Tag Archives: let me tell you what’s wrong here

Today’s Asshole

Small rage-outlet of a post. Ada Lovelace Day post in the works.

Client just walked into my office, his phone ringtone blaring Eye of the Tiger. I joked that he had entrance music. His totally resonable response was to start doing a striptease at me.

Fucks sake. He will, I am totally sure, interpret my embarrassed, threatened laugh and covered face as approval, and will do it again in the future.

Rape culture means that even as I began writing this, I had to admonish myself that the qualifier ‘stupidly’ did not belong before ‘joked’. I did not cause this incidence of harassment by noting his ringtone. But victim-blaming rape culture means that I consciously have to tell myself that. And it means that I will remain the embarrassed person every time he walks into the office from now on – not him as it ought to be. Not the man who walked into a professional service corporate office and began a striptease in the foyer. What the fuck.


Jet’s favourite mansplanation story

Mansplanation. Over at Zuska’s, a thread was born. Shakesville answered. I’ve been having a fine old time reading everyone’s stories, and recalling the first time I came across the term.

My definitive mansplanation moment was the time a particularly ‘splanation-prone asshat argued with a female friend and I for a good hour. This (straight, cisgender) guy was well known for holding forth on all sorts of topics whether he knew a damned thing about what he was talking about or not. And he had to be right. All the time. I thought he was an ass before this conversation, but I could never take anything he said seriously again after he set this gold standard.

The mansplainer mansplained adamantly on the topic of sex. His specific sub-topic: whether a long penis or a wide one is more pleasurable for a woman during vaginal intercourse.

He knew best. What my friend and I, and the occasional gobsmacked woman passing by, thought about his opinions – well, that didn’t matter.

I hope I never meet a mansplainer to match him.

Stop it. Just stop it.

Right. I have a message for you, brought to you by several asshats on the internet.

Stop policing women’s sexual choices. No. No exceptions, no ifs, buts or maybes. Just stop it.

No. My decision to have sex does not constitute ‘risky behaviour’. Dancing on train tracks constitutes risky behaviour.

Rape is not caused by my decision to have sex. It is caused by the decision of a rapist to rape me.

Rape is not caused by my skirt, my t-shirt, my halter-top, my lycra jumpsuit, my boots, my grandfather’s hand-me-down cardigan, or my goddamn see-through bra with the plastic goldfish inside. It is caused by the decision of a rapist to rape me.

Rape is not caused by my presence at a party, on a street, at a nightclub, in my car, in my home, in a park, or in a hotel room full of football players. It is caused by the decision of a rapist, or multiple rapists, to rape me.

Rape is not caused by any of my previous decisions to have sex. It is caused by the decision of a rapist to rape me.

Rape is not caused by my decision to have sex with more than one person at a time. It is caused by the decision of a rapist to rape me.

Future acts of rape are not caused by my choice to report or not report my rape. They are caused by the decision of a rapist to continue raping.

Stop trying to draw a causal link between what a woman can control, and the decision of a rapist to rape. There isn’t one. There has never been one. There will never be one.

Rape happens because rapists decide it will happen. Policing women’s sexual choices is bullshit, and a misdirection of your energy. Stop doing it.

Rape Culture: Still Not Funny

Today, I’m angry about rape culture. Having to explain to someone near and dear to me, yet again, that rape ‘jokes’ are not funny puts me in foul mood. So I’m going to  lay it out for you. If you’re the sort of person who can tell a joke about rape (unless you’re a survivor), then perhaps you’ve not ever had reason to consider how fucked up our culture is about women and sexual assault. I’m here to tell you it is, and here’s why. (*)

As a woman, a corner of my brain is always assessing whether the men around me are about to do something that will put me in danger of sexual assault.

If I should be assaulted, I will be asked to explain my choice to be at the location of the assault, especially if I am alone. Unless a secondary charge of break and enter applies – a separate crime that will be treated differently and without bias – my assailant will not.

If I should be assaulted, I will be asked to explain my clothing choices. My assailant’s clothing will be considered irrelevant.

If I should know my assailant by name, I will be asked to detail all previous interactions with him. I will be asked to prove that no previous interaction could be held up as “leading him on”. If my previous interactions appear to do this, my assailant will be seen as less responsible for his assault on me. My assailant’s previous actions will count against him only if I have demonstrably never interacted with him – that is, only if he has engaged in provable stalking.

If I should be assaulted whilst alone with a man I have chosen to accompany, whether it be to a car for a lift, on a first date, or a quiet corner at a party or nightclub, I will be asked to explain why I chose to be alone with him. My assailant will not be asked to explain what intentions he communicated to me when I made my decision.

If I should be assaulted whilst intoxicated, mildly or otherwise, I will be asked to explain why I chose to become intoxicated. My assailant’s actions will be judged less harshly if I am intoxicated. My assailant will not be asked to justify his intoxication, and his actions will be judged still less harshly should he be so.

If I should be assaulted after I have engaged in consensual romantic contact with my assailant, such as kissing or touching, I will be asked to explain why I chose to do so. I will be asked to explain why I chose to stop. My assailant will not be asked why he chose to continue.

If I should be assaulted under any circumstances, I will be asked to prove that I clearly, loudly and verbally said the word, “No,” or the word, “Stop.” I will be asked to prove that my assailant heard and understood me. If I indicated my lack of consent in any other way, such as screaming, running, crying, freezing, scratching, kicking, hitting, speaking words other than “no” or “stop”, or if I said the words “don’t” and “stop” close to one other, or if I was not loud enough when I spoke them, my assailant will be judged less harshly. This is especially so if I have given consent to a certain act, but not to another. My assailant will not be asked to prove that I clearly, loudly and verbally said the word, “Yes.”

If I should be assaulted, but not physically injured or not visibly physically injured, I will be asked to explain why I consider my assailant’s act to be assault. My assailant will be treated less harshly if I am not visibly injured.

If I should be assaulted, various people will attempt to convince me that my experience does not count as assault, or that my experience is not serious enough to pursue criminally, legally or otherwise officially. These people may be my family, my friends, law enforcement personnel, medical personnel, legal practitioners, employers, media, members of the public, and my assailant himself. The same people may try to convince my assailant that what he did was not assault.

Should my assault take the form of rape, and should the media report on it, it is likely that the word ‘rape’ will not be used in reporting. Instead, articles will state that I ‘had sex with’ my rapist. It is likely that articles will focus on me and my actions, not that of my rapist. In some articles, if it is acknowledged that I was raped, there will be no mention of my rapist at all. Instead, the article will state that ‘a woman was raped’. My rapist will not have his actions examined by the media.

Should I be assaulted by one or more young boys or teenagers, especially if I am a young woman of similar age, their actions may be explained and accepted as “boys will be boys,” or “sowing wild oats”. If their assault on me is their first sexual experience, this will be especially true. My assailant or assailants’ actions will be judged less harshly, and in some circles, congratulated. I will be called a slut.

Should I be assaulted, and my appearance is such that I am not considered to be sexually attractive, due to my age, weight or physical features, I will be told I should be grateful for my assault. Some will tell me I am engaging in wishful thinking, and that my assault could not have happened. My assailant may be ridiculed for his choice of victim, unless he was intoxicated when he assaulted me. I will feel humiliated, and my assault will still have happened.

Should I be assaulted, and also suffer a preexisting physical or intellectual disability, I may struggle to communicate what has happened to me. If I cannot speak, the tools provided to me to communicate with others may lack ways to articulate sexual assault. I may be considered to be confused about what happened to me. Depending on my disability, some may consider me “lucky” to be assaulted. My assailant, if convicted, will be reviled more than if I did not suffer a disability. Why is this?

Should I be assaulted by a person who is regarded as a celebrity, the fact of their celebrity will be used as an argument or proof of why my assault could not have occurred. I will be asked to explain why my assailant, widely believed to be “a nice guy”, would assault me. I will be asked to explain why my right to justice is worth more than my assailant’s career. I will be asked to prove that I am not pursuing my complaint for monetary gain. My assailant will be presumed innocent, or presumed above the law.

Should I be coerced or threatened before I am assaulted, so that I am silent or so that I perform the acts demanded of me out of fear, I will be asked to explain why my compliance under threat does not amount to consent. My assailant will not be asked to justify his threats to me.

If I should have a previous sexual relationship with my assailant, no matter how long ago or how briefly, I will be asked to explain my sexual life in minute detail. If my explanation includes a suggestion that I may enjoy or have a history of rough sex, my assailant’s actions may be judged reasonable and my accusation unfounded. My assailant will not be asked to detail his sexual history.

If I should decide to report my assault, aware of the above, I will be one of 15% of assaulted Australian women who choose to do so every year. I have a 17% chance of seeing my assailant convicted. Should my case go to trial, it is likely that I will be asked all of these questions when I am on the witness stand. My assailant and his legal team will try to convince the jury of my peers – the same peers who fill comment threads with victim-blaming statements all over the internet – that I am a slut and deserved my assault, or that I am lying about being assaulted, or that I wanted to be assaulted, or that I consented to the assault and later changed my mind.

To disprove “beyond reasonable doubt”, all my assailant must do is convince some of my juror peers that any of these may be true. Convincing evidence may not need to be presented.

Should I choose to report my assault, I will stand public trial for having a vagina. If I am sexually active, I will stand trial for using my vagina. My assailant will not stand trial for possessing a penis. His sexual history will not be public record.

This is rape culture, patriarchy, a legal system suffering from cultural bias. And no, rape is not fucking funny.

* (Yes, I know men can be sexually assaulted too. Yes, I know women can be sexual predators too. I do not wish to minimize or obscure these facts. However, for the purposes of this rant, I am speaking for the overwhelmingly greater prevalence of male assaults on women. That said, should my brother be assaulted by a woman, especially if she is considered conventionally attractive, then he will be told he’s lucky and should have enjoyed it. That’s just as goddamn fucked up.)

There are no free passes today. You’re still an asshole.

Australia Day, Invasion Day. Apparently there’s a move to blog for it, and here I am squeaking in at 11:30pm after spending the day doing housework and hanging out with friends around the BBQ, listening to Triple J count down the year’s Hottest 100. (I think I’m getting too old for Triple J’s main demographic: I thought this years’ top 10 pretty much sucked.)

That’s Australia Day to me: Hottest 100 Day, and that’s my privilege talking – I can choose to consider or not that today is a day of mourning for Indigenous Australians, that January 26 marks the start of European persecution. So it seems a no-brainer to me that if we want to celebrate what we say we want to celebrate, ie, being proud of being a nation, then move the damn holiday. Plunk it on the anniversary of Federation, and stop rubbing all our faces in apparently being proud of the actions of the first colonisers. Inclusiveness: y’r doin it rong.

I went for a walk this evening, and my blood is still boiling from the asshole behaviour I witnessed. A flag-bedecked – and by flag-bedecked, I mean they’d managed to stick at least six made-in-China flags on the outside of the car –  Ford full of young, white, male assholes sped down the local shopping strip street, occupants screaming out the windows at non-white passers by:  “Go home, you fucking faggots, if you don’t love this country!” Oh, yeah, you classy fucking dropkicks.

I was too far away to yell back that they should go the fuck home themselves and keep their toxic, racist, homophobic bullshit to themselves. I hate that that behaviour went unchallenged in the eyes and ears of the non-white Australians who experienced it. Ugh.

Australia Day, huh. What a great holiday. “Let’s be racist fucksticks: we’re allowed today!” is just what we need here in a country too damn prone to jingoism.

Australia Day makes me ashamed far more often then it makes me proud. And I say that as one of that multitude who sport Southern Cross tattoos.

For a bit of an antidote, Hoyden About Town has a cheering anecdote re: assholes losing the fight.

Wanker of the Day

Today’s overheard fuckwittage: Some guy calling up Triple J to inform the nation that he just loves to get free food from fast-food drive-throughs. How does he accomplish this?

Why, by driving naked, of course! Our Wanker of the Day asserts that showing up late at night and naked to demand free food works three times out of four. Why? Because the teller is so shocked.

Wanker of the Day thinks he’s hilarious, and unfortunately, so does Triple J’s (female) presenter.

Dear Wanker and Enablers, you are not funny. You are employing sexually charged intimidation, and you are most likely terrifying the already hapless late night fast food employee. If the employee is female, then you are most definitely behaving in a threatening manner.

You have forced the teller to look at your naked body. You have drawn attention to it, in fact, with your stated line: “I’m naked, give me free food.” This is a power play of a very base sort, on the level with the sad old man on the train who shows his naked penis to young women because, I suppose, intimidation is fun for him. In doing this, you have shocked and possibly frightened the employee. If she is female, she is now frightened of sexual assault. If he is male, at best he thinks you’re a raving lunatic, if he isn’t afraid as well.

You have made a demand, and appeared to be unstable (because who drives around naked?). The teller’s natural assumption will be that if your demand for fries is not met, you will escalate your behaviour. You have now caused the employee to fear for their physical safety, if they did not already.

So, in exchange for your Friday night giggle and a $1.95 bag of fries, you have shocked, frightened, intimidated and instilled a fear of sexual and/or physical assault in another person. That person, if they are stuck on late-night fast food drive-through duty, is probably young, inexperienced, and not well equipped to tell you what a complete asshole you are. They’re certainly not paid enough to put up with you.

So, Wanker of the Day, let me take care of that. You are an asshole, and you’re not funny. If you must run around naked, do it in your backyard.