when a friend isn't an ally (trigger warning)

A friend is not an ally on humid, house-party Saturday night.

A friend is not an ally when, two or three or four glasses of wine in, they open debate on a latest controversy, when they lean in, primed for A Rousing Debate about whether or not rape culture is a thing that exists, when they expect you to defend your position with the same charm, intelligence, and passion that you do when you're talking about school reform.

A friend is not an ally when they think this is the kind of conversation you're willing to have at a party, when they think that an intellectual discussion of rape goes nicely with a front lawn and an evening breeze and a beer. A friend is not an ally when you wish they were wearing a trigger warning t-shirt.

A friend is not an ally when several acquaintances, one of whom is a comedian, enter the conversation preaching "Nothing is sacred, everything is funny," and the friend doesn't disagree. And those acquaintances smile at their own cleverness, their edge, when they claim loudly against the silent opposition, "There's nothing that can't be made light of," meaning, of course, that they really believe it's harmless (in which case they're hopeless) or that the harm it does, the harm it does to you, is a non-issue (in which case they're fucking assholes).

Because you're non-verbal at this point. You're absolutely incapable of saying anything about this.

A party is not a party once the rape apology avalanche begins, once you start to feel claustrophobic even though you're outside, once you begin to feel afraid of everyone around you and your thought process is panicked, repeating, "I have to leave I have to get out I have to leave I have to get out." A party is not a party when the stifling Midwestern night air feels just a little like someone holding you down, when you start to wish you had something sharp and metal because holding it in your hand would calm you.

A party isn't a party when you leave in the middle of this conversation, telling everyone you're tired. You are tired, but that isn't the reason you leave.

A friend isn't an ally when it doesn't occur to them to follow up and make sure you're OK. A friend isn't an ally when it doesn't occur to them that someone might be made less than OK by this series of events.

A friend isn't an ally when they are too invested in their own privilege to admit it exists.

on coolness and beer cans (in which the author is disinvited to a social event)

I have spent a lot of time associating with dudes.*

I've hung out drinking shitty alcohol and watching shitty movies and eating shitty pizza in many a shitty apartment. I've admired floor-to-ceiling beer can sculptures. I've seen kitchens and bathrooms in which the next new pandemic illness might be evolving rightthisveryminute.

I am cursed with chameleon skills; I strive to blend and largely succeed. This has sometimes led to misunderstanding and confusion, but in the land of Scarface posters and refrigerators containing only condiments, it was an asset. It led to me being cool.

Being cool meant that the one time I brought another female friend to a dudely function, all of their offensive remarks were followed up with apologies - to her. I didn't get any apologies; I never had. I was cool. I didn't get (act) offended by scatological humor or detailed descriptions of sexual exploits, regardless of misogynistic tone.**

Let us fast forward to present day. My mother is going to a function tomorrow evening, involving that bastion of high art, stand up comedy. She was given free tickets by a mutual friend, who also offered me free tickets.

My mother doesn't want me to go. Lately, she notices that I am so easily offended, by, you know, that kind of thing. She is concerned that I'd cause a scene.

Really, me? A scene? When did I become that person? When did I lose all my cool?

I don't want to be sad and alone and no-fun-at-all. I'd like to think I could appreciate a good joke. That said, the last time I had a run-in with stand-up comedy, the comedian did a dissection of the "I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last man on earth" idea that went something like this:

"What do you mean? If you were the last woman on earth, and I were the last man on earth, you wouldn't have a choice! What are you going to do, call the cops?"

I finally told my mom that, since rape jokes are the new hot thing in comedy, she's probably right, I would likely be offended.

What I didn't tell her is that how much it hurts me that she isn't offended, and how much I wish I could show her that cool isn't worth being complicit in a culture that systematically encourages rape and harassment.

I didn't want to make a scene.



*Dudes, n. White, cis, het, middle-to-upper class young men who drink, smoke, adore Seth Rogen and may or may not play Texas Hold 'em.

** The one thing that I've never been cool with, though, is racism. Several of these dudes saw my cool evaporate real fast on more than one occasion when they said the wrong thing.