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Please Stop Calling Them Rape Kits

7/30/2015

3 Comments

 
*Trigger warning here. I’ve got my crisis advocate hat on. Proceed with caution!
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I used to watch Law and Order: Special Victims Unit ALL THE TIME. There was something about these fictional heroes fighting on behalf of victims of sexual violence that felt so satisfying. Even when they weren’t successful at putting all the perpetrators behind bars, Benson and Stabler made me feel like I wasn’t alone in the movement to end gender violence. Though the subject material was tough, I loved the show. I watched religiously until I began working as a crisis counselor full-time. It just got too real and too tough to tune into SVU regularly after assisting folks with so many horrible situations all day at work.

I also learned, through years of assisting folks over hotlines and in hospital rooms, that the world of SVU does not accurately reflect how stuff usually goes down in the real world after someone has been sexually assaulted. The detectives often make promises they cannot keep (“If you tell me who he is he will never hurt you again”), use unorthodox (though creative) methods for dramatic effect, and misrepresent how procedures like interviews actually happen and how long processes like crime lab testing realistically take (contrary to what SVU suggests, this can take years).

The show also brings awareness to many important issues, like the episode, “Behave,” that integrated the very real problem of the backlog of unprocessed forensic evidence collection kits. It’s a huge national problem that needs more attention, especially since untested kits mean serial perpetrators may not be identified and prosecuted. It’s one more way in which our country fails to put forth the effort and financial backing to respond to the problem of sexual violence appropriately.

How we’re talking about this issue, however, is problematic for a few reasons. If you watch SVU, you’ve heard the detectives and attorneys repeatedly refer to forensic evidence collection kits as “rape kits” and that language is now commonplace for reporters, nurses, and even victim advocates. This language has made me flinch for years, and here’s why.

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First of all, rape kit does not accurately describe what it is referring to. It is not a rape kit. It is a (rape) evidence collection kit. If we consider the former phrase grammatically, a rape kit is something a person uses to carry out rape. See what I mean? Makes your skin crawl, right? Forensic evidence collection is the more accurate—and yes, scientific—term. But that’s the point. Folks undergo it so that perpetrators can be more easily identified and cases more successfully prosecuted (though this doesn’t always happen for various reasons – check out this piece for more info).

Second, this shorthand language is a casual, terse, and insensitive description of what occurs during forensic evidence collection. Yes, the process can be invasive, uncomfortable, and incredibly long (I have witnessed some that last four hours or more)—but using the word rape to describe the process can make it seem flip and sound incredibly scary to someone trying to decide whether or not to have one completed. Yes, if the nurse who completes it does not have the appropriate training or is insensitive to a victim throughout the process, forensic evidence collection may be traumatizing to a victim. But the collection in and of itself should not be described using the term of the crime it intends to document.

Third, this language can be a deterrent to folks deciding to proceed with evidence collection. Much of this issue has to do with how someone names or perceives the experience that brought them to the hospital in the first place. A person may or may not identify the incident as rape, so asking if they would like to have a rape kit completed is counterintuitive. As an advocate, it’s incredibly important to me that someone not have their experienced named for them—so using this language not only risks taking away that choice, but also makes the evidence collection seem like something that it’s not. It also calls forth all those pesky stereotypes many people have about rape—that it is only committed by men toward women and that it must involve physical force—suggesting that the kit is only for heterosexual women with visible or “obvious” injuries. Naming the evidence collection by its function, though it sounds more sterile and neutral, is a better idea because it is for everyone, no matter what has occurred. Nurses can collect saliva as evidence from a man’s cheek or arm, for example; forensic evidence collection may or may not involve any more than that. 

Yes, I know I am being nit-picky. I worry that when we borrow the language that pop culture provides, at least in this instance, we risk that language constructing a reality that is much less human, much less compassionate. The detectives and attorneys on SVU exist in a completely different dimension, and as characters, there are no real ramifications for their casual work jargon. But in our world, we may deter folks from having evidence collected by using slang language to describe it that is not accurate. Everyone has a choice whether or not to undergo evidence collection after an assault, but if we hope to provide the most accurate, objective information about that choice, we need to stop calling it what it’s not. I am not suggesting that anyone who uses the phrase “rape kit” is being flip about sexual violence, but I am concerned at the kinds of messages this language may send when it gets used so often in mainstream discourse as well as in hospital rooms and crisis centers across the country. It may make an eye-catching headline, but it may also distance us from those affected most by sexual violence. So please: stop calling them rape kits.

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Big thanks to Megan Jones-Williams for her contributions to this piece. We’ve been discussing this issue for years, and I am thankful for her wisdom on the subject.
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Battlebots, Women, and Taking Up Space

7/14/2015

13 Comments

 
Recently, my significant other and I have made a Sunday evening tradition of Battlebots. We settle on the couch with a pizza, make predictions about which bots will last the round, and yell out in playful glee as these big chunks of metal shred each other apart in each three-minute match. It’s pretty awesome. 
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There aren’t many ladies on the show, but there are a few standout women engineers in the championship quarter finals like Andrea Suarez (Witch Doctor) and Wendy Maxham (Stinger the Killer Bee) who have built some pretty fantastic bots. 

There are also two women announcers. Though I’m not sure they have as much fun as ring announcer Faruq Tauheed does when he introduces the competitors (which seriously must be the best job on the show), Alison Haislip provides enthusiastic sideline reporting dressed in stylish nerd fashion. She’s cool, and she seems to connect well with the engineers she interviews. And then there’s Molly McGrath.

Though McGrath is the first cast member listed on the Battlebots website and she holds the general title of host (Chris Rose and Kenny Florian are play-by-play and color commentary announcers), her role seems to deviate the most from the super nerdtastic amazingness that is this show about remote-controlled machines battling it out in a combat elimination tournament. I’m not just talking about how she is clothed, though her short, tight dresses and heels seem to be meant for dudes who apparently need a stereotypically-presented female figure to reinforce the masculinity they risk losing by watching a show about robot battles. It’s not Sunday night football. Clothing choices aside, McGrath is presented as the eye candy intermediary between all of the other commentators on the show. Perhaps more significant than the lack of airtime or substance she is able to present as host, however, is the way McGrath stands as she interacts with Rose and Florian in the studio. 

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Instead of standing strongly on two feet, McGrath often stands on her right foot, crosses her left foot out in front of her right leg, and points her left toe. It must take a lot of work to stand that way – she’s rocking fabulous stilettos as she does it – but I question what the directors and producers of this show are going for with this ultra-meek, deferential, and supposedly sexy posture. As someone who teaches public speaking, I am especially concerned that a professional sports reporter like Molly McGrath is modeling a stage presence predicated on her ability to make herself appear smaller. If you watch closely, you’ll notice that her transitions to actually standing on two feet (a grounded, empowered speaking position that is Public Speaking 101) are clunky and awkward. And if you really think about it, watching McGrath do the cross-legged standing thing just seems weird in a context in which badass women engineers are dominating the Battlebot arena with heavy metal flippers and flame spitting partner bots. I mean really. It’s distracting, and it makes me mildly furious because I’d rather not have to get all feminist critic on a show about battling robots.

I’m not suggesting that Molly McGrath is anything short of capable and empowered. She is an engaging host with the small segments she is given. But I do wish the producers would give her the literal space she deserves to do her job, look hot, and seem strong and grounded as she does it. After all, Molly McGrath is not a robot herself, nor should she be made to act like one.

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 I am Not Madonna:   Sexual Entitlement in "Bitch I'm Madonna"

6/24/2015

2 Comments

 
PictureHalloween 2011
There is a lot to almost love about Madonna’s new music video. You’ve got cute little white girls at the beginning dressed up all 90s Madonna-style, cameos from a handful of superstars, and the Queen of Pop herself. “Bitch I’m Madonna” has the potential to be the next hashtag movement that embraces self-love, glitter, fame, and power. Sounds fun, right? After all, I too am Madonna. Really. I rocked my Madonna self at Halloween a few years ago, lace gloves and all. I’m a fan.

So when I watched the music video to find Madonna stumbling around at a party, appropriating other cultures, and teaming up with Nicki Minaj to make sure “these hoes know” that “Bitch I’m Madonna,” I was surprised and frankly, profoundly disappointed. I think of Madonna as a feminist  
icon, an image of sex-positive empowerment, a goddess. When I watch the video I do not witness a Madonna of fierce, sexy independence; instead, I watch someone on a power trip attempting to retain her legendary image at the expense of others, and at the expense of what has made her so fabulous in the first place.



In “Bitch I’m Madonna,” Madonna models the kind of sexual entitlement many of us are sickened by in predictably sexist music videos like “Blurred Lines.” Case in point: about two minutes into the video, Madonna walks up behind a guy seated at a bar, pulls him backward by the hair, pours a drink in his mouth, then pelvic thrusts him from behind. The guy is caught off guard, and the directors of the video don’t even make an attempt to make it look like this he enjoys any of what Madonna has just done to him. Though I appreciate the attempt to queer up this moment a bit with the woman who simultaneously pelvic thrusts Madonna from behind as Madonna thrusts into guy at bar, this moment falls very, very, short of being consensual. If a dude did this to a woman we as a public would be super angry. Being a woman, or being Madonna, does not make it ok.

Second case in point: about a minute later when Madonna grabs a woman at the top of the stairs, pushes her briskly against the wall, and kisses her. In this instance, the woman is smiling as Madonna grabs her, so it is unclear if what happens is consensual. But the message here is that it’s super sexy to act upon other people’s bodies as long as you own it, and have the social capital to do so. Sadly, I have witnessed women at parties who have done just this to my friends, especially when said friends have had a few drinks and can be caught off guard enough for the instigator to think they can get by with it. And they have. But let’s be clear: this is sexual assault. And being a woman does not make this kind of behavior acceptable, however famous you are.

We need to look past gender stereotypes enough to realize that the “Bitch I’m Madonna” kind of Madonna is one predicated on sexual entitlement and power at the expense of other people’s bodies. There are so many other ways Madonna could embrace power, queer sexuality, and sex positivity without treating men like animals and women like passive recipients of her prowess in this video. It seems like the “bitch” to which she is referring could be anyone she feels entitled to act upon, or anyone who might disagree with her behavior because, after all, she’s Madonna. But this is not the kind of Madonna, or the kind of “bad bitch,” I want to be.

If I am going to reclaim the word bitch at all, it is with abandon. It’s in a Lady Gaga “Bad Romance” kind of way—a reclamation that is fun and powerful and, most importantly, not at anyone else’s expense. The big difference here is that when Gaga tells us, “I’m a free bitch, baby,” and when I sing along and claim this for myself, it’s about choice. It’s about bucking the system, being labeled a bitch, and then co-opting that label in powerful reclamation. “Bitch I’m Madonna” takes on a controlling, dehumanizing kind of power, and there’s nothing sexy, liberating, or fabulous about that. 

#iamnotmadonna
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The Love Monster

6/8/2015

1 Comment

 
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“He ate my heart...he a-a-ate my heart” --Lady Gaga

When I was a full-time prevention educator at a crisis center in the rural Midwest, I used to facilitate this “monster” activity with kids in early elementary school classrooms. After a few visits in which I talked about healthy relationships, body boundaries, and respect with the kids, I’d introduce this activity to get them thinking about how to express what makes them scared, how to speak back to what makes them upset, and where they can go for help if they need it. I love the activity because it involves creativity, crayons, and healthy coping skills; they love to color and share their masterpieces.

It goes like this: I ask the kids to think about something that makes them scared, angry, upset, or sad. I hand out coloring sheets with an outline of a monster that they can color however they want based on how they feel. It’s awesome watching them go to work, and even more fun to ask them what they would name their monster, and what sound it would make. They get super into it, and I adore watching them express themselves. When they are finished, I help them talk back to their monsters (they repeat phrases like, “You don’t win, monster!” which is, of course, empowering and fun for them) and we talk about how it’s ok to feel lots of different emotions, how to deal with them in a healthy way, and what to do if someone is hurting them.

A girl in a kindergarten class I visited last year named her picture, “The Love Monster.” Unlike many of the other children who had colored scary or angry monsters, her monster was cute and covered with red and pink hearts. When I asked her why it was called the love monster, she explained that a boy at school was “in love” with her and would not leave her alone. This made her frustrated and angry. I was so struck by the picture that I don’t recall the exact details of this situation, though I know we talked about how if a boy wouldn’t leave her alone it was not ok and that she needed to tell (and keep telling) teachers and other adults about what was happening if he didn’t stop.

The Love Monster stuck with me because I think it suggests some realities about how girls are taught to deal with sexual harassment, abuse, and assault. We are often taught to politely decline or ignore advances, smile through our anger, and minimize potentially violent actions because “boys will be boys.” Many of us, regardless of gender, may grow up mistaking attention for love, and sometimes it becomes difficult for us to differentiate love and respect from abuse and control. When Lady Gaga sings, “That boy is a monster,” I think one thing she’s capturing is the complicated sort of way many of us have become used to being consumed and disrespected by people in our lives. We may even love these individuals, even though we know they are “wolves in disguise.” Even though we may know we deserve more than that.

We need to teach kids (across a continuum of gender) what real care and respect—and love—looks like. We need to teach them what it means to care for and respect and love themselves as well as others. And we all need to learn how to deal with “Love Monsters” in both polite and impolite ways. It is not always easy. I know I am still learning. Perhaps that is why I love that Lady Gaga song so much.


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Feminism is Not a Game of Thrones

5/27/2015

1 Comment

 
*No spoilers here, GOT fans! Read on!

I love engaging in feminist critique of popular culture. It’s actually one of my favorite pastimes, because I love feminism and I find pop culture fascinating and fun and entertaining and maddening and disturbing and impossible to ignore. The world of pop culture is accessible to many, it often reflects where we’re at on social issues, and it also suggests where mainstream culture may be changing when it comes to stuff like gender roles and sexual violence. There are so many angles and perspectives and theories and questions that people can bring to a dialogue about any given film or TV show or music video, and this should make for incredibly interesting, complicated, and nuanced discussion. Except when it doesn’t.

I read feminist blogs that make awesome contributions to how we think about pop culture, but do it in a way that suggests that if you and I don’t agree wholeheartedly, we might be stripped of our feminist namesake and cast out of the community without a second thought. I watch my friends shy away from making bold, intelligent critiques in public forums like Facebook because, in their view, they are not on the “feminist bandwagon” and will get bludgeoned by the more popular feminist critiques if they speak up. I witness my significant other crafting careful responses to critiques of video games in the Twitterverse only to be viciously attacked in the name of feminism. People, we can do better than this.

I refuse to engage in a simplistic debate about whether Game of Thrones is good or bad and if choosing to watch it means you are no longer a feminist. I refuse to name-call when someone makes a critique I disagree with, and I most definitely refuse to claim that my feminist view is the only one worth considering. I refuse to hurl insults at people who continue to watch a show even if I personally condemn its violence, and I refuse to make snap judgments that assume I know people’s motivations for remaining committed to consuming a particular art form despite its sexism. Yes, GOT has some pretty horrendous depictions of rape. Yes, it may be triggering for many folks, and no, rape is never, ever ok and yes, I’m sick of its omnipresence in our lives. But I’m not sure that omitting all forms of sexual violence from the script is the best solution. Sometimes its representation—however difficult to witness—can offer audiences opportunities for engagement and reflection that they might never otherwise encounter. I also think every individual should have the right to choose how they want to respond to the sexual violence in GOT. I respect folks who decide they are done and take a public stand based on this position. I respect folks who decide not to watch because it would threaten their emotional health. And I respect those who continue to watch and witness and remain deep within its throes, because they may be the ones offering the feminist arguments that those of us who have opted out cannot.

I’m not saying we should tone down our critiques or sacrifice whatever feminist values we subscribe to. What I am suggesting is that we reconsider the ways we engage in feminist critique, because right now an awful lot of us are pitted against one another. When we hate on each other, we silence one another, and that ain’t what feminism ought to be about. We should be challenging easy arguments and struggling through the complexities and caveats that make discussions about pop culture interesting. We should talk about this stuff without creating casualties, and we should recognize that our antagonism doesn’t exactly make feminism appealing to folks who don’t share our passion for the cause. Cercei Lannister dropped this truth: “When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die.” Let’s stop swinging our swords at each other. Feminist engagement shouldn’t be a game of thrones.

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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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