Health

A Very Good Read On “Rape-Adjacent Sex”

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rape-adjacent sex comic

 

Really feeling this thoughtful analysis on California’s proposed Yes-Means-Yes law, which would set a higher bar for consensual sex on college campuses.

Avoiding Rape-Adjacent Sex

I do believe them that there’s plenty of sex happening now, that isn’t experienced as rape by either partner, that doesn’t meet the affirmative consent standards proposed.  That could include sex where both partners kind of just leapt into the act, not checking in with each other, but not hitting any snags.  Sex where one or both partners was somewhere past tipsy and within sight of “too impaired to consent” but no one pulled out a breathalyzer and both parties felt ok in the morning (aside from the headache).  Sex with coercion/pressure, where one partner didn’t back down after an initial “No” or “I’d rather not” but the reluctant party felt more like someone who’s been guilted into going to a boring party they would have preferred to skip, rather than someone who was violated.

All of these could hit the proposed new definition of rape, without being experienced as rape every time they occurred.  And all of these might be pretty common at present.

The goal of the Yes-Means-Yes law in California is to kibosh a lot of this gray area, rape-adjacent sex.

In one of the 3 or 4 intimate-abuse interventions I’m passively or actively involved in at the moment, a group of us is supporting a friend who is going through an accountability process — for something very much resembling this “rape-adjacent sex” definition.

It’s the first time I’ve been on the accountability-support side, meaning working with the person who committed harm. That comes with its own set of discombobulations, but one of the main lessons I’m drawing so far is that even those of us who identify as feminist, who have done a LOT of work around consent, can still engage in risky behavior and massively fuck up. A positive way of putting that, though, is that we can all be striving, throughout our lives, to improve our consent game.

The piece quoted above (really good; you should read the whole thing) offers a concrete, socialized-labor strategy for helping to reduce the amount of “rape-adjacent sex” in our communities.

In college, a number of student groups had a designated door watcher for parties.  This person (or these people, if they were doing it in shifts) were supposed to hang around near the exit of a party and check to see if anyone leaving seemed to be heavily intoxicated.  They were basically doing what Allison of Strong Female Protagonist is doing in the comic featured above (minus the superpowers, and plus some attention to people leaving the party alone who might need to be screened for alcohol poisoning). Not a perfect system, but just posting a watcher (and discussing that you will at party planning meetings) changes people’s expectations a little about what kind of behavior is appropriate.

An idea has been germinating for a minute about running sex workshops using Buddhism or “mindfulness” to improve our strategies and skills around consent… we’ll see if anything comes of that. Meantime, I’m grateful for this article, and more than a little annoyed at the guy who complained to The Atlantic that California’s new proposed college consent standards are cock-blocking him. Whatever, dude — take a cue from Louis C.K. and be relieved that you’re not raping anybody.

 

Abs Like Ciara’s

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ciara abs

with abs like Ciara’s
you know damn well you’re wanted.

people will admire you, too,
when you lambaste the opposition,
harangue and fulminate with the eloquence of Russell Brand,
smash on your unlucky rivals
(even if the rival is you: your own gross shortcomings).
rubbernecking onlookers, vicarious,
will savor your power with bubbling glee, delighting
in your slicing triumph.

utthita_trikonasana
utthita trikonasana

but who will praise and celebrate when you don’t overstretch in yoga?
when you heed that spooky squeal inside your knee
slowly noticing in triangle pose
that clenching your thigh muscles helps on the right side
but only seems to pull things worse on the left.
where are your accolades for that?

who will smack you a jubilant high-five
when you get off the phone with your cranky, lonesome uncle
having nudged forward a kindly conversation
like a blind, brand-new puppy splayed on its belly,
wriggling inefficiently toward warmth?
 
fortunately or unfortunately, my friend
it might be all up to you.

 

Undo (Revolution In The Garden With Eliana and Noa)

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IMG_0019

To tire,
to tire,
to sink down,
a huddle of wilting bones

to be borne up again
by friends.

to stay hip-cocked, ornery
and still, still
breathe deep into the belly.

undo this world, please.

undo every lethal gas attack
the hoarding of clean air
the systematic flogging of our dead
and our living
and our in-betweens in prison,
now on strike, who knows how long.
i know that to undo would mean me too
me this bit of spinach stuck in the teeth of god
and of course that is ok.

here, let me
help.

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A Preacher. A Poet. A Manta Revolutionary.

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LIANNE_LA_HAVAS_-1
Okay, I may be a little obsessed with Lianne. But to be fair, so is Prince (yes, Prince), who called her to say congratulations.

Women and the genius things they make and do. Here are just a few.

I am not a Christian, so to my ears this recorded sermon by my friend Nichola sounded more like an arahant (enlightened one) elucidating the teachings of the Buddha. On this very night your life will be taken — by endless, cavernous craving. Tanha. I knew Nichola was brilliant, a student of Jesus, James Baldwin, and other pretty okay characters, but damn, I don’t think I had ever heard her preach before. At the time I was at a friend’s place in San Francisco, and once I started listening I was so captivated that I stayed huddled on the living room couch, rudely ignored my friend-hosts  while they tested the day’s crock-pot soup in the kitchen. (That craving, that need, even for wisdom — like she says at the pulpit, it’ll make you ignore your loved ones if you’re not careful.)

I am not a poet, nor a scholar, really, but I know what I like.  What makes me pause from internet “snacking” (a term I learned from web marketing experts studying cyber-habit-patterns) to recollect my breath.  My friend Kim, on the other hand, is a scholar and poet and artist, and thank goodness.  That piece will stay with me — and don’t miss the video she links to, minutes 3:45 to 7:54.

I am trying to become a revolutionary, but it’s less simple than it sounds, though thankfully also less cult-y (so far).  In this arena, mother and self-identified manta-militant Berta will remain unlinked, as she is best experienced off the Internet, but she has been no less crucial to my week and my spirit.  Berta torpedoes through this fearsome world with a cheerful pragmatism, a humble, no-bullshit incandescence.  She makes being a revolutionary seem like the only sensible thing one could do with one’s life — and vows, smiling, to keep at it til the day she dies.  I believe her.

And then there’s Lianne, who I mentioned earlier, and cannot stop listening to.

 

 

Jerk of All Trades

kloncke6 Comments

                                   jerk of all trades - Plain

Work.

School. (Masters.)

Political Organizing.

Being a Tidy, Responsible, Sociable Human.

Fun.

Spiritual Study.

Can I be real for a minute?  There is just no way.  AND YET NONE OF THEM CAN BE DROPPED.

Well, at least school’s about to be over.  But you’ll also notice some areas I haven’t listed (let alone included in the chart — can you even make a real Venn diagram with more than three or four categories?).

Romance? Nope.

Babies? Sorry.

Family? Barely.

Death and/or Major Disasters?  Oh I’m sure they’ll come, but knock-on-wood not yet.

Do you see what I’m getting at?  How is somebody supposed to be a well-rounded, compassionate, stable, vibrant, rhapsodic  jewel in the Indra’s Net of the universe, and ALSO ACTUALLY GET GOOD AT SOME THINGS THAT MATTER?  There are too many things that matter.

And speaking of which, I lied: there is romance.  But who has time to give it the care and attention it deserves?  While also, you, know, exercising and reading fiction sometimes?  And watching Krissy Chula youtube videos?

I’m not saying it’s impossible to do many important things at once.  (see: Immigrant Hustle. Even the 2nd Gen in my family gets super serious.) Plenty of people manage much more than I have to, with even fewer resources.  I’m lucky.

But goodness, can I just find a team and specialize as one of its Power Rangers?  Hone my green or blue or pink abilities, whatever it is Power Rangers do, and feel effective and helpful in the world?

And here’s the other problem: contentment.  Not that contentment is a problem — in my experience, it’s wonderful.  But it also comes at a cost.  Because in the periods when I’ve experienced deep contentment, I’ve simplified.  I’ve covered just two or three basic areas, and that’s it.  Working at a bookstore, cooking my meals, and writing letters to friends.  Great.  Living and working at a meditation center, trying to pick up kitchen Spanish.  Fantastic.

But eventually (and I suppose if it were Total Contentment this wouldn’t occur), eventually: something feels missing.

At the bookstore, wisdom.

At the meditation center, politics.

In politics, love.

In love, friends.  Or work.

In work, deep meaning and purpose.

Maybe this stage is like the first planting: all the seeds close together, until you see which ones sprout strongest, and remove the others.  (Isn’t that what they do?  I probably shouldn’t attempt too many farming metaphors.  See?  Half-knowledge.)

I’m guessing within the next couple years, or maybe months, some of these seedlings will be plucked out — whether I like it or not.

Rape Culture and Power Pyramids: Recent Thoughts

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The past few weeks — and especially the past few days — I’ve been reminded of how rape culture thrives on social power pyramids: where the contributions of people at the top — be they star athletes, beloved artists, or skilled political leaders — are considered so important that people instinctively ignore, justify, or minimize the violent behaviors of the community’s golden child (or children).

This shows up frequently, in small ways.  I’ve heard more than one friend of a socially powerful feminist in the Bay confess to me that they feel afraid to tell her “no.”  Not that this fear necessarily defines their relationship with this person (and these conversations happened a year ago; perhaps their fears have since subsided or transformed), but to me, statements like that are a red flag for rape culture.  Someone is at the center, and getting on their bad side means you might get ostracized — or worse.  Besides, what they contribute is so vital and powerful…

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Protecting Ourselves From Our Stories

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Morihei Ueshiba
Morihei Ueshiba, founder of the Japanese martial art form aikido, which aims to let practitioners defend themselves while also protecting their attacker from injury.

On March 1st, exactly one year after R and I broke up, I drove to his house to pick up one last smattering of my belongings, left out on the porch for me in a Trader Joe’s brown paper bag. Anticipating that it might be difficult and I might get sad, I had asked a good friend to come with me. And though I did feel nervous and sad, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Right on top of the pile there was a favorite belt that I’d been missing for like two years! When R and I were still together I lightweight hounded him about that belt — was convinced I’d somehow left it at his parents’ house. Don’t know where he ended up finding it, but I was glad to have it back, and as my friend and I drove away from his street, I thought I felt okay.

Still, the bag sat at the door of my closet, untouched, for a long time.

Again, though, once I finally screwed up the courage to go through it, it wasn’t so horrible. A swirl of memories: pleasant, unpleasant, neutral. A lot of the stuff wasn’t mine, but some of it was. Pillowcase. (Useful!) Books. (Beloved!) The scarf on the header image of this blog. (Nostalgic!) And oh, what’s this? I recognized a notecard, some stationery of mine.

It was the birthday card I had written to R last year.

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