Asking a person to acknowledge how pervasive an oppressive system is directly challenges their place within it, and that makes people uncomfortable. It makes people angry. And it’s easier to dismiss someone than admit you don’t have all the answers.
This is particularly true when the subject is male violence against women, whether that abuse is sexual, psychological, physical or some combination of all of the above.
In no other realm would anyone try to argue that a person’s experience with a subject actually disqualifies them from offering an opinion about it.
Imagine telling a veteran that they’re too emotionally connected to the subject of war to discuss it properly. Anyone making that argument in public would be dismissed as a crank—and they should be, because it’s an absurd argument. We otherwise readily acknowledge that a person’s direct experience with a subject makes them more qualified to discuss it. It doesn’t grant them infallibility, of course. Nobody can lay claim to that. We’re talking about some level of expertise that the average person doesn’t necessarily possess.
But we hold women to a different standard when the subject is abuse. And then we dismiss them as conspiracy theorists when they start to talk about the existence of a rape culture.
Because for every one man who praises us, speaking the truth, there are thousands who attack us quiet without motivation.
Moderata Fonte (1600)
While procrastinating on my thesis, I’m reading some work by early modern women writers. Moderata Fonte has been one of my favorite authors since my professor told me to read The Worth of Women: Wherein Is Clearly Revealed Their Nobility and Their Superiority to Men. She was writing about women’s rights before the term was even invented.
I know I originally posted this but i love Moderata Fonte. If you want some good “Renaissance Feminist” work, you should check out The Worth of Women: Wherein Is Clearly Revealed Their Nobility and Their Superiority to Men.(via lipsredasroses)
Janet Mock on Beyoncé’s feminism.
We can be sexual, sexy and flawless while advocating and fighting and educating and uplifting and critiquing and challenging and giving and everything.
good news, janet mock is excellent,
Walking through the house singing “Today is the day that Crista yells at MRAs on her commmmputer”
Cause srsly. I’m doing a lot of yelling.
tumblr’s here’s a blog thing just decided to stick a huuuuuge photo post of MRA horribad in my feed.
Today is going to be a day where I make it through with my hands balled into fists, it appears.
Kids please don’t think that it’s unusual or special to be dating someone with whom you can watch netflix and eat pizza and hold hands and also have hot sex with
It concerns me when I see millions of notes on a post that’s like “fuck me hard but also be sweet with me”
Like what kinds of relationships are you in that you think this is a revolutionary thing to ask
twelve and a half hours until I can play sims 4.
This is what is holding my sanity together today.
Think that my ten weeks without a panic attack streak is about to end.
I’m sorry that we live in a culture that commodifies sexuality of unwilling participants.
Let’s play out the scenario for the one in millions chance that someone in the presence of someone who wants to assault her is wearing the nail polish, coyly gets her finger into the drink, and spots the color change. Then what? How does it end? If this person is willing to go to such lengths to harm her, they won’t be phased by her setting her drink down. So let’s say she gets away or finds help. Does she call the police to report the activity of her fingernails? What happens when the next person this predator wants to harm opts for her favorite OPI shade that weekend?
How does it end?
It doesn’t; not with nail polish, anyway.
(…)This product does nothing to dismantle a culture of violence against women that demands we constantly become ever more vigilant against those who would do us harm. Undercover Colors, like so many other products, treats rape as an individual incident rather than a systemic and pervasive problem. Despite the never ending stream of prevention products, the statistics haven’t improved.
When my husband [Carl Sagan] died, because he was so famous and known for not being a believer, many people would come up to me — it still sometimes happens — and ask me if Carl changed at the end and converted to a belief in an afterlife. They also frequently ask me if I think I will see him again.
Carl faced his death with unflagging courage and never sought refuge in illusions. The tragedy was that we knew we would never see each other again. I don’t ever expect to be reunited with Carl. But, the great thing is that when we were together, for nearly twenty years, we lived with a vivid appreciation of how brief and precious life is. We never trivialized the meaning of death by pretending it was anything other than a final parting. Every single moment that we were alive and we were together was miraculous — not miraculous in the sense of inexplicable or supernatural. We knew we were beneficiaries of chance… That pure chance could be so generous and so kind… That we could find each other, as Carl wrote so beautifully in Cosmos, you know, in the vastness of space and the immensity of time… That we could be together for twenty years. That is something which sustains me and it’s much more meaningful.
The way he treated me and the way I treated him, the way we took care of each other and our family, while he lived. That is so much more important than the idea I will see him someday. I don’t think I’ll ever see Carl again. But I saw him. We saw each other. We found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful.