A ranty, funny, dead-serious intersectional feminist blog.

Posts tagged “abuse

Why Did I Stay? A Survivor’s Story

Power and Control Wheel

Trigger warning for domestic violence and death threats.

You see it happening in the world. You see how the abused stay with their abusers to be hurt again and again, and you tell yourself that will never be you.

It was never going to be me. But then, at age 19, when I moved from California to Texas with my not-quite-2-year-old to follow my 36-year-old “boyfriend,” I didn’t know that the man I thought I was in love with had a dark side that would scar me for life in more ways than one.

But he was charming and he made me feel loved. We had a nice life and I felt useful and grown up, helping him run the family business and keeping our house while I cared for my daughter. And at 19 I had no real understanding of how relationships are supposed to work. I’m not sure I do at 53.

The first red flag I can remember is when his nephew, an old neighborhood friend much closer to my age, came to visit. When he came in the door from the airport we hugged, and I learned that hugging other men was not allowed. Before long I learned that looking at other men out the car window wasn’t allowed, either.

Power and Control Wheel

Power and Control Wheel via National Domestic Violence Hotline 1.800.799.SAFE (7233)

(See also: Power and Control Wheel for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans Relationships)

But he made me feel loved and he was sweet most of the time and I just kept telling myself that love was enough. Because that’s what I had learned from everything I’d seen in the movies and on tv. If you love someone enough, it all works out. You find your diamond in the rough, polish him up, and bam, happily ever after.

Things got worse. He got more controlling and critical and left me alone for long periods to deal with things like packing our entire house for fumigation while he took his son to play softball and then putting the fear of God in me when I showed up at the diamond to tell him off. I wrote my mom long, anguished letters comparing him to my dad, for reasons that make even more sense in retrospect. I got a job and was terrified to form relationships with my male coworkers lest he catch me laughing with them (he never visited me at work, but he kept me vigilant all the same).

I was miserable and so I got together enough cash for a Greyhound ticket and spent 3 days on that bastard with my toddler. I woke in the spare room at my dad’s house a few days later from a dream that I was back in Texas, back in that house with my abuser, and before the flood of relief had fully hit, my dad was in the doorway telling me that my abuser was on the phone and I should deal with him directly rather than avoiding the situation. But on the phone he begged and pleaded, he said he was getting help for his anger, he wanted to have babies, he was driving out to get me. And I capitulated. And even as I awaited his coming, a sick feeling formed in my gut. But our reunion was sweet and passionate and romantic and we drove back to Texas a family. We went back to our life and things were okay for a while.

The real darkness fell one early evening during the holiday season. We were at a party, we’d both had drinks, and I made the mistake of thinking I could joke with his right-hand man, who I saw every day. I was wrong, and was reprimanded right there and then. Alcohol gave me courage, and I left the party and hitchhiked home in the dark.

He came home in a rage—not only had I left him at the party but I’d allowed a man to drive me home—and knocked me around our bedroom a bit. He picked up a putty knife from the dresser (being a house painter by profession) and jabbed me in the face with it, saying he’d make sure no man would ever find me attractive again (cliché much?). He jabbed fingers into my eyes, and in a certain light, I can see the scars he left there (in addition to the one on my cheek which has faded now). He said he’d bury me out in one of the empty fields near our growing housing development and I believed him.

My daughter woke up crying in her room during all this and he let me go and get her. I don’t know what all she saw, but I know she cried as he shouted and threatened me. It wasn’t long, thankfully, before someone knocked on the door. He left the room and I grabbed my daughter and fled out a back door off the master bath. I’ve never seen a master bath with a back door before or since, but I’ll always be grateful for that one. I ran out the back gate across a field carrying my 30lb child and came to a house where a family let me in and called a local pastor to come and take me to a shelter. I sat in their living room waiting and said “I know about those women who go back, and that’s not going to be me.”

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What is Domestic Violence? via the National Domestic Violence Hotline

We spent the night in a women’s shelter, had breakfast, listened to a sermon, and then I started making phone calls. The first was to a mentor who I truly thought would come to my rescue, but she told me that it was his responsibility to get me home from Texas. Then I called my dad, who told me I probably did something to piss him off and I should go back and work it out. My dad promised to send me some money I could put away if I ever wanted to come home. I don’t remember whether that money ever came, but it wasn’t there when I needed it.

My final call was to the man who had put me in the women’s shelter, and he was SO relieved to hear from me. He said he’d woken up on the living room floor blacked out and couldn’t remember what happened. I told him what he’d done and he apologized, cried, swore he’d never do it again, begged me to come home. So I did.

All was lovely for a time, but of course it wasn’t long before he blew another fuse, and all it took this time was an angry tongue-lashing for me to pack a few things, call a cab, and get out. That cabby drove me all over Katy, TX as I pawned jewelry and he ultimately didn’t charge me when he dropped us off near a bus station. I bought a ticket to Waco, home of Dr. Pepper and the Branch Davidians, and at 2am, I introduced myself and my 2-yr-old to my paternal grandfather for the first time. My grandpa was a flawed man, but in that moment he was my hero. He took us in, paraded us around town proudly for all his friends to see, showed us where our ancestors are buried, and spent his Social Security check to buy us a plane ticket back home and there we stayed, me looking over my shoulder for months and waking up from that same dream of being back in Texas and wondering how the hell I was going to get us out again.

But…that’s where it finally ended.

Why did I stay with my abuser? I thought he loved me and I loved him and I thought that love would get us through it.

Why did I go back? The support network I thought I had—that I should have had—failed me and he said all the right things. Twice.

How did I get out? I was lucky. If he’d found me, he might have killed me like he promised to do the first time and for months I was terrified he would. Most abused women whose abusers murder them don’t die until after they leave

What can we do? We can listen to survivors of domestic abuse when they tell their stories and give them space to do so. We can donate to the organizations that support them before and after they leave. And finally, we can stop asking the first two questions above because they aren’t useful. They don’t help us ensure that when an abuse victim decides it’s time to get out, they can formulate a plan to do so safely. They don’t help us ensure that once they’re out, they are protected from their abuser. What they do—what our society so often does—is focus on how the abused might have behaved differently while ignoring the fact that the behavioral problem here is with the person who perpetrated the abuse.

So, that’s my call to action: Support abuse survivors. Stop putting the blame on the victim. And if you’re determined to ask “why?” 

Ask abusers.


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In the US: The National Domestic Violence Hotline offers phone and chat services for anyone affected by domestic violence. Support is available 24/7/365 by calling 1.800.799.SAFE (7233), 1.800.787.3224 (TTY) or online at thehotline.org.

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In the UK: 24-hour National Domestic Violence
Freephone Helpline
0808 2000 247


PSA: Abusive commenters will be deleted and banned, so kindly piss off in advance. (Comment Policy)


Related:

A Brief History (the Bad Parts Version) (Make Me a Sammich)

Private Violence: up to 75% of abused women who are murdered are killed after they leave their partners (The Guardian)

National Domestic Violence Hotline (online chat available)


Not All Men, But These Ones

SAYNOTALLMENAGAIN

Trigger Warning for the many ways we experience violence at the hands of (not all) men, including CSA, SA, rape, VAWG.

I saw a quote a while back that hit home for me. I can’t find it now, but it went something like this:

The issue is not that all men are violent. The issue is that nearly all women have experienced violence at the hands of men.

The sad but true fact is that while not all men are violent, men do commit violence against women and non-binary people (and other men—in fact, according to the FBI, most violent crimes are committed by men).

I have told parts of my story before here and there. And I suspect that I will do so again. In this case, I’m reprising my tale now in order to join others who have shared their litanies of violence as a counter to the superfluous yet oh-so-ubiquitous cries of “not all men.” Because FFS, dudes. Enough already.

derail“Not all men” is a derailing tactic and serves literally no other purpose than to focus attention away from male violence and center it on the man decrying the unfairness of it all.

When people who are not men say “men do this,” we’re reporting that our experience is that enough men do this that it stands out that men do this. The fact that men do this contributes to an overall feeling of oppression. Men do engage in behaviors that perpetuate patriarchy. Men do engage in behaviors that perpetuate sexism and misogyny. Men do these things without even thinking about them because the men who came before them did it and because too often no one does so much as turn away in disapproval when it happens.

Not all men did these things to me, but these men did.

The man who sucked my tongue, fondled my genitals, and taught me to give him a blow job when I was three.

The man who was my uncle by marriage and came in my mouth when I was six, then spent hours trying to get into my underwear as we camped out in the yard.

The man who fondled my nipples when I was seven or eight during a nighttime hide-and-go-seek game at my cousin’s house.

The man who flexed his exposed erection at me and my friend when we were 9 via the leg of his shorts.

The man—a trusted family friend—who gave me music lessons when I was 9 and performed oral sex on me while my parents weren’t home.

The man who used a finger cot to make his penis small enough to fit inside me when I was 10. Who also gave me a cigar tube to practice with at home.

The man who pulled his truck over as I walked down the street, opened his door, stepped out naked and masturbated while staring at me.

The 14-year-old boy who violently raped me when I was 12 and smoking weed with him in a fort behind my neighbor’s house.

The man who had sex with me in his van knowing that I was a 12-year-old rape victim (but probably not really believing that second part).

The boys and men who repeatedly “pantsed” me over my loud objections and ridiculed me when I was angry.

The two men who took turns raping me while I was passed out drunk at my first kegger when I was 14.

The many, many men—adults—who gave me alcohol and drugs and got their rocks off on me when I was a troubled teen.

The man who exposed his genitals to me in a grocery store parking lot when I was 16.

The man who spent a drunken night trying to coerce me into sleeping with him when I was 16.

The man who raped me when I was 16 because I said no after a night of partying with him and his friend.

The man who attempted to grab me on a dark street as I rode my bike to a friend’s house, 16 and pregnant, and only stopped because I scared him with my primal and guttural GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME.

The man who beat the shit out of me in front of my 2-year-old for leaving a party when I was 18.

The man who decided that the fact that I was unconscious on his sofa meant he could go ahead and rape me.

The man who thought because we were friends and had been sexual in the past, it was ok to straddle my drunken body and ejaculate on my chest after I said no to sex.

The many men who have wished me harm here on my blog and on social media.

How many men is enough? How many men must commit violence upon my person before it’s ok if I just say “men did this”?

Men did these things. Not all men. But enough of them that this list is not even complete. Men did these things. And every time some dude Kool-Aid-Mans into a thread where people who are not men discuss male violence to declare that not all men did these things, the only thing he makes clear is that he is utterly ignorant and unwilling to listen to people who are not just like him.

Not all men. Just dozens of men in my case. Hundreds if you count my circle of friends and relatives. Thousands if you count their friends and the people they love.

And that’s enough.


PSA: Abusive commenters will be deleted and banned, so kindly piss off in advance. (Comment Policy)


Related on MMAS:

 


Another Day, Another Name, Another Hashtag

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image via @KhaledBeydoun on Twitter

August 18, 2015 – Today I added two names and found this, listing the names (and when available, photos) of 100 unarmed Black people killed by police in 2014. In one year.

Last weekend I attend a rally in Seattle where Bernie Sanders was to speak. As you might have heard, some of Seattle’s Black Lives Matter activists staged a protest, following up on the recent action at Netroots Nation in Phoenix in July. At that event, Sanders had complained rather than choosing to listen to and empathize with the activists. (Joe Biden did a much better job dealing with the protest during his speech at Netroots Nation 2014, which by the way is a CONFERENCE OF SOCIAL JUSTICE ACTIVISTS and there is a protest pretty much EVERY TIME a politician speaks, so why Bernie didn’t see that coming I’ll never know.)

Anyway, BLM takes the stage, and cue the angry white people in the audience and on every social media network criticizing tactics as though their opinions matter one whit to Black people when deciding how to shed light on the crisis of Black lives lost every day to police violence. Angry white people claiming, as the privileged always do when they don’t like the “timing” or target of a protest staged by marginalized people, that this action “did more harm than good to the movement” as if they have the first clue about what the actual goals of such an action might be (hint: pretty sure it wasn’t to make white people like them more). Angry white people announcing that, as a result of one action they don’t agree with, that they would no longer support BLM. From the boos and fuck yous and outright harassment of the activists by white people at the rally to the privilege displayed by white and non-black people since, this has been a stark reminder for me and others that “progressive” liberals just keep earning the “fauxgressive” label, and that as far as we’ve come, those of us who are not Black have so much work to do within our communities to make non-Black people aware that listening to Black people—really spending some time listening to their voices and lived experiences—is the only way they will ever come close to understanding their lives, their struggles, their pain, and how we benefit from the very system that oppresses them. It’s the only way we can ever begin to know what it is to live in this country ruled by white people.

And it’s the only way we can begin to get that while we have a job to do in this movement (see above), it sure as hell isn’t telling Black people what will and will not win us as allies. Allies in a fight to save black lives should not have to be won. If something BLM does makes you turn away from the entire movement, you were not an ally in this fight, and the movement loses nothing. If your allyship requires polite protest aimed only at targets you deem correct at times you deem appropriate, what kind of ally are you, really? (Hint: You’re not an ally.)

Bernie didn’t speak at the rally, but he wasn’t “forced off the stage.” He left after declining to engage with Marissa Johnson and Mara Willaford and the organizers decided to end the event. Bernie chose to spend his time out among the mostly white crowd shaking hands and kissing babies. I saw him and thanked him for coming. He’d been smiling, but glanced at my chest where my Black Lives Matter button hung, and his expression changed.

I’ll probably write more on the BLM Bernie Sanders action and rebut some of the white fragility, derailment, etc. I have seen over the past week. For now, suffice to say that I support Black Lives Matter because I love and support Black people. The rally was uncomfortable once BLM took the stage, but the reactions of white Seattle “progressives” made me far more uncomfortable than the protest or the interruption to my plans. And here’s the thing: if we’re dedicated to working for racial equality, I believe we have to be ok with some discomfort in the service of change, and we have to support those Black people doing this work who are brave enough to take chances and make targets of themselves even if we don’t quite understand their choices, motives, or goals. It’s not about us. It’s just not.

Related: Hilary talks with BLM Massachusetts members.


July 27, 2015
 – Yesterday I added six more names to this list. Today I added one more. Since I wrote this post, I’ve added several. All are unarmed Black people killed by police or who died in police custody under circumstances that have caused many to question the official story (and this list is not exhaustive by any means). Sadly, this doesn’t generally include the media, who report as fact whatever the police tell them and waste no time in smearing the victims. And it doesn’t include a lot of ignorant people who seem to think that “Contempt of Cop” is a capital crime.

News Flash: It’s not illegal to be rude to a cop. There is no law that says you must be courteous. A police officer does not have the right to detain or arrest a citizen for talking back, and if one chooses to do so and that citizen ends up dead at the hands of police, the fault does not lie with the victim because they should have been more polite. If police can’t keep from killing citizens because they’re pissed off that said citizens aren’t showing enough respect, the problem is with police culture, not disrespectful citizens. When police kill Black people at a rate of two per week in the United States, and when so many of those people are unarmed, the problem is racism in police culture, not Black people talking back, running away, or being terrifying lethal weapons in and of themselves. And when white people accept this state of things—worse, when we defend it—we are participating in maintaining white supremacy. We are perpetuating the very system that privileges whiteness and tramples non-white people underfoot. And those who lose their lives as a result of this system we benefit from? Their blood is on our hands.

April 30, 2015 – Another day has passed, and another officer of the law has gunned down an unarmed Black person. And still white people argue that “it’s not about black and white” and “we need to focus on the real issues.”

The real issue is institutional racism, and you’re damned right it deserves our focus. The issue is that our justice system supports white supremacy. The issue is that cop culture teaches that citizens are the enemy and that some citizens are less-than-human and at the same time more dangerous—deadly weapons in and of themselves, with the ability to Hulk out when the need arises.

The list below—which includes men and women, adults and children—keeps growing. And as it does, so does the “unrest” among citizens who wonder whether they’ll be the next name, the next hashtag.

Meanwhile, white folks lament property damage and wonder why everything has to be “about race.”

#ChristianTaylor #RalkinaJones #SandraBland #JonathanSanders #KindraChapman #KimberleeKing #NatashaMcKenna #‎TerrenceKellum #‎FreddieGray #CarolineSmall #‎ErvinEdwards #‎EricHarris #‎TamirRice #‎AiyanaJones #‎MikeBrown #‎JohnCrawford #‎RekiaBoyd #‎EricGarner #DontreHamilton #TonyRobinson #‎YvetteSmith #‎OscarGrant #‎ShellyFrey #‎TyreeWoodson #‎WalterScott #‎TanishaAnderson #‎RumainBrisbon #‎AkaiGurley #‎KajiemePowell #‎EzellFord #‎DanteParker #‎ShereeseFrancis #‎VictorWhite #‎TarikaWilson #‎KathrynJohnston #‎JordanBaker #‎JonathanFerrell #‎AlbertaSpruill #‎PearlieGolden #‎EleanorBumpurs #SeanBell #AmadouDiallo #LarryJackson #DeionFludd #KimaniGray #TimothyRussell #ChavisCarter #SharmelEdwards #TamonRobinson #KendrecMcDade #WendellAllen #ManuelLoggins #RamarleyGraham #KennethChamberlain #ReginaldDoucet #DerrickJones #StevenWashington #AaronCampbell #KiwaneCarrington #VictorSteen #ShemWalker #DeAuntaFarrow #HenryGlover #RonaldMadison #JamesBrisette #TimothyStansbury #OusmaneZongo #OrlandoBarlow #TimothyThomas #PrinceJones #MalcolmFerguson #StephonWatts

The other day in the train station I chatted with a Black man who joked that a problem in our station would be solved when the white people complained about it. We laughed and shook our heads and sighed. We both knew he was right on the money.

Wake the fuck up, white people. It IS about race. And it’s not going to get fixed until the white people complain. It’s not going to stop until we stop it.


Note: I am adding names to the hashtag list as I become aware of them.


PSA: Abusive commenters will be deleted and banned, so kindly piss off in advance. (Comment Policy)


10 Reasons We Need to #StopWoody

Trigger warning for discussion of childhood sexual abuse (CSA)

As many of you know, I launched the #StopWoody campaign over a month ago when I learned that Amazon Studios was teaming up with Woody Allen to create a new TV show. Here are ten good reasons to join over 600 supporters and sign the petition asking Amazon to reconsider this partnership.

Click to sign.

10.  Because Woody Allen’s contributions to the arts are not more important than his victim(s).

9.  Because for our society to continue celebrating predators like Allen, Cosby, and Polanski is a message to all sexual abuse survivors that if an abuser is powerful enough, he can do whatever he wants to us and no one will hold him accountable. It sends a message to other powerful abusers that they can continue abusing with impunity.

8. Because a search of photos of Dylan with Woody Allen show a heartbreakingly miserable child. Because photos of Woody Allen with his and Soon-Yi’s children show more unhappy girls with body language that reads like they’d rather be anywhere else.

Note: I haven’t included childhood photos of Dylan or of Soon-Yi or her daughters because I don’t want to be part of victimizing them in any way.

7. Because the judge in Allen’s 1993 custody case found no evidence Dylan had been coached and had this to say after hearing all the evidence:

StopWoodyWilkQuote

6. Because while Soon-Yi is now a grown woman who makes her own choices, at the time she and Woody’s relationship began she was a very young woman (possibly even an underaged girl) involved with a man who had been an authority figure in her life, regardless of legalities. Woody Allen was in a position of power over Soon-Yi and that dynamic cannot be ignored when evaluating their relationship. The sad fact is that some people marry their childhood abusers, but that does not change the fact of abuse.

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5. Because the state attorney found probable cause to file charges against Allen but chose not to proceed because he believed (and her mother agreed) that it would further traumatize “the child victim.”

4. Because like Mia Farrow, many parents of CSA victims choose not to pursue criminal charges against their child’s abuser in order to spare them further trauma. (This was even more often the case when Dylan was a child.) This means that many child predators have never been charged with or convicted of a crime and that presumed innocence in the court of public opinion—i.e., demanding “proof of guilt” in order to believe and support survivors—actually favors the abuser and leaves survivors out in the cold.

3. Because Allen’s films and plays are full of everything from blithe references to jokes about child molestation and fantasies about older men played by him having “relationships” with underage girls. Because Woody Allen is a predator who very likely has harmed multiple victims and who, like Bill Cosby, feels so confident in his position of power that he says things like this and we’re supposed to take the “joke”:

StopWoodyHeader3med

2. Because when I was nine, I watched my dad shake the hand of one of my abusers and never forgot that image, and other CSA survivors carry similar memories of times when they felt unprotected, unsupported, disbelieved. Because there’s a good chance that not only will Allen get a tv show, but that actors we like will work with him, people will talk about how great the show is on our social media feeds, Allen will win awards, and Hollywood and society will continue to treat him as though he’s too important to face consequences, and whenever I think of those things, I feel the way I did that day when I was nine years old: like the world keeps shaking Woody’s hand instead of telling him to get the hell out of here and never come back. Because so many CSA survivors know what it’s like to tell their stories and be treated like liars or worse by the people who should be protecting and supporting them.

Because survivors deserve better.

1. Because Dylan had nothing to gain from telling her story, and she knowingly risked—and endured—public abuse as a result. Because as some of us know from life experience that what Dylan describes in her account is an accurate portrait of childhood sexual abuse. Because false CSA allegations are rare.

Because believing survivors means you’ll be right nearly 100% of the time.

I think that’s more than enough reason. So let’s do this.


sign

Please stand with Dylan and me and all CSA survivors. Sign the petition. Tweet on the #StopWoody hashtag and at @RoyPrice, @Amazon, @Amazon_Studios. Help us fight this culture that uplifts powerful predators at the expense of their victims. Help us #StopWoody.


PSA: Abusive commenters will be deleted and banned, so kindly piss off in advance. (Comment Policy)


Why #StopWoody Is Important to Me

A girl very much like I was.

A girl very much like I was.

*Trigger warning for CSA*

Some of you will know that I’m a survivor of childhood sexual abuse (CSA). When I heard that Amazon has signed Woody Allen to create a new TV show for them, it reminded me of this story:

When I was nine years old, a family friend was sexually abusing me. This was unfortunately not my first experience with CSA, but it was my first experience with ongoing abuse. I was utterly terrified my mom would find out what was going on and *I* would be in trouble. When I say “terrified” please understand that I lived my life in fear. When I finally, in a screaming fit of terror, confessed “my” crimes to my mother, she did her best to help me understand it wasn’t my fault.

Soon after, as we got in the car as a family to go somewhere together, my abuser pulled up in his car behind us and my stomach lurched as my mom told my dad he needed to go deal with it. I had no idea what to expect, but a confrontation of some sort seemed to be on the menu. I watched in the rearview window as my dad smiled, shook my abuser’s hand, and got back into the car.

The feeling I have when I think of that moment is the feeling that keeps coming back to me whenever I think of this—whenever I think of scrolling through my Amazon options and coming across a thumbnail of Woody’s latest offering. It’s that feeling that my abuse doesn’t count—that my abuser is “acceptable” to the society I live in.

I’m not alone in this, I know.

And can you even imagine how Dylan will feel?

THIS IS NOT OK WITH ME. None of it.

I am fighting for the kids who can’t fight for themselves. I am fighting for the kid I was—the kid my dad didn’t fight for.

This is why I started #StopWoody and wrote this petition to ask Amazon to drop him.

Please stand with Dylan and me and all CSA survivors. Sign the petition. Tweet on the hashtag and at @RoyPrice, @Amazon, @Amazon_Studios. Help us fight this culture that uplifts powerful predators at the expense of their victims.

Click to sign.

Click to sign.

Love,
Rosie


PSA: Abusive commenters will be deleted and banned, so kindly piss off in advance. (Comment Policy)


Related:


Amazon Studios: Stand With CSA Survivors and #StopWoody

Today I learned that Amazon Studios has signed child predator Woody Allen to create a new TV show. That’s all I wanted to know about that, so I don’t have any other details. I’ve been tweeting in protest today on the hashtag #StopWoody along with other survivors and allies, and have also worked up a petition at Change.org. The text is below.

Here is a post explaining why #StopWoody is important to me.

Please, if you can, stand with me as I fight for the kids who can’t fight for themselves. For the kid I was.

Please sign and share the petition.

StopWoody

Click to sign!

We, the undersigned, are survivors of childhood sexual abuse and people who love and support survivors. We stand together against Amazon Studio’s decision to contract with Woody Allen, accused of sexually abusing Dylan Farrow, to create a television show.

While Woody Allen has not been convicted of a crime, the judge in Allen’s custody suit expressed deep concerns about Allen’s behavior toward Dylan:

In his 33-page decision, Judge Wilk found that Mr. Allen’s behavior toward Dylan was “grossly inappropriate and that measures must be taken to protect her.” The judge also recounts Farrow’s misgivings regarding Allen’s behavior toward Dylan from the time she was between two and three years old. According to the judge’s decision, Farrow told Allen, “You look at her [Dylan] in a sexual way. You fondled her . . . You don’t give her any breathing room. You look at her when she’s naked.” (Vanity Fair)

StopWoodyWilkQuote

After the judge denied Allen visitation rights, the state attorney decided to drop the case in order to spare Dylan from further trauma:

The state attorney, Maco, said publicly he did have probable cause to press charges against Allen but declined, due to the fragility of the “child victim.” Maco told me that he refused to put Dylan through an exhausting trial, and without her on the stand, he could not prosecute Allen. (Vanity Fair)

What is clear from the facts is that we have every reason to believe Dylan and none to stand with and protect her abuser. By partnering with Allen, Amazon and Amazon Studios sends the message to survivors that you don’t believe Dylan Farrow’s account of her abuse at his hands. This is a tragically common reaction to children and adults reporting sexual abuse. We often contend with disbelief from the moment we ask for help, a fact that is not lost on victims currently weighing whether to report their abuse—nor is it lost on predators rationalizing their own behavior. When Amazon sends the message that you don’t believe Dylan, you tell us that you don’t believe us, either. You contribute to a culture that protects and supports and validates predators while treating victims like liars and criminals.

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You make it harder for victims to report their abuse.

We must make it clear to Allen and other predators that what they do is in no way acceptable. And to do that, we must deny Woody Allen access to a platform. We must deny him and his actions our approval as a society or we are complicit in those actions and in the harm they do. To continue to reward people like Allen, Cosby, and Polanski is to betray every child who has ever been a victim of sexual abuse.

Childhood sexual abuse destroys lives.

According to the US Department of Health and Human Services, over 62,000 children were sexually abused in the US in 2012. The National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey (NISVS) revealed in 2010 that 42% of female rape
victims were raped before they turned 18 and 28% of male victims were first raped before age ten. The impact on victims ranges from short-term anxiety to long-term depression to adulthood sexual dysfunction to suicide, and there are millions of us living in the United States.

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We deserve better.

StopWoodyWilkQuote2Dylan deserves better than to see her abuser rewarded yet again. All survivors of childhood sexual abuse deserve better than this continued culture of acceptance for predators and dismissal of victims.

As survivors of childhood sexual abuse and people who love them, we the undersigned are asking Amazon and Amazon Studios to stand with survivors and take a stand against childhood sexual abuse. Because make no mistake—if you move forward with this partnership, the statement you make will be “We support child predators—not CSA survivors.”

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PSA: Abusive commenters will be deleted and banned, so kindly piss off in advance. (Comment Policy)


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It’s Not a “Mistake” If You Plan It

Sad woman

(original image via fotolia.com)

I’m still thinking about cheating and how we, as a society, accept it as just something that happens. I think this is a huge problem for a number of reasons, not least because it gives the perpetrators a pass for their damaging behavior and leaves survivors feeling as though the crime committed against them—though it leaves them as broken and requires as much healing as many other types of abuse*—just doesn’t count.

Today I imagined, as I have been a lot lately, what might happen if I ran into the ex in a public place. I imagined a dialog wherein I told him to leave and he refused, telling me that he’d made a mistake but that didn’t give me a right to…whatever, that’s as far as I got before the following list began forming in my mind. It’s a response to the ghost of the ex and anyone else who wants to write this behavior off as a simple “mistake” to be forgiven and forgotten.

  • A mistake is typing “ass” instead of “ask.”
  • A mistake is putting your shoes on the wrong feet.
  • A mistake is getting into a car accident when you did everything you could to prevent it.
  • A mistake is an impulsive kiss or even a one-night stand.
  • A mistake is something you do by accident in a moment of distraction or thoughtlessness or passion and then you stop and say, “Whoa. That was wrong. I’m not going to do that again.”
  • When you are in a committed relationship and you purposely seek out a person outside the relationship for sex unbeknownst to your partner, that is not an accident. That’s not an impulsive action that takes place in an instant. That’s not a “mistake.”
  • When you set out to deceive your partner on a daily basis, lying to her multiple times a day for months about where you are, making up elaborate stories about searching all over town for the right “surprise” when you’re actually having sex with your secret lover, that’s not a regretful misstep. That’s not just something that happens. That’s not a “mistake.”

This was not a mistake. This was a campaign of deception and betrayal.

Let me tell you about mistakes I’ve made:

  • Spending seven years with someone because you believe what they tell you is true: that was a mistake.
  • Wanting so badly to believe that someone loved me that I ignored the signs that he was not capable of it: that was a mistake.
  • Trying to remain friends with the man who perpetrated what I have come to think of as abuse* against me: that was a mistake.
  • Believing that he was even capable of being my friend after not only what he did, but the way he continued to treat me after the fact: that was a mistake.
  • Believing that he would figure out how badly he’d fucked up and come back and do the work to make things right: that was a mistake.

These last few are mistakes because they held me back from healing. Who knows where I’d be now if I’d written him off in December, when I first tried to, rather than in February when I finally felt ready to?

Yeah, I know, it is what it is. But I’ve made my point: mistakes are not things you plan and execute like a serial killer. Mistakes are forgivable. Crimes like the ones this man perpetrated require more than forgiveness: they require redemption, and redemption requires sacrifice from the one hoping to be redeemed. It’s not something I can offer him—it’s something he has to want and work for and make happen for himself.

And maybe that’s one reason I’m having such a hard time with forgiveness—maybe it can’t happen without redemption. Or maybe I’m just not ready.

Maybe I never will be.


*I know, my use of the “A” word is a sticky issue for some. I am a survivor of many types of abuse and I don’t use the term lightly. I’m going to be writing more about it soon, but in the meantime, if it’s bothering you, ask yourself why. Ask yourself about power relationships and intent and consequences and damage. For some background, read this. We’ll talk more soon.


Related:

Unexpected Bullshit

And everything here.


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Violations and Villains and Apologists. Oh My.

Image via morgueFile.

Image via morgueFile.

“Violation” is a word that keeps coming up for me around dealing with betrayal. When you secretly bring a third person into a committed two-person relationship, you violate not only loyalty and trust, but you eliminate informed consent. Would I have consented to sex with my ex if I’d known he was having sex with someone else? Absolutely not.

My ex created a situation where any intimacy between us happened essentially without my informed consent. I consented to intimacy with a person who had committed to a monogamous relationship with me. I did not consent to share my body with someone who was sharing his body with another person while pretending I was the only one. So, in effect, he did not have my consent. He removed my ability to consent.

Not that we were having much sex. As I’ve said before, he told me he lacked drive. I got complacent. He went out and got laid. But at the time I learned of the affair he’d been having for months, he was actively trying to “work on our intimacy” which means he was actively working on having more sex with me while he was having sex with someone else in secret. The sex we were having, then, was not entirely consensual, was it?

So yeah, the more time passes, the more grave his crimes seem to me, and the less able I feel to forgive him. The more I process, the more I realize that what he did—that what people do when they perpetrate this violation upon one another—was abuse. To me, he is a villain. And that means that when I encounter people who tell me that they want to be my friend, but that want to be his friend too, and they hope I understand, I don’t. I just can’t.

I’ve tried. I really, truly have. I’ve done my best not to feel resentful, but the resentment is there and I’m starting to realize it’s there for a reason.

When I was raped at 12 years old, my neighborhood split down the middle. There was the “Me” camp: the people who believed me when I said I’d been raped, and there was the “him” camp: the people who just couldn’t believe that a guy they considered a friend could possibly be a rapist.

When an ex beat the crap out of me and I ran away to my dad’s place halfway across the country, my dad joked that I’d probably pissed him off and when the guy called, he put me on the phone so I could, you know, face the music and resolve things. A few days later—before I really knew what happened—I was back with my abuser.

A while back Sid wrote a story about how it felt when one of our friends dropped my ex from Facebook while maintaining a friendship with her abuser–a guy whose abuse had never turned physical and so even she hesitated to use the “A” word.

Here’s an “A” word for you: Apologism. It’s what half my neighborhood engaged in when I was raped. It’s how my dad dealt with the fact that the guy who beat me up was a lot like him. It’s what our friend did when she told Sid her abuser wasn’t really like that.

It’s what people do when they decide that a person who abuses other people is essentially just a good guy who made a mistake (or a series of them—hey, he had a tough childhood) and let him off the hook for bad behavior. And more and more often I find myself asking why it is that people insist on apologizing for my ex simply by reminding me that they feel they must maintain friendships with both of us.

Of course, I have no way of knowing what sort of consequences my ex may have been subjected to at the hands of our mutual friends. But I do know that I’m aware of no consequences dire enough to satisfy me, and he has certainly made no amends where I’m concerned (except to throw some money at the situation). And some of our friends were his friends first–I know that some will feel the need to maintain loyalty to him, and I totally understand if that’s the choice they need to make. (I recently took the liberty of unfriending his whole family on Facebook, not because I don’t love them, but because I know they are unwaveringly loyal to him and it hurt me too much to see them there.)

sandI also know that I need my close friends–the people I hang out with–to be people who do not feel the need to maintain a friendship with my abuser. I don’t have the energy to deal with the strain of spending time with people knowing they probably just hung out with him last week.

So, I guess this is just to say that I’m working on my boundaries. Some people in my life might notice that I’m a little quieter, a little less likely to socialize. Or maybe they won’t. But I will be spending my limited energies not on people whose choices say that my abuse doesn’t really count but on those who bolster and uplift me and remind me that I am truly loved.


PSA: Abusive commenters will be deleted and banned, so kindly piss off in advance. (Comment Policy)


Six Months Later: Thanks for Being Here

calendar.pngTomorrow will mark six months since I learned that my best friend had betrayed me. Six months since he got caught, confessed, and ran out the door as fast as his cowardly feet could carry him. Four months since I gave up any hope that he was still capable of being a friend or even a decent human being when it came to his treatment of me and broke off all contact with him probably forever.

This has been one of the (if not the) most difficult periods of my life—a life that has included other betrayals as well as beatings and even rape. And though I’m doing much better than I was six or even four months ago, there are times when the whole thing hits me all over again and knocks me back down onto the floor where he left me back in December. A photograph, a dream, the bar where we had one of our first dates which I can’t avoid visiting because friends must support friends—these things and so many others poke holes in the armor I’ve built around myself these past months and stab me right in the heart.

I have felt all of these things and more.

I have felt all of these things and more.

Some folks tell me that all this only has as much power over me as I allow it to have–that it is my choice whether to dwell in the past or move on with my life. It’s true, I have no choice but to move on–it’s that or die. But this healing I’m doing is a process, and I don’t actually control how my body reacts to stimuli such as an image, a place, or just a vivid memory. There’s a sensation like a kick to the gut or chest, and then the tears come, and *then* I get to choose what to do next. And I have chosen life. And there have been good times. I have optimistic days. Sometimes I think I might be ok. But that doesn’t mean that it won’t happen again and that I won’t feel agony every time—at least for a while.

The support I have received from friends and acquaintances (and here I must acknowledge that even the ones who say and do things I don’t find particularly helpful are usually trying to be supportive) has been overwhelming. Social discomfort has mostly been due to the place (my old apartment building, the bar I mentioned above, a local convention, or just downtown Seattle, for that matter) or my state of mind. There are those times when people ask how I’m doing and then change the subject when I tell them the truth and it’s not happy, and that can be awkward and can leave me feeling like they didn’t really want the answer to that question. (I’ve never been one for small-talk anyway, so if you ask how I’m doing, you’re very likely to get an honest answer.) There are those people who I know are still friends with my ex, and that can be uncomfortable for me because he hurt me so much and they remind me of that by their very existence in my social sphere (it’s not their fault—it just is). There are those people I suspect are still his friends, but who don’t tell me so—don’t say anything at all about him (which is as it should be—as I have requested—if they are still friends). All of this can be awkward and painful, but it honestly pales in comparison to the outpouring of support from people from all areas of my life—especially from my online friends and acquaintances (some of whom are also RL friends and acquaintances).

That very much includes you, dear readers. Very much indeed. Without this place to share my stories and my personal…challenges? …this past year, I can’t imagine what my life would have been like. Without this place to vent my pain and rage in December and January, I’m afraid to think what would have happened to me. And without you showing up here, whether just to read or to comment or commiserate, this place would not be what it is for me. I know that I can talk about the things that feel important–whether they are about all of us or just about me–because you have helped me see that our stories are one of the most important ways we learn, grow, and connect with our fellow human beings.

Thank you for being a part of mine.

rosiethankyou.jpg


Respectful discussion is welcome and encouraged. When in doubt, see the Comment Policy.


How to Report an Asshole on Twitter

[TW: Rape, Assholery]

Douche is the word...

Douche is the word…

Today’s Asshole: Jose Canseco

Mr. Canseco, a Very Famous Athlete, is accused of rape. Today he decided the best possible course of action was to out his accuser on Twitter.

Via the Atlantic Wire:

Jose Canseco — former All-Star outfielder, admitted steroid user, part-time fantastic Twitter idiot — apparently just live-tweeted the police arriving at his Las Vegas home, then said he has been accused of rape, then proceeded to publicly name his apparent accuser to his more than 500,000 followers, with bikini photos, and the woman’s phone number, and talk shows, and cats… then proceeded to delete the whole thing. Except her name.

Canseco also tweeted the name and address of the woman’s gym and invited followers to stop by:

Image

So, using Jose’s illegal activities as a model for a) how to report assholes and b) how Twitter’s “report” function fails to provide adequate reporting options for illegal activities like this one, here are some instructions (click images for larger versions):

(UPDATE: JC has deleted most of offending tweets because his lawyers are smarter than he is, fortunately for him. But there’s still this one. Yes, that’s her. Report his ass.)

      1. Point your browser to https://support.twitter.com/forms/abusiveuser.
      2. Click the option that best describes the situation. In this case, that’s “offensive content.” That doesn’t really cover it, but as you can see, it’s the only option that comes close:Image
      3. Type in the Twitter handle of the offending tweeter, in this case JoseCanseco:Image
      4. Next, you need to paste in URLs to the offending tweets (like this and this).(UPDATE: JC has deleted most of offending tweets because his lawyers are smarter than he is, fortunately for him. But there’s still this one. Yes, that’s her. Report his ass.)Image

        Click “Report another Tweet” for another link box.
      5. Answer the miscellaneous questions, then fill in the details box. I suggest something along the lines of “Jose Canseco has published the name, photo, and gym of the woman who accused him of rape. This is illegal. Please suspend his account.”Image
      6. Now you’re ready to hit the Submit button and hope Twitter does the right thing.

It only takes a moment of your time, and if enough people do it, maybe they’ll get the message. Maybe Canseco will get the message that bullying his accuser is not only illegal, it is not only dangerous, but it is also socially unacceptable behavior with consequences. Because rape culture has taught him that this is the right way to handle a rape accusation, and as a VFE he, in turn, is teaching young people the same lesson.


Respectful discussion is welcome and encouraged. When in doubt, see the Comment Policy.