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Hollywood Goes Silent on Rape and Sodomy: A Polanski Victory

Yesterday, 76-year-old child rapist Roman Polanski was released from the house arrest he was under with the Swiss government’s decision to not extradite him to the United States, based on a technicality of California law. They blamed a fault in the US extradition request and the failure to provide confidential testimony about his original hearing; the judge in the case is long-dead. Polanski’s exile is a story of more than a single rape, but of a rape culture, the incident emblematic of a poisonous mindset where a rich, troubled artist can drug and rape a nonconsenting 13-year-old girl with utter impunity, and serve no sentence for it.

In the Spring of 1977, Polanski invited 13-year-old model Samantha Geimer to a house for a photo shoot, giving her alcohol and Quaaludes, a potent mixture. He invited the intoxicated girl into a bedroom; she recalls saying “No, no. I don’t want to go in there. No, I don’t want to do this. No!” Despite her protests, he raped and sodomized her, and the next day he was arrested and charged with rape by use of drugs, perversion, sodomy, lewd and lascivious acts upon a child under fourteen, and furnishing a controlled substance to a minor. In a plea deal designed to protect Geimer’s identity, five of the charges were dropped, and Polanski was only facing time for unlawful sexual intercourse – or statutory rape. On eve of his sentencing, Polanski fled the country, leaving behind responsibility for his crimes.

With his thirty years spent in France making award winning films and his vindication now in Switzerland, Polanski has won. He has the high opinion of his friends in Hollywood who defended him – Woody Allen, Martin Scorcese, Jeremy irons, John Landis, and many others – as well as a media who almost monolithically refers to his crime as “having sex with” a 13-year-old girl, ignoring the drugs and the victim’s verbal protests, as if age just were a number. He has defenders among the people of France, Poland, and America, some of whom have compared the hatred of sex offenders to the hatred of Jews in Nazi Germany. His star still lies on the Lodz Walk of Fame in Poland. He even has the forgiveness of his victim, who he paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to in the 1990s. His release was met with joy from the embarrassingly vast amount of supporters Polanski has in Hollywood, and especially abroad. French Foreign Minister Bernard Kouchner stated that “The great Franco-Polish director can now freely rediscover his loved ones and devote himself fully to the pursuit of his artistic activities.” His Polish counterpart echoed his vile sentiments, warmly embracing Polanski as a cultural icon of Poland.

The outpour of support Polanski has received from many in the film community is another example of how “Hollywood liberals” are anything but. There has been sparse condemnation of those who deserve to be condemned, such as Roman Polanski. (A good example: Mel Gibson, who was recorded telling his girlfriend that it would be her fault if she were “raped by a pack of niggers.” His repulsive racism has been met with deafening silence, and while he has been dropped from his agency, there is little outcry against this man who has been known for his racism, sexism, and anti-semitism in the past.) Polanski can count many in Hollywood as his friends, and despite the controversy, remains free and wealthy.

Apologists can accuse the US authorities of going on a witch hunt, or call the 13-year-old a slut, or her mother a gold digger, or Polanski a great artist who should be excused from punishment due to his own personal tragedies, but it’s impossible to avoid the core of this case – Polanski raped a young girl and has effectively gotten away with it. Everything else is irrelevant: there is an unrepentant child predator who will never face justice being supported by a mob of elite and wealthy people willing to make apologies for him and reasons for his behavior.

Greek Life and Sexual Assault: Challenging the Cycle of Violence on Campus


The fraternity I founded is diverse in thought, heritage, and class; we are generally a progressive and feminist-leaning group of men. On my campus, and arguably most campuses here in the US, however, Greek Life is a system built on sexism and the objectification, shaming, and abuse of women. My friend was a first-year student pledging the largest sorority on campus: this story is about her experience. (I obtained her consent to write about this beforehand.)

One night while I was walking to my fraternity’s house, a friend called me asking to be picked up from a mixer. She sounded scared and wanted to leave. My brothers were willing to go, but I dismissed the possibility that there was anything to be concerned about. After a little while, a car pulled into our driveway driven by one of her sisters. She was in the passenger seat, and when she came inside she told me that she had been uncomfortable with the men at the mixer. They had made fun of her and her sisters, saying they were going to fuck them later, slapping them on the ass, and refusing to give her their address so that someone could pick her up. She tried to leave the room, but the brothers barred the door and told her she had to stay. She pulled me into the bathroom and I tried to calm her down, but I was far from calm myself.

One of the most offensive things about the entire situation was the assumed status of women at a fraternity party as possessions without any agency, only there to fuck them and unable to exercise their right to come and go as they pleased. This is a horror story we all hear often, but I’m still appalled it actually happens. Any connection between two people based on love and attraction needs to exist through freedom, and any act of coercion is not an act of respect, openness, or mutuality. I wanted to act on the situation and make some sort of positive outcome, and I reached out to the other fraternity in anger, expressing my frustration with their actions to a close friend in their chapter in hopes that I could get them to understand the true magnitude of their behavior.

But in the end, nothing happened. My friend’s sorority sisters blamed her for “starting shit,” said that she just shouldn’t have caused a scene, and they were banned from ever partying at that house again. Her sisters dismissed and blamed her. Sexism and objectification are built into greek life, so much so that a popular saying on campus is that the only purpose for joining a sorority is to “do arts and crafts and suck frat boy cock.” In the end, I was disappointed in the idea of “sisterhood” as fleeting and hurtful, cold and blissfully ignorant of the issues they could be taking effective steps toward improving. Greek life doesn’t have to be about coercion, assault, danger, or pain- and my brothers and I refuse to support, justify, or ignore any actions that are.

Is Sex Blogging Consensual?

500_Porque no hablamosIt’s an average Thursday night at American University. I’m the only fully straight (and fully sober) person in this room, I hear Lady Gaga blasting from a few rooms down, and I’m blogging about sex.

Blogging about sex, like sex itself, is dependent on interaction with other people. They both hinge almost entirely on open communication, and without the ability to communicate, you’re not gonna write a good post (or have a good sex life). My feelings about blogging about sex relate to my feelings of sex in general – the contradictions regarding consent and privacy, emotion and openness, that are inherent in communicating such personal things, possibly some of the most personal things, to other people. Sex is THE most socially constructed element of society, and we put a massive emphasis on its privacy, which is why we don’t see more people openly fucking in the streets.

Destroying rape culture and promoting openness and consent is a worthy fight that can be done on a grassroots level, by speaking out, telling personal stories and behaving with respect in all sexual interactions. As a straight feminist cisgender man, I want to be able to use my personal life to help the cause. I believe in open sexuality, nonmonogamy, and communication at all times – I don’t identify as queer, or polyamorous, or most sex labels, mostly because I don’t want to leech onto a label to define myself or my sexuality.

But how could I write on a blog, about consent of all things, personal details about MY sex life, which of course involve other people? That I’d share without their knowledge or consent? Or course I won’t use their names, but a hookup is (or should be) built on a foundation of trust and communication. Part of that is the assumption (and hope) that one party won’t share private details with everyone they know or go bragging to a vast amount of people – which is essentially what I would be doing by sharing it here. Outside of writing on a blog, in my real life, I want to be open with the people around me – especially the ones I’m sleeping with.

How can I talk about my sexual experiences and not cross the line?

Sexist Boyhood in Urban NJ

500_Real attraction

I actually really love talking about sex with my parents. From that special moment when I was watching Bernadette of Lourdes and asked what an ‘immaculate conception’ was and was informed more about ‘conception’ than my 9-year-old mind could take, my parents have always been pretty open about sex, and I as well. Though we don’t always get along or agree, I respect the two of them a lot, and as awkward as it sounds, am happy that they still have a sex life after twenty-three years of marriage, and are looking pretty damn good for their age.

I went out to dinner with them last weekend; my dad was in town to run the Marine Corps Marathon. I’m not exactly sure how it began, but we started talking about societies’ views on sex and nudity – how boys don’t shower together in gym like they did when my dad was my age, about an conversation that my mom once had with her students, while teaching a study-skills class back in New Jersey.

Hey, Mrs. C, we got a question.
What is it?
Do you think it’s okay to go for it if the girl is drunk?

My mom sat down with a sigh, about to humor their question.

Why are you even asking that. Do you really want to go for it and have sex with a drunk girl if you’re sober?
No, no, no! You don’t understand, don’t get me wrong, I want us both to be drunk!

Where I come from in New Jersey is almost a majority-minority town. The public high school, which I attended for two years, was 75% Latino, and speaking from observation, Spanish girls tended to be more willing to be submissive to their men, and the young men were extremely masculine – willing to fight, take risks, carry weapons, and dominate women and each other. My mom found it tough sometimes, especially when she had to deal with study-skills sessions, which weren’t the smartest or most well-behaved kids, but they respected her enough to give their honest opinions, one guy said—

Well, girls should be careful when they get drunk, they should know what us guys are like.

As my mom had said later, even if she had wanted to slap him for his words, or even if every other person we knew had scorned him for the statement, it was undeniably his honest opinion, and right or wrong, that’s what he felt and that’s how he acted in his life – that guys are a certain way, and they can’t control themselves when it comes to girls.

Feminism wasn’t something I considered back in New Jersey as ever having an impact on my life. I lived in a town where women seemed to be subservient to men by culture, and I went to an all-boys Catholic school, where the only talk of women was in the most objectified way possible – even more so due to our lack of opportunity to interact with women in school.

When there’s no girls around, it seemed that there was no check on the misogyny and masculinity of eight hundred teenage boys. But I knew something was strange, as I didn’t adhere to the beliefs of my peers, who talked about the newest bitties of the weekend, and called out at young female teachers in the hallway. I dated in high school, and was in a long-term relationship with an older, extremely artistic and open-minded girl for two years. We were inexperienced, but I couldn’t imagine an arrangement in which we were anything but equal. Other relationships I saw and witnessed in high school struck me as so foreign – how could some of these girls be so blind as to not realize how little he cared for her? How could they even call this a relationship?

In college, things are different. People are feminist, and queer, and polyamorous, and unconcerned with gender roles in a way that was impossible back in New Jersey. (There were also hipsters, a very rare sight in Bergen and Hudson Counties.) When I came back in the summer and began delivering at a local restaurant, it was a return to the masculinity of working-class New Jersey, and a culture shock for me. During the day I worked in urban Hudson County with men who called at women on the street, customers who would be abusing their wives when I rang their doorbell, and every vulgar thing said about lesbians who ‘just need to get fucked in the ass to make them straight,’ but at night I’d be in a whole new world, whether with my amazing feminist friend Carmyn in the leafy northern suburbs, or with my open and egalitarian family, or with my friends who disavowed the kind of sexism that seemed to be so pervasive in the city.

I don’t know where to go from here, and I don’t fully feel comfortable singling out the black and Latino people who always seemed to be the most sexist and the most spiteful towards women. For every Salvadorean man who would be coming into the restaurant barking at his wife and daughters there would be an equally repulsive white man throwing his wife into walls right in front of me, the delivery boy. For every Blood that came in with a sneer, his girlfriend weeping, there might be a Norteño covered in tattoos smiling at his wife and taking a sincere interest in what his daughter had to say.

Generalizations mean everything, and nothing. I don’t have enough experience in all-white areas to say whether they’re just as sexist – but I don’t think it really matters. In any population you can find good and bad.

It’s hard for me to imagine a world where sexism is dead; we hope for every generation to be an improvement on their parents’, but I see no clear improvement in mine, decades after the civil rights and first- and second-feminist movement was relevant. The people of my generation associate feminism more with the hateful ideals of Dworkin rather than the tolerance of Paglia or other modern feminists. Personally, I keep it real with the people I work with, and even if I can’t change their minds, I will never agree with their views on women for the sake of fitting in with them, or even endearing myself to them. I’ll continue trying to treat every girl I interact with, whether romantically, as friends, or even just in passing, with all the respect I can afford.

What was it like growing up in your town?

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