For those reasons, today I am unveiling the new blog name: Radically Queer.  From now on, all updates will take place there.  I am importing this blog over there, but leaving it here as well, so links will not be broken.  If you’re showing up to this blog from a blogroll or other link, please head on over to Radically Queer instead.  If you have linked to me in your blogroll or are reading on RSS, please update accordingly.  Thanks for your understanding in this transition and I hope to see you at the new digs!

But even questions of technical definitions and what exactly it is that we wish to eradicate in fighting this thing called “rape” aside, I do know one thing for sure. When women come forward and start saying “I was raped,” when they find the power to use that word to describe their own experiences and open up to share their trauma with the world, responding with “no you weren’t” — with whole blog posts about the subject, in fact — is about the worst possible way that a person can do feminism.

Cara’s writing here in response to a slew of recent posts that challenge a woman’s right to use the term “rape” to describe traumatic birth experiences.  These include What Is “Birth Rape?” on Jezebel, Amanda Marcotte’s Bad Birth Experiences Aren’t Rape, and The Push to Recognize “Birth Rape” on Salon.  Scare quotes.  How to know something really good’s coming.

Joking aside, I wholeheartedly agree with Cara when it comes to the problems with feminists policing language in the way these bloggers do.  You kind of have to step back and ask why those fighting against the term birth rape are so adamant about claiming the word “rape” as this one specific, identifiable thing, when last I checked, third wave feminism’s stance toward rape focused on highlighting the blurriness of language in this area.

Rape, as I understand it, is about violation.  It’s about, most importantly, lack of consent.  And I feel that those who are saying that doctors aren’t sadists, that poking and prodding and restraining and cutting women is medically necessary for childbirth, are missing the point.  I feel that those who say “but this isn’t like rape in the Congo!” are missing the point.  It doesn’t matter whether x experience and y experience are the same, what matters is how a woman experiences x or y.  What matters is that a woman is tied down and screaming “no!” and she’s ignored because birth is supposed to be painful and difficult, because we have this cultural understanding that pregnant women are supposed to go to a hospital and lie down and take whatever’s dished out.

This is a cultural problem.  And whether x, y, or z act have the same cause or effect, they’re all tied up in this culture.  This is a culture that restricts a woman’s right to give birth in whatever way she chooses, and tells her to hurry up because the obstetrician has somewhere to be.  This is a culture that views rape in wartime as unfortunate but an acceptable consequence of a kind of violent conflict that is accepted as “normal.”  This is a culture that constantly questions the power of women and trans and gender queer people to use language in the ways we see fit.  This is a violent, power-wielding, out-of-control, rape culture.

It’s our right to tell it like we see it.

One thing, though, that bothered me, was that Specter seemed surprised that a public education and awareness campaign would be needed–what is to me one of the most important elements of eradicating rape culture.  He stated that “people are aware of what rape means [...] that it is violent and anti-social.”  Seems to be missing the point a bit.  There was some back-and-forth in this hearing between recognizing and seeming to gloss over acquaintance rape.  The problem isn’t that people don’t know what rape is, but that sexual crimes aren’t culturally stigmatized and survivors don’t get social support.  So yes, a public education campaign is vitally important, to change the way people think about sex and to prevent rape before it happens.

On the other hand, I was encouraged that particularly vulnerable populations were at least mentioned: indigenous people, immigrants, people with disabilities, people in institutions, LGBT people, the homeless, etc.  I don’t know how much hope I have for things improving, but this hearing has shown that journalism, and just talking about it, does mean something.

Apparently, the burning of Qu’arans isn’t going to happen after all, but that doesn’t mean that things like that don’t happen everyday, in America and elsewhere.  The thing we have to realize is that we’re dealing with structural issues.  Imperialism, colonialism, war, corporate greed, capitalism… it’s a very thick net that many have woven, and it’s strangling us.

My mom is a very talented musician, and she put out an album years before September 11  was more than just a random date on the calendar, with a song called “Terrorist.”  There’s a line in that song that I think sums this point up very well: “Powerless gain power, and the power stays the same.”  And the song, as a whole, makes another important point: it’s not about good and evil people, and when we think of the world in good and evil sides, well, we miss that choking net entirely.

You can listen to “Terrorist,” by Mean Mad Momma, here.  The lyrics are below the cut.

Is it them?
Is it us?
The terrorized, the terrorist.
Is it them who lights the flame?
Or is it them who pulls the blinds of gold inlay?
Don’t let the bastards get you down.
Is it us?
Or is it them?

Little children cowering far as they can go in fright.
Hear broken screams as villages burn into the night.
Grow up tough, use lessons learned early, learned well.
Grow up and make someone else’s life hell.

Is it them?
Is it us?
The terrorized, the terrorist.
Is it them who lights the flame?
Or is it them who pulls the blinds of gold inlay?
Don’t let the bastards get you down.
Is it us?
Is it them?

History’s legends linger, questions lie inside.
Victors get the telling, truth flickers with the lies.
Positions hold new players, roles remain the same.
Powerless gain power, and power stays the same.

Look into the enemy, mirrors back to see.
Saints, sinners all reflections of “they” and “we.”
Don’t let the bastards get you down.
Is it us?
Or is it them?

There was a post on cultural appropriation at Bitch Magazine that presented a really helpful guiding line for this problem.  Basically, it’s about attribution.  White people tend to appropriate the ideas of nonwhite people and of marginalized groups in general, whether queer, disabled, indigenous, or something else, and then claim them as their own–directly or through silence.  What this says to me (and correct me if I’m wrong), is that it’s good to recognize the creativity of solutions presented by marginalized people, and to incorporate them into, or use them as the basis for, an activist movement.  But it is essential to attribute those ideas to that group, and to the individuals that have expressed them.  It is not okay to take the ideas out of context, to strip away their origins, and to exclude those who presented the ideas in the first place.

Thoughts?

I’ve been reading Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States this week, and its chapters do a great job of putting democracy in perspective.  The Founders, lauded in our classrooms as almost omnipotent men, benevolent providers of justice and equality, were actually concerned at the founding of our country about making the Constitution too democratic.  The Founders didn’t want to risk the United States becoming a nation where rich and poor people alike had a share in the workings of state, and they certainly didn’t see blacks, women, Indians, or recent immigrants getting involved.  Property qualifications varied from state to state, but everywhere the voting population was a definite minority of the general populous.

Now, of course, people can vote without owning any property.  Blacks, women, naturalized citizens, American Indians, and the poor make up a large part of the total voting population.  But capitalism is still firmly entrenched in our ideas of government and society.  Children still sneer at “commies,” and those in power are ingenious at turning different groups against one another and stigmatizing any desire for socialism or communal living.  Our system of property ownership, our “rags to riches myth,” the institution of marriage–all these things perpetuate a capitalist ideal that focuses on the individual, not the group.  And who’s in power?  Well, the business interests still aren’t doing too badly.  Rich white men may be joined by women and people of color in the corridors of power, but classism in the United States is alive and well, along with racism and sexism.

So let’s continue fighting for equality, rather than resting on our laurels.  Let’s take this occasion to reflect on how we can use our activism, our writing, our entrepreneurship, our leadership, our coalitions, and yes, our vote, creatively to increase access to political life and economic well-being for more and more people in the United States.  And let’s think about how we define “well-being,” exactly, and consider how our hallowed institutions do and don’t meet our needs as individuals and a community.

That got me thinking about competency kinks and how they align with violence.

“Competency kink” basically just means that someone being really good at whatever zie does is a turn-on.  Movies certainly capitalize on this.  Sometimes it’s intellectual competence, or psychic ability, or something else unrelated to violence, but very often the protagonist is competent at killing, injuring, and/or self defense.  Whether it’s competence with weaponry, martial arts, magic, or some other violence-related skill, filmmakers are very good at combining destructive prowess with sexiness.  Think Christian Bale in Equilibrium.  Think Keanu Reeves in the Matrix.  Think of all the bad-ass chicks in films that are unexpectedly very skilled at physical combat.  Kill Bill, anyone?

The thing is, there are other ways to fulfill a competency kink.  We use violent characters and we respond to violent characters because we live in a society that praises dominance.  ”Male” values of power, physical strength, ability to subjugate, etc., are privileged in a society that was built on patriarchy, imperialism, and conquest.

I was reading the first chapter of A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn, the one about Columbus, and I was struck by the description of the Arawak tribe in the Bahamas.  According to Columbus’s account, they didn’t recognize weapons and were immediately willing to share, offer what they had, and trade with the white explorers.  Whether this is accurate or not, I was struck by Columbus’s reaction, which was basically “they’re too weak to fight us, so we will conquer them.”  This plan of action was natural to him as breathing.

Of course, this is a matter of values that have been engrained over thousands of years.  War, imperialism, conquering territory, conquering peoples, rape and pillage, may the strongest man win, etc. etc. ad infinitum.  But what if we privileged other values?  What if we privileged sharing ideas and goods?  What if violence and subjugation was shameful, not a point of pride?  What if those who used their fists and weapons were ostracized from the community, rather than invited to lead it?  What if we focused most heavily on community and communication?  What if our first thought in developing a character to meet an audience’s competency kink was to write a hero like the Buddha or Lao Tse, a master of words and diplomacy?  What if competency was demonstrated by avoiding conflict rather than creating or perpetuating it?

The thing about a society built around conquest is that it does not last.

The thing about such a society is that the only possible endpoint is destruction.

The society can fall when it outstrips its resources, or it can simply destroy the whole world until there is nothing left to conquer.

What if, instead, we built a society around peace?  That seems, to me, to be the only value that could create a true global community.

Well, I’ve been having thoughts about a career shift, about possibly trying to develop my online presence in a way that could lead to a career as a writer/speaker/freelancer. There are so many doubts about this: it’s not a steady stream of income, which is terrifying; I’m already 25 and I feel like I’ve wasted that stage where you do things and people say indulgently “wow, you’re so young, okay, we’ll take a look at your book proposal.” My friends on Facebook who went to high school with me are now heads of departments and I’m an administrative assistant.

But I want to nurture my little seed, because maybe it will grow, and I like writing. I like free speech. I like being able to say whatever I want, and not the message of the organization.