Duke rape case hits raw nerve
I graduated from the University of Pittsburgh. During my sophomore year, I became a P.E.E.R. Educator (Peer Educators for an Environment free of Rape and Sexual Exploitation) through Sexual Assault Services which is housed in the counseling center. I also worked in the Sexual Assault Services office as a coordinator of the P.E.E.R. educators in my junior and senior years. P.E.E.R.’s presented materials designed at educating students about sexual assault. We did our presentations for the football team (nightmare), fraternities, sororities, freshman classes, etc. Once, I even taught a month long "seminar" on sexual harassment for three badly behaved boys who went around freshman dorms ripping open shower curtains of unsuspecting female students and snapping pictures. Nice. I loved what I did there and felt like I was really helping students. What I could never understand though, was why our counseling offices were full of appointments with former rape victims, yet our campus security stats were always wonderful. It didn’t jive and I imagine that many universities have such a dirty little secret.
While I was a student at Pitt, there was a gang rape at a fraternity party. The girl was a freshman and it was early in the first semester. The rape happened in a bathroom and the girl was devastated. She had had too much to drink, no friends who watched out for her, and one thing led to another. The case rocked the university paper and that’s all anyone really talked about. The fraternity was a large one and had at least 60 members at the time. Every single one of those guys knew who did what, yet each one of them kept their solemn brotherly vow and not a one would speak up and make right what a handful of them had done. The university did nothing. They didn’t revoke their charter or suspend them from school. They only disallowed them from accepting pledges during the spring semester. Big freaking deal. The freshman student tried to stick it out at the school, but she was too much of a wreck and eventually quit college altogether. The counselor I worked for at Sexual Assault Services had tried to counsel and help her, but she was a broken woman. She had the guts to come forward, a freshman against an entire well known fraternity, and she was rewarded with nothing but harassment and disbelief. I often wonder about those boys and whether or not they can sleep at night. I wonder about whether or not they are now married with children, daughters perhaps. I wonder about how they must feel about what they did to that poor woman, whether they were part of the rape or part of the zipped lips.
Because of this, the Duke rape case is driving me absolutely insane. You have a well known school, a sports team mentality, and a stripper’s word against a band of "brothers." These are the things that are annoying me:
- Just because she was intoxicated doesn’t mean a rape did not occur. Most sexual assaults occur when the victim, the assailant(s) or both are intoxicated. This does not make her any less credible.
- DNA evidence is not required to show that a rape occurred. (Please don’t even make me explain the "anatomy" of this one.)
- The fact that the second stripper says it happened or that it didn’t happen, or that she believes it could have or could not have happened MEANS NOTHING. She was not in the bathroom. She does not know. The fact that she thinks it may or may not have happened is NOT evidence.
- Why would the alleged victim make this up? What does she have to gain? The Duke lacrosse team and/or it’s members are not celebrities. There is absolutely NO upside to reporting a rape. Rape shield laws are complete crap these days. No one adheres to them in court. Reporting a rape of this magnitude makes you nothing more than a target. This is why the vast majority of rapes are not reported. Rape victims are forced to relive what’s happened to them over and over and over and over again.
- This has NOTHING to do with race. This is about a woman who was violated. It does not matter what color she is, or what color her attackers are. It’s wrong any way you slice it.
- Strippers are not "asking for it." Would I be a stripper? Never. I’d rather live out of a cardboard box and eat scraps on a street before I would take off my clothing for cash. But, some women strip for money. It does not mean they are asking to be raped. It seems to me, they’re trying to make a living and there are a lot of men out there who are more than happy to pay for it.
I feel it’s only appropriate for me to add here that the only thing worse than a group of guys sticking together and not saying a word about what they’ve done, is a "victim" who makes up the crime. As Jim Hines states in his article:
"It happens. It’s a legitimate fear. But it’s not one I’ve got a lot of sympathy for. Not compared to the people who lived every night in fear that their father, mother, or some other relative would come in and molest them. Not compared to the women who struggled through fear, violation, and helplessness after a boy they trusted turned out to be a rapist. Not compared to the vast number of men and women who did speak out about their victimization, only to be labeled liars and sluts."
I strongly encourage you to spend some time looking around on his site.
The things that are encouraging about this case are that the students involved have been suspended, the coach is gone, and the University President actually had the guts to disallow them from playing any more games this year until this situation is resolved. For that, I am happy. Duke did more than a lot of schools do when faced with a similar situation.
I am dreading the outcome though, as I watch this case being played out in the media: lawyers dropping bits of information designed to prejudice a potential jury, lacrosse players and their parents lawyering up and zipping their lips, fellow strippers coming out to catch their 15 minutes of fame no matter what damage they may be doing to themselves, their friend, or women in general. It all makes me sick. I wish I was bringing my girls up in a world where I didn’t have to worry about what will happen to them when they’re in college, where they didn’t have to view every man as a potential problem before finally being able to trust him, where I could be sure that young men are being brought up right, to respect and cherish the women who will be in their lives. But unfortunately, it’s just not that way and giving birth to daughters, for me, means a lifetime of worrying.
For follow-up on this story, go here.
Work on the worst
Karate class was great this week. Big I and I were the only ones there so it was a somewhat private lesson. We were able to focus on things that the two of us specifically need to learn. We worked on Big I’s waza; and she did it by herself for the first time. I couldn’t help myself; I broke out in applause. I think my instructor wanted to as well. I feel like I got somewhere too. I now know my new kata well enough to practice it at home. And, my new weapons kata is finally starting to make sense to me. I’m now able to see the patterns in it which should make mastering it a lot easier.
While doing my regular blog reading this week, I read an entry by [Mat] that got me thinking. "A class is an opportunity to learn," he said. So, I took advantage of the private nature of our class to ask for help on my weakest area in karate. . . sparring. I wasn’t able to spar the entire time I was pregnant with Lil C; and I can’t say that I was really bothered by it. On previous sparring nights, I would gear up in my helmet, gloves and kickers and get prepared to be smacked around. I also have a bad habit while sparring of hitting someone and then apologizing for it. Stupid, I know. Let me preface all of this by saying that when it’s the real deal, I know what to do. I have unfortunately been in a situation before where I’ve been forced to defend myself and I did so with flying colors. After it was all said and done, I didn’t apologize. Trust me on that one. But sparring happens in a dojo, and without all the adrenalin so it’s just not the same.
I think one of the reasons why is because I feel like I was sort of thrown into sparring. One night, as a beginning white belt, our instructor had us gear up and spar with her. I had absolutely no clue what I was doing. We didn’t really receive any instructions. I guess that instructor is of the belief that just having you go for it is the best way to learn. I just don’t operate like that, so I feel it’s been my worst area by far. I never directly learned what’s allowed and what’s not. In the past I have usually just stood there pretending like I’m a warrior, most likely followed by being smacked in the head with a foot or a fist, and then I retaliate (poorly) and then say, "I’m sorry." It’s silly and stupid, but that’s what I do. Can you imagine being in a street fight, having someone hit you, and then you hit them back and say, "Oh, sorry about that." It’s dumb and I know I wouldn’t do that in a street fight, but sparring in the dojo is a different experience altogether.
The last time I sparred was right before I became pregnant, and instead of sparring with black belt instructors like usual, my instructor paired me up with a green belt teenager (I was white at the time.) She was much more aggressive than I was used to with my instructor. The two of us kicked each other at the same time, shin to shin, and over a year later. . . I still have a sore spot on my leg. I seriously thought I would pass out from the pain when it first happened. Having such a lousy experience last time, I was absolutely dreading sparring again and avoiding it however I could. But, like I said, [Mat] got me thinking.
I’ve only sparred with my current instructor one time in the past. Once was enough. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be bopped in the head with a fist by my other instructors, my current instructor has a style where he sort of watches you and picks you apart. It usually culminates with a swift unsuspecting kick to the back of the head. It sort of makes you want to spin around and go "Hey! Who did that?" even though he’s standing right there in front of you. He seriously has "go go gadget" legs. No one particularly likes to spar with him because he’s good, really good. So you can imagine that it took some serious guts to request help with sparring from him.
At the end of class, my instructor had my daughter and I gear up. He sent Big I off with a brown belt to practice some basic techniques. She needs the basics, since the last time she sparred she kept doing these dinky little punches and when I asked her why she wasn’t throwing some good ones she demurely said, "I don’t want to hurt anyone." Now, picture my little princess (age 4 at the time) sparring with boys of at least age 6. I think she was giving herself a bit too much credit. So, Big I went off to learn how to punch; and I was going one on one with my head-kicking instructor.
First, he discussed two very important elements of sparring: distance and timing. When sparring before, I kept thinking about how close I needed to be to hit, not how far I needed to be away so as not to get hit. You’d think that line of thinking would come naturally, but apparently it doesn’t, at least not for me. The instruction on distance and timing was extremely helpful.
We then moved on to some basic techniques. My instructor had me get into a fighting stance and then he verbally picked me apart. He showed me how to do the same to an opponent. He also gave me some of his secrets which I will not be revealing. Now, they’re mine (evil laugh). He then told me he was going to throw some punches and watched what I did to block them. He then showed me how to do the techniques better, so that I would open him up more so that I could land multiple kicks and/or punches. He moved on to kicks and taught me how not to get nailed. Honestly, before tonight I would just stand there and take it. It was like I saw a leg coming and was like, "Oh well. This is gonna hurt," and it would. Not anymore.
With just a short 20 minute lesson on sparring, I already feel a lot better. I was able to land one of my first back fists to the head, and even managed to land a kick or two in good locations. I also had one "instinctual" kick that went a bit too close to a very taboo area. (Any men reading this will probably flinch and cover.) I did apologize for that one, and explained that for women, it’s just natural to go there. Luckily I didn’t land that one. Lucky for him because, well duh; and lucky for me because I think that would have been the end of my tutorial.
Now that I’m back in the saddle, so to speak, I feel like I’ll be able to work on my sparring again without being so self conscious. I realize that it’s going to take a lot of work to get where I want to be; but hopefully my instructor will have the patience to help me get there . . . (and possibly a jock strap just in case).
Teach your children well
I was on vacation last year when the whole Natalee Holloway story broke. I was glued to the TV first thing in the morning and each night hoping they would find her alive, praying that even if she wasn’t alive anymore they would find her so her parents could have some peace. Almost a year later, I’m still waiting like everyone else and hoping that the recent developments bring about some closure.
Stories like Natalee’s haunt and terrify me. Having two daughters makes it even worse. In one respect I can see myself in Natalee’s shoes. One stupid night of a bit too much alcohol, paired with a bad decision or two and your life as you have known it, is forever altered or over. What average young woman these days hasn’t been in the situation of going a bit overboard? For most young women, the overboard night ends with nothing more than a headache. Natalee wasn’t so lucky.
In another respect, I can put myself in her mother’s shoes (and I think this is what bothers me the most.) How horrible it must be to lose your daughter, and how much worse is it to not even know why or how? I think the most awful part about it is that Natalee went missing so far from home. How could her parents possibly keep up the endless string of nights in a foreign land, in a foreign hotel? But then again, how could they go home? Can you imagine what that must have felt like, leaving without their daughter?
I know my girls are young, but stories like this are a big part of the reason why all female family members living under my roof will take karate. I want to raise my girls to be strong physically and mentally. Karate is perfect for that. I want them to have confidence in themselves to the point that they tend to avoid potentially dangerous situations. I want them to ooze confidence so that any ill-intentioned persons don’t even give them a glance. I want them to know that if they get in a dangerous situation, they can get out and how to go about doing so. The problem is that you can know all the karate in the world, but if you are incapacitated due to alcohol, what are the chances you’ll be able to use it? This is a huge problem and I wonder when I’ll need to start talking to my girls about alcohol and whether or not they’ll listen. Right now, my 5 year old won’t even drink soda. I think I have some time; but considering how these past 5 years flew, it will be here before I know it.
I think one of the most important things for young girls is to have a good group of friends. When I was in college, shortly after I turned 21, I was out at a club with a group of friends. I had two drinks the entire night, certainly not enough to put me under the table; but all of a sudden I started feeling very strange. The next thing I remember is looking up at a group of faces I didn’t know. Thank God my friend came back quickly from the bathroom, and my boyfriend (now husband) noticed from across the room where he was getting a drink. They helped me to my feet and literally had to carry me out of the bar and home. It wasn’t your normal drunk; and having had only two drinks, I knew and they knew I had to have been drugged. I felt funny for a few days following that awful night and thank my lucky stars that I had two great people to help me home. Assessing the situation the next day with my friends, we remembered how I was watching a band and had my drink sitting behind me at a table. There were some shady guys on the other side of the table who followed us to the next bar later in the evening. It was a bad idea, putting my drink down; and I haven’t let a drink out of my sight since then.
Situations like this though, go to show that no matter how careful you are, one stupid mistake could end up meaning a world of trouble. Unfortunately, I think that’s what happened with Natalee. No one her age ever thinks anything bad will ever happen to them. Young girls tend to trust people easily and it’s very scary for a mother of two young girls.
Besides locking my girls in our house until they’re 30 or so, I really don’t know what else I can do besides giving them the tools they need and hoping and praying for the best. I also found this site which includes a questionnaire you can use to talk with your children. My 5-year old and I have been through it a couple times already, and we’ll go through it many more times for sure.
I guess all I can hope for is that I help to put a good head on their little shoulders. I guess that’s all any parent can hope for. But as a back up, I think I’ll display my karate weapons prominently on my walls when dating age is getting near, and possibly require a lengthy pre-date "interview" with any potential suitor. That should help spread the word that my girls (and their wicked karate mama) are not to be messed with.
You gotta do pilates
My parents have always been exercise fanatics. When I was in high school, my parents would often decide to do aerobics together and take up the family room TV with Jane Fonda tapes. Sometimes my little sister would join in. I thought it was ridiculous and would usually go upstairs and talk on the phone. Sometimes, for fun, I’d grab the bag of lard fried potato chips and a Pepsi and sit down and watch. It was quite entertaining.
Recently, my husband has been on a fitness kick. I thought it was a passing phase, but he has stuck with it for months now and lemme tell you, he’s looking good. I’ve had a bit of a motivation problem when it comes to exercise. I figure that carrying around a 17.5 lb. baby is good enough. Granted, I play tennis once a week and go to karate, but I could do more. I used to like doing pilates and I have a nice little work out DVD that only takes a half hour, ten minutes if you break up the parts and only decide to do abs.
So, I told my husband I would start doing pilates again, but he had to go along for the ride. Whenever we do workout things together, two things inevitably happen. One, is that we, o.k. I, end up yelling obscenities at the TV screen. Work out tape women are WAY too happy. They enjoy pain a bit too much for my liking. I mean, seriously, WHO SMILES when doing pilates? Who smiles when they feel like their gut is being ripped into shreds? Not anyone normal, that’s for sure.
The second thing that ends up happening, is that my husband and I end up so hysterical that we can barely continue. My pilates DVD features a woman named "Betsy." Betsy is put there for the weak. Betsy does everything the rest of the gals do, but she is what my husband and I refer to as "the lazy one." Betsy doesn’t hold her legs up in the air when doing her crunches. She sets her feet firmly on the floor. Betsy takes breaks when she needs to. Betsy. . . is my idol.
I never had a problem following the main girl before, but only being six months out from giving birth, the abs are just not there like they used to be. Tonight, Betsy and I were good buds. My husband and I ended up spending the 10 minute ab work out talking to Betsy. I have to admit, we weren’t being very nice.
I’d love to be one of those women who enjoys exercise. Sure, I know that it would incite violence towards me from other women; but still it would be sort of cool. Exercise is not something I enjoy, unless I’m in a team sports setting and then I’m all for it. I need something to distract me from the pain. I think part of my problem is that (and I know I’m risking absolute hatred here) I’ve never really needed to exercise. I always had a high metabolism and didn’t really put on weight until I went to college and discovered pizza 24/7 and beer. After I had my babies, the extra weight was gone within a month. I’m lucky in that way. I know I am and I don’t take it for granted. But, I’m not exactly toned either.
I want to get in better shape. I think that it will help my karate tremendously, tennis too. I just don’t know exactly what to do to get in better shape. I despise going to the gym, and working out at home just doesn’t seem to happen. Right now, I am hoping that my husband just sort of forces me to do the pilates every night. Tonight, I was finished after the abs portion. My husband continued with the butt section. I. . . ate some Tostito’s and had a diet rite. Old habits die hard.
Easter Recap
It started off like this in the morning when the baskets were first discovered. My husband will not like this one bit, but oh well. . .
We then went to church where Lil C let EVERYONE know she can say "da da" and "ma ma" at the top of her little lungs.
And then we went to Mom-Mom’s house, where Big I had a great time on her solo mission egg hunt. Even Lil C got in on the fun, "finding" one egg and batting it down from it’s hiding location on the window sill. My husband got this great action shot of the hunt. . .
. . . and this picture of me and my girls since The Picture People failed to capture the pure adorableness of their outfits. Unfortunately, Big I’s bag is in the way of her skirt that matches Lil C’s outfit. (It’s always something!)
But, just when you start to think you have a fairly normal family, you have a holiday get together with the whole crew. Any illusion (or delusion) that you had of having a normal family is completely blown to hell. Let’s start with my sister’s boyfriend. . .
Let me preface this by saying that I like her boyfriend. I am, in fact, inadvertently responsible for them being together. (I told a friend my sister needed a boyfriend; she had a friend; we had them exchange email addresses; the rest is history.) He is a hard worker; he’s responsible; and I think that he loves my sister which is fine by me. (Let me just say here that he better love my sister or else I’m going to have to go all karate on his ass.) When forced to be around anyone for any length of time though, you start to discover the little oddities about them.
These oddities first were revealed on vacation last year. We spent a week at the beach with him and it was, well, interesting to say the least. My sister’s boyfriend is somewhat of a food snob as in: Orange juice from concentrate??? The nerve! This isn’t the only odd thing though. I wouldn’t even feel compelled to bring it up if it wasn’t for the fact that he called my daughter a "freak" because she didn’t eat the crust on her toast. But since he did, game on. The boy does not like: any kind of pasta, any kind of cheese, cake (yeah, seriously), ice cream (unless it’s from a dairy in Michigan), any type of tomato based sauce, anything that mixes two foods together, anything with cornbread or yeast in it, salad, fruit, and the most shocking of all. . . chocolate. Now, tack on the fact that he does not ever have an alcoholic beverage and you’ve got a teasing fest in the making.
Yesterday our menu included: salmon cakes, ham, scalloped potatoes, corn bake, salad, rolls, Easter cake, and red beet eggs. He ate. . . ham, lots and lots of ham. No seriously, like half of the ham. This is what he does. At Big I’s birthday party, we had pizza and cake and ice cream. We special ordered him a plain hamburger. On Christmas, we had seafood lasagna, and because my Mom felt bad knowing that would be a huge taboo for him (sauce, cheese, pasta. . . the horror!) she made hot roast beef for sandwiches. He ate five of them, in a row and nothing else.
Yesterday as I was serving the Easter cake (yellow cake, pudding and cream cheese mixture, pineapple, cool whip) I asked him if he wanted a piece. He said he didn’t like cake, so I cut him a small piece and told him to eat up. The man is in his 30’s for God’s sake. He can amuse the chef and eat a small piece without acting like a 4-year old. So, he started to eat it and wasn’t falling over from the sheer disgustingness of it, so I said to him, "You like that cake? You know what’s in that cake??? Noodles and cheese." I thought my husband was going to die laughing. The boyfriend chose to ignore me and needed a drink. "Is that tea out there diet?" he asked. "Yes, it is," I responded, "so that eliminates that as a choice. What do you want? A nice glass of meat juice?" I don’t think he found me very amusing, but how can you not find his eating habits amusing? His diet consists of meat, and white bread. Period.
While we were trying to coax him into eating, my grandparents were arguing about juice. This is what they do. My grandmother is 88 years old; my grandfather is 81. They are an absolute riot. My grandmother LOVES to talk. She can talk about just about anything and just in case you missed something, don’t worry, because she will tell you again from the start in exquisite detail. My grandfather is much more quiet. He doesn’t say much, but sometimes like a volcano under pressure, he erupts. It’s like he can only take so much of my grammom’s talking before he’s had enough. Whatever she happens to be talking about at the time will be the subject of the eruption. Yesterday, the subject of wrath was none other than juice. It went something like this:
Grammom: "I have cranberry juice at home. I used to have the stuff that was from concentrate. Now I have juice that is 100% juice. They don’t put sweeteners in it or anything. It’s 100% juice. It’s cranberry with raspberry in it."
Pop-pop: Nods, but starts to look a little irritable.
Grammom: "I like that juice. We don’t buy the stuff from concentrate. It’s really good. And, it’s 100% juice.
Pop-pop:(shakes head and talks through his teeth) "It does have other stuff in it. It’s got raspberry juice in it."
Grammom: (exasperated) "But it’s 100% juice, Herb." (says "Herb" as if it’s a dirty word.)
Pop-Pop: "I’m just saying it’s not 100% cranberry juice, because it DOES have other stuff IN IT."
Grammom: "I know HERB! It’s got raspberry juice in it. But it’s 100% juice!"
Pop-Pop: (mutters under breath and gives up).
A few minutes later, orange juice comes up.
Grammom: "I like my orange juice to have that stuff in it."
Pop-Pop: "It’s called PULP HELEN! PULP!"
Grammom: "I know what it’s called Herb!"
Pop-pop: (as if someone just said something negative about where he buys the juice) "We buy our juice at Weis markets. We buy Weis brand. It’s the best. It’s got lots of pulp in it. You don’t have to buy fancy orange juice."
My grandparents are funny in that they have strong opinions, but on just about everything. Politics, check. Orange juice, oh you better believe it. During Big I’s solo egg hunt, my grandmother was telling us how you just never know what’s going to happen these days, and because of that she stores jugs of water in her basement. She uses old milk containers, wine bottles, whatever she can come up with. My grandfather patiently waited for her to relay her story and then said, "Yeah, she’s got so many jugs of water in the basement that if I trip and fall down there, I’m liable to drown." She’s the storyteller; he’s the one-liner. It always makes holidays interesting to say the least.
Now, go make yourselves some meat sandwiches (no condiments allowed), drink some 100% juice, and say a little prayer that if my sister does get married to this guy, the wedding reception doesn’t have a ground beef cake.
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