Is America a “rape culture?”

“Rape culture” is a term/concept that gets thrown around a lot. I think it can be a valid lens through which to look at societies today. However, I think that the term itself is problematic, and causes problems for those who are trying to make others (men) aware of mass rape and sexual assault within a particular culture. The term has recently resurfaced in my mind due to the renewed rape allegations against Bill Cosby. Regardless of Mr. Cosby’s own innocence, there is something to be said for our society, which allows men (especially rich, powerful, famous men), to get away with such a heinous crime. For decades and decades. As we see with many high-profile accusations, many more women have come forward accusing Mr. Cosby of rape.

A few issues present themselves:
1) Due to Mr. Cosby’s denial, women are being accused of lying (or worse yet, simply regretting their sexual encounter, and then lying) so that they can gain some sort of attention/fame/money(?)
2) A perpetuation of the notion that women will do anything to get some sort of attention/fame/money(?), even lie about rape
3) A resurfacing of the idea that “nice” men cannot rape. Mr. Cosby appears to be an awesome, funny dude. How could he possibly do that to women, right?

We see similar patterns with high profile males (including Woody Allen) pretty frequently. Some people experience a serious sense of loss of self because someone that they valued, someone that was a hero to them, has now been accused of a serious crime that involves physically debasing another human to a level that no one should ever, ever, have to experience (this isn’t some white-collar, Martha Stewart insider-trading shit). In turn, some become seriously defensive and angry of their now fallen heroes (though they know nothing about this celebrity personally, and have no stake at all in whether that person is charged with a crime).

So what does this all have to do with “rape culture”?

Bitch you ugly anyway! A fit about street harassment, race, and power

As if my readers needed another reminder (and they might, because they may be new!) I am half-black, black passing, and NOT-WHITE. I grew up in a predominately white suburb, and it was weird. Then I went to Chicago for my undergraduate education.

Something even weirder than growing up around a lot of people who looked nothing like me happened when I arrived in Chicago. Something that I had never really experienced before, but would effect me until I left. I was harassed. I was constantly hollered at on the street. While waiting for the bus, while on the bus (ditto for the el). I was harassed in bars, at clubs, in line at Walgreens, while smoking lunch-break cigarettes. Dude upon thirsty dude approached me, or yelled from a car. Bruh after can-you-fucking-not bruh brushed against my ass, cornered me in public, or pulled my headphones out. I experienced a never ending cascade of comments on my body, my clothes, my fucking not-smile (I’M ON THE CTA WHY WOULD I BE SMILING, SRSLY??), my hair. It did not stop.

Sound familiar? Watch this video.

This shit happened to me on a pretty reg basis until I moved back home where pretty much everyone is white.

What the hell is that about?

Let’s have a fit about black dudes, power politics!, and street harassment.

Crazy bitch: A small exploration of female psychosis and hysteria

Let’s talk about feelings! Not the fun, warm, fun, fuzzy feelings. The dreaded uncomfortable ones. Ones that make you squirm, warm your cheeks in horrified embarrassment. The ones that are considered taboo to express in public. The guy on the sidewalk rage-crying and clearly mentally unstable, that you cross the street to avoid. The woman you judge at Target for screaming red-faced at her heathen children sprinting up the aisles.

I wanna chat about sadness, depression, anxiety, rage, anger, and fear. And periods.

NOT EVEN THE SAME HUMAN WHILE BIOLOGY DOES ITS MONTHLY THING ON MAH BOD

Celebrate your ugly.

Last night, at the very end of a very long day, I received this message on Facebook:

I don’t know if I’ve already said this, but I wanted to say I’m sorry. You might remember when I saw you for XXX’s birthday party… I felt bad after thinking about how I reacted when I saw you for the first time after so long. I was so excited and floored, but that’s what people expect right? I saw that you posted about struggling with your body image and the things that can come from that. I sadly understand those feelings very well, and I got mad at myself after I thought about how I reacted after seeing you. I felt bad for not being nonchalant.

You’ve always been my bus friend from middle school and that won’t ever change. I just hope that you’re doing okay. I wanted to let you know that I care about you, even if it is from behind the scenes and through facebook. You’re hilarious, intelligent, all that. I miss you

For context’s sake, I’ll tell you that this was sent to me by a very old friend. We grew up in the same shitty suburban subdivision. We were both band geeks (he played sax and I played clarinet). We sat next to each other on the bus everyday to middle school for three years. He was a scrawny, goofy looking white kid. I was a chubby, goofy looking mixed kid. It was basically destiny that we would become friends. For protection’s sake? To prevent loneliness? I’m not sure why. But we did, and still are.

Me in 7th grade. Definitely never bullied.