“Handing down the verdict, Tzvi Segal, one of three judges on the case, acknowledged that sex had been consensual but said that although not “a classical rape by force,” the woman would not have consented if she had not believed Kashur was Jewish.”

It’s a pretty clear cut racist thing here, so even most radical feminists will disagree with this verdict, but that doesn’t answer the more profound problems posed by the notion of “consent” by such a verdict.

Could a man claim “rape by deception” if a woman later reveals she is in a relationship even though he was *at the point* happy to have sex with her? Should a woman be allowed to claim rape by deception because a man she wanted to have sex with lied about his financial status? Is there specific information that potential sexual partners should be legally obliged to declare correctly prior to enganging in sexual activity?

There is no doubt that “lying about oneself to get him/her into bed” is not exactly good behaviour, but consent to personal interactions cannot be dealt with with standards developed for commercial interactions, because personal interactions cannot be undone once they happened. And ex-post declarations about what one would have or would not have done knowing what has been revealed thereafter are nothing but hypothetical.

She may claim that she would not have consented to sex given the information that he is not Jewish, but who knows whether she may still have consented in the moment because she was sufficiently aroused to not care about the guy’s ethnicity… maybe her later retraction of “consent” has nothing to do with consent to sex and a lot to do with the state of her community.

It’s a crime to punish people based on hypotheticals, and it’s a ridiculous assumption that people are always aware of the criteria they use for making decisions in the moment.

Giving them the opportunity to later withdraw their decisions based on criteria formulated ex-post is absurd – in other words – it’s crossing the line.

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Editor’s Note: This piece was submitted to us by Sam.

Catcalling and street harassment is a popular topic on WIYL, and with good reason; a 2008 study by Holly Kearl revealed that 99% of women have faced unwanted verbal come-ons, some more lewd and violating than others.

I live in a more industrial part of Brooklyn, across from a junkyard (complete with “Beware of Dog” sign) and a block down from a recycling collection center, where workers, mostly 25-50 year old men, sort bottles and cans from surise to sunset. Every day I walk by this operation on the way to the subway, and every day, without fail, I encounter some form of advancements or catcalling. There is something so frustrating and violating about being hit on during your unavoidable walk to work at 9 AM, harassed only because you are a young female walking by yourself. I never leave my apartment anymore without sunglasses and headphones, as to avoid eye contact and be able politely eschew all advances by feigning ignorance of them even happening, coping mechanisms that I am ashamed of having to take as a feminist and strong, empowered woman. “Powerless” is the only word to describe the options presented when harassed on the street; you can either walk by silently, or confront the perpertrator, risking physical escalation and conflict.

As Kearl said in a Huffington Post article about street harassment:

Street harassment is not a joke about construction workers; it is a problem that touches every woman’s life at some level and prevents women on a whole from achieving equality. More research needs to be conducted to better track its prevalence and to uncover the root causes, and in the meantime, let’s make it illegal. While laws do not solve problems, they can help change social attitudes, deter the undesired behavior, and provide affected persons with options for recourse.

This no-win scenario is the main idea behind the video game Hey Baby, a first-person shooter in which you get to gun down street harassers, and the sleazeballs are replaced with headstones engraved with their catcalls. The game may seem a bit extreme, murdering those who just want to tell you you’re “gorgeous” (my favorite response to which is, “I know I am, thanks for the reminder, ASSHOLE”); the come-ons, however, are sometimes just as extreme, with men approaching you to to inform you that you’re asking to be raped. The game is an intriguing concept in and of itself, but the commentary from male gamers has also proved englightening. Says Kieron Gillen of Rock, Paper, Shotgun:

The game’s rubbish, of course. But the one thing it does well is show how what you may think is an innocuous compliment feels in the context of a woman’s life. You approaching a woman in the street and being what you think is politely flirty is a different thing when, down the street, someone’s suggested that maybe you’d like to suck my dick and you’re a fucking bitch if you don’t.

From her perspective, it’s a culture of harassment she has to either politely deal with or ignore.

From your perspective, you’re just showing how you feel.

That your passing desire means you get to derail a woman’s life whenever you feel like it is the absolute definition of male privilege.

If you’re a man, and you’ve acted like this, the woman you do it to, beneath the polite smile she has to offer, has probably fantasised about you dying.

Seth Sciesel of New York Times pointed out that in the game, the attackers are relentless, and there is no end in sight to the harassment. Our point exactly, Schiesel. Hey Baby has no score, no levelling up, and no end goal. The game is painfully realistic in that way; you are trapped in a situation in which you question wearing your tank top or shorts before leaving the house, where you take an alternate route to avoid facing certain areas you know are rife with street harassers. I’ve found that it is difficult to get men to join in on conversations about consent and sexual harassment, and sexual assault, but perhaps Hey Baby is a good place to start.

Opined Schiesel:

Just as I have never been sexually harassed, I have never accosted a strange woman on the street. After playing Hey Baby, I’m certainly not about to start.

I am currently volunteering at my old high school. I want to work with teenagers when I finish college somehow, whether I work in social work, law, or education. It has been a great experience so far, especially because of the crazy personalities that are present within the classroom. It is also a plus to be working for my favorite teacher- he is the reason why I am majoring in U.S. History now at Barnard.

So this week, the students were assigned to form groups and create their own political parties. They had to come up with five main issues they wanted to focus on like tax reforms, etc. The most popular issues were abortion and the legalization of marijuana. The teacher left me in charge to help the students with their presentations: the groups had to come up to front of the class and present their political platforms to me while I critiqued and questioned their stance of certain issues. As each group went up, I realized how many of the students were unaware of today’s political climate.

One girl stood out when it was her turn to speak about abortion. Her group felt abortion should be illegal because “it is the woman’s fault if she becomes pregnant.” The majority of the class agreed with her- especially the girls. (The boys of the class didn’t have much to say, and believed that it was the woman’s choice.)  Being the person that I am, I interrupted and asked, “What if it was in the case of rape or incest, or the mother’s life is endangered?” The girl answered that it did not matter because the woman should not get herself into that situation.

I was shocked to hear this because many of these girls believe that a man does not have anything to do with a pregnancy nor a woman’s rape. Do they not realize that its takes two to make a baby, and a criminal to create sexual violence? The girls believe that it is a woman’s fault if she becomes pregnant and that she should live with the responsibility regardless if she was raped or not. The experience made it easy to see that talking about sexual assault is still stigmatized, especially in high school, and that that silence perpetuates a cycle of violence and violence-enabling. That is a cycle that needs to be broken.

When I first approached the teacher about volunteering over the summer, I asked him if I could do a presentation about intimate partner violence (IPV) and ways to seek help in case of sexual assault. He said that he is very conservative in the classroom, and that those topics weren’t appropriate for the students I’m teaching now. But if we do not bring awareness to them now, in the classroom, where else can we do it and be able to reach out to a majority of the youth? It’s like talking about the birds and the bees with your children: the conversation may be awkward, but this will only benefit them in the long run.

I remember being at this high school and never really learning anything about outside resources dealing with abuse and suicide. Health classes barely touched the topic of IPV and only mentioned that it could happen, but the class did not offer any safety planning tips or preventative education. Children are growing up fast: Disney and Nickelodeon do not advertise cartoons to children anymore, but shows like Hannah Montana and iCarly that broadcast the growing rate of young children in intimate relationships. Our cultural, social, and educational standards should be updated to keep up with the increasingly early exposure to sex that young people are now experiencing. By addressing controversial topics, we are not aimlessly making these students uncomfortable: we would be changing their lives. By educating young people in classrooms and safe spaces about violence, sexual health, and their empowerment, we could ensure that they were never shamed or silenced out of their own safety and well-being.

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.

I had to watch it like three times before I completely understood the accent, but unfortunately the scenario itself is not so foreign. A sexy woman is enjoying herself at a party – drinking some wine, laughing, being fabulous, maybe flirting a little – and a male bystander (presumably a stranger) seizes the opportunity to interject that her skirt indicates that “she’s asking for it.” The viewer is left to make an obvious observation:

Um, asking for what, dude? Asking for another drink? A stick of gum? Directions to the Scottish Parliament?

The short PSA illustrates the absurdity of the “asking for it” rape myth while placing due gravity on its pervasiveness. Yeah, the guy’s an idiot, but he’s also engaging in a pattern of violence, and the real problem is that our culture condones and encourages his violent behavior.

The “asking for it” myth is so deeply ingrained in our rape culture that it’s become second nature to most of us. Sexual violence is treated as an inevitable consequence of certain behaviors, and, when you think about it, that’s a pretty effective way of maintaining social control over women and other disenfranchised groups. We’re frequently asked to surrender our rights to even the most basic of human freedoms in order to avoid being victimized. Don’t live in that part of the city, you’ll get raped. Never walk alone at night, you’ll get raped. Don’t talk to strangers, wear revealing clothing, leave your doors or windows unlocked, take drugs, drink in excess, take public transportation, travel alone, or sleep around – because you will get raped. The list of don’ts goes on and on, each rule wildly impractical, blatantly inconsistent with actual statistics related to sexual assault, and specifically crafted to distract us from the culpability of rapists. Why do we have entire dossiers on How to Not Get Raped and no guidelines for How to Not Rape People? We need a cultural revolution.

I can just imagine the headlines:

Police warn rapists against crime.

Campus leaders urge students to engage in consensual sex.

Why is that message so absent from discussions of sexual assault? Why focus so much time and energy on training women to avoid danger while men walk around with carte fucking blanche? In thousands of ways, our culture has conditioned us to anticipate rape as a natural consequence of violating social norms. Rape myths serve to keep women out of the public sphere, and rape culture wants you to believe that the only safe place for a woman is her kitchen.

You have the right to live your life however you like without being subjected to violence. You have the right to live without fear. And no one has the right to violate you. Ever.

Being the quintessential Gemini that I am, I have been at odds with a lot of what is happening right now in my life while trying to figure out what my line really is. I’ve been involved with THE LINE Campaign since January of this year, starting the new year fresh with fem-fucking-power, and it has taken up a permanent spot in my heart, mind and soul. Not only does it re-awaken my feminist spirit every single day, but I have become part of the bigger movement and that has given me the courage to speak out.

A good friend of mine recently told me that I should watch what I say. Although I do admit that I don’t (always) think before I leap, I just can’t keep my mouth shut when I don’t agree with something(or somebody). He told me this after I posted a public note on the door of his building shouting out the sexist, violent asshole on the sixth floor that catcalls womyn from the stoop and thinks that hog-tying his beautiful german shepherd is “funny”. I felt that he needs to be publicly embarrassed and all the womyn living in the same building as him need to be aware of this creep. An hour later, another note appeared in the same place as the prior one stating “I know it was you, you bitch, you fucking cunt.” Obviously he couldn’t think of anything to say except to respond with vulgarities.

I don’t think that I say enough sometimes.

But back to what I was saying..

I’ve been in the city for over a week now, after traveling around New Orleans, then to Detroit for the US Social Forum. I’ve had some time now to organize and sift through my thoughts and feelings, however I am all-over-the-place and can’t seem to do much gathering. I’ve been thinking about where I stand in love and relationships frequently recently because I am seeing someone exclusively, but I’ve realized that I never reach satisfaction in any relationship because I always feel like there is something missing. For the last three years, I’ve succumbed to the fusion of another human being’s life with my own and haven’t had any time on my own.

Shit, I want to be selfish right now. I want to not worry about anyone else’s need besides my own. Fuck male domination, fuck societal paternal pressure of fucking your partner out of pity and fuck men colonizing womyn of color into relationships to obtain control over our lives. I see/hear/feel it with myself and whomever I talk to. Despite whatever madness (or realty) I may afflict, I haven’t felt this rounded and comfortable with myself– ever.

I steal the title of this post from the COLORR (Colorado Organization for Latina Opportunity and Reproductive Rights) girls who I met at USSF at their sexual health ‘zine-makin’ workshop. We ended the workshop in a circle holding-hands reciting Assata Shakur “to my people”, then placing our hands over our hearts and pussies (or cocks) while saying “me quiero, me cuido”. Translation: I love myself, then I’ll take care of myself.

I don’t remember the first time I was catcalled- or the last. I have actually become so accustomed to street harassment that I don’t bat eyelashes at it anymore; I walk on, I attempt to be fearless. When I was 18 and had started school, it terrified me to be out alone and encounter a talkative stranger. To this day, I walk a little faster around men who whistle and men who yell. When I was 18 and had started an internship, an older man on the metro asked me to live with him, and then backed off and remarked that he would leave me alone “because I looked like a nice girl.” (This was a feminist awakening, and I wish he knew that he spurred what became my feminist career.) When I was 18 and had just ventured DC alone, a much older man asked me where I lived, and if he could fly me back to New York with him.

Street harassment is a daily exercise in the life of a woman. It happens to women regardless of their lifestyle, appearance, behavior, location, status, ethnicity, or life experience. Street harassment happens to women when they are alone, traveling with others, and even (in one of my cases) when they are walking with their colleagues or supervisors. Street harassment is a pervasive form of verbal and physical violence against women. For many women, the problem is too pervasive and stubborn and appears impossible to solve. Many have given up in the face of comments like “why did you wear that?” or “why were you in that neighborhood?” For many women, street harassment has become an annoying, embarassing, and secret activity. For many women, it is a form of verbal and physical violence that goes ignored by them and their friends and loved ones.

For those women, there is Hollaback!, an organized movement against street harassment. Founded by Emily May in New York City, I began to consult the project on social media when they had already chaptered Hollabacks in other countries and continents, as well as across the nation in a host of cities. On July 8, Hollaback! will be celebrating its launch in Brooklyn, New York – the beginning of their second stage will be ushered in by a series of applications (for the iPhone, Android, and more) and a new focus on exposing street harassers, mapping where harassment happens, and then attempting to legislate against it.

I was probably no more than 13 when I began to struggle with street harassment. It is a behavior that confounds me, and frustrates me. The Sexist at Washington City Paper has published stories about violent street harassers who strike. (Similarly, she also reported on Miss DC’s recent badass attack on her harassers.) For women in the United States and around the world, freedom of movement is still a fantasy, hindered by misogyny that is manifested in catcalls, wolf whistles, and other forms of dangerous and dehumanizing behavior.

This spring, I was asked to lead my school’s Take Back the Night march against sexual assault, rape, and other forms of violence against women. I marched defiantly and proudly, finally free from the constraints of acceptable behavior and finally free from the overwhelming inability to fight back that so many women encounter in situations of street harassment. From the past week, I can recount around five examples of street harassment directed at me, all while I was walking to and from work, networking receptions, and concerts- and I’m done.

This July 8, I am giving street harassers exactly what- and all that- they deserve: a big fuck you.

Hollaback PSA! from Emily May on Vimeo.

As the new editor of this blog, I want to say a big THANK YOU to everyone who responded with such fire to our call to action. We’re stronger now, and here comes the tidal wave: we’re going to be introducing all of our new bloggers and exploring the power of our voices throughout this week.

We asked YOU, in all corners of the USA- and beyond- the same question: where is your line?

And you told us:

It’s common-fucking-sense.

It has been one year today since the death of Michael Jackson. His name is one that is sloppily being cleaned off, having been covered in dirt, accusations, and lost opportunities (and sanities) for years. He was pretty ridiculous, let’s not kid ourselves- and he was one of the most scandalized public figures in the world before he died.

But Michael Jackson was also a philanthropist, a giver, a kind heart who wanted people to unite regardless of color, work to improve their world, and come together to create change. Reconciling the sex abuse scandals, the erratic behavior, and the eerie personality with his immense talent, ambition, passion, and conviction has always been one of my personal challenges.

In this excellent article from Dr. Susan Block, published last August following his passing, Michael’s sexuality is analyzed for what it was – public property. Michael Jackson scandalized, publicized, sold, and learned about sex in front of an audience:

Michael was raised as a sex object, groomed to be an exhibitionist, dressed up and made to dance and sing for the pleasure of adults.  In his off-stage hours, he observed two very different attitudes towards sex.  Performing in strip clubs at age nine, he saw his “strict” father cheating on his mother and his brothers having casual sex with groupies while he hid under the covers, probably scared that these older females would come after him.  Maybe some of them did.  Maybe some of the guys did.  Whatever happened in those seedy venues, eventually little Michael went home to his beloved mother who was strict in a very different way, a devout Jehovah’s Witness, who taught him that “lust in thought or deed” was horribly sinful.  No wonder his adorable head explodes into a monstrous werewolf right after a girl embraces him lovingly in the opening scene of “Thriller.”

Michael Jackson received conflicting messages about sex as a child in Hollywood, playing with the stars and learning about sex in all of the wrong places. He was caught in the dichotomy between right and wrong, performance and lifestyle. He was often perceived as being confused by and fearful of his own sexuality, which isn’t surprising when taking into account that the fame he learned about sex from was often fleeting and harmful.

The bottom line? We need to start talking about sex, and we need to stop shaming sex. Michael Jackson may not be an “example” of why, but his story is certainly not unique: he sold sex but was raised to be ashamed of it, just like young people here in the USA and around the world. Young women, especially, consume sexual messages everyday that are conflicting and harmful.

So here’s to you, Michael- for always making us think, for challenging our boundaries, and for all those sunny afternoons where I played Thriller on my boombox and dreamt about my future. It isn’t the same without you.

When I saw the NYTimes Europe piece called “Feminism of the Future Relies on Men,” I was a little bit confounded. The piece was written concisely and surely, with no hesitation, and started by describing “women closing ranks to battle blatant sexism, get an education and go to work” as the feminism of the past. After all, wasn’t that just women acting like men? Well, it sure was. The next step, after all, as the author promised, was “pulling men into [the] women’s universe — as involved dads, equal partners at home and ambassadors for gender equality from the cabinet office to the boardroom.”

The problem here isn’t the first or second goal included for the feminists of today; we’ve been working hard to ensure men play an equal role at home. But relegating men to being “ambassadors of gender equality” is tricky when it plays out like this:

Basically, guys are the more effective feminists because other guys are more likely to listen to them.

This was the point where I had to pause for a minute to observe her logic. Pulling men into women’s worlds shouldn’t have to mean forcing them to care about our problems for us (the idea of handing off the battle for equality is a little scary and seems quite careless), it should mean achieving social equality that doesn’t discourage them from caring about these problems with us. Men can be great allies in the women’s movement, and much has been written about their inclusion in the feminist movement. But none of those writings would go as far as to discredit the impact of women in the movement, or to discourage them from going on the front-lines themselves. None of those writings think of men as ambassadors to equality, but rather think of them as partners in a movement.

Men being uninterested in the issues that affect women and their inequality is not a problem best solved by waiting for exceptional male leaders to give us tastes of what we rightfully deserve; it isn’t a problem best solved by begging men to handle our anger, our stories, and our futures for us and sitting back to wait for the day our salvation comes.

It’s also not a problem best solved with insufficient and incomplete logic that disregards our lopsided opportunity to achieve our goals through institutions like government:

It took a male prime minister to sell the legislation to the country, and it took male leaders in Sweden and Norway to pass similar laws. It was a man who championed Norway’s boardroom quota obliging companies to fill at least 40 percent of the seats with women.

Would a female Spanish prime minister have been able to appoint a cabinet that is 50 percent female in 2004?

Would a female Spanish prime minister have been elected in 2004? The chance is underwhelming.

The biggest problem with this approach is the damage it could do: telling women to let someone else worry about their equality, relegating them back to playing a passive, gracious role instead of pushing them into the battlefield and letting them fight like hell, and accepting our current reality as silenced, ignored members of a world population as okay and worth working inside of is only going to slow this movement, and any movement experiencing these same characteristics, farther back.

So to the women of Europe and the world: I know that it’s frustrating to be disrespected by institutions, persons, and cultures; I know that it is hard to work for equality when your voice doesn’t matter in the boardroom or the bedroom; I understand that we’re all happy for the progress we achieve through whatever means possible that makes it more likely we will soon be given the trust, power, and opportunity over half of the world’s population deserves; and I know that it feels like feminism may be too old, too tired, too vintage to take care of it anymore. However, keep fighting, keep yelling, and keep raising your voices.

Women of Europe and the world: don’t ever put your personhood in someone else’s hands.