i walk past the spot where i was almost attacked nearly every day, and i decided, "i should put a sign up here to warn other women." and the radical feminist i once was--i still am, but not as radical--came back. putting signs "a rapist lives here," spitting at cr's rapist, shouting back at pi alpha nu, writing letters...i was fucking FIERCE. i was hardcore. what happened?
i can blame it on falling in love with a man (who broke my heart when he left ny), i can blame it on living in nyc where heels are mandatory for saturday nights, i can blame it on growing up...but it's still there. that's why i'm a radical cheerleader at 26, nearly 27, why i'm going to speak up for my sisters who can't speak up...or who are too scared to....or who won't, for whatever reason.
but now i'm single, looking at the world with big open eyes. i work for a women's nonprofit, and know i need to go back to my roots: radical feminist activist.
the woman who was raped after dancing at a duke party...that could have been me. but it wasn't. the woman that was raped by those lacrosse players was black, so of course the media has to portray the black stripper (single mom, struggling to raise her family and go to the local public college) as opposed to the "wholesome" rich white duke lacrosse players (one of them is a graduate of chaminade, and any long island girl knows about the chaminade boys). why do people doubt her? shouldn't we automatically just accept it? i do. i believe her. i believe her. i believe we have to believe her. why the fuck would she make up something like that? it's a horrific experience to be raped--and i know--and i think the least we can do--the very, very least--is to support her.
but how can i get back to direct action? i was the one screaming, tears streaming down my face, in front of the new paltz courthouse about the injustice, about the blind eye the law turns towards women, especially women who have been raped. "she couldn't have been raped; she was wearing tight jeans." (italian court) "what were you wearing?" "you were a hooker; you can't have been raped!" "what did you go to his house before?" and too many other things.
maybe i'm in the wrong field. i always feel like i need to do something MORE, to help women. how can i? i should volunteer, i suppose.
but it's late-ish; instead, i'll just listen to old skool bikini kill, huggy bear. and i'll make some fucking signs to warn women about the scummy men who are out there, wanting to hurt women. i have been hurt before by men, and i'm fucking strong: i don't want my sisters to get hurt too.