Survived

So much sexual violence in the news today.

An Egyptian General admits to administering forced 'virginity tests' to women protesting in Tahrir Square. These tests were ostensibly to prove that the generals didn't rape the protestors, when in fact, I'm sure you can guess what the 'test' itself entailed.

In keeping with the theme, an Egyptian banker was arrested for imprisoning a hotel maid in his room at The Pierre, while groping her. She was able to escape, and reported immediately to a manager who did not display the same sense of urgency. He was arrested the following day.

A Bangladeshi woman took matters into her own hands, literally, when she chopped off the penis of her would-be rapist.

And finally, 85-year-old New York woman was sexually assualted and robbed around 5 Monday morning. She is in the hospital and stable, he is still at large.

*scorpio*

Image from Getty Images

Hey, Ms. Jones!

During my daily cursory perusal of NY Mag (love their irreverence), I found this shocking article. Heidi Jones, a weatherwoman, claimed attempted rape in order to mitigate and garner sympathy for a current personal hardship.

My first reaction was that this report will be used as proof to those that believe women often create or embellish stories of rape. Statistically speaking, however, this couldn't be further from the truth. Rape is THE most underreported crime in America.

How then to explain this woman? Simple. Rape, like any other crime, has a small percentage of falsified reports (about 5%). This is actually the exact same rate as any other crime like grand theft auto (thank you, Charlie Sheen), abduction or murder.

However, because rape has such gendered societal concepts of what constitutes acceptable behavior, it becomes quite the hot-button issue. I wrote my honors thesis on Pornography and Sexual Violence, but no matter how enligtened the men I date are, none of them is ever able to have even an abstract conversation about pornography and sexual violence without almost immediately becoming defensive. Listen, rape (though simply defined) has become a complicated thing. We say it's about sex, but it's really about violence. We say it's not a big deal, but according to the DA I used to work for, rape is worse than murder because you have to live through it. And, 98% of the time, rape is committed by males. You can understand how they'd become defensive.

No one wants to admit that we live in a type of culture where the female's body is less important than the male's, that her needs are somehow negotiable whereas his are justifiable. However, in my research, I've found that 47% of high school boys think it's at least 'maybe okay' to force sexual intercourse on a female in certain situations. The situation most cited? If she 'turns him on'. the underlying message is that she should've known better.

When we hear a story like the above it maps perfectly on our social consiousness. Though unspoken in polite society, rape culture perpetuates the myth that the onus is on women. No wonder we discount the true reports as false, and the false reports as proof.

The actual truth: that 1 in 4 women will be sexually assaulted in their lives (that number reaches 1 in 2 during the first three months of college, known as the Red Zone) is too difficult to give credence to, because if it really is so prevalent, then how many men have sexually violated a woman?

More than we can admit.

*scorpio*

Gate Rape

I just read about the horrifying 'choice' airline passengers are now afforded. Essentially, either submit to a full-body scan machine or an 'enhanced pat-down'. I'd already read a bit about the full-body scanner, but they've just implimented the enhanced pat-down. I'm floored that this is allowed under the guise of security.

Full Body Scanners:
1. These machines use ionizing radiation, which is damaging to your DNA. It's especially harmful to women who are pregnant or may become pregnant(!), children and those who have or have had skin cancer.
2. The effect is cumulative, meaning your risk increases each time you submit to a scan.
3. TSA agents (who are only required to have a high school diploma or GED and very little training) will see a full image of your naked body, genitals included. One man recently complained that the TSA agents were mocking his small penis after the scan.
4. All passengers must submit to the Full Body Scanner, including children, the elderly, those recovering from cancer, etc. If you choose to "opt out" of the scanner, your only other option is the Enhanced Pat-Down.

Enhanced Pat-Down
1. Deceptive in its terminology, an enhanced pat-down includes aggressive touching of the genitals. This includes being touched INSIDE your garments. (e.g. up your skirt)
2. Children are required to submit to the full pat-down as well. This begs the question - how do you teach your children that they should never be inappropriately touched, except for if it's someone in a uniform!? Incredibly dangerous.
3. What about rape survivors or sexual assault survivors? Talk about re-traumatizing.
4. Those who have endured serious illness, and have complicated medical devices have no choice but to submit to the enhanced pat-down. One woman speaks of having to remove her masectomy prosthesis and reveal her scars.


We should not be forced to inure this literal stripping of our rights, simply because we purchased a plane ticket. This is 'Sophie's Choice' of airline travel.

Read a more eloquent account here: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/19/business/19security.html?pagewanted=1
and be sure to check out the comments section, where people who have already experienced this have written about their ordeal.

TSA's specious logic cannot continue unchecked. Many Americans have decided to participate in Opt Out Day. They are refusing to fly on one of the biggest travel days of the year: next Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Read more here: http://wewontfly.com/


image from www.optoutday.com

*scorpio*

SAVI

Every hour 75 women in the United States will be raped.......

This is why an organization called SAVI (Sexual Assault and Violence Intervention) is so important. They offer support, advice, options, counseling, and advocates to women and men at their most vulnerable.

Today, we "graduated" as advocates after 40 hours of intense training. We are on the front lines of all sexual assault and Intimate Partner Violence cases that are admitted to New York City area hospitals. It is an incredible human responsibility to help others at at such a raw and vunlnerable time in their lives. We were educated in legal, medical, emotional, technical, psychological, and physical issues that arise in the survivor's life. We have to be mindful of the minute details of both ourselves and the survivors, which can include tone of voice, facial expressions, vocabulary, and physical movements. Every step we take and word we speak can have a dramatic impact on the survivor, which is why this training has been so grueling. We also have to give our full support to the survivor, knowing they will most likely drop charges & return to their abusers.

Here are some unsettling facts:

*1 in 3 girls and 1 in 6 boys will experience sexual assault in their lifetime
*more than 80% of rapes are committed by someone the survivor knows
*alcohol is the leading drug that is involved in Sexual Assault cases
*until 1993, it was impossible to rape your wife. She was your property. There was no such thing as martial rape.
*the traditional wedding vows were stated in the trade of women as property to a male
*on average it takes 7 tries before a survivor leaves their abuser
*victims of domestic violence are 80% more likely to be murdered by their lover in the 6 months following their escape

If you would like more information please email us or check out the following link:
http://www.mountsinai.org/patient-care/service-areas/community-medicine/areas-of-care/sexual-assault-and-violence-intervention-program

If you or someone you know is struggling with trauma following a sexual attack:Safe Horizon's Rape, Sexual Assault & Incest Hotline 212.227.3000
If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence: Safe Horizon's Domestic Violence Hotline 800.621.HOPE (4673)
*all phone calls can be both anonymous and confidential*

Tonight we celebrate Halloween and our graduation with prosecco and candy corn. We hope everyone has a safe night!

My Story

**WARNING: This post is about sexual violence**



I moved to New York on a typical muggy afternoon in late summer. Innocuous as the day was - to me, it was the biggest moment of my adult life. I wanted to live in NYC ever since I first visited as a young girl. I had spent the last year working three jobs (from 9 AM – 3 AM six nights a week) to save up enough money to promptly throw away on a tiny studio. I knew exactly one person in the city. I was 24 years old.

A week after I moved in, I went out dancing with my friend. I laugh to think of where we ended up, but at the time I knew nothing about the scene. Everything felt glamorous and thrilling. Sometimes, I miss that feeling.

We met two guys who offered to help us get in to a club. Once inside, my friend started dancing with one of the guys that got us in. I stayed near them, dancing by myself. I was completely sober that night – I had wanted to remember everything about my first big night out. Little did I know, it would soon become a night I could never forget.

Soon, a very tall man came up and started to dance with me. He wrapped his hand around my waist to pull me into him. I realized he was quite muscular and much taller than me. I gently moved his arm back – I didn’t want him that close – and he acquiesced. We kept dancing near my friend. She and I exchanged glances over their shoulders. He got too close again, and again I pushed him back a bit. I gave my friend a ‘save me!’ look and she came over and danced in between us until he got the hint and retreated.

Later in the evening, I went to ask the bartender, “Where’s the restroom?” He didn’t hear me, but someone behind me said, ‘Just upstairs.’ I threw a casual ‘thank you’ over my shoulder as I climbed the stairs. The second floor was a large balcony overlooking the dancefloor. Absolutely no one was up there. I realized I had forgotten to tell my friend where I was going.

Thinking nothing of it, I went into the private, single-person restroom and locked the door behind me. As I was reapplying my lipgloss, my friend texted asking where I was. I replied, “Bathroom!” snapped my cell phone shut and turned to leave.

As soon as I opened the door, I saw his imposing figure fill the entire doorframe. Without saying a word he pushed me into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. It was so fast I barely had time to think. He pulled me into the corner and started kissing and groping me. I tried to pull my head away and I felt him kissing all down my neck and face. I squirmed away but he pulled me back, and suddenly his hands were everywhere. He was pulling up my dress and grabbing at my breasts. He managed to push my bra to the side. He pulled my dress all the way up and grabbed my butt. I said “No” about a thousand times. He wouldn’t stop.

I tried to reach around him and unlock the door. I managed to get it open a few inches before he pulled it closed again. It was so effortless for him to pull it closed, when I had struggled for so long to get it open just that one crack. Staying focused, I tried again. I reached around him even as I felt his hand pulling at my underwear. I managed to crack open the door again. I felt the music get louder, saw the strobe lights, heard peoples laughter and happy chatter. I realized that no one would hear me scream. No one would find me up here. I finally stopped telling myself that I would be ok, that I could somehow convince him to stop. He wasn’t going to stop. I finally got it. The epiphany flooded my brain with images of the horrors I might endure. I knew that the absolute worst thing could happen to me in this tiny bathroom upstairs and no one would save me. My whole world became that bathroom door handle. I had to get out. I had to do anything to get out of this bathroom before it became a nightmare.

I gasped, “You’re scaring me!” and then I somehow managed to knee him in the groin. In that split second it took him to react to my move, I managed to rip the door open. I ran as fast as I could, my heels tripping me as I flew down the stairs. I grabbed my friend and with panic in my eyes said, “We have to get out of here immediately, someone attacked me in the bathroom.”

She ran out with me. The only thing I was thinking was escape. Thankfully, she stopped me once outside and told me to tell the bouncer. I went up to one guy and said, “Someone attacked me in the bathroom.” I half-expected him to completely brush me off, but he didn’t. He stayed with me, and within minutes, the police were on the scene. They managed to find him in the club and held him outside in cuffs. The police officers escorted me into a van, where we waited to be interviewed. I could hear his vituperative screams from the sidewalk.

She wanted it! She’s such a fucking whore! She’s lying!

I was driven to the police station where an officer filed my report. I remember him having the kindest demeanor. Soon, it was nearing dawn. I went back to my tiny apartment, all alone, way uptown. I walked into my room and fell down on my bed. But I couldn’t sleep.

I called my boyfriend, still in Philadelphia, and told him what happened. I was still in complete shock. He was not as comforting as I wanted him to be and he even told me that I shouldn’t have been out at a club, and asked me what I was thinking. Shocked and numb, I hung up.

I spent the next week in a daze. I completely broke down at my new job and had to fly upstate to recover with my mother at our summer place. I walked the quiet, empty tree-lined streets and tried to convince myself I was safe. But I wasn’t.

A reporter called me. I stupidly told them what happened. I had wanted to warn other women with my story. I didn’t even think about how it could affect me. A photographer showed up and took my picture. The next day I was on the front page. My boyfriend said, “Anything to get your name in the paper, huh?” My mother broke up with him for me. I couldn’t move.

Then the panic attacks started. The first one was in the shower. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe and I thought I was going to faint in the tub and die. I grasped for the curtain, barely making it out. I fumbled for my cell phone, dialing my best friend. I sputtered, “just talk to me about anything nice” and while he spoke, I balled-up naked on the wood floor in a big wet puddle and tried to get my heart to stop racing. I was worried that he would track me down because of the article. He could easily find out my name and where I lived. I stopped sleeping.

A few days later, I got a random phone call. It was someone pretending to be a friend of my friend. I answered a few questions until I realized that he was a private investigator hired by the defendant to terrify me in the hopes that I wouldn’t press charges. He told me that he had done background checks on me and that my friend had said I was very drunk that night. He told me that he had heard stories about me and that I was a prostitute. I hung up and changed my number. I took myself off Facebook. My world became even smaller.

I would dread the nighttime because I was terrified to go to sleep. I had the most horrifying nightmares and would wake up screaming several times each night. But I knew I wanted to go forward with my case. The fact that he’d hired someone to try to convince me otherwise only strengthened my resolve. My mother got me a shrink and I started taking Xanex.

I testified in front of the Grand Jury a few days before Christmas. It was a room of fifty people in stadium seating. I sat at a small table in the front. My ADA stood in the back and shouted questions down to me. “Where did he touch you?” “Was it inside or outside your underwear?” I did my best to remain calm, but I broke down sobbing a few times. Every pair of eyes was on me, wide and sympathetic. Within hour, I was informed that I had cleared the Grand Jury and I would be taking him to court.

I got Bells’ Palsy the next week. The entire right side of my face would not move. I had to tape my eye shut to sleep. Eating became nearly impossible because my lips would not close around my food. I resorted to kind of tossing sushi in my mouth as I tilted my head back. It was not cute. When I laughed, it was macabre. My world got smaller still.

After a few weeks of acupuncture the feeling returned to my face. I prepared for my court date. My friend and I had become quite close but we never spoke of that night. I didn’t want to tamper recollection of the events, and I didn’t want to put any pressure on her. She was amazed that I had even gone this far. She said she never would’ve done it.

The hearing was intense. He had absconded to Brazil, so I only had to fend off his lawyer, the prototypical scumbag. He even looked like one: greased back hair, bad teeth, ill-fitting suit. The judge banged her gavel several times at his completely inappropriate questions. She really stood up for me. My ADA was amazing… so kind and decent and he believed me. It made all the difference in the world. The last thing the defense said to me was, “This isn’t the first time you’ve solicited men for sex in bathrooms, is it? Isn’t it true that you’re a prostitute?!” The courtroom erupted. The jury was removed. The judge was screaming. I was escorted out. Not two minutes later, my ADA came into the room.

“We won,” he said. “I’ve never seen a jury come back that fast. It was unanimous. He got the full sentence – 5 years, and he’ll register as a sex offender for life. Since he’s in Brazil, he’s never allowed to return to America.” I cried. I was vindicated.

That day, almost exactly one year after the attack, the panic attacks stopped. The nightmares disappeared. I felt brand-new. That night, I went on my first date with a man who would become my first great love. Manhattan stretched out before me like the giant adventure I’d always hoped it could be.

I was free.

*scorpio*

Emotional Rescue

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