So, I have been honored with an opportunity to do something new this week. I've been asked to speak to a group of people who are in the midst of some of the greatest struggles of their lives. Many of them are recovering from difficult chapters in their lives, in which they suffered abuse at the hands of someone they loved and trusted. Others are fighting the demons of substance abuse.
When I was initially asked to speak, I was taken aback. I wish I didn't know so much about domestic violence and abuse, but at the same time, when I thought of things from a superficial standpoint, I didn't think I knew anything about what folks coming out of substance abuse might be going through. How could I make a difference for people with such varied backgrounds?
The thing that kept coming back to me from my own experience was the fact that the central figure in any abusive or toxic situation is very rarely the only person being affected by the situation. I know that was the case for my sister and me. But while you're in the situation as the central figure, it's often pretty difficult for you to comprehend the level at which others are being affected, and it's often difficult to understand that just because you walk away, a part of what happened will always be with you and with those around you who are being impacted.
I usually don't have to work that hard to get through a day without dwelling on the past. Time has a way of putting enough distance between you and all the bad, that you can have long periods of time in which the past doesn't really find its way to your surface. And sometimes you forget that you weren't alone. I know that I've done that. I just didn't really think about it until this past weekend.
My younger sister came to visit with my nephew. I hadn't seen her in a long while. Inevitably when she visits, we end up talking about our mom, and often, we end up talking about many things from our childhood.
My sister is nine years younger than me. The most vivid memory I have of her in relation to the fighting in our household was the moment my stepfather laid her on the kitchen table so he could go after my mom. She was probably about six months old at the time. I remember her tiny form kicking and flailing on the table, and I was terrified she would fall off. To this day, I am dumbfounded at the sight of my infant sister on that table. I grabbed her, and we sought sanctuary together in my room. Over the years, that became a common pattern--the two of us holed up in my room together, praying to whatever might exist that this wouldn't be the time he actually killed her--or us.
After sixteen years, my mom had finally had enough. Sadly, it wasn't until my step-father tried to harm someone outside of our family. I guess somehow the threat to everyone in our household just wasn't quite enough incentive for us to leave or for her to get him out of the house.
Until this past weekend, it never occurred to me how much my sister was impacted by everything that happened in our house. I've been living my life and struggling through my own stuff--just like most of us do. She currently lives in the last house we all lived in together. She talked about the fear she has of the back end of that house, and the memories she has of him coming down the hallway while fighting with our mom. For me, all of the bad resides in the front of the house--probably because that's the area of the house where I suffered the most personal abuse. I'm fortunate that I will never have to set foot back in that house again, but my sister is within those walls every single day.
It really made me think.
Domestic violence is a horrible thing. When you hear or read about it, people often talk about "breaking the cycle." It seems like domestic violence is a history that many future generations find themselves doomed to repeat.
My mom didn't marry this monster because she wanted to put herself or her children in jeopardy. She didn't marry him because he was the great love of her life either. She married him because she didn't think she could do better, and because she didn't think she could make it on her own. In retrospect, I'm sure that she regrets her choices. As is common in the cycle, it wasn't destined to be her only bad choice, and sadly, though I can recognize many things I can't blame her for within the cycle, many of her other choices have strained our relationship so greatly that we don't talk.
My mom bruises easily, and it was pretty frequent that she had to dress to cover bruises, or lie about the source of black eyes. I think many people knew the truth. And one of the greatest paradoxes is that my mom could see that others in similar situations should try to get away, but she couldn't see a way to do so herself. The fear of financial disaster and insecurity was so great, it was beyond her to consider that maybe being poor and scrambling to somehow get by was safer than the threat we lived under everyday. And unlike today, there were no safe havens. If you had no family or friends to take you in, you were basically screwed. The shelters and assistance available today are limited, and the organizations offering help often are financially challenged in ways that stretch the word "creative" to the max. My mom may have been too proud to seek the help of a shelter or organization like the one I will speak at this week, but because there was no place, all I can do is wonder.
When I think of those trapped within the cycle of domestic abuse or substance abuse, the easiest comparison that comes to my mind to help others understand what the situation is like, is what it must be like to be a smoker addicted to nicotine.
No one just decides one day that they want to smoke because of the harmful physical effects that smoking can have on the body. They also don't choose to smoke because they want to have their habit potentially harm those close to them through exposure to their second hand smoke. There's usually some other underlying social reason that those of us who don't smoke often can't relate to.
Smoking leads to many different physical ailments. The most obvious one being lung cancer. When you start talking about lung cancer, you have to realize that the conversation doesn't stop with lung cancer. It's invasive and it often spreads to other very important organ systems in the body--systems the body relies on for survival just as much as the lungs.
But even without the big 'C,' smoking is damaging. If you ever see a picture of healthy lungs, they are a nice shade of light pink with a smooth texture. Smoker's lungs frequently are gray, or even black and often have a mottled texture. I think many people are still under the false impression that if you stop smoking, the damage to your lungs heals and they return to normal. The reality is that much of the damage that occurs is permanent.
It's the ultimate Debbie Downer of situations. If quitting isn't going completely heal you, and if there's a chance that you will always be at risk for serious illness, what's the point of stopping? The bright side is that quitting smoking will improve your health and your life. You will breathe easier. You likely will be sick less often. If you decide to run a marathon, you are probably more likely to be able to do so without coughing up one of those damaged lungs. The sooner you make the choice to quit, the less damage you have done to yourself and to those around you.
People who don't smoke, and have never smoked, often offer smokers advice and encouragement to stop. Without meaning to, they can come across as being somewhat critical of those who find the prospect of quitting to be so challenging that they often have tried to quit multiple times.
Domestic violence and toxic relationships with substances are a lot like that.
Unless you live alone on an island, every bad situation in your life radiates beyond yourself. Just like lung cancer, what you do to yourself impacts those around you who are important to you. They could be your children. They could be friends or extended family.
The longer you are in the situation, the greater the damage to yourself and those around you. And while recovering from, and surviving these situations can help you heal, there are parts of you, and parts of those around you that will always be damaged.
People are often critical of those who find themselves trapped in such struggles. They often express difficulty understanding why a woman stays in a violent relationship. They think it's easy to check into substance abuse programs and overcome addiction. After all, surely these people know the harm they are causing to themselves and others.
But it's not simple. The first time my mom tried to leave was probably a year after she married my stepfather. She didn't have her own car and we didn't have a phone at the time. She dragged me in the rain in my pajamas across the street from our trailer park to a phone booth to call my grandma to come and get us. My grandma turned her down. We talked about leaving thousands of time throughout the years, but there was never a way. She didn't try again until the night I tried to run away my freshman year in college. I think seeing me desperate enough to jump out of a moving car may have caught her attention. Unfortunately, we ended up going back just a few days later. I don't have any experience with substance abuse, so all I can do is imagine that the struggle is similar.
People are quick to offer their opinions and advice about what people in such situations should do, but not many of them are quick to offer their help or any real support. It's maddening. If it was easy to do, I promise, those women would leave, and those who are addicted would break free too.
Most of the time, people in these situations have to struggle on their own. No one can make the choice for them.
But just like with smoking, if you find your way out of the darkness of domestic violence or substance abuse, you will feel better and your life will improve. It won't happen overnight, and some things are always going to be harder. Some things are going to quickly transport you to places you thought you'd left behind. But many parts of you will heal. You will breathe more easily. You will be able to do things you couldn't do before.
And you won't be alone. Everyone touched by your situation will get to come along with you.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Reporting rape and abuse: Inside the perpetual victimization
So, in the last week or so, I have been reading many of the Facebook posts about the plight of a young woman in Maryville, Missouri, who claims to have been sexually assaulted and left outside in sub-freezing temperatures, after sneaking out of her home, drinking and exchanging flirtatious phone texts with a boy from school.
What has struck me most about these posts are the comments by people who have either failed to read the entire story and understand what appears to have happened, and by those who are simply so filled with vitriol against women who come forward after being raped or sexually abused that they can't wait to say the most horrible and shocking things.
It makes me very sad. It makes me worry that the world is a terrible place in which to bring up a daughter. It makes me worry about my own unborn girl and the things she might face in her lifetime.
A small handful of people know the truth of what happened to Daisy Coleman on a cold January night in 2012. When I first heard the history of her case on Kansas City's Public Radio station a year or so ago, I was horrified for this girl and her family. There seemed to be more than adequate proof that something happened to her. It didn't make sense that the case against those she accused was dropped. She never even got a day in court.
People who fail to read or thoroughly understand the history of this case are quick to ask why the Coleman family has just come forward nearly two years later. Sadly, that's just the kind of ignorance the snapshot Internet perpetuates. Few people take time to carefully read information on the Internet, so they often overlook key bits of information. This isn't a new story. It's sad that people say things without any knowledge, but that's not a new story either.
The older story that bothers me most though are all of the people who say that she must be lying, that she is probably just angry at the boys involved and trying to get back at them, or that her mother should have been keeping a better eye on her or this wouldn't have happened to her. It's the same old mentality that follows so many sexually related assaults and abuse cases: somehow the victim is to blame for what has happened to her. It's not surprising that many of these naysayers are men, but it's shocking to me how many are actually women.
Whenever you read anything about sexual assault or sexual abuse, one statistic is so commonly thrown around, that I'm not even going to try to credit it with a source: one in three women are sexually assaulted or abused in their lifetime. Sometimes that statistic reads as one in three women report it, other times it reads just as one in three women are victims. Either way, that's one-third.
If one-third of men were sexually assaulted or abused, I think there would be more public outcry. And I doubt that they would so frequently be blamed. After all, they are not the "weaker sex."
I don't really know what happened to Daisy Coleman and her friend the night she ended up on the porch of her house for several hours in below freezing temperatures. Reports say that she and a friend had been secretly drinking in her room without her mother's knowledge and that she had been exchanging texts with the boy she alleges to have assaulted her. She and her friend agreed to sneak out of the house to hang out with him and his friends. One of his friends recorded part of the sexual encounter between Daisy and the boy on his cell phone.
A lot of people commenting on this ongoing story bring up the drinking, the lack of parental supervision and Daisy's appearance in photos. Many people are saying that she was drunk and confused and doesn't remember saying "yes." Many are saying that her mother should have been watching her more closely and that even if Daisy was assaulted, it was her mom's fault for not supervising her better. Others, disproportionately men, bring up the the number of false accusations made--again, this must mean that Daisy and her friend are lying. They talk about how bitter and angry she looks in photos--obviously this makes her a liar.
Under age drinking is a huge problem, but it is not exclusively the problem of women or girls who allege that they have been assaulted or abused. Under age drinking leads to many potentially dangerous things. But under age drinking is not an open invitation to being taken advantage of. The thing that the folks who feel Daisy was just asking to be taken advantage of because she didn't have the good sense not to drink are overlooking is that not only did this guy have sex with her--consensual or not--she was left outside in the freezing cold afterwards like something he was finished using. If we forget the possibility that Daisy didn't consent to the sexual encounter, can we at least agree to the inhumanity of leaving someone behind like a piece of garbage? If he was such an upstanding and decent young man, what mental break caused him to leave a 14-year-old girl out in the cold like that? If everything was on the up and up, wouldn't he have tried to get her into the house?
Every one of the folks who thinks Daisy's mom should have been watching her more closely has to be able to swear that they never got away with doing anything that their parents don't know about. I defy anyone to either claim that kind of perfection in themselves, or that kind of hawkish protectiveness in their parents. And even if her mom's supervision was lax, how does that equate to an invitation to take advantage of her daughter? That equation doesn't even make common sense. That's like saying "you weren't doing your job, so your daughter deserved to have her life devastated. Those are just the breaks."
As for the number of alleged victims who make false reports, I tried to research the percentage. Reports on the Internet vary from 2-8 percent of these accusations being false. It's a much harder statistic to pin down, but nowhere did I see a number over 8 percent. Lies of any kind are damaging, but when one-third of women are victims of sexual assault or abuse, I think that 33 percent trumps 8 percent as a valid rape or abuse defense for perpetrators.
As for how Daisy looks in photos these days.... People who have been assaulted or abused are bitter and angry. For anyone who has suffered such an act, the pain doesn't go away when the act is over.
I grew up in a violent home. My young single mother was afraid she couldn't take care of me on her own financially, and she married a batterer. I lived in fear of our lives for the entire sixteen years of their marriage. There was an unpredictable force in our home with easy access to guns. But hands around a throat, bulging temporal veins and fists were a pretty good source of influence as well. For about four years of that sixteen-year marriage, the unpredictable force fixated on me and I became a source of his escape and pleasure. This kind of abuse is different than a rape on multiple levels, but the feelings associated with it are the same.
While it was happening, I didn't tell anyone. I didn't try to fight. I didn't try to protest. I didn't care about myself. I was trying to protect two other lives in my house. Guns; hands around throats; bulging temporal veins; fists--these were all enough to prevent me from trying to help myself. My mom worked outside of the home, and was gone during the hours of the day that he was home. She wasn't watching me. She knew something wasn't right, but she didn't know what. Every time she tried to get to the bottom of the situation, there were the guns, the hands, the veins and the fists. The control he exerted over my life made me want to run away and escape. I wasn't even allowed to actively participate in school activities. I took opportunities to sneak away and do things without his knowledge. Inevitably, I got caught at many of these things--none of which happened to be drinking or any such outrageous things. And then, there were all of those deterrents. I didn't think I was asking for more abuse because I wanted to go roller skating with a boy, but according to so many ignorant people who think somehow sneaking around invites harm, I probably earned more abuse. I didn't stand a chance.
When he was finally gone from our lives, the overwhelming sense of relief I felt was akin to euphoria. As soon as I was free, I knew I was free to do the right thing--to try and make sure that he wouldn't be able to perpetuate these acts against my younger sister, or anyone else. We reported the crimes (because they were crimes), and we pursued justice.
As everything began to come to light, I lost a huge chunk of my family who just couldn't believe me, because I was now "damaged." My aunt actually said that she wasn't surprised about what had happened to me, because as a child I had always treated every guy she dated like a jungle gym--as if to say that somehow I put off a vibe that I was "available" for these kinds of acts. In a courtroom, I was forced to recount everything that had happened to me and the time frame. I stumbled over dates when my step-father's attorney was cross-examining me. He seized on this stumble, which rattled me even more than I was already rattled. I was 20 years old, and coming out a psychological internment camp. Things had been happening for so long, I could barely keep track of dates. Because every material possession I had was under his watchful eye, and was subject to search and seizure, it never occurred to me to keep a diary or log of events. Dates didn't matter. I didn't matter. I only set down onto paper the events of the preceding years the day I decided that instead of going to my college freshman English class I was going to drive off a cliff instead.
The relief I felt at being able to finally let go of the pain was soon replaced with the bitterness and anger that I had suffered this abuse for years and was now being subjected to ignorance and hate from people who were supposed to care about what happened to me.
Rape and sexual abuse are acts perpetrated by individuals who need to feel power over their victims. It's not about sexual pleasure, unless they get that from the power they feel. When that control was removed, I colored my short blond hair nearly purple. I wore clothes that were more in line with what most women my age were wearing--I showed a little skin. I lost the forty to fifty pounds I had gained my first year in college when my fear of dying had been at its highest. I probably did look kind of bitter and pissed most of the time--because after being abused for years, the rest of the world seemed to want to join in. It did make me bitter. It did make me angry. I defy the normal person not to feel and look the same way. But then people who have had these acts perpetrated against them often aren't "normal" anymore.
I don't know what really happened to Daisy Coleman and her younger friend. The only people who do know for sure are the people who were there. But I know how such acts shatter you and splinter you into pieces you don't know if you can ever put back together. I know about the frustration of looking for justice and being slapped in the face, either because the events are hard to put together in your broken mind, because what happened to you wasn't quite bad enough, or because the statute of limitations on the crimes had run out. I know the frustration of looking for peace and hoping for understanding from family, friends, and law enforcement, and meeting with cold shoulders and ignorant unkindness.
The thing about the attention this two-year-old case is now receiving that scares me the most is the impact it may have on victims. When victims observe the attacks on the character of these young women and these families, they might think twice before seeking the justice and healing they need for themselves to simply survive. Who wants to be raped and abused, and then be metaphorically be raped and abused again? The pain of the acts are horrible enough. The pain of reliving them when necessary to file reports and testify in court is challenging to be sure. But the pain of being doubted, disrespected, blamed and sometimes publicly reviled is almost as bad or worse than the original crime.
In a few short months, I will be the mother of a little girl. She will probably bump her head on the coffee table while I am distracted fixing dinner. She will probably ask to do things I won't give her permission to do, and will try to get away with them from time to time. She will probably make mistakes like drinking before she's 21. But even when all of those things happen, she will never ask for or deserve to be sexually assaulted or abused by anyone. My heart would break if she somehow became "one in three," but if she ever does, her father and I will cry on every mountain top for the justice and dignity that every human, regardless of gender, deserves.
Nobody asks to be raped or abused. Nobody.
What has struck me most about these posts are the comments by people who have either failed to read the entire story and understand what appears to have happened, and by those who are simply so filled with vitriol against women who come forward after being raped or sexually abused that they can't wait to say the most horrible and shocking things.
It makes me very sad. It makes me worry that the world is a terrible place in which to bring up a daughter. It makes me worry about my own unborn girl and the things she might face in her lifetime.
A small handful of people know the truth of what happened to Daisy Coleman on a cold January night in 2012. When I first heard the history of her case on Kansas City's Public Radio station a year or so ago, I was horrified for this girl and her family. There seemed to be more than adequate proof that something happened to her. It didn't make sense that the case against those she accused was dropped. She never even got a day in court.
People who fail to read or thoroughly understand the history of this case are quick to ask why the Coleman family has just come forward nearly two years later. Sadly, that's just the kind of ignorance the snapshot Internet perpetuates. Few people take time to carefully read information on the Internet, so they often overlook key bits of information. This isn't a new story. It's sad that people say things without any knowledge, but that's not a new story either.
The older story that bothers me most though are all of the people who say that she must be lying, that she is probably just angry at the boys involved and trying to get back at them, or that her mother should have been keeping a better eye on her or this wouldn't have happened to her. It's the same old mentality that follows so many sexually related assaults and abuse cases: somehow the victim is to blame for what has happened to her. It's not surprising that many of these naysayers are men, but it's shocking to me how many are actually women.
Whenever you read anything about sexual assault or sexual abuse, one statistic is so commonly thrown around, that I'm not even going to try to credit it with a source: one in three women are sexually assaulted or abused in their lifetime. Sometimes that statistic reads as one in three women report it, other times it reads just as one in three women are victims. Either way, that's one-third.
If one-third of men were sexually assaulted or abused, I think there would be more public outcry. And I doubt that they would so frequently be blamed. After all, they are not the "weaker sex."
I don't really know what happened to Daisy Coleman and her friend the night she ended up on the porch of her house for several hours in below freezing temperatures. Reports say that she and a friend had been secretly drinking in her room without her mother's knowledge and that she had been exchanging texts with the boy she alleges to have assaulted her. She and her friend agreed to sneak out of the house to hang out with him and his friends. One of his friends recorded part of the sexual encounter between Daisy and the boy on his cell phone.
A lot of people commenting on this ongoing story bring up the drinking, the lack of parental supervision and Daisy's appearance in photos. Many people are saying that she was drunk and confused and doesn't remember saying "yes." Many are saying that her mother should have been watching her more closely and that even if Daisy was assaulted, it was her mom's fault for not supervising her better. Others, disproportionately men, bring up the the number of false accusations made--again, this must mean that Daisy and her friend are lying. They talk about how bitter and angry she looks in photos--obviously this makes her a liar.
Under age drinking is a huge problem, but it is not exclusively the problem of women or girls who allege that they have been assaulted or abused. Under age drinking leads to many potentially dangerous things. But under age drinking is not an open invitation to being taken advantage of. The thing that the folks who feel Daisy was just asking to be taken advantage of because she didn't have the good sense not to drink are overlooking is that not only did this guy have sex with her--consensual or not--she was left outside in the freezing cold afterwards like something he was finished using. If we forget the possibility that Daisy didn't consent to the sexual encounter, can we at least agree to the inhumanity of leaving someone behind like a piece of garbage? If he was such an upstanding and decent young man, what mental break caused him to leave a 14-year-old girl out in the cold like that? If everything was on the up and up, wouldn't he have tried to get her into the house?
Every one of the folks who thinks Daisy's mom should have been watching her more closely has to be able to swear that they never got away with doing anything that their parents don't know about. I defy anyone to either claim that kind of perfection in themselves, or that kind of hawkish protectiveness in their parents. And even if her mom's supervision was lax, how does that equate to an invitation to take advantage of her daughter? That equation doesn't even make common sense. That's like saying "you weren't doing your job, so your daughter deserved to have her life devastated. Those are just the breaks."
As for the number of alleged victims who make false reports, I tried to research the percentage. Reports on the Internet vary from 2-8 percent of these accusations being false. It's a much harder statistic to pin down, but nowhere did I see a number over 8 percent. Lies of any kind are damaging, but when one-third of women are victims of sexual assault or abuse, I think that 33 percent trumps 8 percent as a valid rape or abuse defense for perpetrators.
As for how Daisy looks in photos these days.... People who have been assaulted or abused are bitter and angry. For anyone who has suffered such an act, the pain doesn't go away when the act is over.
I grew up in a violent home. My young single mother was afraid she couldn't take care of me on her own financially, and she married a batterer. I lived in fear of our lives for the entire sixteen years of their marriage. There was an unpredictable force in our home with easy access to guns. But hands around a throat, bulging temporal veins and fists were a pretty good source of influence as well. For about four years of that sixteen-year marriage, the unpredictable force fixated on me and I became a source of his escape and pleasure. This kind of abuse is different than a rape on multiple levels, but the feelings associated with it are the same.
While it was happening, I didn't tell anyone. I didn't try to fight. I didn't try to protest. I didn't care about myself. I was trying to protect two other lives in my house. Guns; hands around throats; bulging temporal veins; fists--these were all enough to prevent me from trying to help myself. My mom worked outside of the home, and was gone during the hours of the day that he was home. She wasn't watching me. She knew something wasn't right, but she didn't know what. Every time she tried to get to the bottom of the situation, there were the guns, the hands, the veins and the fists. The control he exerted over my life made me want to run away and escape. I wasn't even allowed to actively participate in school activities. I took opportunities to sneak away and do things without his knowledge. Inevitably, I got caught at many of these things--none of which happened to be drinking or any such outrageous things. And then, there were all of those deterrents. I didn't think I was asking for more abuse because I wanted to go roller skating with a boy, but according to so many ignorant people who think somehow sneaking around invites harm, I probably earned more abuse. I didn't stand a chance.
When he was finally gone from our lives, the overwhelming sense of relief I felt was akin to euphoria. As soon as I was free, I knew I was free to do the right thing--to try and make sure that he wouldn't be able to perpetuate these acts against my younger sister, or anyone else. We reported the crimes (because they were crimes), and we pursued justice.
As everything began to come to light, I lost a huge chunk of my family who just couldn't believe me, because I was now "damaged." My aunt actually said that she wasn't surprised about what had happened to me, because as a child I had always treated every guy she dated like a jungle gym--as if to say that somehow I put off a vibe that I was "available" for these kinds of acts. In a courtroom, I was forced to recount everything that had happened to me and the time frame. I stumbled over dates when my step-father's attorney was cross-examining me. He seized on this stumble, which rattled me even more than I was already rattled. I was 20 years old, and coming out a psychological internment camp. Things had been happening for so long, I could barely keep track of dates. Because every material possession I had was under his watchful eye, and was subject to search and seizure, it never occurred to me to keep a diary or log of events. Dates didn't matter. I didn't matter. I only set down onto paper the events of the preceding years the day I decided that instead of going to my college freshman English class I was going to drive off a cliff instead.
The relief I felt at being able to finally let go of the pain was soon replaced with the bitterness and anger that I had suffered this abuse for years and was now being subjected to ignorance and hate from people who were supposed to care about what happened to me.
Rape and sexual abuse are acts perpetrated by individuals who need to feel power over their victims. It's not about sexual pleasure, unless they get that from the power they feel. When that control was removed, I colored my short blond hair nearly purple. I wore clothes that were more in line with what most women my age were wearing--I showed a little skin. I lost the forty to fifty pounds I had gained my first year in college when my fear of dying had been at its highest. I probably did look kind of bitter and pissed most of the time--because after being abused for years, the rest of the world seemed to want to join in. It did make me bitter. It did make me angry. I defy the normal person not to feel and look the same way. But then people who have had these acts perpetrated against them often aren't "normal" anymore.
I don't know what really happened to Daisy Coleman and her younger friend. The only people who do know for sure are the people who were there. But I know how such acts shatter you and splinter you into pieces you don't know if you can ever put back together. I know about the frustration of looking for justice and being slapped in the face, either because the events are hard to put together in your broken mind, because what happened to you wasn't quite bad enough, or because the statute of limitations on the crimes had run out. I know the frustration of looking for peace and hoping for understanding from family, friends, and law enforcement, and meeting with cold shoulders and ignorant unkindness.
The thing about the attention this two-year-old case is now receiving that scares me the most is the impact it may have on victims. When victims observe the attacks on the character of these young women and these families, they might think twice before seeking the justice and healing they need for themselves to simply survive. Who wants to be raped and abused, and then be metaphorically be raped and abused again? The pain of the acts are horrible enough. The pain of reliving them when necessary to file reports and testify in court is challenging to be sure. But the pain of being doubted, disrespected, blamed and sometimes publicly reviled is almost as bad or worse than the original crime.
In a few short months, I will be the mother of a little girl. She will probably bump her head on the coffee table while I am distracted fixing dinner. She will probably ask to do things I won't give her permission to do, and will try to get away with them from time to time. She will probably make mistakes like drinking before she's 21. But even when all of those things happen, she will never ask for or deserve to be sexually assaulted or abused by anyone. My heart would break if she somehow became "one in three," but if she ever does, her father and I will cry on every mountain top for the justice and dignity that every human, regardless of gender, deserves.
Nobody asks to be raped or abused. Nobody.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Why Miley Cyrus is "man's best friend."
So, most people are probably watching the virtual cat fight playing out between Miley Cyrus and Sinead O'Connor with mild amusement and the normal rubber neck interest of watching a train wreck. There are certainly many more important things going on in the world besides the swipes these two women have been taking at each other via the Internet and Twitter. After all, there's a government shut down in America, there's a tropical storm brewing in the Gulf Coast, and the usual strife and mayhem that plays out in violent regions throughout the rest of the world doesn't rest. What could possibly be important about Miley Cyrus and Sinead O'Connor?
Even so, I found myself thinking about them this morning and was unable to stop.
Probably around twelve years ago, I had the opportunity to see Sinead O'Connor perform live during a Lilith Fair. She wasn't the artist I was going to see, but she was the artist that left me with the most lasting impression. Up until that point, I hadn't really given her much thought. Sure, "Nothing Compares 2 U" was one of the most powerful ballads ever performed by a woman, but it essentially made her a "one hit wonder" in the States and little more. I was a freshman in college when she appeared on Saturday Night Live, and had the audacity to tear a picture of the Pope in half during her performance. I was caught up in a lot of my own problems at the time, and admittedly, I really didn't understand her message, and paid it little mind. That said, when she, in all of her diminutive stature belted out the lyrics of "Fire On Babylon" on the stage at Lilith Fair, everything clicked into place for me--just like a key in a lock.
I really can't say anything about how Miley Cyrus has moved me, because I really don't know how she has managed to "move" anyone--not even an infant after a bottle of formula.
But the reason I couldn't stop thinking of this "tiff" between these two women has nothing to do with what I think of their personal talents, or lack thereof, it's about the tug-of-war that plays out among women in our society as a whole.
Sinead O'Connor ripped a photo of Pope John Paul II in half on Saturday Night Live as a protest against the prevalence of abuse within the Catholic Church. She did this about a decade before victims began to come forward in droves, and the magnitude of the issue was no longer a secret the Church could keep.
I think that's important. And nothing against PJPII personally, but I think it was the right thing for someone to do.
When I think of Miley Cyrus and Sinead O'Connor, I think not just of two different women, but two different types of women. They come from two very different sources of power, and as a woman, I find myself thinking of what those sources of power mean.
In 2002, my husband and I took a trip to Ireland and found ourselves staying at a castle where "Tristan and Isolde" was being filmed. It was very exciting for us. I knew nothing of the story, and found myself wanting to learn more as I anxiously awaited the release of the film here in the States. I found myself reading a series of books by Rosalind Miles, and aside from the superficial story of the tragic romance, I found myself caught up in her underlying theme of women as a source of spiritual and political power.
As a woman who had often felt pretty powerless, the idea of the feminine as the seat of power in society was more than a little intriguing and attractive to me. I wanted to know more. A friend of mine was more well acquainted with these ideals and recommended "Women Who Run With the Wolves" by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, which explores women as the seat of power in multiple archetypal settings within various cultures and societies.
Long adrift in the world of spirituality, I felt I'd found a little corner of home. I found myself interested in learning more about Celtic mysticism and paganism, not because I shunned Christianity or patriarchal religions at the time, but because these other paths offered a warm embrace to a woman who needed to take back power she had never had.
Several years ago, another friend recommended the book "The Goddess vs. the Alphabet: The Conflict Between the Word and the Image," by Leonard Shlain. At the time, I read it because my friend was a published author and I wanted to seem smart and like I could keep up with the conversation. I wasn't that smart, and that conversation ended long ago, but Shlain's message still haunts me, and it was his message that kept me thinking about Miley Cyrus and Sinead O'Connor this morning.
In this work, Shlain also examines the history of women as the seat of power. As the source of life and the promise of the human species' continued existence, women were traditionally, and naturally in positions of power over men. With the introduction and predominance of written language, there was an essentially tectonic shift between the roles of women and men in Western society. The masculine embraced the word, and the feminine became the foul, unwashed and unclean. The feminine required the masculine to guide and dominate. And dominate they did.
As a lover of the written word and language, this concept was a startling and heartbreaking revelation to me. But when I looked around me in my personal life and the wider world, my heartbreak did not make the concept any less valid. Sometimes the truth hurts.
And that is why I was thinking of Miley and Sinead this morning.
In the millenia that have passed since the introduction of written language, and since the shift of power, women in most cultures that have embraced language have become dominated by men. Our marriages, our bodies, our childbearing, our livelihoods, and in many cases our very existences have become primarily dependent upon the whims of men.
I grew up in a home of violence and abuse, as did my mother before me. The "man of the house" was entitled to whatever he wished to take. Any objection or protest resulted in further abuse and domination.
I think that's why I always found myself searching for a spiritual home, but could never feel secure in one that was so heavily dominated by the masculine. I'd never been able to identify a sense of love or safety in a father's hand, whether in corporeal form or spiritual. And so many years after the fact, that's why Sinead O'Connor tearing that photo of the Pope is so important to me, and why Miley Cyrus' photo should be torn right along side it. She is the very representation of the "father."
You see, at close to the same age as Miley Cyrus, Sinead O'Connor shaved her head too, not to shock, but to take away the power of men. She shaved her head to thwart men from using her as a sexual object for financial or exploitative gain. She wore clothes. She sold herself, not on the merits of her nearly naked body, but on the merits of her powerful voice. And when she told the truth, she was shunned and outcast for it.
Miley Cyrus represents, for me, the lie. She represents the lie that women can only take back their feminine power by thrusting their half naked bodies to the world. She represents the lie that you can't be understated, intelligent and talented if you want to be successful. Sadly, more times that not, the Cyrus lie wins--but only for a time. I say only for a time, because there are a string of shriveled up, used up, half naked women along side the road of power and success that thought the only way to get where they wanted to go was to be quirky, half-witted and "likable" (i.e. non-threatening, non-thinking). It has, at times, been a hard lesson for me to learn, but there are many ways to define success. For me, it has become defined not by position, not by financial gain or fortune, but by being able to look at myself in the mirror and not feel the need to blacken the eyes of the person staring back. All because I wasn't willing to be something other than who I really am for all of those other lies. That has value to me.
Sadly, as women, many of us are fine with all that the "Cyrus lie" perpetuates, as long as we don't perceive ourselves to be challenged or harmed by it ourselves. But what we fail to realize is that we are all harmed by it. Many of us see the quiet, deep thinkers among our peers as the enemy, choosing instead to keep falling into the same power trap. We fail to support each other during difficult times, because it's easier than meeting real challenges and burrowing deep inside our own spirits. We judge each other for falling down in a society that has quite frankly pushed us down to prevent us from tearing pictures of the Pope.
When those of us who strive to reclaim ourselves and our place, make the mistake of reaching out to those of us in plastic underwear and with little sense of self, we are ridiculed and maligned.
The writing may not be clear on the wall for many of us. The power of the plastic pants may be the shiny thing of a society that believes it's easier to keep women low if they are held up as the dirty and used shells of a drunken weekend. But as a woman who prefers the company of wolves, I know that in 20 years, I will remember the banshee wail of "Fire on Babylon" long after plastic pants girl is done "just being Miley," whomever that actually is.
Fire On Babylon--Sinead O'Connor
Even so, I found myself thinking about them this morning and was unable to stop.
Probably around twelve years ago, I had the opportunity to see Sinead O'Connor perform live during a Lilith Fair. She wasn't the artist I was going to see, but she was the artist that left me with the most lasting impression. Up until that point, I hadn't really given her much thought. Sure, "Nothing Compares 2 U" was one of the most powerful ballads ever performed by a woman, but it essentially made her a "one hit wonder" in the States and little more. I was a freshman in college when she appeared on Saturday Night Live, and had the audacity to tear a picture of the Pope in half during her performance. I was caught up in a lot of my own problems at the time, and admittedly, I really didn't understand her message, and paid it little mind. That said, when she, in all of her diminutive stature belted out the lyrics of "Fire On Babylon" on the stage at Lilith Fair, everything clicked into place for me--just like a key in a lock.
I really can't say anything about how Miley Cyrus has moved me, because I really don't know how she has managed to "move" anyone--not even an infant after a bottle of formula.
But the reason I couldn't stop thinking of this "tiff" between these two women has nothing to do with what I think of their personal talents, or lack thereof, it's about the tug-of-war that plays out among women in our society as a whole.
Sinead O'Connor ripped a photo of Pope John Paul II in half on Saturday Night Live as a protest against the prevalence of abuse within the Catholic Church. She did this about a decade before victims began to come forward in droves, and the magnitude of the issue was no longer a secret the Church could keep.
I think that's important. And nothing against PJPII personally, but I think it was the right thing for someone to do.
When I think of Miley Cyrus and Sinead O'Connor, I think not just of two different women, but two different types of women. They come from two very different sources of power, and as a woman, I find myself thinking of what those sources of power mean.
In 2002, my husband and I took a trip to Ireland and found ourselves staying at a castle where "Tristan and Isolde" was being filmed. It was very exciting for us. I knew nothing of the story, and found myself wanting to learn more as I anxiously awaited the release of the film here in the States. I found myself reading a series of books by Rosalind Miles, and aside from the superficial story of the tragic romance, I found myself caught up in her underlying theme of women as a source of spiritual and political power.
As a woman who had often felt pretty powerless, the idea of the feminine as the seat of power in society was more than a little intriguing and attractive to me. I wanted to know more. A friend of mine was more well acquainted with these ideals and recommended "Women Who Run With the Wolves" by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, which explores women as the seat of power in multiple archetypal settings within various cultures and societies.
Long adrift in the world of spirituality, I felt I'd found a little corner of home. I found myself interested in learning more about Celtic mysticism and paganism, not because I shunned Christianity or patriarchal religions at the time, but because these other paths offered a warm embrace to a woman who needed to take back power she had never had.
Several years ago, another friend recommended the book "The Goddess vs. the Alphabet: The Conflict Between the Word and the Image," by Leonard Shlain. At the time, I read it because my friend was a published author and I wanted to seem smart and like I could keep up with the conversation. I wasn't that smart, and that conversation ended long ago, but Shlain's message still haunts me, and it was his message that kept me thinking about Miley Cyrus and Sinead O'Connor this morning.
In this work, Shlain also examines the history of women as the seat of power. As the source of life and the promise of the human species' continued existence, women were traditionally, and naturally in positions of power over men. With the introduction and predominance of written language, there was an essentially tectonic shift between the roles of women and men in Western society. The masculine embraced the word, and the feminine became the foul, unwashed and unclean. The feminine required the masculine to guide and dominate. And dominate they did.
As a lover of the written word and language, this concept was a startling and heartbreaking revelation to me. But when I looked around me in my personal life and the wider world, my heartbreak did not make the concept any less valid. Sometimes the truth hurts.
And that is why I was thinking of Miley and Sinead this morning.
In the millenia that have passed since the introduction of written language, and since the shift of power, women in most cultures that have embraced language have become dominated by men. Our marriages, our bodies, our childbearing, our livelihoods, and in many cases our very existences have become primarily dependent upon the whims of men.
 | |
| We need to take more than a sideways glance out the gods we create. |
I think that's why I always found myself searching for a spiritual home, but could never feel secure in one that was so heavily dominated by the masculine. I'd never been able to identify a sense of love or safety in a father's hand, whether in corporeal form or spiritual. And so many years after the fact, that's why Sinead O'Connor tearing that photo of the Pope is so important to me, and why Miley Cyrus' photo should be torn right along side it. She is the very representation of the "father."
You see, at close to the same age as Miley Cyrus, Sinead O'Connor shaved her head too, not to shock, but to take away the power of men. She shaved her head to thwart men from using her as a sexual object for financial or exploitative gain. She wore clothes. She sold herself, not on the merits of her nearly naked body, but on the merits of her powerful voice. And when she told the truth, she was shunned and outcast for it.
Miley Cyrus represents, for me, the lie. She represents the lie that women can only take back their feminine power by thrusting their half naked bodies to the world. She represents the lie that you can't be understated, intelligent and talented if you want to be successful. Sadly, more times that not, the Cyrus lie wins--but only for a time. I say only for a time, because there are a string of shriveled up, used up, half naked women along side the road of power and success that thought the only way to get where they wanted to go was to be quirky, half-witted and "likable" (i.e. non-threatening, non-thinking). It has, at times, been a hard lesson for me to learn, but there are many ways to define success. For me, it has become defined not by position, not by financial gain or fortune, but by being able to look at myself in the mirror and not feel the need to blacken the eyes of the person staring back. All because I wasn't willing to be something other than who I really am for all of those other lies. That has value to me.
Sadly, as women, many of us are fine with all that the "Cyrus lie" perpetuates, as long as we don't perceive ourselves to be challenged or harmed by it ourselves. But what we fail to realize is that we are all harmed by it. Many of us see the quiet, deep thinkers among our peers as the enemy, choosing instead to keep falling into the same power trap. We fail to support each other during difficult times, because it's easier than meeting real challenges and burrowing deep inside our own spirits. We judge each other for falling down in a society that has quite frankly pushed us down to prevent us from tearing pictures of the Pope.
When those of us who strive to reclaim ourselves and our place, make the mistake of reaching out to those of us in plastic underwear and with little sense of self, we are ridiculed and maligned.
The writing may not be clear on the wall for many of us. The power of the plastic pants may be the shiny thing of a society that believes it's easier to keep women low if they are held up as the dirty and used shells of a drunken weekend. But as a woman who prefers the company of wolves, I know that in 20 years, I will remember the banshee wail of "Fire on Babylon" long after plastic pants girl is done "just being Miley," whomever that actually is.
Fire On Babylon--Sinead O'Connor
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