Sexual Assault Awareness Month: Saying No.

[fickle]

Last night, I was talking with an friend of mine about what her definition of rape is versus harassment is, and one of the things she brought up is how much she hates it when girls don’t say no or don’t protest clearly but then claim it was rape the next day.

So I thought that since it’s Sexual Assault Awareness Month, I’d write about a case in my life when I wanted to say no, didn’t manage to, but I really wish I had.

This was going to be an entry about how when I was seventeen, I once failed to say no/clearly show that I didn't want a guy sexually touching me. Then I reread the journal entries that I'd written at the time and realized that I hadn't ever said the actual word 'no', but I had signified discomfort in a lot of ways and tried to get away from him.

Here's an excerpt from one of the journal entries in question. he started stroking my arm. repeatedly. hoever, numa does that as well so I ignored it.

then he pulled my chair closer and trapped me in his arms. so I got up on the pretext of looking for a brush, because maybe he's just the touchy-feely type and I didn't want to overreact.

then he kept sliding his arm around my waist, so I kept wriggling to dislodge it, and complaining that it tickled since I was getting a little worried by this point in time.

then he moved it there and half-cupped one of my brests, and which point I moved to get up, and kicked him. hard.

he ignored it.

of course, I had to give him the benefit of the doubt. what if he was just keeping his hand on my waist and it went upwards because I was trying to get away from him tactfully? than I'd have attacked him for no reason.

I hate this.

where do you draw the line?

I left it like that and continued drawing while stnading up because regardless of what you may think of my artistic abilities, I do like drawing and he can help me improve my skills immensely. so I kept drawing.

at which point he started kissing my shoulder.

that would be where it becomes blatantly obvious that I do (finally) have a right to complain and stop him, so I pushed him away, and said that I have to go.

so there

question is: would I have been within my rights to stop him earlier?

Originally, I had remembered this as him touching my breast and me backing away from him. I hadn't remembered that I had fought back. I didn't remember that I kicked him, and I didn't remember that he continued with his advances afterwards.

That's not what's important here. The question is, why didn't I just say no instead of trying to physically get away from him and discourage him without having to actually talk about what was happening?

The answer's in the question itself. I didn't want to talk about what was happening.

Part of the Asian culture that I was raised in involves victim-blaming. If I had told him to stop it, I would've had to admit that he was doing something wrong, and then I would've had to examine my own behavior to see how I had caused it. If I kick him, leave the room, and then quit art class? I'm still not actually addressing the fact that hey, he's touching me, he's doing things to my body that I don't want, he is behaving like a jerk.

The next day, I had my boyfriend come into the classroom with me and sit with me. While my boyfriend was in the room, the 'friend' slid his hand onto my thigh (I was wearing shorts) and tried to feel me up.

I didn't tell my boyfriend what was happening. I just stood up.

And then I quit art.

I couldn't tell my parents why because they would've blamed me. I was the one who had chosen to take special after-school lessons, and my mother honestly believes that short skirts cause rape. My mother was rubbed up against by a guy on a bus for the entire ride home when she was a teenager, and she remained absolutely quiet and made no fuss until she got home, and then she started crying.

The Sri Lankan culture does not hold with 'making scenes'. I couldn't tell him no, because then I'd have to acknowledge what was happening. I'd have to make a scene. And that's simply not done. Even though I grew up in Europe, I still grew up inside a Sri Lankan household where if a man is taking liberties with you, it's because you've somehow signified you're open to them.

Who knows? Maybe I didn't kick him hard enough. Maybe I should've kicked him in the balls to show that I meant no.

Or maybe I should've just swallowed down a lifetime of being told to be a good, quiet little Asian who doesn't make waves and called him on it.

I was too scared to. Apart from my indoctrination into silence, I didn't know what would happen next. What if he denied anything was happening? What if he told everyone else that I'd accused him of molesting me and then laughed at the idea that he'd do anything like that with me? What if my parents found out about it?

So I kicked him, I pushed him away, I brought my boyfriend to show him that I was taken and not interested, and finally, when none of that worked, I quit art class.

But I never actually voiced the word 'no', or faced up to what was happening to me.

Strange as it may seem to some of the Western readers on my flist, I'm using this post to promote Sexual Assault Awareness concerning yourself.

It is YOUR body. You have a right to decide what other people do with it. If someone is making you uncomfortable, tell them 'Stop'. They are the ones in the wrong, not you. Facing that something bad is happening to you is infinitely preferable to trying to dodge around it, because as long as you can't stand your ground, they're going to keep pushing until they've backed you into a corner.

The last time someone groped me, I yelled at them to 'FUCK OFF OR I'LL BREAK YOUR HAND'. The man in question quickly sloped away.

No matter how shy you might be, how uncertain and scared, or how tied to a culture that keeps you very firmly passive, your body is still yours. And you are never the bad guy for telling someone that what they're doing to you is wrong. Never.

Comments

[the-willow.insanejournal.com (from livejournal.com)]

I never know how I'm going to react in circumstances like that. It depends on the day, and my mood. When mental health factors into things it can REALLY factor into it.

With me, if whatever happened triggered me enough to make me feel young - which was likely the last time someone I didn't now touched me like that? I might not be able to do anything but what you did - move away, step away and wish I could speak somehow.

I've had nightmares where all I want to do is say 'NO! STOP!' and I'm completely voiceless. And I wake up crying and need to sleep with the light on or not sleep at all.

I'm always aware of how I look when I'm outside too. It's gotten better over the years. But there was an extreme, almost to paranoia of "They're looking!". It's part of why I'm so insistent on looking -decent- when I leave the house even to go to the corner store or something. Slovenly appearance leads to suspicion of being a slattern leads to - 'Did I lead anyone on just by existing less than perfect/perfectly delicately untouchably feminine?'.

The days I leave the house and I don't care how I look cause something else is more important are actually incredibly strong days, no matter how scatter brained I actually am. It's days when I -know- I have a voice, I can feel it, right in my mouth, not even my throat but my MOUTH, waiting to protect me.

And then there's the possibility (especially several years ago - 7 or so) that I'd shiv 'em. I walked around with a knife constantly, less sure of my ability to speak up for myself and more confident in knowing if they were bleeding they sure as hell weren't going to continue to make me feel uncomfortable and FUCK the police and FUCK jail.

I'm still kind of like that now, except I walk with my fingers wrapped around my keys, poised to jab or scratch if I have to.

But it's why I hate what's happening with my knee, cause I do feel like a wounded gazelle on the savannah just signaling I'd be an easy target. Which gets me iin a frame of mind to do violence and just. not. stop. until they stop moving and I'd feel safe again.

The best thing about having lived with a roommate, however, was finding out that contrary to what I think, I can get a look in my eyes like I'm about to gut you (general) slowly. I didn't realize that my internal protector could be seen. And that makes me feel safer still.

Still I heartily approve of pepper-spray and mace and mini bullhorns as a loud/physical NO. Cause the truth us, society would rather prefer we (women) say nothing. And that includes if the 'woman' is younger than 10 yrs old.

[fickle-goddess.livejournal.com]

*hugs* We already talked about this, but rereading your comment, what jumped out at me was the idea of 'mini bullhorns'. Whipping one out and yelling in the face of someone, "SIR. BACK DOWN. SWAT IS ON THEIR WAY." is a priceless mental image.

I know what you mean about the knife, though. In your case, there's the additional complication of who'll be there to shout at him, but there's also the vocal paralysis. It feels still for me like it's easier to fight off someone than to verbally get them to back down, though I know that words work. I don't know why, but assembling the part of my mind that functions with language is more difficult a response to terror.

Maybe it's because language is a learned response. We have to be taught how to speak and communicate.

Violence is a purely natural, instinctive response. There's no need to tap into what we were taught. Our body takes over and moves for us, moves us away.

Violence is easy compared to summoning up the strength and presence of mind to say 'no'.