At Rhodes, an organisation named 1in9 in conjunction with a number of partners both from within Rhodes' student and student support network and larger organisations representing all of South Africa organise a protest. Well, actually, they organise many protests, but this one is happening today, so it's the one I'm writing about. It's called the Sexual Violence = Silence protest and features three kinds of participants: men who choose to participate in solidarity with rape survivors (often to support their girlfriends/sisters/mums who have experienced sexual abuse) by wearing a solidarity t-shirt, women who choose to particiate in solidarity (although, many of these women are rape survivors but are still working up the courage to talk about it publicly) by wearing a shirt that says "SEXUAL VIOLENCE = SILENCE" and having their mouths taped shut for the duration of the day (to signify the silencing nature of sexual crimes), and women who have survived rape and wear a short that loudly proclaims "RAPE SURVIVOR".
I'm wearing the third kind of t-shirt. Last year was my first time wearing it, after having worn the tape the previous year, and it was far more difficult than I'm finding today. Perhaps this is a function of time. I'm now comfortable admitting (I hate using that word in this context. It implies, somehow, an acceptance of part of the blame for the act that was something I voiced my objections to at the time) that I'm a rape survivor, although it took a long while (like five years) to get to the stage where I was comfortable talking about it (and by that I mean "didn't cry like a baby every time"). Even now, I can't talk about it without employing sarcasm, the ironic understatement, and a fair amount of double-speak. Part of that, however, is because people start to look so very awkward when you talk about rape.
It's not something that's really spoken about, perhaps because the prospect of being violated, or having someone you know violated in that way is unthinkable to so many people. The reality is, it's more common than you think. A South African woman, if she lives to be fifty years old, has a 50% chance of being raped at least once in her lifetime. I would quote an endless stream of stats about this, but the truth is, nobody knows for sure how prevalent it is as a crime. It often comes with a violent, overwhelming sense of guilt and shame (thank you, oh wise puritanical society, for instilling within us a guilt reaction to sex-related issues). Added to which, for many survivors, the assault was committed by someone they know - (shudder) often related to - and are told that nobody will believe them if they say something.
Unfortunately, many women aren't believed. It's often a he-said, she-said situation, because women don't want to subject themselves to the humiliation of a rape exam and cross-examination on the witness stand. I didn't even realise that I needed to go for a rape exam when it happened. I was still rationalising that I had asked for what I got by allowing myself to be naked with a man (not taking into account the fact that I felt far more affected by two drinks that I should have been. I don't know what I had, but I know I had something). I partly blame my own naivety for allowing myself to be duped into a) going home with him and b) believing that it was my fault. I also partly blame a woman named Suzie, who used to write the advice column for a Focus on the Family magazine (yes, I used to subscribe to right-wing, conservative , anti-choice, anti-feminist religious propaganda) in which she told an advice-seeker (who snuggled on the couch with a boy, only to wake up with his hand unwantedly in her pants) that she shouldn't expect anything else if she's going to get into "tempting situations". How very, very far was her response from the love and support that she should have offered?!
I think that's the bottom line: for the most part, people have been supportive in my journey to recovery. (Yes, I can now enjoy sex without flinching and believing that I have no choice about the activities participated in.) I've lost count of the number of hours I spent sitting on the floor of either The Aussie Surprise Fairy or The Irish Surprise Fairy's room, being fed tea and rusks and being cuddled while I sobbed. That's really what this protest is about - showing people that they're not alone. (Warning: after-school-special moment impending.) I take strength, knowing that other people have gone through the same thing as me and survived (not physically, mind. It hits you emotionally in ways I can't describe to you). Halfway through this very, very emotionally naked day for me, I'd like to say this: if you're a member of the survivors' club, whether you've told anyone or not, take heart, you're not alone.
I'm wearing the third kind of t-shirt. Last year was my first time wearing it, after having worn the tape the previous year, and it was far more difficult than I'm finding today. Perhaps this is a function of time. I'm now comfortable admitting (I hate using that word in this context. It implies, somehow, an acceptance of part of the blame for the act that was something I voiced my objections to at the time) that I'm a rape survivor, although it took a long while (like five years) to get to the stage where I was comfortable talking about it (and by that I mean "didn't cry like a baby every time"). Even now, I can't talk about it without employing sarcasm, the ironic understatement, and a fair amount of double-speak. Part of that, however, is because people start to look so very awkward when you talk about rape.
It's not something that's really spoken about, perhaps because the prospect of being violated, or having someone you know violated in that way is unthinkable to so many people. The reality is, it's more common than you think. A South African woman, if she lives to be fifty years old, has a 50% chance of being raped at least once in her lifetime. I would quote an endless stream of stats about this, but the truth is, nobody knows for sure how prevalent it is as a crime. It often comes with a violent, overwhelming sense of guilt and shame (thank you, oh wise puritanical society, for instilling within us a guilt reaction to sex-related issues). Added to which, for many survivors, the assault was committed by someone they know - (shudder) often related to - and are told that nobody will believe them if they say something.
Unfortunately, many women aren't believed. It's often a he-said, she-said situation, because women don't want to subject themselves to the humiliation of a rape exam and cross-examination on the witness stand. I didn't even realise that I needed to go for a rape exam when it happened. I was still rationalising that I had asked for what I got by allowing myself to be naked with a man (not taking into account the fact that I felt far more affected by two drinks that I should have been. I don't know what I had, but I know I had something). I partly blame my own naivety for allowing myself to be duped into a) going home with him and b) believing that it was my fault. I also partly blame a woman named Suzie, who used to write the advice column for a Focus on the Family magazine (yes, I used to subscribe to right-wing, conservative , anti-choice, anti-feminist religious propaganda) in which she told an advice-seeker (who snuggled on the couch with a boy, only to wake up with his hand unwantedly in her pants) that she shouldn't expect anything else if she's going to get into "tempting situations". How very, very far was her response from the love and support that she should have offered?!
I think that's the bottom line: for the most part, people have been supportive in my journey to recovery. (Yes, I can now enjoy sex without flinching and believing that I have no choice about the activities participated in.) I've lost count of the number of hours I spent sitting on the floor of either The Aussie Surprise Fairy or The Irish Surprise Fairy's room, being fed tea and rusks and being cuddled while I sobbed. That's really what this protest is about - showing people that they're not alone. (Warning: after-school-special moment impending.) I take strength, knowing that other people have gone through the same thing as me and survived (not physically, mind. It hits you emotionally in ways I can't describe to you). Halfway through this very, very emotionally naked day for me, I'd like to say this: if you're a member of the survivors' club, whether you've told anyone or not, take heart, you're not alone.
Brij, I loves you. Tea, rusks and bedroom floor still available whenever needed.
ReplyDeleteR xxxxxxx
Thanks R! I loves you too!
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