how dare that victim not have bulletproof flesh
how dare their body bleed out from the wound
how dare they die on the way to the hospital
those poor gunmen. their lives ahead of them in ruins because someone was inconsiderate enough to allow themselves to be shot.
you see, it doesn’t fucking work this way.
(via zaataronpita)
—
—Prepare yourself, tumblr. I’m angry and will reblog everything I see on this topic until I feel better.
What people don’t understand is when we say “Teach men not to rape,” we’re not talking about telling them not to jump out of the bushes in a ski mask and grab the nearest female. We’re talking about the way we teach boys that masculinity is measured by power over others, and that they aren’t men unless they “get some.” We’re talking about teaching men (and women) that it’s not okay to laugh at jokes about rape and abuse. We’re talking about telling men that a lack of “No” doesn’t mean “Yes,” that if a woman is too drunk to consent they shouldn’t touch her, that dating someone - or even being married to someone - does not mean automatic consent. We’re talking about teaching boys to pay attention to the girl they’re with, and if she looks uncomfortable to stop and ask if she’s okay, because sometimes girls don’t know how to say stop in a situation like that. We’re talking about how women have the right to change their mind. Even if she’s been saying yes all night, if she says no, that’s it. It’s over. That’s what we mean when we say “Teach men not to rape.
// pretty in pink.//
When I was 10, I saw
my first episode of Law & Order, SVU
a woman screamed
and her pretty pink dress ripped
the scene cut to black but then
she sat in a station
hair mussed and mascara running
and she seemed broken
and empty
and that’s when I began to prepare
for the inevitable.
(via turdlewexler)
Saw this on Facebook - loved it!
was looking for this today after getting depressed over that other list and i def know some of you would like it if you haven’t already seen it.
9. Carry a rape whistle. If you find that you are about to rape someone, blow the whistle until someone comes to stop you.
For those who think I rant about the patriarchy and misogyny too much
From: Julia Maddera, Georgetown University ‘13.
To the first man, who I met by the Eiffel Tower my second week in Paris, when I didn’t know better. Who took me out four times, who waved little red flags that I tried to ignore. Like asking me outright if I was a virgin on the first date, like calling me five different pet names when I’d asked him not to throughout the second, like saying he’d heard that feminists were not real women during the third, like disappearing for a week and a half after the fourth. Who, as it turns out, was not the bullet, but the careening fourteen-wheeler that I narrowly managed to dodge. Who admitted that he hit the young woman that his mother was trying to force him to marry. Who didn’t want to marry her because he believes in romantic love. Who doesn’t see the contradiction in those two sentences.
To the guy in my medieval literature class, who lent me one of Camus’ plays and showed me around the library. Who wants to use his French education not to escape to the West, but to go back to his third-world home country to teach at its eight-year-old university. Who I admired until he asked me what my American boyfriend had thought about me coming to Paris, until he demanded to know why I didn’t have one (a boyfriend, that is), until he asked if it was required that I marry an American. Who reached out and touched my earrings, without asking, the next time he saw me. Who won’t take a hint.
To the PhD student who tried to take me up to his apartment after a five minute conversation, when I had just wanted to get lunch, who said there’s a first time for everything. Who told me that we were university students, living in a 21st century democracy, and that relations between men and women were different now, so what was I so scared of? Who recoiled in shock when I told him that I had friends who’d been raped, and by other university students, at that. Who does not have to think about rape on a daily basis. Who insisted on paying for my lunch, because “it was a matter of honor.” Who then physically prevented me from handing my money to the cashier, when I was trying to make it clear that this was not a date. Who didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t want a boyfriend, five times. Whose number I blocked the moment I stepped on the metro. Who has called me three times since. Who told me he wants to go into Senegalese politics. Who, I can only hope, will listen to the women of his country better than he listened to me.
To the delivery guy on the red motorcycle idling outside of the apartments on Avenue de Porte de Vanves, the ones I walk past every day, who said bonsoir and who, because I said it in return to be polite, followed me to the metro as I walked, head twisted down, pretending that I didn’t understand the language I’ve studied for eight years.
To the two men Thursday night in le Marais, swaggering drunk toward me, ignoring the male friend standing by my side, who leered at my chest and slurred, “Bonsoir, comme tu es mignonne,” as I shoved past them, trying to sound angry, not afraid. Who left me feeling fidgety and panicked, so when I took the night bus in the wrong direction and found myself alone with two other strange men at a bus stop at 2:30 A.M., I let the cab driver fleece me out of 25 euro just to take a taxi home.
To the group of teenage boys loitering on the corner by my apartment, who decided to sound a siren at my approach because I was wearing a knee-length dress and a bulky sweater. Who made me regret forgoing tights because I had wanted to feel the spring air on my calves for once. Who will never have to wear an itchy pair of pantyhose in their entire lives. To whom I said nothing, because I still have to walk past that corner twice a day for the next three-and-a-half months, because there were five of them and one of me.
To the three men standing on the corner of the periphery five minutes later when I was crossing the street. To the one who motioned for his friends to turn and look at me, quick, and then left his wolf-whistle ringing in my ears, shame like sunburn covering my face. Who didn’t care that it was broad daylight. Who made me wish that I could swear a blue streak back in French, without my accent betraying that I am American, which is another word for “easy” here.
To the two men at sunset on the bridge by Saint Michel, in the middle of tourist central, who made skeeting noises at me, like a pair of sputtering mosquitoes, to get my attention. Who laughed when I flipped them off, and who kept hissing at me anyway. Who forced me to keep checking over my shoulder, all the way to the metro, to make sure that I wasn’t being followed.
But also to the French friend who blamed my problems with French men on my university in the northern suburbs, a Parisian synonym for emeutes, gang violence, and immigration. Who insisted that if he brought me to his upper-crust private (white) university—where the French elite reproduces itself into perpetuity—I would meet nicer French guys. Who forced me to defend the men who’d harassed me against his barely-veiled, racist critique.
And also to the American friend at home who nearly rolled his eyes as he half-listened to my stories, who said, “Oh god, it’s hard being so attractive, isn’t it?” as if I was being vain. Who laughs and does not understand why I always duck out of the frame of photographs, who knows nothing of what my body means to me.
And that’s just two months in Paris.
To all the Italian men who made me wish I had dyed my hair black before studying in Florence, who kept me from going out dancing because I got sick of feeling them creeping up behind me, sneaking their hands around my waist (and lower) when I’d already said NO three times.
To the six-foot-something Georgetown student who prided himself on protecting the girls from being groped on the dance floor. Who chose to write about the rape of the Sabine woman for that week’s assignment. Who described the way her breast slipped free of her tunic when she fell, as if he was writing a porno, not a rape scene, who had the woman fall in love with her Roman rapist the next morning, after he spun her a tale of the coming glory of his country. Who said “in a fit of passion, she thrust herself upon his member” and was not joking. Who ended the story with the titular character saying to her children that she had been raped, but only at first.
To the seventh-grade boy who told my younger sister that he could rape her, if he wanted to.
To the gang of twenty-five year-olds in the Jeep who hollered at her as they drove past, leering at her thirteen-year-old body dressed in sweat pants and a tank top. Who made my sister, fearless on the soccer field and in the classroom and in the karate studio, run home crying. Who were the reason she became afraid to walk the dog by herself in our “safe, suburban” neighborhood.
To my father, who said, “What white male privilege?” Who was not being ironic.
(Source: bmoburns, via zaataronpita)
Yesterday, young facebook users hi-jacked the social media outlets of Victoria’s Secret to promote something very different from panties and push-up bras. Within ten hours, over 50,000 people visited PinkLovesConsent.com, where they saw Victoria’s Secret’s image “promoting consent to fight rape.”
The satirical website was launched at noon on Monday, December 3. According to the site, “PINK loves CONSENT is our newest collection of flirty, sexy and powerful statements that remind people to practice CONSENT. CONSENT is a verbal agreement about how and when people are comfortable having sex.”
Through Victoria’s Secret’s social media, the concept of consent was cropping up in some unexpected places. The Victoria’s Secret facebook pages were flooded with “I heart consent” posts, excited campus reps were retweeting pinklovesconsent.com, and the “pink hearts” at pinknation.com were declaring their love for “open sex talk.” One employee tweeted, “I am so happy to currently have a job for a company that stands for something so beautiful!! @LoveConsent #victoriassecret #loveconsent” Highschool students were tweeting “I’m loving the new @LoveConsent! Victoria’s secret goes feminist!” At the outset, 100 young facebook users were in one the prank. It just went viral from there.
How did customers respond to the prank? Victoria’s Secret fighting rape? Some people were skeptical, some people were confused, and most people LOVED it.
The pr@pinklovesconsent.com inbox was flooded with fan mail from over-joyed customers.
“Hey, I just wanted to say that I am really incredibly happy about PINK’s consent line. It’s really encouraging to see mainstream clothing that promotes women’s safety and choice while still being fashionable and letting her feel good about her body. I wasn’t a Victoria’s Secret customer before, but I sure as hell am now
“Dear Anyone who made this happen at VS,
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! As a college student, and as someone who is constantly trying to create awareness of consent and body image awareness, I love this. As someone who is a survivor of assault, I love this. I love this times a million. I am floored, and a proud customer. I will flaunt these the minute I am able to buy them.”
Why should Victoria’s Secret (or anyone) promote consent? To end rape. By the time American women graduate from college 1 in 4 will have been raped. Every 21 hours, a rape occurs on an American college campus. Women are twice as likely to be raped in their lifetime than to develop breast cancer.
Turns out feminist duo FORCE: Upsetting Rape Culture is behind the campaign. Just last month, on the eve of the last presidential election, the same team projected “Rape Is Rape,” along with stories of survivors, onto the US Capitol Building. FORCE says, “We envision a world where sex is empowering and pleasurable rather than coercive and violent.”
Will Victoria’s Secret take a nod from the customer fan mail and change their styles? Fighting rape would be a major shift for the brand. Though they are a woman-focused company, VS has never taken a stand on any women’s issue. In fact, their current designs seem to lean more toward rape culture than consent. Their PINK brand, marketed at high school and college-aged women, sports thongs with the slogan “SURE THING” printed right over the crotch. Young women across the country are wearing underwear with “SURE THING” literally printed over their vaginas. We can think of one circumstance where a vagina is treated like a “SURE THING”: rape.
So if Victoria’s Secret clearly would NEVER promote consent why use their brand for a consent campaign? The organizers say, “We could write a pamphlet about consent. In fact, we have written and distributed pamphlets about consent. But how many people are reading pamphlets about sexual practices and how many people are reading facebook post about Victoria’s Secret? Consent needs to become a mainstream idea. Condoms became a mainstream idea in response to the HIV/AIDS epidemic. Just like pausing to put on a condom prevents the spread of STDs, pausing to check in with you partner prevents unwanted sexual experiences.
Social media is becoming a tool for social change. We have seen the role of social media in revolution in the Arab Spring, but change Victoria’s Secret? “Probably not,” says the organizers. “We’re not about taking Victoria’s Secret down. We are about changing the conversation. The sexiness that is being sold to women by Victoria’s Secret is not actually about sex. It is not how to have sex, relationships or orgasms. It in an IMAGE of what it is to be sexy. So while we are sold cleavage, white teeth, clear skin and perfect hair no one is asking us how our bodies feel and what we desire. Victoria’s Secret owns the image of female sexuality, instead of women owning their own sexuality.”
As the project went viral, some saw right through the shenanigans. Many who knew it was a prank openly wished that it was real. After a first incredulous look and some detective work, Jezebel blogger Katie J.M. Baker said, “If only Victoria’s Secret focused on empowering women rather than objectifying them!” Bloggers wrote about how the Pink Loves Consent project makes women look powerful and strong. Jezebel users commented on the “fiercely real” body types represented on the site. “Too bad they don’t use some models like her for their regular advertising. The girl’s gorgeous and it’s awesome to see a different body style once in awhile.” A frustrated Facebook user commented, “Damn, I wish these were real. I just got paid.” And a savvy Victoria’s Secret customer tweeted, “So I guess the #loveconsent campaign isn’t actually affiliated with Victoria’s Secret but they SHOULD BE I WOULD BUY SO MUCH UNDERWEAR.”
Why do so many women love something they know is not real? FORCE made something that people want, but that a company like Victoria’s Secret can never give them. Imagine how different our lives would be if we put as much time and thought into sharing ideas like consent as we do into selling underwear.
As one high school student eloquently blogged:
“i’m still freaking out over this pink loves consent thing. And people say nothing’s gonna change, that talking and educating doesn’t help. Watch how many people will second-guess their actions when a widely popular company is pushing the issue. This is so fucking cool.”
—a seventeen year-old high school student posted on tumblr
We are so sorry to tell young women that Victoria’s Secret is not using its voice to create the change you need to grow up safe and free from sexual violence. Victoria’s Secret is not using its brand to promote consent. They are not promoting consent to their 4.5 million “PINK nation” members, to the 500,000 facebook fans or the estimated 10 million viewers who will be watching tonight’s fashion show. But what a different world would it be if they did? What if consent and communication showed up in the bedroom as much as push-up bras and seamless thongs? Things WILL change and talking and education DOES help. We can create a culture where the sexual empowerment of women is more common than their sexual assault. But it’s going to take some work to keep on fighting against the messaging from giants like Victoria’s Secret.
While we can’t expect a message that is empowering for women to come from a brand like Victoria’s Secret, we can make it come from their hashtag. This campaign has only begun.
Tonight you can celebrate the annual Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show by joining more than one thousand social media activists who will be posting, pinning and tweeting about consent. Join the CONSENT REVOLUTION! Tweet at #VictoriasSecret why you #loveconsent. Facebook @VictoriasSecret about why @loveconsent is revolutionary. Combat the sickening reality of rape culture by making the culture of consent go viral!WELP.
(via turdlewexler)
Society has allowed rapists to define what resistance is: screaming, crying, scratching, pushing, kicking, biting, punching. I didn’t resist like that. My resistance was to wriggle a bit, turn my head away when he tried to kiss me, try to stop his hand going into my bra and knickers, push him ineffectually, talk about wanting to get my cab; all things which normal men recognise as not being enthusiastic participation when they are engaging with women but pretend it’s a grey area when they talk about rape. Rapists have managed to get society to believe, that what I did, was consent.
Because I didn’t resist in the way rapists - and society - say that women should resist, they define our non-participation as consent.
// Growing and Learning//
I have always been a firm believer in that you can constantly learn something, your perspective can always change. I’ve also always seen myself as a cultured/open-minded individual. I’ve recently come to realize a very big problem within the society that I live in and that is the perspective on rape.
I’ve always considered myself a feminist and anti-rape, but never noticed the extent rape has permeated into everyday life. Especially into the societal view of women. Through discussion with a new friend and people I follow on tumblr, I have begun to see how bad our culture is about rape. something I thought everyone could agree was an awful thing. From small jokes between friends to the way I hear random people talk, I’ve begun to notice things that I never did before.
And they bother me. The new problems that I am noticing “push my buttons”. How is this okay? How did I not notice this all before? How can everyone think it’s okay to say that? I feel kinda ashamed that I never saw this when It’s now so blatantly obvious.
I guess the point of this post is, Thank you friends and tumblr.
// Tumblr, let me tell you a little story about when I walked home today//
danceswithfaeriesunderthemooon:
It was late, it was dark, and I was fairly distracted by listening to 80’s music because it’s ridiculously catchy.
Now, I rarely feel scared walking home in the dark. If that’s because I lack a self-preservation instinct or that I stubbornly chanted ‘strong independent woman’ to myself when I was 14, well, who knows?
Point is, I suddenly noticed a long shadow next to mine.
Surprised and unexpectedly terrified, I jump a little and turn around to see a buff guy walking close behind me. As my was simultaneously berating me for getting scared and planning exit routes, he simply stops, raises his hands and goes:
“I’m so sorry to scare you, I really didn’t mean to, excuse me.”
He then steps over to the other side of the road, gives me a quick smile, and keeps walking. I looked back a while later, only to see him crossing the road to step into a house on ‘my’ side.
So basically, this guy just stepped away and gave me space to make sure I felt safe, and waited long enough on the other side for me to have gotten far enough away not to be startled when he crossed again. It felt shockingly good to have a guy acknowledge that my fear response wasn’t ‘stupid’, because if he hadn’t I’d probably be bashing myself for the irrational fear that grabbed me.
I’m not saying that all guys should do this or anything. I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say. It’s just been a while since I saw a guy outside tumblr who didn’t act like because they weren’t rapists, they had nothing to do with the issues of rape culture. Of course, I have no idea who this guy is, maybe he doesn’t know or care about these issues. But he cared enough to make an effort, and to not dismiss my response or blame me for it. To me, that’s something.
This is nice
(via zaataronpita)
// [tw: rape culture] I really don’t get it//
women have at least a 25% chance of being raped by men
but people are offended when we distrust men and try to protect ourselves
are you serious?
I have much lower odds of swimming in a pool during a storm and being struck by lightning but I still don’t do that
I have much lower odds of dying in a car crash but I still put on my seatbelt
I have much lower odds of being attacked by a shark but I still listen to life guard warnings
I have much lower odds of being in a plane hijacking but I still want the TSA to exist
I have much lower odds of dying in an earthquake but i still want there to be emergency protocols and fireproofing and retrofitting
I have much lower odds of dying to gun violence but I still don’t like guns and I still prefer safeties
I have much lower odds of catching some horrible infectious disease i still get vaccinated
and yet you are angry at me for being concerned about a 25% chance of being assaulted and violated
what the fuck is wrong with you
oh my god this is such a good way of putting this, thank you.
(via wafflesforstephanie)
If you’re married, you’ve contractually agreed to be available for sex whether or not you want to. If you’re a woman of color, you must be a liar. If you don’t have as much money as your attacker, you’re just looking for a payday. If you’re in college, you shouldn’t want to ruin your poor young rapist’s life. If you’re a sex worker, it wasn’t rape it was just “theft of services.” If you said yes at first but changed your mind, tough luck. If you’ve had sex before, you must say yes to everyone. If you were drinking you should have known better. If you were wearing a short skirt what did you expect?
The definition of who is a rape victim has been whittled down by racism, misogyny, classism and the pervasive wink-wink-nudge-nudge belief that all women really want to be forced anyway. The assumption is that women are, by default, desirous of sex unless they explicitly state otherwise. And women don’t just have to prove that we said no, but that we screamed it.
Korean poster which has been making it’s way around
Translation:
Protesting sexual harassment and violence against women
ETIQUETTE FOR MEN AT NIGHT
- Remember that your presence can be threatening to women walking alone at night
- If a woman is walking in front of you alone at night, slow down. You walking quickly or speeding up can be and in most cases is threatening
- If you’ve been drinking and are drunk, go straight home.
- Do not pick a fight or aggravate women walking at night
- Do not take off your clothes or publicly urinate
- Be careful to make sure you do not touch or hit someone, even on accident.
- If, late at night, you come to a situation in which you and a woman have to ride an elevator together, let her go up first and wait for the elevator to come back down.
- If there’s a woman in a public restroom (There are Korean public restrooms with no gender or sex markings that are open to all people), wait for her to finish and come out first before using the restroom.
- Report broken streetlights to the police
- Tell other men about these rules and that they have a responsibility to not threaten women walking at night
THIS! This needs to printed and put up frikkin’ everywhere.
(Source: madokaistrebelnews, via zaataronpita)
We're gonna get where we're going, you and me. Death and indignity be damned. - Cap. Marvel #1 by Kelly Sue DeConnick
