I sometimes forget to breathe. My heart starts pounding and my palms begin to sweat, with a crawling sensation over my whole body. Pins and needles in my hands and feet.. In my brain. I have to force myself to breathe in a controlled manner until the adrenalin subsides. I always feel nauseous afterwards. Sometimes I am physically sick. These are all symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Although I am on medication to control my resting moods, whenever I am triggered I have an acute response. I suppose they don’t do drugs strong enough to suppress trauma like rape, sexual assault and child abuse.

We’ve pleaded with you to think about what you’re doing. But that just makes you do it even more. Much like a rapist. 1 in 4 women has experienced rape or attempted rape. This is not a laughing matter. Women generally don’t like to shout it from the rooftops but I imagine this statistic also applies to the women in your life. Unless you are a perpetrator of rape and your mother, sister, girlfriend, wife or daughter are fair game for other men cos women are beneath you (and I’m not talking to you), the thought of these women in your life being violated is too much to bear right? (I hope.)

Can you imagine them feeling what I feel when you so flippantly roll off a gag about date rape? How about gang rape? I know, paedophiles!

When we get angry and we demand that you think, it’s not control or censorship. It’s sheer disbelief that another human being would mentally and emotionally harm a large section of society. And not just once but defiantly, repeatedly offend in some bizarre belief that this will boost the ratings. Yes! It will. Rapists and supporters of rapists will flock to your shows. Nice one.

Please. Think.

Rape Culture

http://www.israpefunny.com/index.htm

If you don’t know the answer to this question, please click for enlightenment.

The shame we feel as women

It creeps up suddenly; self-consciously you adjust your posture to close in a little on yourself. Your eyes drop downwards. Suddenly you feel very exposed. This happens frequently; whether in a meeting at work or walking into a bar and almost certainly when walking home late at night. By slouching, we hope to divert attention away from our breasts, by avoiding eye contact, we can hope they won’t think we brought it on ourselves. We are reminded everywhere we turn, of the temptations we promise, and if we don’t fit the bill, we can be stuffed and pumped up with man-made fillers and human bum fat. If we’re healthy, we’re “starting to waddle”, a timely reminder we shouldn’t eat so much else who will fancy us?

The shaming begins early. They make mini-skirts and boob tubes for 3 year olds. I will always feel sick to the stomach remembering the fascination with Emma Watson’s impending sweet sixteen. Her boyish figure on the turn, she still looked like little Hermione Granger to me. But the lad mags cooed and pushed and towed the line. The difference a day makes, predatory behaviour now legal. The men writing these articles, having this ‘fun’ ‘banter’ are in their 20s and 30s. What kind of meaningful discussion could be had between a young person and a fully grown male adult?

“Getting a bit podgy” they remark when you embark early adolescence. Girls get called sluts for letting boys kiss them. And frigid, for refusing to bow to pressure. The shaming naming begins; slut, slag, whore, cunt, bitch, pussy, ho, sket, ‘punaani’ and many others I’m glad not to think of off the top of my head. When these words are spat, they are designed to cut to the core of woman, what lies between your legs is dirt and because of it you choose to be shamed in this way, with the very same words they use to describe your vagina. They cut deep. Toxic and humiliating, they are effective. The world has made it so. Half of the world’s population has a menstrual cycle, the most crucial component of the human condition and yet, it is considered unclean. In many religions, women are forbidden from intercourse/intimacy at this unholiest of times of the month, forbidden from entering places of worship or from handling holy texts. A ritualistic bath is required to cleanse the body of impurity once bleeding ceases. This dirty blood provides the cushion for nestling cells from which all life springs forth! It nurtures life! It is creation! But they would have us believe it’s a punishment for eating an apple, bleeding comparable to a “stuck pig”.

I am ashamed to admit, in the past, I have used men for protection. You can walk the streets at 2am, your heels clicking on the street, without the fear of someone pouncing over your shoulder. Walk into a bar and they’ll look once but maybe not twice, you don’t even have to think of who is where and whether they could get too close.

1 in 4 women will experience rape or an attempted rape. How can one begin to understand why this is a reality?

But sometimes the same men we look to for protection, violate us. You are more likely to be raped by your husband or partner than a complete stranger. In fact, 1 in 7 women have been coerced into sex. I would call this rape too. In my work with women, I asked “have you ever been raped?” Most women would reply “no”. Follow that question on with “have you ever had sex when you did not want to?” A large proportion then replies “yes”. Non consensual sex is rape. Why do these women feel it is not? In many parts of the world, sex is an ordeal for women, its only function to satisfy man so that he may create life. Male life, preferably. They have been brainwashed into believing that their role as woman is to suffer, because they are temptresses and they are asking for it.

Here in the West we are filled with outrage at the brutality our sisters in the East must suffer. They are not permitted to touch holy books when bleeding; they cannot excitedly declare their pregnancies for they are the result of impure deeds. The birth of a daughter is mourned not celebrated. When challenged, many will defend their rights to such feelings because, one day, their daughter must leave. She is only theirs temporarily, someday soon she will be handed over to another man and her destiny will be in his hands. They can only pray he will be merciful. This belief that daughters are born a burden drives families to increasingly barbaric methods of control; where death is a desirable outcome, preferable to shaming of the family name. What is more shameful than the taking of a life? Why is all the honour of a family placed on its female members? Like a classic car, they are cared for and then sold. No previous owners, no mileage on the clock and you get a brand new CD player, with the plastic still on it and everything. Be sure to check it’s sealed properly; otherwise you are entitled to renege on the deal. Your statutory rights will not be affected.

We have every right to feel angry. How can the world stand by and allow such suffering? Such behaviour justifies war, apparently. “Have you seen how they treat their women?” THEIR women? “True story right, mate was on tour, walking through a village in Kandahar and there was this pretty girl putting the washing out, anyway, they only looked at her and her husband came running out and beat her in front of them. She was pregnant too”. Well, in that case, why don’t you bomb the whole lot and make it your country? How about not staring at pretty girls in a country where rapists are made to marry their victims? The person telling me this story was the last person to educate me in global women’s rights. I knew him to be a user of women; he thought it was funny that he and his 10 friends had collectively taken their turns with the ‘village bike’. His words, not mine.

2 women a week are murdered in the UK. Many of these post separation. Perpetrators murder because the victim failed to obey, or she left or they felt she was going to leave or they’d heard she was sleeping around, for example. Perpetrators feel betrayed and angry and humiliated and so they murder. Is this not also a question of perceived ‘honour’?

15 year old Gemma’s brother in law decided to maul her at home, whilst the family were elsewhere in the house. When she asked, in shock, why he would do such a thing, he responded he’d heard she was a slag so thought he would try his luck. There are girls born free for all, they would have us believe. Bound by secrets and lies, many women suffer in silence. They did not report when they were violated, their resignation an unspoken norm in our 21^st century Western society.

I was very young when I first acknowledged I was lucky to be born British, access to a free education being one of the perks. I resented being brought up Asian in a culture that despised us; our clothes were different and we spoke a funny language. I yearned to be English. I wanted to wear shorts and begged my parents for a paddling pool. I loved music and was thrilled to learn my secondary school specialised in this area. It quickly dawned on me, however, that the music teacher only picked the girls with short skirts and beige canvas shoes. I had been graded a clear A for my singing ability but despite this, he would only speak to me briefly and on occasion, ignore me completely. Even at this young age, I knew it was because he did not like me for who I was. It was a well-known fact, a scandal, that this same teacher was married to a previous pupil of the school, 30 years his junior. Aged 11, I felt life was unfair, if I had a short skirt, I could sing a solo too.

I rebelled, naturally. Under my school uniform of shirt and trousers, I’d wear vest tops and wonderbras. Having been an exceptional student throughout my schooling, I started truanting. Aged 15, my friends and I would sneak into wine bars, shirts and ties stuffed deep into our schoolbags. We’d share a couple of lager and limes and marvel at our grown-upness. We had our fair share of male attention. Made up to look 20, I soon started dating a 19 year old. He knew how old I was but that didn’t stop him. My skirts got shorter, my eyelashes ridiculously fat. And why? Aged 15, I’d learnt I had to attract men to get noticed. The contrast between home-life and the world outside the front door was confusing and given the choice I chose the unknown. English girls seemed free. I believed this until aged 22, I applied for a job working in a domestic violence refuge. My attitude rapidly changed as I learnt about feminist principles and how they came to be. In the year 2004, I learnt that women, English women, were being murdered for daring to leave their partners. Domestic abuse is estimated to be the biggest killer of women aged 19-44. Although there are no figures to say for sure, it is estimated that less than half of all incidents are reported to the police and yet, they still manage to receive a call a minute.

“We don’t treat our women like that over here”. OUR women? And yes, yes you do.

We can’t get drunk in case we get raped. We can’t walk the streets at night because then we’re just working them. We can’t wear skirts above the knee or a top revealing the outline of our breasts (like, totally asking for it). If we speak up about our bodies, our choice; we’re baby killing lesbians. If we dare to leave, we leave ourselves open to further attack. If we have more than a few partners, we are slags. If we get raped, we lied about it (unless it was a stranger who dragged you into the bushes in broad daylight, wearing a balaclava, wielding a knife.) What were you wearing? How many sexual partners have you had? Why kiss him if you did not want to have sex? When pregnant, we become vessels. Strangers will chastise you for smoking a cigarette, cupping their hands around your swollen stomach. Why do our pregnant bodies become public property? A visible panty line is the mother of all sins. Our vaginas scrutinised for signs of a camel’s hoof. Young Western girls have their labia minora sliced off so they can resemble their 3 year old selves. At the first sign of fuzz, we shave, wax and depilate ourselves as soft as a baby’s bum. What is so attractive about resembling an infant? When we ask for anything, we nag. When we speak up, we are uppity. We are trouble-makers. We aim to cause mischief. We are responsible for the breakdown of family life. We are the upholders of original sin. We dumb ourselves down to get on in life, lest we are seen as a threat. And still, there are people out there who think we have too much.

When feminism first began, it made a massive difference to the lives of Western women. They made the world change its laws to recognise woman as man’s equal. In a short space of time, they were able to elevate the status of woman to a place where she could be considered, on the surface of it, an equal in a developed world. And yet, here we are 101 years after the first International Women’s Day, developing callouses from the tug of war we are still having with patriarchy. We have papers like the Daily (Hate Fe) Mail refusing to refer to violence against women as domestic abuse. Unless of course it is a female perpetrator. Women of the Western world are frantically knitting uteruses for congressmen in the hope they’ll keep their hands off theirs. And one is never stuck for a pro-choice rally to attend. They’re obsessed with our hairy armpits and shame us for having non-blonde body hair. We write to spread awareness of our struggle, but in doing so we leave ourselves open to attack from sexually threatened men. If only it were that easy to shut a woman up!

It is not a question of OUR women or THEIR women; we do not belong to man. We brown women do not need white knights in shining armour to rescue us from the savages and white women are not just sleeping with black men because they have larger penises. Wherever we are in the world, we are controlled because we are female. We birth the boys, they, as well as the girls, come from our vaginas. Is it a fear of creation? Is it a jealousy, an inadequacy at not being able to do the same? It must be shunned because it is incomprehensible? Whatever it is, it’s bullshit.

Rape-Rape In The Real World Online

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