Flashback: From a Discussion of Sexism in People Soup July 1978
by Barb HayesIn the summer of 1976 I was raped. Since then, by opening this topic to my classmates and friends, I have discovered that rape is not at all an unusual or new phenomenon. I suggest to anyone that they open it up to common discussion. Even if women and men are unwilling to reveal their personal victimization, you're likely to have relieved some of the stigma around this taboo subject by speaking of it in a reasonable and compassionate voice.
I am still ashamed that I ever got
myself into a situation where I could not defend myself. Nonetheless, I try to
make the experience as open to public consideration as any other experience I
have had. "Public education" can mean such a different thing than the crap I got
at Princeton High. Speak up-always speak up.
Perhaps what disturbed me most was
that after the brutalizing experience itself, after the tequila that washed it
away, and after the madness that lingered in the hangover, I could not hate the
man. During my half day's involuntary stay I got to know several winos, one
prostitute, some hungry people who'd spent time in our jails, and a second man
who tried to rape me. He'd been raised in a part of Boston known as the "Battle
Zone." The point is that they were all human and sparked the natural human
feeling of compassion in me. Each had their very human stories to tell and I
could see where their violence came from. This vision does not excuse their
actions, but it does make hate an impossibility for me. They will remain as real
people in my memory.
I cannot say that I dealt with the experience itself in such a reasonable fashion. At first it resulted in an acute awareness of the sexist tendencies harbored by the people around me. At college, I tried my best to speak from this awareness, but because of most people's lack of support and their unwillingness to respond, my efforts became minimal. This withdrawal, aggravated by an unhappy living situation, began to manifest itself in the form of frequent violent fantasies. My rape had first clarified what was going on around me but, in the end, because of a non-supportive, non-responsive environment and because of my weakness in dealing with this, my situation became unbearable: the stench of the corpses in my living room became too much. In quietness and anger, sick to the brim, I moved to a house with better ventilation. Thank god for spring and new friends. The fantasies left me.
I know how easy it is to internalize my most unfair experiences. The anger is necessary and unavoidable. It's what naturally happens when we're hurt. What I have seen in myself and in others who work for a more sane existence, has been that this anger gets in our way when we retain it and, even worse, when we make our suffering a romantic one.
Anger is not only unhealthy for us, but it also serves to alienate people from our life-work, particularly with the type of aid we get from our mass media. On television the angry women's libber is a screaming and comic character used to dismiss a global human rights movement, just as the black, militant, white-hater is popularly used to frighten people away from another global human rights movement.
By spewing out anger at inappropriate times, we let ourselves endorse these negative images and damage what we've set out to do. Consciousness, compassion, and criticism are called for whenever speaking of people and politics in the same breath: a consciousness that the enemy is a system of oppression common to us all, a compassion that forgives our stupidities and mistakes so we can surpass this point, and criticism because it is the heart of self-determination.
Meanwhile, we'd better do our homework. I partially attribute my rape to the confusion of a naïve political enthusiasm, much inspired by my experience in LRY [Liberal Religious Youth]. I was trying to bridge a gap between me and this guy from a totally different background. Little did I know how much consciousness raising I needed for myself. I never realized how ingrained the politeness and passivity of my childhood indoctrination were and how damaging they would be when I decided to outgrow myself. It's all fine and dandy to talk about how nice it would be to put an end to racism, but first we have to take a serious look at what we're fighting. Studying the capitalist system and the class system without studying our own heads will never be enough. Unfortunately, we are the system. Criticize, criticize. It's a hard rain that's gonna fall.
Finally, I want to add for the people who know me, (I miss you all right now) I was not raped while hitchhiking. In fact, in the thousands of miles I have traveled alone, I have never been physically threatened. Really, it's the racism that puts me off. I just don't know how to address myself to the problem. This will change. Meanwhile, I keep trucking, trying consistently to explain why I'm unwilling to pay my dues to good old Detroit Steel. Remember what our forefathers said: Life, Liberty and the pursuit of white male property rights. Anyway, away. Response is more than welcome!
For more information contact youth @ uua.org.
Last updated on Friday, April 18, 2008.
