Monthly Archives: February 2011

Rape is a Four-Letter Word

Rape.  It’s been in the news a lot lately as the Republicans are trying to redefine it to chip away at abortion laws.  It’s also in the news because Lara Logan, a journalist from CBS, was separated from her crew in Cairo and endured a sustained sexual assault.   My fellow blogger over at ABL’s place, Emily Hauser, wrote an excellent piece about it at her place (also cross-posted at ABL’s place and BJ).  Emily taps into the rage she feels at the prevalence of rape and how women are often burdened with the knowledge that whether one is raped or not often comes down to luck.

This is the opening to her post:

I’ve never been raped.

Why?  Because I’m lucky.

Nothing more.  Nothing less.

Go read the rest of her piece right now because I’m going to be riffing on it in my own post.  Go on, read it.  I’ll wait.  Let me know when you’re done.

Back?  Good.

Unlike Emily, I am not a lucky one.  I have been in two situations in which I endured recurring rape.  Those of you who read my blog regularly know about it because I post about it from time to time.  The first time, it started when I was seven.  The second, I was 21 and in a foreign country.  Both seemed like they happened a life time ago, and yet, I still deal with the aftermaths and the ramifications to this day.

I started this post a few days ago, and I abandoned it.  Why?  Because I saw what happened in ee’s threads about rape, both at BJ and at ABL’s place.   I saw how the excuses started pouring in, the rationale, the apologia.  “Yeah, it’s terrible that she experienced that, but…”

No.  There is no fucking but at the end of that sentence.   No one deserves to be raped.  No one.  Not even if she* was in the wrong part of town late at night.  Not even if she accepted a drink from a guy and he slipped her a Roofie.  Not even if she was dressed in tight clothing.  Not even if she went home with a guy she didn’t know and then changed her mind.

No one deserves to be raped.  Ever.**

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Xin Nian Kuai Le, Bitchez!

OK.  It’s the real New Year’s, and it’s time to party like it’s 1999.  You haven’t done New Year’s until you’ve attended a Chinese (or in my case, Taiwanese) New Year’s Party.  You get there at eight when the party’s supposed to start, and then you sit on your asses and wait.  And wait.  And wait.  Why do you have to wait so long?  Because Taiwanese people are always fucking late!  To everything!  It drove me absolutely crazy when I was a kid, so much so, when I was able to get places on my own, I would show up at least a half-hour early.

This is The Year of the Rabbit.  Traditionally, The Year of the Rabbit is a time for rebirth and fertility.  I’m not just talking making the babies, though that’s a part of it, of course.  It’s a year in which you should focus on your creativity and nurture it whenever you can.  The air will be pregnant with possibilities (and you just may be, too!  With ideas and kids, I mean), and it is up to you to make the most of the situation*.

When I was a kid, I attended the Evangelical Formosan Church in the Twin Cities (EFCTC, main branch, LA).   Every year, we would have to come up with a kids’ program for the New Year’s Party.  Sometimes, we would do a dragon dance like in the picture depicted above.  I was the teaser (the blue-haired guy, though I had green hair) so I got to hit the dragon with a fan.  There was no question of me being part of the dragon because I didn’t play any more nicely with others back then than I do now.

One year, I played Mina Turner.  I sang a Taiwanese folk song in Taiwanese (love lost, much drinking, the usual) as a rock song.  It was challenging, but kinda fun.  Fortunately, this was in the days before videotaping everything and uploading it to the YouTube was all the vogue so I don’t have to worry about me in my ’80s rocker gear on the nets any time soon.
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