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Male and female are different. The differences provide some of the most basic information of the species. The female can never know the joy or terror of the testes. The male can never know the joy or terror of parturition, of nursing. Sure, daddy can give baby a bottle, sure daddy can feel joy in it, but it’s not the same. A male can be “raped” by a female: coerced in some way related to sex. But usually it’s the other way, isn’t it? The male rapes the female. The practice is respected in war, in genocide. The Who-Ever-They-Were killed the Sabine males, then raped the Sabine females. Who-Ever-They-Were killed the Sabine males in order to rape the Sabine females, having, they believed, too few females of their own. The Sabine women, after the rapes, became the Who-Ever-They-Were females: merged with them. Some huge percentage of our grandmothers were raped in this way: we are the descendants of those rapists. Nevertheless: the male cannot know what the female knows in being raped.
Civilization discourages casual rape: rape among individuals. At least it advertises itself as doing so. But is it true? Is rape really discouraged by civilization?
I, a male, tell a story, assuring you at the outset that I cannot understand it. pk married Hilary in 1965. pk had been with Hilary day and night since 1961. Somewhere in those 1960s, just after we got married or a year or two before, Hilary got a call from a friend: in need. I walked Hilary over for the visit but was not invited in. Hilary eventually rejoined me: shaken. Her friend had been raped.
That was the word. “She told me she’d been raped,” Hilary said. It had been rape #2 for that young woman. Right away pk understands that something of an uninvited sexual nature was forced onto Hilary’s friend: by some male: identity not given. What happened exactly? Well, that’s the thing: this is not an area the culture permits much candor about. Guys can be convicted for rape if they lift up a girl’s skirt. Guys do that all the time. One time in a million, it gets prosecuted. Another time the guy sticks a gun or a knife in some woman’s face: coercing her to cooperate in receiving his penis, his gaze, his corn cob, his switchblade … into forbidden female areas. I personally cannot imaging doing that, let along coming had I done it. I cannot imagine rape to be terribly likely to lead to conception: but what do I know? Apparently, some rapes do lead to pregnancies. Frequently the female is torn up: outside, inside, around her entrance ways.
If women were left alone, untrained, unconditioned, left to raise themselves and wild-children, but then invited into a social fold, how candid, how articulate, would they be about rape? If you glance through my Knatz.com sex files [sorry, getting moved to an anonymous blog, to protect the reputations of partners], you’ll see that I’m quite candid, typically verbose, about this and that sexual experience: First I put my hand here, then I put my lips there, then I put my penis … wherever … But I’m a male. Not only am I a male, I’m a writer, a compulsive confessor: someone writing AFTER St. Augustine: someone compulsively writing after a lifetime of no one listening, no one getting a thing I say … Would the wild-girl-become-tame-woman say, “I was carrying my groceries home from the store, when this fellow, swarthy, 6′ 1″, maybe 6′ 2″, 180 pounds give or take — that’s sixty pounds heavier than I, and six inches taller, with a hell of a lot more leverage from the shoulders, pushes me into the alley, grabs my throat, squeezes hard, exposes himself, and says, ‘Here, suck on this …'”? I don’t think so. I didn’t hear what Hilary’s friend told Hilary; I only heard what Hilary told me. But my guess is that everything was vague, allusive. Maybe you could deduce things from what was said, but still you weren’t told directly. I think I’m damaged down there: I think I’m going to have to see a doctor rather than He shoved his fist into my vulva so hard that it tore my flesh before slipping over into my vagina: where it tore more. [20122 06 30 checking links, I catch a typo or two, and add: I just saw the Swedish film of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, for the second, wonderful time. Cheez, what a rape scene! See it by all means: sew your eyes open.]
I’m not happy with how I’ve begun this, but I’ll blunder onwards, getting something down, fixing and editing, rewriting later.
Here’s what I need to say early on: Hilary’s friend called Hilary: she had not called the police! Hilary’s friend had called the police with rape #1. Never again. Hilary’s friend needed medical as well as psychological attention: and spiritual attention. But Hilary’s friend was afraid to go to the hospital’s ER, was afraid to tell or show a doctor … She’d tried all that. Never again.
The society wills itself blind to many an injury.
Many an institution’s perpetuation depends on three blind-deaf-dumb monkeys.
I didn’t hear any of this directly. I heard it second hand. Neither was Hilary trying to explain everything to me: just to give me a minimum so I wouldn’t be too offended after being quite deliberately excluded from the direct story.
As time passed, I learned a bit more about Hilary’s friend’s rape #1 experience: she’d been raped: whatever that means. She’d gone to the police, then to a doctor. The police had treated her like a whore: insinuating that she must have done something to provoke the rape (she had: she was female!) They asked her how she’d been dressed, how she was walking, behaving in general. The cops were leading her: their preferred scenario clear: the cops wanted her to be a whore, a slut, to have asked for it. Don’t get me wrong: I know that there are plenty of whores, plenty of sluts. I know that there are girls who don’t really understand what their jouncing and their perms and their perfumes and their make up and their smiles and their subservient posturings can provoke. But I also know that women are forced will-they-or-nil-they toward being female 100% of the time. Few females in this culture are trained to smear themselves in dog shit before trusting their female presence to the public. (There are cultures where individual females can walk from one coast of Africa to another without fear of being tampered with: they smear themselves with whatever stinking filth they can find.) The woman walks out, being what and who she is, and somewhere along the line comes across some male who is what and who he is: rape. It’s not her “fault” by any of the normal meanings of accountability.
In addition, I’ve heard similar views since then. I cite the first time I’ve heard these points: not the times since I’ve heard these same points. The woman, whatever she did or didn’t provoke, lives in a society run by people who don’t want to know or to acknowledge certain things. How many women confessed to how many priests that some other priest had behaved in some unpriestly way with her before her word was ever transmitted to anybody inside or outside of the Church who cared that such things not take place?
When I was assaulted a few years ago, my assaulter covered his crime by calling the police the moment he had left my prostrate form and reported that I’d attacked him! that he’d defended himself, that he’d won the fight; not at all that he’d attacked me, that I hadn’t defended myself, just tried to cover up, and that I hadn’t called the police for the same reason that Hilary’s friend hadn’t called the police.
You were raped? Why didn’t you call the police?
I’d already been raped.
Once was enough.
2012 06 30 Serpico is the wonderful movie on this subject: Serpico tries to report police corruption to his cop bosses, spends years getting no where. Finally he’s getting a hearinig, of sorts, some female bureaucrat, in the system, asks him skeptically why didn’t didn’t say anything sooner! and the entire panel prevents him from answering!
In my case, I was attacked because I’d been trying to get a misbehaving landlord and his bully manager to behave themselves: after the police had already failed to discipline them. Did anyone seriously expect the police or the courts or the law to cooperate in exposing themselves as criminally negligent? The “motive” of the police in believing the bully is clear to me. We should ask what the police’s motive is in siding with rapists in the case of the Female. Maybe some part of what feminists accuse the society of is true.
2006 04 15
The other evening I caught a minute of a movie in which Courteney Cox’s gal cartoonist gets assaulted, so she moves out west where she gets stalked, raped, assaulted … The minute I caught showed her being interrogated by cops, ganging up on her, demanding that she consider why she was a victim: did something about her “spell” victim? One might argue that the cops meant well, that they were concerned to stimulate her to analyze herself that she might be safer in the future. I can think of gentle, sympathetic ways — bedside manner — that those points could have been raised. No, these cops worked as pack predators.
The trouble with the movie was that Cox’s cartoonist looked like she had a little class. Cops don’t mistreat what they perceive as class; they genuflect. (in fact I’ll develop that point about class separately in a moment.) Cops are not recruited from the dregs of society, no: cops are recruited from the couple of rungs one or two up from the bottom. Had the cartoonist been wearing a rhinestone tierra, the cops would have run for the shrink — or suddenly invented a beside manner.
Ah, but ordinary rape victims? Give them the third degree.
Then last evening I caught part of a TV magazine exposing rapes and a variety of violences against females on cruise lines. One girl, with her mother, reported that when she was twelve some cruise employee asked if she wanted to see the crew quarters. He got her in a room way in the back of the ship and started molesting her. She screamed, but he got her dress off, etc., then raped her. Twelve years old! On a cruise! with her family! Paying! supposedly for some sort of vacation.
Sho’ nuff, when the family reports it, the cruise-administration gangs up on her: tells her she has some imagination … warns her that if she accuses someone, follows up with it, if could ruin his life: forever.
There should be only two questions: is it true? which guy did it? If they convict the guy who’s really guilty, who cares what the rest of his life is like? (Or, if some gal wants to write him in prison, then fall in love with him, then invite him to live with her while she supports him for the rest of his life, well … that’s her business.)
2012 06 30 The society trains us to pretend that individuals are innocent until proved guilty: what’s really going on is that our institutions are training us to assume they they, the institutions, are innocent until proved guilty, proof being impossible! impossible while the institutions themselves conduct the inquiry.
If the police are accused of misconduct justice is not possible unless the entire institution of police is suspended: without pay!
When the supreme court bypassed the Constitution and announced the presidential winner without an accurate vote, the entire goverment should have instantly shifted to limbo: no taxes, no laws … Let the people create a new order.
Couldn’t survive for five seconds? Fine, then we shouldn’t survive: not as a society.
No illegitimate kleptocracy should survive for five seconds: I don’t care if all the citizens perish.
I’ll happily expire: I just want to see corruption and bull expire with me.
A true god can then resurrect those of us he wants to: or not.
Already Been Raped
2015 03 12 A Howard Stern interview with Madonna was reported online today. Madonna said the same thing: reporting a rape was just more unbearable humiliation. http://news.yahoo.com/madonna-tells-howard-stern-why-she-never-reported-155546740.html