Quote of the Day

“If the Republican Party gets any more conservative, they’ll need to reanimate the corpse of Mussolini to lead the ticket in 2012.”

– Melissa McEwan

Angry Letter to Amy Dickinson of Ask Amy

In today’s Ask Amy advice column, Amy answers a question from a rape victim.  The woman writes:

DEAR AMY: I recently attended a frat party, got drunk and made some bad decisions.

I let a guy take me to “his” room because he promised that he wouldn’t do anything I wasn’t comfortable with.  Many times, I clearly said I didn’t want to have sex, and he promised to my face that he wouldn’t.  Then he quickly proceeded to go against what he “promised.” I was shocked, and maybe being intoxicated made my reaction time a bit slow in realizing what was happening.  We were soon kicked out of the room by the guy who lived there, who was pretty angry.  I guess my question is, if I wasn’t kicking and fighting him off, is it still rape?  I feel like calling it that is a bit extreme, but I haven’t felt the same since it happened.

Am I a victim? — Victim? in Virginia

Amy’s answer contains some good advice about going to a counselor and getting tested for pregnancy and STIs. But her answer is ambivalent about the nature of the experience. The first thing she writes is, “Were you a victim? Yes. First, you were a victim of your own awful judgment.” She goes on to note, “You don’t say whether the guy was also drunk. If so, his judgment was also impaired.” And of course she breaks out that old canard, “No matter what — no means no.”

Amy missed an opportunity to set the record straight about this type of far-too-common sexual assault.

Is this sexual assault? Yes, the woman was subjected to sexual contact without her consent. That is unequivocally, undeniably sexual assault.

Does it show poor judgment to get drunk at a frat party? Probably. It’s never an especially good idea for any person, regardless of age, gender, or location to drink to excess.

Would this woman have been raped if she hadn’t been drinking? Maybe, maybe not. There’s no way to know for sure.

If she was drunk, does that mean it wasn’t rape? Well, let’s think about that. If I have 10 shots of tequila, and then I’m walking down the sidewalk and Joe walks up to me and punches me in the face, am I a victim of assault? Drinking 10 shots of tequila shows poor judgment. If I hadn’t had that many shots of tequila, I may have been able to dodge Joe’s punch. Or maybe not. Either way, Joe has assaulted me, and I am a victim of assault. Why is it different when the assault is sexual in nature?  The fact that the victim of a crime was drunk, doesn’t excuse the criminal from committing the crime.

If the guy was drunk is it still rape? Ok, let’s say Joe was in that bar having 10 tequila shots with me before he punched me in the face. He’s still guilty of assault. In most places voluntary intoxication is no excuse for a criminal action, whether the crime is armed robbery or assault.  The fact that the rapist was drunk doesn’t excuse him from committing the crime.

Let’s recap:  When the rapist is drunk, the rapist is responsible for the rape.  When the victim is drunk, the rapist is STILL responsible for the rape.  See how that works?  No matter what, the only person who is responsible for the rape is THE RAPIST.  It’s really not that difficult.

I like Amy, and I usually think her advice is sound, so my angry letter took a more instructional than rage-ful tone.  I’m hoping she will print a retraction or a clarification informed by a more accurate view of consent.

Dear Amy:

In your response to the young woman who was raped at a frat party you repeated the old saying, “No means no.”  This is an outdated model of consent.  Women do not exist in a state of perpetual consent to sex, which they must cancel out by saying “no” in order to prevent a man from having sex with them.  Consent means an enthusiastic “yes” from both parties, not just a lack a “no.”  I hope you will use your column to remind people that yes, and only yes, means yes.  Victim made it clear she didn’t want to have sex, and she certainly did not enthusiastically consent to sex.  Regardless of the perpetrator’s criminal liability, she is a victim of sexual assault and should seek help for dealing with that trauma.

 

Vegetarian Thanksgiving

The last couple of years, my Thanksgiving guests have consisted entirely of vegetarians.  Not wanting to roast a turkey that only I would eat, I decided to do a vegetarian main dish.  I immediately rejected tofurkey, but finding a vegetarian main dish with a holiday wow-factor isn’t that easy.  Luckily, I stumbled on this recipe for stuffed pumpkin.  I made it last year, and brought it back due to popular demand this year.  It’s impressive, tasty, and very easy to make.  See photos and directions after the jump.

Shop Your Closet

In the spirit of Buy Nothing Day, I’m posting an new outfit I created from things I already had in my closet.  Shopping your closet is a great way to satisfy your desire for novelty without wasting money and using valuable resources.  I have a blue dress that I love, which I bought for a formal occasion.  I wore it once a couple of years ago and haven’t worn it since.  Itching for a new outfit, I recently pulled it out of the back of my closet and re-purposed it for a more casual evening – dinner and a play.  By adding a cardigan from Alloy, tights from Sock Dreams, and ankle boots by Coconuts, I gave that old dress new life.  The dress is from Talbots, but I don’t think it’s available anymore.

Blue dress- fancy

Blue dress - not so fancy

Tough Chick Outfit

This is my Tough Chick Outfit for those occasions when you want people to think there might be a knife in your boot.  Apparently going to see Pirate Radio and having drinks in a trendy hotel bar was that occasion for me last weekend.   I got a big hole in the tights later in the evening, and I decided not to stress because it sort of matched the whole vibe.

This outfit features the Dorothy Perkins jacket and Naturalizer boots that were on my Fall Wish List.

The skirt is from Torrid ($38)

The tights are from Sock Dreams ($13, available in plus size)

A note about the Dorothy Perkins biker jacket (now on sale for 20 GBP, marked down from the 40 GBP I paid, damnit!):  When I got this jacket in the mail, the fabric was thinner than I expected, but I loved the cut and the style.  I think it’s very flattering to my apple shape.  The only problem was that it stank horribly of formaldehyde.  I washed it with detergent.  It still smelled.  I soaked it in water and baking soda and rinsed it in white vinegar.  It still smelled.  I ran it through a regular wash cycle with vinegar instead of detergent and then hung it on a hanger outside for about 8 hours.  The smell finally went away.  This is the only item I’ve ever ordered from Dorothy Perkins, so I don’t know if this is typical of their merchandise.  If you decide to order from them beware:  your cute clothes may arrive smelling super-stanky.

I am Jenny’s Privilege

I had an conversation today in which I said something that was dripping with privilege.  Here’s what happened:

By way of background, I live in a neighborhood in DC that has a majority of Black residents.  The neighborhood has some violent crime, but it’s far from the worst place in DC in that regard.  I was on my way home from work.  It was after dark, and I got off the bus at my usual stop.  A young Black man dressed in nice jeans and a collared shirt got off at my stop with me.  He was walking a few steps ahead of me as I made my way down the street.  We had walked a block or two when he turned and asked me a question:  “Is this a rough neighborhood?”

I responded:  “Well, I live here.”  Emphasis on the “I.”

We continued walking and conversed a little about the neighborhood.  He was trying to get to his barbershop and hadn’t realized he was on an express bus, so he was a little lost when he got off the bus.  We wished each other a good night and parted ways at my street.  As I finished my walk home, I thought about the encounter.  I ruminated on my response to his initial question.  What exactly was I trying to communicate when I said, “I live here.”

If I am honest with myself, I know that I was trying to say: “If someone like me lives here than it must not be dangerous for someone like you.”  What an ugly thought.

I assumed that he would see my business casual attire and recognize me as a professional, middle class woman.  I guess I thought he would see by my outfit that I have a good job and therefore know that I have a choice about where I live.  I didn’t consider that someone wearing business casual attire might live in a dangerous neighborhood for any number of reasons.

I assumed that, as a White woman, I face more danger as I walk down the street than a Black man.  [This is false, as African-Americans and men both experience much higher rates of violent crime than Caucasians and women.  See here for stats.]  I momentarily accepted the age-old narrative that Black man = dangerous and White Woman = in danger.  Even though I know all the statistics, and I know this narrative is false it still occupies a part of my brain and influence my thoughts and words.

My response was based on accepting stereotypes about class, race, and gender as truth.  And not just any truth, but truth so universally acknowledged that this young man would automatically accept them too.  My response could have been so different if I just hadn’t emphasized the “I.”  If I had said, “Well I live here, and I think it’s pretty safe, particularly if you stick to X Street,” it would have been a whole other statement, one based on my personal experience rather than lazy, privileged assumptions.

 

This post is not meant to be an exercise in self-flagellation.  I just want to recognize the fallacious ideas that  sometimes influence my thoughts and actions and challenge them.  I hope the next time I have this kind of conversation, I will think before I speak and let my words be guided by reality rather than privilege.

Angry Letter to the Archdiocese of Washington

I am Catholic.  I converted to Catholicism in my early 20s and hold the faith close to my heart for many reasons.  But I have become increasingly disillusioned by the Church’s treatment of victims of sexual abuse, pro-choice Catholics, and LGTB people.  One thing that has motivated me to retain my Catholic identity is the good works the Church does through Catholic Charities.  In Denver I volunteered in a Catholic Charities Head Start program and saw how important their services were to low-income populations, particularly immigrant communities.  Catholic Charities has programs for the homeless, provides childcare, health care, legal services, and adoption services, and runs food banks and soup kitchens among other things.  There are a lot of good people doing a lot for social justice in the name of the Catholic Church.

So it felt like a punch in the gut when I woke up one morning to see that the Archdiocese of Washington is threatening to suspend all its social services in D.C. if the City Council passes a law allowing same-sex marriage.  (See WaPo article)  While I have long disagreed with the Church’s views on homosexuality, I never in a million years would have thought it would go so far as to use the community’s most vulnerable members as pawns in its quest to discriminate against gays.  These actions are so far removed from the teachings of Jesus, I am mortified that, as a Catholic, this was done in my name.  The only thing I could do was fire off an angry email to Jane Belford, the Chancellor of the Archdiocese.

Dear Chancellor Belford:

I am a Catholic living in Washington DC.  I attend mass at St. Augustine church.  I assure you, I will never attend another church in this diocese or give another dollar to the Church if you persist in your outrageous extortion of the D.C. City Council.  Discriminating against LGTB folks is despicable enough, but using the Church’s charitable work as leverage is truly reprehensible.  Today I am ashamed to call myself Catholic.  If something doesn’t change, I no longer will.

Sincerely,

Jenny Knopinski

 

Tomorrow I’m going to check out the Unitarian Universalist Church down the street.

A New Radical

In the past being a “radical” has meant burning your bra, living with your boyfriend, identifying as gay, doing drugs, opposing war, supporting civil rights, piercing your face, and many other things.  But lately I have been wondering who and what is radical today?  Some people use the word to denote any kind of extremism, e.g. “the radical left”.  I think of it more as something unusual or unique, likely to be unpopular or misunderstood, that is motivated by some principle.  What is radical now?  Here are some ideas:

• As a woman, not shaving your legs and wearing clothing that shows your legs.  Declining to shave is not new, but with 95% of American women shaving, it is unusual.  Many people have negative views of women who don’t shave, and often the decision is motivated by a desire to flout patriarchal beauty standards.
• Being happy with your appearance.  Men and women, we are all under tremendous cultural pressure to conform to certain physical standards.  A lot of people make a lot of money by telling us we are sub-par, and we must buy their mascara/body spray/diet pills in order to be acceptable.  Rejecting these messages and resisting the impulse to judge yourself by these standards is a truly radical act.
• Opting out of the “Mommy Wars.”  Women get judged for our life choices all the time.  Whether you are married or single, working or home-making, a parent or childless, a home-schooler or a private-schooler, an urbanite or a suburbanite there is someone out there who thinks you are living your life all wrong.  I think this makes women defensive about our choices.  It can be easy to assume that someone whose life is different from yours thinks that your choices are inferior.  So we lash out and we judge, judge, judge.  It’s a radical act to just. stop.
• In the age of  Facebook, Twitter, blogs, reality TV, and endless public confession, is privacy radical?  Maybe the most radical thing a person can do these days is keep her thoughts to herself.  Whether this is desireable, I don’t know.

Any other ideas?  Are you radical?

 

Teetering on the Edge of the Abyss

Photo by Y on Flikr

Or getting over swine flu.  While I was out of commission my life kind of fell apart, and I’m now in the process of getting it back together.  I have tons of new clothes and outfits to blog about when things get back on track!

My Teeth Are Just Fine, Thank You

Photo by Glamhag on Flikr

I refuse to bleach my teeth.

As with most things, it all started with celebrities.  Movie stars have always had big, shiny, perfect white teeth.  Then in the 90s when everyone had tons of disposable income, and we collectively decided that we all needed to be living Celebrity Lifestyles, it became popular for average people to bleach their teeth.  First it was the wealthier folks who would go to the dentist to get those trays.  Then it filtered down to the point where anyone can get to whitening strips at Target for $20.

What is the problem?  Does everyone have nasty coffee and tobacco stained teeth?  No, the problem is that people have tooth-colored teeth.  As bleaching has become more prevalent, ultra-bright teeth have become the norm.  If 9 out of 10 people have blindingly white teeth, the 10th person’s mouth is going to look like a yellow mess, even if her teeth are perfectly healthy and normal.  So that 10th person is going to feel like something is wrong and possibly she will run out and buy a box of white strips.

Many moons ago when I was a teenager, I tried whitening strips.  They made my teeth so sensitive that I couldn’t drink beverages on ice.  I couldn’t eat ice cream.  The bleaching of my teeth impaired my ability to use my mouth for consuming food and drink.  As a wayward youth, I lamented that I would never get the Clorox smile of my dreams.  As a slightly less wayward adult I realize that being able to use my mouth for its intended purposes is a lot more important than having glowing white teeth.

I have learned in life never to say never.  So I won’t say I will never bleach my teeth.  Maybe there will come a point where the difference between my teeth and everyone else’s bleached teeth is so great that I will cave and do it.  But for now I am standing firm, bolstered by my resentment.  I resent being made to feel that a perfectly functional part of my body is not aesthetically up to par, just so Procter and Gamble can make money selling boxes of chemicals that will eat away at my tooth enamel.  I resent going to the dentist and being asked if I want to “brighten my smile.”  (Stop calling my teeth my “smile”, dentists!  A smile is an expression.  A tooth is a calcified protrusion in my mouth.  You are a dentist; I hope you know the difference!)  I resent commercials on TV trying to tell me that tooth whitening should be part of my general hygiene routine.  I particularly resent commercials that tell me I should whiten my teeth before I go home for the holidays, as if my family will be happier to see me if my teeth are 6 shades whiter.  So for now, I refuse to bleach my teeth.  You won’t get me, Tooth Industrial Complex, not yet!