A few days ago, there was a protest in my city against rape culture. It had been organized by two high school girls, after an incident involving several high school boys (from an all-boys school), in which they had made frankly terrifying and degrading remarks about certain female teachers at the school along with women in general. I attended this protest, which was held in front of our country’s parliament, as so many are. As you can imagine, there were plenty of members of the press there, along with what I imagine were freelance photographers. It appeared on the news that night, as a main story. Here I am, two days later, seeing online articles being published. And the backlash is just horrifying. The newest headline, and I quote, is “Consent education isn’t an attack on boys”. Which is correct, of course. But even this statement is apparently too harsh, even in light of the events that sparked this protest in the first place. I used to think my country was at least a little more progressive than some, but my faith in my own people is seriously dwindling. I’ve seen grown men whining about how they’re “always going to be the rapist”, when it comes to a drunken encounter with an equally-drunken girl. I’ve seen people claiming that we need to tighten our alcohol laws, bear down more on parents when it comes to responsibility, and every excuse in between. Of course, being sober and having responsible parents didn’t help when I was pinned to that bed, silently weeping and sincerely praying for the first time in my life, that I might get out of that room unhurt. Fuck this world. I can’t deal with it anymore.
I am disappointed in the country’s choice of a new president, and ever since the election, I am outspoken about it. Without resorting to false information, memes, and name-calling, I make intelligent researched arguments on the topic. However, posting on social media draws a host of men who attack me as a woman to knock me off course or attempt to upset me with creepy comments. One man told me he wanted to “collect my tears and drink them,” or perhaps he could just “lick my face.” Another man, in an attempt to be derogatory, said, “you must be one of those feminists,” and that he “should have known there would be alligators in the water.” His fiend told him to stop attacking me because I am “super hot.” Since the election, I have heard every kind of screwed up opinion on reproductive rights. I spoke out to someone on this, and he told me, “because I like you, we’ll deport you last.” I am angry that women’s voices are dismissed repeatedly as unimportant, whiny, or irrelevant, and the only way for a woman to merit respect is to be “super hot.”