Being Really Good at Something is not a Get Out of Being Responsible for Rape Free Card

“Being really good at coaching football doesn’t absolve you from looking the other way when you hear about child rape; it doesn’t absolve you from encouraging others not to report child rape to the police.” Jill Filipovic, blogger at Feministe.com

I would add that being a really good director doesn’t absolve you of rape; being the head of the International Monetary Fund doesn’t absolve you of rape; being some quasi-liberal/internet anarchist hero doesn’t absolve you of rape; being a priest or a nun doesn’t absolve you of rape or from looking the other way when you hear about rape; being a cop doesn’t absolve you of rape or from covering for your buddy when he rapes; being a Supreme Court judge does not absolve you from sexual harassment, nor does being a whack-job republican presidential hopeful…

I could go on, folks. Seriously, like all fucking day I could do this.

This, people, is rape culture; alive, well, and kicking. When we jump to absolve people from wrong-doing or from turning a blind eye to wrong-doing because they are “good” at something, or because they are in a position of power, or because we like them, and we try to minimize and explain away the wrong they have done - and thus choose to stand not on the side of those who have been hurt, but those who have done the hurting - that is rape culture.

It is the thing that rape culture depends and thrives upon - that we will protect the ones who have the power, or the admiration, or the talent and throw their victims under every fucking bus we can find.

And until we, as a society, stop doing that, we’re all complicit.

It's Coming...

Zombie. Tackle. Kickball.

Stay tuned for details.

Sharing is Good

Great minds think alike.  This week, the Centers for Disease Control used the metaphor of the Zombie Apocalypse to educate about disaster preparedness.

The CDC has obviously stumbled across this blog.  And seeing what an awesome plan it is to use the Zombie Apocalypse as a metaphor for real life safety skills, they promptly stole our idea.

It's ok, CDC, we'll share. 

Because the ability to protect yourself--from zombies, natural disasters, interpersonal violence and the rape culture that supports it--is a right, not a privilege.

(PS: Obviously kidding.  We're a wee bit paranoid, but we don't actually think the CDC is reading our blog.  We really do like to share, though.)

Rob Brezny concurs: Get Ready for Zombies

One of our stalwart students of zombie self-defense directed me to my horoscope for this week, penned by the brilliant free-spirit astrology Rob Brezny:

Virgo: It would be an excellent time for you to acquire the Zombie Apocalypse Preparedness Kit, a package of goodies prepared by domestic expert Martha Stewart. I say this not because a Zombie Apocalypse is looming, or any other kind of apocalypse for that matter. Rather, the kit's presence in your life might encourage you to make fun of your fears. And that would be a perfect way to cooperate with the current cosmic tendencies, which are conspiring to diminish the inhibitions that your anxieties hold in place. Remember one of the key rules in the game of life: Humor dissipates worry.

That's why we're here: fusing feminism and humor to confront fear. And zombies.

In Defense of the F-Word

You know what I hate? I hate it when I'm talking to someone - we're connecting, we have things in common, they're excited to hear my ideas, I want to know more about what matters to them, inside I'm doing a little happy dance because I'm making a new friend. It's awesome. Then, I say something about this thing that's really important to me, that's shaped my life and how I see the world. All of a sudden, the awesomeness we were generating skids to a screeching halt; the person who moments before was about to be my new best friend is shutting down, and I'm left wondering "What did I say?"

I usually know exactly what I said. It all boils down to one little word: Feminism. Bring that word into the mix and a perfectly lovely conversation goes awry, because the F-word is just so gosh darn alienating, for so many gosh darn reasons. And every time, I go to bat for the F-word. I make a case for using it even if I end up alienating people, even though feminism has and still does grapple with homophobia, transphobia, racism, classism and a whole host of other "isms". What can I say? I'm a big fan of embracing paradox.

I don't have much patience for the "feminists hate men and I don't hate men" argument. Don't bother me with that one. However, I will be the first to acknowledge that feminism is lugging around some heavy baggage. You know, the kind a movement gets when it tends to revolve around the visions of white, educated, middle to upper class, heteronormative women. Shall we look at a few examples from feminism's checkered past?

Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony? Totally had no problem using racist arguments to stir up outrage among suffragists when black men were given the vote before white women. Way to win over hearts and minds, ladies.

Margaret Sanger, she thought eugenics was pretty cool and advocated for the forced sterilization of "the profoundly retarded". You stay classy, Margaret.

The Sex Wars of the 80's: So. Much. Fun. All sex work is degrading! All sex workers are victims! I hope that's not a dildo in your pocket, because that sort of thing, along with butch/femme relationships and BDSM just recreates the oppression of the patriarchy. You transfolk? We just don't know what to do about you, so would you mind throwing yourself under that bus?

And don't even get me started of how sick I am of hearing "second wave" feminists tell us "third wave" feminists that we're doing it wrong.

See? I was so not kidding when I mentioned heavy baggage.

I'm now going to defend this thing why? Because feminism taught me a really important life lesson. Namely that my thoughts and opinions matter and anyone who tries to make me feel "less than" because I have a uterus is an asshat. It's taught me that anyone who tries to make anyone else feel "less than" for anything is, basically, an asshat. And those of us who have been made to feel less than by asshats, we need to stick together. Which, you know, is kind of a good world view to have.

So instead of declaring feminism unsalvageable and turning my back on the F-word, I want to push feminism to live up to its full potential. I say it's way past time for feminism to join forces with other people out there fighting for things that feminism should totally be on board with, and I plan on leading by example.

This is what MY feminism believes:

That the rigid gender-binary hurts people of all genders and sexual orientations. That abortion and access to birth control and contraception should be legal, safe and affordable. That we should offer kids comprehensive sex education, encourage them to think carefully before they become sexually active and never shame them for the choices they make. That sex work should be valued, no one should be stigmatized for engaging in it, and sex workers should be allowed to unionize and regulate their working conditions. That you never, ever blame the victim (ever). That there should be universal, single-payer health care for everyone. That we need to get rid of laws that make any class of person, whether they be a same-sex couple looking to get married or an undocumented immigrant worker, "illegal".

My feminism recognizes that if we want to make this world a better place for women, we need to work on making it a better place for everyone. Because come the zombie apocalypse, we are going to have to have our shit together.

What the Zombie Apocalypse Teaches Us About Feminist Self Defense

Here’s the story, morning glories:  When that day dawns that the streets are littered with body parts and your zombified neighbors shake your windows and doors trying to get to you and your loved ones, you will not wonder if you are under attack.  You will not think, maybe I am making too much of this.  Maybe there is not actually a war against me.  Maybe it is really my own damned fault; if only I had not worn this baby-doll nighty, the zombies would not be trying to kill me.  You won’t be wondering, am I the only one who thinks we’re in danger?  Because the sirens will be wailing and the blood will be running in the street and you will know that you are not safe, that your children are not safe.  And you will know why: because of zombies.  Not because of your bad choices, not because you went to the wrong neighborhood, not because of your promiscuous outfits (although you might want to deal with it if your clothes are fucking around on you), but because of the goddamned fucking zombies. 

You might, if of a spiritual inclination, extend a prayer of compassion to the zombies.  After all, only moments before their brains were devoured, they were ordinary people just like you.  They had dignity and worth; they had potential to be more than brain-seeking assasins.   It’s likely they were zombified against their will, victimized by their experience at the hands of sadistic killers.  But you won’t let empathy blind you to the fact that they are zombies and they will kill you given half a chance. You won’t lose track fo the fact that you are under attack.

In the zombie apocalypse, will you have a responsibility to train in the fighting arts, to use your judgment and cunning and negotiation and yelling and running and fighting and healing skills?  You bet your bippy you will.  And will you hold this responsibility because the zombie apocalypse is somehow your fault?  For the love of all that is holy, are you listening to me at all?

You will be accountable for your own safety because you are a beautiful and unique gift to the world and there won’t be anyone else watching out for your sweet ass.

There are no sirens, but make no mistake: we are under attack.  There are no zombies, but there are a fucking lot of rapists, although we don’t count them—we count the one in six American women who will experience attempted or completed sexual assault.  And while I know that it is not just women who are under attack, it is everyone who fails to support the gender binary: queer youth and youth assumed to be queer,  dykes and fags and transfolk (oh my!), I will not rest until even the most gender-conforming Kinsey scale zero straight girl is shouting it from the rooftops: girlfriends, there is a war on. 

We think of rape as a tool of control and terror in distant lands of brownskinned rebel armies, resettlement camps and civil unrest.  That’s not a world nice western ladies think they live in.  But when a middle class white American woman say to me, “What about personal accountability?  Why am I not responsible for the violence done to me?” I have to say: “See how racist, classist liberal feminism twists against us all?”  Even those of us with white skin and money priviledge come to believe that our autonomy, our liberation, our individualism, makes us responsible for someone else’s violations.  When we buy into the myth of our own equality, we fail to notice the terror and control operating upon us, here in the sweet suburban streets.

Most appallingly, when we (and by “we” I mean white western middle class ladies, feminist or not) hold to the myth of our liberation, we lose common cause with those who are the most vulnerable: say, the transgender drug-using sex worker of color whose risk of sexual violence is googleplex more than the middle class suburban white lady.  We think it’s her fault when she’s assaulted instead of remembering: it’s the zombies, stupid. 

By which I mean the rapists, if it’s not already abundantly clear.

It’s convenient to think the only people who need to stand for their own freedom are staring down dictators in the middle east today.  But anyone who’s been moved to change her dress or behavior or location out of fear that violence would be done to her and it would be her fault needs to stand up for her own freedom too.  Anyone who believes she could ever do anything that would make her deserving of sexual violation needs to stand up for her own freedom.   She needs a bucket of cold reality upside the head to clear her patriarchy-fogged brain until she lets go a rebel yell of Oh my fucking god there are zombies out there and we need to kick their brainless asses!

Coming Soon: Self Defense Against Zombies

Get Fit to Defend!

Classes forming soon.

Whether you want to build skills to handle an intrusive family member, a grabby-ass co-worker, the relentless violence of the patriarchy or the zombie apocalypse, Fit to Defend is the class for you. Join feminist folks of all genders, ages, shapes and levels of fitness as we work together to increase our power, agility, reaction time, strength, speed and self confidence.

Jenn Bealer and Lynne Marie Wanamaker have been feminists for so long that they have degrees in Women’s Studies because Gender/Queer Studies hadn’t been invented yet. They’ve been kicking ass since they were teenagers. In the intervening years they have amassed a vast collection of martial arts black-belts, sweaty tee-shirts, feminist diatribes and sarcastic comebacks. Their teaching blends effectiveness with irreverence and they are committed to making self protection skills accessible to everyone.

For more information email trainer "at" compassionateconditioning.com