Friday, August 8, 2014

Recommended Reading



"First Night in Kyiv"

This is a story of a young woman journalist who met an older male journalist whom she respected and others still respect even after he sexually assaulted her. She submitted her piece anonymously. It's awful. It's enraging. I wanted to scream as I read it. I want to scream now.

These are the stories that make me want to take men who try to tell me that rape culture doesn't exist and that women don't have it that bad and strap them to some kind of empathy machine where they could experience the horror I feel just reading shit like this over and over and over until they're broken and weeping the way I am when it gets to be too much.


I drew upon our shared background, maybe a little hammily, overplaying it a little, to get the Very Respected Editor to understand where I was coming from.  I explained that I didn’t think the Very Respected Journalist deserved to keep his reputation while I got turned into media-gossip flotsam like a worthless dirty slut who had probably been asking for it.  He cleared his throat.  “Well, it’s sort of useful for me, you know, to maintain a good relationship with him.  For the sake of my career, I mean.” Of course, John Lennon, of course, promising young footballer from the north – we stupid slutty women, auxiliary side-plots that we are, cannot get in the way of your great career, the great rocketing narrative of your trajectory out.  He softened, “I mean, for you too. You don’t want to look unprofessional.”

I honestly don't know what's worse. The description of the assault or the fact that the first person she told didn't give even a shred of a shit.

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