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.

Sunday morning rape apology

Good afternoon, hypothetical readers!

This morning I learned something that I wanted to share. My family includes at least two antifeminist rape apologists!

I know you're jealous, and would love some rape apologists of your very own, so that you might also be berated and screamed at for your ignorance. In hopes of sating this desire, I present some of the highlights of our exchange.

The setting is my parent's living room, in which just moments before my mother and I had discussed cuticle maintenance. Just riveting, I know. The conversation migrated, slowly, as pesky conversations are wont to do, and we ended in the realm of bars.

Dark, until recently smokey, loud, crowded establishments in which people interact and sometimes those interactions are less than pleasant, right? Sometimes some asshole will, for example, touch other people in a way that is invasive, rude, inappropriate, etc.

"Well, that's to be expected, I think," my mother says, in her way of being so much wiser than I am because I am after all just the ignorant spawn.

Red flag. BIG ONE. In my face, flying about. "Oh, no." I say. "Let's not go here. This is a hot button issue for me."

us and them (in which the author discusses Polanski, the prison system, and other heartwarming things)

Via the Huffington Post, Bernard-Henri Levy shares a letter from Roman Polanski, his "first words since his incarceration."

Polanski writes from "my chalet in Gstaad, where I am spending the holidays with my wife and my children," to thank his supporters for "messages of support and sympathy" which were comforting during his "darkest moments."

The darkest moments of two months of imprisonment? That's less time than the father of "Balloon Boy," who got 90 days.

The support of rape apologists is also a "source of comfort...in my current situation." Oh, right, that situation where he can't leave his chalet.

His 19,000 square foot chalet, where he can be with his friends and family and have parties.

Meanwhile, 2.3 million people in the US are imprisoned. Like, for real, not at a fucking resort. Based on the most up-to-date population stats I could find, that's one out of every 134 people.

One out of every 134, who didn't get to spend the holidays with their families, who don't get to host glitzy parties, who are stuck without access to basic medical care, who are subject to widespread abuse, who are basically forgotten about by the rest of society.

One out of every 134, who are disproportionately African American (40%) or Hispanic (20%), who frequently are imprisoned for nonviolent crimes (about half) including drug offenses (like people serving the 5 year minimum for crack possession under 5 grams).

I do not believe anyone, anywhere, should be abused, regardless of crimes committed. Basic human rights should apply in all cases. As horrific as our prison system is, though, I am more horrified that we just assume that people of means, or education, or whiteness ought to be exempt from it - that idea reinforces the function of the corrections system as a weapon against the working-class and people of color. It reinforces institutionalized and subliminal racism and classism. It reinforces the immunity of the rich and otherwise privileged, which is largely what the Polanski-rape-controversy is all about.

The state of the prison system in our country is relevant because reading about a rich, white rapist whining about how tough it is to be stuck in his palace makes me sick. It's relevant because of the commentary and the petitions. It's relevant because the L.A. times calls Polanski's crime a "child sex case," it's relevant because they're not the only ones who don't call it rape.

It's relevant because we are comfortable, in the U.S., to treat incarcerated persons as throw-away people. We are comfortable drawing a hard, fast line between the law-abiding us and the miscreant them.

Well, mostly. We're not quite as comfortable with it if they're rich, but most of them aren't, or if they look like us, but most of them don't.

Less than half of rapes are reported to the police, and only 13% of rapes that ARE reported in the US lead to convictions. 25% of college men have committed sexual assault, and 8% have attempted or committed rape.

Eight percent. Statistically, that's someone you know. Someones, possibly.

Is that the problem? Is it so overwhelmingly pervasive that people can't process it as a "real" crime? I mean, of course it's bad, but it's not like smoking crack or being poor or something like that. Right?

It infuriates, befuddles, and nauseates me that Levy has been provided space anywhere to "present a different "voice," one that contrasts with the howling of the pack." A different voice? Really?

It's not that different.

It's not that different from the story we're sold by the media, the legal system, the status quo. It fits perfectly into the dominant misogyny. You're not being revolutionary, Levy. You're trying to sell the same damn shit. It smells of elitism, privilege, and victim-blaming. It smells like the product of a dominant culture of oppression, a steady diet of entitlement to whatever-the-fuck-I-want, and a nice side of fear, that if the "pack" objects to one rich white guy getting away with horrific crimes, we might object to more, that those objections might get louder, and that they might eventually change something.

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.