We were at the oldest’s homecoming parade yesterday, because he’s in the college marching band. I’m overwhelmed with nostalgia for my own days at UMD, ages ago. The crisp fall breeze through turning leaves, warm sun, buzzing activity, air of promise and possibilities: I’ve always looked forward to back to school season. I loved college, and I miss it. I miss the new learning schedule every quarter (yes, I’m old enough to have had quarters, not semesters). I miss the constant sense of new adventure, even when it was stressful. I miss feeling like my whole life was waiting for me to discover what comes next.
The juxtaposition of remembering that part of my life so fondly, to be wistful of it and even mourn it a little, while the general shitshow of protecting rapists and harming young women continues to play out in the news and social media is a dissonance that darkened the picture perfect campus. As I watched the parade pass by, I wondered if the stats will ever change, because they certainly haven’t since I was in college. In the mid ‘90’s, every young woman I knew had been physically abused or sexually assaulted at least once by the time we’d graduated high school. Experience is the harshest teacher, and statistically 1 in 3 women in my college classes had learned what men were capable of. That’s statistically, because it’s based on reported incidents: anecdotally I’d say it was at least 1 in 2 or more.
Yeah, that’s means you absolutely know someone who’s been sexually assaulted. If you can’t name anyone, it just means they haven’t said anything, for their own reasons.
Even with the rise of consent culture and all the social advances that have given me hope over the decades, nothing has really changed. Attackers’ futures are protected. Survivors still aren’t believed. Sometimes, the “good guy” presentation still masks the monster, and so Maya Angelou’s advice to believe people when they show you who they are is always applicable. Don’t dismiss misogynist jokes or apologists or “but what did she think would happen in that situation” defenses: those just show you that you aren’t with safe people. Those aren’t people who would protect you if you’re in a vulnerable state, and believe me, a vulnerable state can happen without your intent or your consent.
The system defending and protecting attackers and blaming survivors for something that was never their fault is set up that way because the system hates women. Yep, I said it. A system that is built by entitled protected old men who then protect young men’s futures with essays and dirty rugs of administrative silence expects to rule the world without pushback or resistance to that protection, and therefore hates women. Especially women who don’t submit to men’s whims, who want anything outside the home, who value themselves and their brains and careers over their relationship to a man or children. Rape isn’t sex, after all, it’s about exerting power and control over someone who had the nerve to say no. It is treating another person like they are nothing but an object the rapist can use as he pleases, not a human being with agency of her own or who is master of her own body. The system backs that up by making the attack her fault for existing, for being human, for having the gall to have any fun or be young and free, or be anything but the obedient house and family manager society still, underneath the skin of progress, tries to force her to be.
I think about this a lot, with the next two more bonus horde looking at their graduation next spring and what comes after. It is a heavy worry, and a heavy rage.
I watched the cheerleaders, marching band, and dance line perform today under fall colored trees surrounded by parents and students. The wind blew leaves in their eyes and the line for the free pancake breakfast crowded their space, and I had nothing but respect for their hard work and determination. I can’t imagine any of them aren’t hyperaware of the danger, and I wonder how many of them are second guessing every interaction they have with every male in their lives after the last few weeks of news and details in social media. I hope their campus’s homecoming was a blast, but more importantly I hope it was safe. I’m also weirdly happy to see the backlash and collective anger building about all of this, because thirty years ago we never would’ve gotten past “why was she there” and “what was she wearing,” so maybe there’s been a little progress, even if it’s not hitting the right places fast enough for prevention.
When people show you who they are, believe them. I’m sorry if this shit shows you some of the friends you trusted aren’t trustworthy because they defend or blame the wrong people, or because they joke about wishing they could do the same as those frat assholes when they think you can’t hear them, or if they’ve otherwise said or done something that makes you feel unsafe. Don’t dismiss it: we are too conditioned to ignore red flags and unsafe warnings to keep the peace or to not be “difficult” or “crazy.” FUCK THAT.
Be difficult. Be choosy. Cut people out of your circle for showing you who they really are if they’re dangerous to you. Protect yourself, and surround yourself with those who love you and want you safe, happy, healthy, and thriving. No one else is worthy. Ever.
Sigh. I still miss college. I miss campus, and classes,, and the library. OMG the library. I also managed to see our own kid long enough to get a run-by hug between his performance schedule, so that was a big win.
