Back in high school, we got called down to the gymnasium for an assembly. The gymnasium also doubled as an auditorium, and we watched as a woman in her twenties took the stage. She started to talk about a date she went on in college. It was obvious, to me, from the way she talked, her body language, the growing tremor in her voice, her speech was building to an exceedingly uncomfortable point. She did her best to keep moving the story forward, though she took a roundabout way, still not able to go directly to the tragic conclusion: she was raped. Her story is not mine to tell, so I won’t go into the details. What I will say is that throughout her brave retelling the two young men in front of me, both seniors, would not stop saying things like “oh my god she is so hot I want to fuck her.” Piggish as this behavior was, what really got under my skin was after she recounted her assault, stating outright she had been raped, one of the young men said to the other, “Who wouldn’t rape her? She’s hot.” To which his companion chuckled and said, “I would.”
To this day I regret not following through with my desire to take the pen out of my pocket, and stab them both in the neck… yet that statement, bold as it may seem, is meaningless because I said nothing. I did nothing. I said nothing. Sometimes I wonder what became of those two.
Normally I try not to hit the headlines for topics. It feels like click-baiting, and often there are others who can say what needs be said better than I can. For instance, I recently became aware of the years of sexual, mental, and physical abuse suffered by performers at Chicago’s Profiles Theatre, a once proud part of the storefront theatre community is now shown to have been the hunting grounds of a despicable vermin, who’s greatest acting role seems to have been masquerading as a human being; however, I can’t tell that story any better than this article from The Reader. So why put my two cents in, especially when everyone else is clamoring to shout the same thing? In other words, if enough people are carrying the torch, why should another set of hands join the effort?
The answer: because sometimes every voice is needed even if the sound and fury amount to one. Yes, the largest amount of people should gather in support of a cause they believe in, but that doesn’t mean everyone gathered needs to speak. Sometimes the cacophony drowns out the most eloquent voices. Yet, there are instances which require everyone to take a clear and definitive stand. Not because every voice is technically necessary, but because the despicable nature of events should cause such a visceral reaction in a person that there is no other choice except to decry whatever vileness has occurred, a vitriolic word vomit spewed at the grotesque.
The indefensible rape committed by Brock Turner is one such instance. In a way, it is sadly a perfect storm of events. Not only does the case demonstrate the nightmarish realities of rape culture, from Brock’s offensively light sentence, the "reasoning" for the lesser sentence, and then the despicable letter by his father, in essence excusing his son’s atrocious actions, but oddly enough it shows some thin silver threads at the edge of the cloud. Brock got caught because two people saw him assaulting the victim, and they took action. As such he was caught, and convicted, a tragically uncommon occurrence in most rapes. In addition, though she has said little, what the survivor has put forth is a powerful statement (which I defy anyone to read without tears):
"At the bottom of the article, after I learned about the graphic details of my own sexual assault, the article listed his swimming times. She was found breathing, unresponsive with her underwear six inches away from her bare stomach curled in fetal position. By the way, he’s really good at swimming. Throw in my mile time if that’s what we’re doing. I’m good at cooking, put that in there, I think the end is where you list your extracurriculars to cancel out all the sickening things that’ve happened."
Her voice, perhaps, then inspiring an excellent response to Dan Turner's ridiculous letter. Above all else, there is no debating what happened: Brock Turner raped someone, he is a rapist; so all conversations about the event orbit that point.
Where we go from here is another matter entirely.
I’m drawn back to my earlier recollection. I can imagine this young woman bravely stepping to a podium somewhere in the future, and recounting her story to an audience. I wonder if they’ll listen with empathy, or if there will be another pair of chortling pigs making rape jokes. If you’re sitting behind them say something. The time to speak out isn’t just when the crowd is gathered, and it feels safe. If you want your voice to say something that matters, it will never matter more than in that moment.
To this day I regret not following through with my desire to take the pen out of my pocket, and stab them both in the neck… yet that statement, bold as it may seem, is meaningless because I said nothing. I did nothing. I said nothing. Sometimes I wonder what became of those two.
Normally I try not to hit the headlines for topics. It feels like click-baiting, and often there are others who can say what needs be said better than I can. For instance, I recently became aware of the years of sexual, mental, and physical abuse suffered by performers at Chicago’s Profiles Theatre, a once proud part of the storefront theatre community is now shown to have been the hunting grounds of a despicable vermin, who’s greatest acting role seems to have been masquerading as a human being; however, I can’t tell that story any better than this article from The Reader. So why put my two cents in, especially when everyone else is clamoring to shout the same thing? In other words, if enough people are carrying the torch, why should another set of hands join the effort?
The answer: because sometimes every voice is needed even if the sound and fury amount to one. Yes, the largest amount of people should gather in support of a cause they believe in, but that doesn’t mean everyone gathered needs to speak. Sometimes the cacophony drowns out the most eloquent voices. Yet, there are instances which require everyone to take a clear and definitive stand. Not because every voice is technically necessary, but because the despicable nature of events should cause such a visceral reaction in a person that there is no other choice except to decry whatever vileness has occurred, a vitriolic word vomit spewed at the grotesque.
The indefensible rape committed by Brock Turner is one such instance. In a way, it is sadly a perfect storm of events. Not only does the case demonstrate the nightmarish realities of rape culture, from Brock’s offensively light sentence, the "reasoning" for the lesser sentence, and then the despicable letter by his father, in essence excusing his son’s atrocious actions, but oddly enough it shows some thin silver threads at the edge of the cloud. Brock got caught because two people saw him assaulting the victim, and they took action. As such he was caught, and convicted, a tragically uncommon occurrence in most rapes. In addition, though she has said little, what the survivor has put forth is a powerful statement (which I defy anyone to read without tears):
"At the bottom of the article, after I learned about the graphic details of my own sexual assault, the article listed his swimming times. She was found breathing, unresponsive with her underwear six inches away from her bare stomach curled in fetal position. By the way, he’s really good at swimming. Throw in my mile time if that’s what we’re doing. I’m good at cooking, put that in there, I think the end is where you list your extracurriculars to cancel out all the sickening things that’ve happened."
Her voice, perhaps, then inspiring an excellent response to Dan Turner's ridiculous letter. Above all else, there is no debating what happened: Brock Turner raped someone, he is a rapist; so all conversations about the event orbit that point.
Where we go from here is another matter entirely.
I’m drawn back to my earlier recollection. I can imagine this young woman bravely stepping to a podium somewhere in the future, and recounting her story to an audience. I wonder if they’ll listen with empathy, or if there will be another pair of chortling pigs making rape jokes. If you’re sitting behind them say something. The time to speak out isn’t just when the crowd is gathered, and it feels safe. If you want your voice to say something that matters, it will never matter more than in that moment.
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