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Castrating an Ohio Rapist

9/11/2016

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​As an Ohioan who lives a matter of minutes from Brock Turner, I wanted to throw up when I heard he had been released from his joke of a prison sentence and had returned to the area. My area.
 
So when I heard that there was a very disgruntled welcome party surrounding his parent’s house, I wasn’t surprised. When a high profile case hits home, our safety can feel threatened and our anger more fueled because this horrible thing that someone did impacts our own community. Our friends and families. Our college students. Our kids. The illusion of our safe little suburb is broken when we realize a rapist lives down the block or around the corner. That he might do here what he did to a woman in California. It’s terrifying.

​Our anger about this case—and about sexual violence more broadly—is absolutely justified. But I must admit I'm uncomfortable with the messages armed protesters communicated to Turner and arguably, potential rapists in our region with their signs: things like “Castrate rapists” and “If you try this again, we will shoot you.” These statements advocate a powerful, bold stance against sexual violence, but they also reflect societal perceptions about rape that aren’t necessarily productive for actual, effective prevention and response.

I applaud the fact that people are mad and willing to do something to let other people know that. The outrage of these protestors draws more needed attention to the issue of rape, which is something I believe all of us as a culture should be much angrier about. I also support free speech and acknowledge that it is completely within the rights of these individuals to open-carry and express their perspectives. And yes, Turner should have been held more accountable for his despicable actions. 

But I also wonder whose interests are best supported with a protest like this. One might argue that justice has already been served (though poorly) because Turner did the time for his crime. Realistically speaking, his case actually represents somewhat of a success of our legal system. Hard to stomach, I know. Our criminal justice system is so incredibly messed up that he is part of the mere 3% of rapists who serve prison time—primarily because so few people report sexual violence, reports aren’t always taken seriously by police, investigations aren’t always thorough, charges don’t often lead to convictions, and convictions may not even result in prison sentences. In this case, the major issues involved loopholes in the law and a judge who did not understand the dynamics of sexual violence. But Turner still served time. It’s not enough, but it is something. Turner benefits from our crappy criminal justice system, but it is not his fault the system sucks. It’s ours.
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​What would it mean if all of the time and energy spent protesting Turner was redirected into demanding better laws, mandatory education about rape for judges and elected officials, more training for police officers, and forums for discussing the impact of gender violence in our communities and what we can do about it? What if it meant seeking support to create rape crisis centers that can respond to the needs of those impacted by sexual violence and spearhead crucial prevention efforts in our schools and on our college campuses? Dayton does not have a rape crisis center, by the way. Don’t tell Brock. 


Unfortunately, we can’t control whether or not this guy rapes again. He probably will: research shows that most dudes who rape do it repeatedly, and Turner fits the bill. 

Is castration the answer? No. Another Debbie Downer fact for you: even when castration has been used to treat sex offenders, there has been no evidence that it actually cures anything. This is probably because rape isn’t causes by a disease, the people who commit it aren’t necessarily “sick,” and penises are not the epicenter of some kind of gender violence gene scientists have discovered in people who commit rape. In actuality, our culture produces rapists in the ways that we cling to traditional gender roles that, in their extremes, lead to dangerous expressions of masculinity at the expense of others’ rights to bodily agency and safety. We support rapists when we normalize sexual violence in various forms of media, minimize the daily reality of rape or the threat of it for a huge proportion of our population, victim-blame and slut-shame people who have experienced sexual violence, and refuse to believe that rape is as pervasive and widespread as it is. 

For every Turner, there are thousands more rapists out there. I know: I worked at a crisis center for several years and struggled with carrying the detailed knowledge of so many situations—including the names of rapists and who they had attacked and where these things had happened—that I could not share with anyone because of necessary and important confidentiality laws. These things happen everywhere whether we are aware of it or not, and they happen much more often than we realize. Every community does not need a Brock Turner to get enraged about that. But we do need to back up our anger with the time, energy, and resources crucial for transforming our cultural acceptance of rape and supporting individuals who have experienced sexual violence. 

The threat of vigilante justice might feel cathartic in the short term, but real change requires a deep investment in comprehensive gender violence prevention and victim-centered services. Forget castrating Brock Turner. Let’s cut out the disgusting parts of our culture that minimize, normalize, and encourage sexual violence. That’s the kind of castration I can get behind.

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To demand better rape prevention and response efforts in Dayton, OH, contact:
Mayor Nan Whalen
Senator Rob Portman
Senator Sherrod Brown
Representative Michael Turner
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Combination Lock Underwear ≠ Sexual Violence Prevention

11/12/2013

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AR Wear is seeking your financial support to finish the development of a new product designed to deter sexual assault. It’s called “anti-rape-wear,” a product its creators believe “will give women and girls additional power to control what happens to their bodies in case they are assaulted.” These impenetrable boy-short style, cut-proof, combination lock underwear might seem innovative, but the cultural attitudes that brought them into being are nothing new. Here are twelve reasons why AR Wear won’t be getting my dollars:

  1. Women are still held responsible for preventing rape. As if women haven’t been told enough by society what to do or not to do to feel safe from sexual assault, here’s one more thing to add to your shopping list—after the pepper spray, brass knuckles, self-defense classes, and other miscellaneous weapons we are told to keep with us at all times. Responsibility is still being placed on women to prevent sexual assault, and the stuff we’re told to do isn’t even necessarily going to stop rape from happening—not even “a clothing line offering wearable protection for when things go wrong.” After all, most assaults aren’t committed by strangers, but by people we know and trust. 

  2. All I can think is: chastity belt. Let’s be real…all one needs to do is change the name of the product to “purity panties” and these things have an entirely different function. 

  3. Feeling safe isn’t necessarily being safe. Don’t get me wrong: I’m all about doing things to feel a sense of security. I do things to feel safe all the time, like not walk alone at night if I don’t have to, keep my phone at the ready if I do, keep my car doors locked, turn on the TV if I hear weird noises in my house. But here’s the thing: I might feel a little safer by doing these things, but am I actually safer? And could one go as far as to suggest that my confidence is increased as a result? Am I more empowered, or am I just under the illusion that I am? I think we all know the answer to that. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being told what I need to do to feel safe. I don’t want to have to buy special underwear to ward away attackers. I’d like to actually feel safer because people aren’t going around raping each other. 

  4. Sexual assault involves more than penetration. Though fortified underwear may stop or slow down an attacker from committing some types of sexual assault, it doesn’t mean that someone is free from all the other ways they could be violated. Sexual assault is any nonconsensual sexual contact, and unfortunately, over-the-underwear assault can be just as traumatic as the reverse. So in actuality, this “anti-rape” product is actually quite limited. Maybe they could develop some sort of full-body mummy-style anti-rape suit—that would be interesting. Or better yet, build some kind of impenetrable bubble that would make it impossible for any potential perpetrator to even get near me. If we’re going to make women the ones responsible for stopping rape, the bubble approach seems the most practical way to go about it.

  5. I’m not convinced that pissing off an attacker won’t increase the amount of violence perpetrated against me. The creators of AR Wear argue that they read studies that suggest “resistance increases the chance of avoiding a completed rape without making the victim more likely to be physically injured” which apparently leads them to conclude that “an item of clothing that creates an effective barrier layer can allow women and girls to passively resist an attacker, in addition to any other form of resistance they may be able to carry out at the time of an assault.” The AR Wear folks actually only cite one such study, and the conclusion they make based on it is both oversimplified and seemingly focused on stranger assaults only. This research doesn’t take into account the scores of women who comply to their attackers in hopes that the violence won’t be as severe or that they might simply survive the attack. It also doesn’t take into account what happens if a victim’s “forceful resistance” or other strategies aren’t enough for her to get away from her attacker. Think of it this way: If I try to use my pepper spray to thwart and attack and I miss, what happens next?

  6. If this is anti-rape wear, is everything else rape wear? If I’m raped and I’m not wearing these special underwear (you know, because I wanted to take a day off from feeling constricted and hypervigilant) will I be blamed for what happens to me? Does not wearing these underwear mean I’m inviting assault, like other women who choose to walk alone at night, have a few drinks at the bar, and attempt to live their lives not paralyzed by the fear of rape? Do my regular old cheap panties shout “easy access” and “I’m asking for it”?

  7. Women who wear this underwear will think about rape every time they get dressed. As an activist who works at a rape crisis center, sexual assault is something I think about constantly. And though I’m a huge advocate for promoting awareness about rape, I’d rather not think about it every time I get dressed. Rape awareness is about consciousness-raising, not fear mongering. And if the only way we can feel safe is to wear anti-rape underwear, we have a serious problem (duh).

  8. This product is only marketed to white, stereotypically attractive women. The myth that only young, “attractive” women who engage in “risky” activities are raped is still pervasive, and the AR Wear ad doesn’t help. Are young, slender white women the only demographic we care about protecting? Where are the women of color? Where is the age diversity? Will they even manufacture these things in my size? And where—dare I say it—are the men?

  9. How affordable are these, anyway? I would be interested to know how much a pair of these power panties is going cost, and whether or not most women would be able to afford them. I can tell you this: it’s not like Rape Crisis Centers across the country could afford to hand these out at Take Back the Night events. And if AR Wear is only affordable for certain folks, then we to rethink how to make everyone more safe.

  10. It seems like peeing would be difficult. My understanding is that one would have to loosen each thigh strap and unlock the combination at the waist every time she wants to go to the bathroom. Not only would this be annoying, but there we go having to think about rape again the ten times we use the toilet throughout the day. Just thinking about having to think about that makes me feel exhausted.

  11. Someone profits when women purchase a false sense of safety. AR Wear has already raised more than $52,000 for further development of their underwear, perhaps demonstrating both the product’s mainstream appeal and our widespread fear of being sexually assaulted. At any rate, it bothers me that the commercialization of a product like this means that someone profits from all of that collective fear. Anti-capitalism rants aside, I think we should consider where we’re putting our money—and hence, our focus. Think of all the primary prevention work (focused on prevention rather than risk reduction) that could be done with that amount of money (I work in nonprofit, and money for prevention is quite scarce). If AR Wear was to donate its profits to help fund rape prevention efforts, I might ease up a bit here. Until then, I would suggest donating your money to primary prevention efforts that don’t rely on the worn out idea that women alone should be responsible for stopping their own sexual assaults.

  12. I refuse to lose hope. Risk reduction efforts like self-defense classes or whistle key-chains or ironclad underwear don’t function to change the culture—in many ways, they play right into it. Primary prevention strategies, in contrast, focus attention on preventing sexual assault by changing attitudes and behaviors that lead to individual violence and collective acceptance of rape. Real prevention takes time, and yes, it’s difficult work. Anti-rape undies are the easy way out because they allow us as a culture to remain passive about doing the hard work to make this place safer for all of us. For me, to buy and wear these undies means giving in to the fear I’m “just supposed to live with” as a woman. I refuse to accept this as a reality, and my hope that we can end sexual assault is stronger than any pair of underwear I could buy.
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    Jenn Freitag, Ph.D. is an educator, activist, scholar, and performance artist committed to ending gender violence. 

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