#no awareness of what those sentences say about their view towards women and/or themselves

[bam-monsterhospital]

women-hate

"yeah i don't like the title 'feminist', i'm not a 'feminist'-"

okay yeah understandable, it's (the movement) failed a lot of women and others, not to mention the word's thrown around without its actual meaning constantly.

"yeah i don't think feeeemalesss are better, I think women are people. so I guess I'm more of a humanist ^u^ "

... oh. oh.

(my brain running a million miles an hour): you don't know what feminism is... -you, you don't know what those terms are- you. you have internalized misogyny don't you?-

you just have no idea what words mean.

[residentofthedisc]

An Open Letter From an Autistic Transgender Man to J.K. Rowling

Dear Ms. Rowling.

This is a response to your comment made on the 10th of June 2020 on your blog about autistic transgender men being victims of manipulation by transgender activists and misogynistic beliefs. My name for this scenario is Unsigned. I am a twenty-one-year-old autistic transgender man and I feel compelled to write this open letter addressing your statement. As in any essay, academic or otherwise, the introduction must serve to provide the reader with the basics of the essay’s intentions.

I believe that I can sum up the heart of my argument in three simple sentences.

1.     I am not your tragedy.

2.     I am not your prop.

3.     I am certainly not your weapon.

Firstly, before I go into this properly, as you can imagine, I was disgusted and grieved to wake up that morning and find that my existence had been filed into a weapon to harm and discredit those within my own community. I was especially sickened by your decision to release said statement – and your earlier one about an article describing menstruation with gender neutral terminology – during Pride Month, and amidst a historical and important Black Lives Matter movement. This seems to be an underhanded and inflammatory choice, of which, I must say, I do not approve.

Now, statement number one. Autistic people have long been mischaracterised as being – for lack of a better word – infantile. We are treated, regardless of our support needs (which is hardly an indicator of age), as eternal children. Our existence is spoken of in hushed tones, people deny their own children lifesaving medicine in fear of them becoming us, and we are spoken over and silenced by those around us. Being on the spectrum does not mean that we are something lesser. It does not mean that we are sick or broken. It does not even mean that we are something other. We simply are what we are.

We have been needlessly abused, mistreated, and not believed. If you, Ms. Rowling, wish to assist autistic people in the advancements of our rights and human dignity, you would turn your immense influence towards providing a more accurate understanding of autism, amplifying autistic voices (non, semi, and fully verbal and every gender and race), and supporting autistic-lead organisations such as the National Autistic Society. You do not help us, Ms. Rowling, by attacking and belittling members of our community who are already disadvantaged by transphobic attitudes. Our existence is not a tragedy, Ms. Rowling, we are simply human beings with differing needs and worldly understandings, and we do not need you to defend us against imaginary evil when there is real evil being done to us.

Statement number two. Autistic people are not props to be moved around the theatre of your performative prejudice. As difficult as it may be to believe, we are people with the capabilities to make up our own minds and make our own decisions. We are capable of understanding who we are. That is our decision to make. Not yours.

Your statement that autistic transgender men has increased is… true. But only to a point. We have not increased in number because of people pushing us down this path. We have increased because now we have access to the vocabulary to name what we are feeling, there is increased understanding and acceptance, and autistic assigned-female-at-birth people are now having their voices heard and being officially diagnosed. We are not being manipulated. We are coming to conclusions based on new information, which is how you grow as a person and understand more about the world. You change your opinions. You grow. That is what these autistic transgender men have done. It takes an extortionate amount of time and courage to gather help and have your feelings believed by doctors and parents. We are not running off and slicing off our breasts and genitals on a whim. We fight for our right to transition. It takes years and the negotiation of a circus-full of hoops. It is not a spur of the moment decision. We are not doing to look cool or fit in. We have realised something monumental about ourselves and we are acting on it. And if it appears that we change our minds again? Good. We are learning more and more about ourselves. You are not part of that process.

Lastly, I am not a weapon. My autism is not a weapon. It has been used as such, many times. It means I struggle with high levels of sensory input. I struggle with social situations and social cues. I have special interests and obsessions over little things. But I am not stupid. I am not alone. I have different views of the world. I am not something for you to hone against your transphobic whetstone. Let me explain myself.

I believe that gender and sex are two different things. Sex is to do with your genitals, your chromosomes. It has nothing to do with your brain. Gender is how you present yourself – it is a construct which you form about your own personality and likes. My genitals have nothing to do with how I present myself. And I feel male so that is what I am. This is not a moral statement, but a factual one. I am male. Gender is a social idea – our views on what makes someone male or female or intersex or non-binary have changed with the times and seasons. A man today would not be an ideal man back in ancient Greece.

Funny thing about autistic people? We tend not to pick up or agree with social ideas. Our autism does affect how we view the world and – personally – gender just seems to be a bit… simple. I have no idea why my genitalia should dictate which pronouns I use because someone else decided that that was fine. Or the idea that having a penis or a vagina or any combination of the above changes my personality.  Rather like someone deciding that electroshock therapy for gay people was fine. It feels disingenuous to try and stuff a massive spectrum of personal enlightenment into two little boxes which we cannot move from. I knew I was transgender long, long before I knew I was autistic. There were no sinister transgender women creeping into my room when I was seven and whispering insidious transgender messages into my little ear. I was not even aware of what transgender was until I was around twelve. I did not have an accurate understanding of autism until I was fourteen. And not knowing the words did not change what I was. I was merely given the lexicon of my struggles and a voice with which to speak the language.

Additionally, if it is sex-based problems you say transgender people get in the way of, then why not speak purely on sex? ‘Menstruators’ or ‘people who menstruate’ gets to the intended audience far more accurately than ‘women’. Some cis women do not have wombs. And the first wave of feminism was about separating women’s rights from their biology. Why circle back around to that?

So, trans men are men because they feel male. Transgender women are women for the same reasons. And believe me, there are a negligible amount of predatory men (because that is who you are truly angry with, transgender women are your scapegoats), if any, who would subject themselves to the dangers transgender women face to circumnavigate an obstacle such as a door which says women only. They can just open the door and get inside to do their evil without this ridiculous rigmarole which you suggest they do. Really. And autistic transgender men are men. We are not confused.

Unlike you, Ms. Rowling, I do not pretend to speak for all autistic people. But I can speak for those within my own community. We do not want to speak these lines you’ve forced down our throats. I stand with my transgender siblings, especially my sisters, and I will not be used against my friends. Not by you and not by anyone.

[becuzitisbitter]

Meeting Your Maker

Another essay I wrote for school.  This one’s about 4 pages and is a reading of Susan Stryker’s  My Words to Victor Frankenstein above the Village of Chamounix, for the benefit of my composition 101 class.

    In “My Words to Victor Frankenstein above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage,” Susan Stryker makes an emotionally-powerful statement to the world which has rejected her as a transsexual woman by mobilizing a critical reading of Mary Shelley’s foundational science fiction novel, Frankenstein, to give an account of her situation and to make the case for the transformative power of rage against all that is supposed to be natural from the position of the unnatural. It was originally delivered as a performance piece at California State University in 1993 as part of a conference aimed at theorizing rage.

    Stryker grabs the attention of the reader immediately with a few short, rapid-fire sentences: “The transsexual body is an unnatural body. It is the product of medical science. It is a technological construction.” Next, she begins to explain what she means and presents the essential analogy of the piece, adding “It is flesh torn apart and sewn together again in a shape other than that in which it was born. In these circumstances, I find a deep affinity between myself as a transsexual woman and the monster in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.” This identification with the monster’s unnatural origin is central to the piece, but the monster’s rage with its creator and the entirety of the world from which it is excluded is also essential. These two themes, that her body is unnatural and that this unnaturalness is the basis of an exclusion which she feels as an enraging pain, work together to drive the piece to its conclusions.

    The tendency to associate transgender bodies with Mary Shelley’s work predates Stryker’s work, though.“I am not the first to link Frankenstein’s monster and the transsexual body,” (Stryker 2) she clarifies. She proceeds to quote the transphobic remarks of Mary Daly and Janice Raymond, a pair of influential feminists, comparing transgender people to Frankenstein’s monster. Her response is to return to the text, arguing that the monster importantly appears in the story as Frankenstein’s “...dark, romantic double,” (Stryker 2) She asks what making such comparisons between transgender people and the Monster might imply about the people making them, “Might I suggest that Daly, Raymond and others of their ilk similarly construct the transsexual as their own particular golem?” (Stryker 2)

    Stryker doesn’t shrink away from the monstrous associations such transphobic feminists make, instead she embraces the archetype, turning on them the way the monster turned on its maker. She says, “When such beings as these tell me I war with nature, I find no more reason to mourn my opposition to them—or to the order they claim to represent—than Frankenstein’s monster felt in its enmity to the human race.” (Stryker 3) Indeed, she does not shrink away from these critics’ company, she roars “...gleefully away from it like a Harley-straddling, dildo- packing leatherdyke from hell.” (Stryker 3)

    Examining what it means to be labelled a creature, Stryker says that it is essentially to be something (presumably something with a subjective experience) which is created rather than appearing naturally. She does not elaborate on the reasoning behind this premise, but goes a step further to say that people take offense at being called or compared to creatures precisely because most people are accustomed to affording themselves a higher status, that of creator rather than created. Her reactive impulse is markedly different. She says, “I find no shame, however, in acknowledging my egalitarian relationship with non-human material Being; everything emerges from the same matrix of possibilities.” (Stryker 4) She doesn’t see the appeal of the civilizing separation between Man as maker and creator on the one hand, and the rest of the world on the other, which is presumed to be infinitely passive, infinitely subject to use and attribution by others. Instead, she allows this schism to drive her back into solidarity with all that is unnatural.

    For Stryker, revulsion toward transgender people stems from their inability or refusal to conform to the supposed natural order, distilled to its most-essential form in the rigid categories of man and woman. Although the transgender body is said to be monstrous because of its artificiality, Stryker says all that is called Nature and used as a cudgel against transgender people is actually just as artificial, just as constructed as the transgender body. She warns the reader against the falsity of Nature as a concept, “Do not trust it to protect you from what I represent, for it is a fabrication that cloaks the groundlessness of the privilege you seek to maintain for yourself at my expense.” Here, she asserts the general threat transgender people pose to the social order, which is to make-visible all of the horrible techniques by which each person is made into themselves. After all, she says, “You are as constructed as me; the same anarchic Womb has birthed us both.” (Stryker 4) The author is attempting to make good on the threats her experience is said to pose toward nature; in fact, this is exactly the way forward she suggests, “Heed my words, and you may well discover the seams and sutures in yourself.” (Stryker 4)

    In spite of her close identification with the creature, Stryker specifies that their situations are not the same, noting that, “Unlike the monster, we often successfully cite the culture’s visual norms of gendered embodiment.” (Stryker 4) Transgender people cite these visual norms through the manipulation of subtle signifiers such as hair length, cut of clothing, use of makeup, wearing packers and binders, and medically altering the appearances of their bodies. This becomes subversive, she says, when transgender people, “...declare the unnaturalness of our claim to the subject positions we nevertheless occupy. (Stryker 4)

    Stryker reminds us that after Frankenstein’s monster learns the details of its creation, “...rather than bless its creator, the monster curses him.” Frankenstein cannot control the monster’s mind. “It exceeds and refutes his purposes.” (Stryker 5) This is central to one of Stryker’s main uses of the Frankenstein analogy; if the Monster’s mind is not beholden to Frankenstein, the transgender consciousness is also not determined by the doctors who reshape flesh or the entrepreneurs who sell synthetic penises. Although medicine is capable of making a body seem natural to any observer, being the subject of such techniques might permanently alter the way one views nature or medicine in general, or as Stryker says, “engaging with those very techniques produces a subjective experience that belies the naturalistic effect biomedical technology can achieve.” (Stryker 5)

    In Shelley’s novel, Frankenstein meets with his creation at last while hiking the glaciers above the village of Chamounix. The two go to a cabin together where the monster spends almost a quarter of the book telling Frankenstein its story from its own perspective to explain why it has turned against him. The essay itself enters Stryker’s analogy, “These are my words to Victor Frankenstein, above the village of Chamounix.” (Stryker 6) She goes on, later in the passage, “I, too, have discovered the journals of the men who made my body, and who have made the bodies of creatures like me since the 1930’s.” (Stryker 6) She is well aware that the scientists who developed sexual reassignment surgical and hormonal treatments did so for wildly different motivations than those that led her to engage in them. However, by nature of her desire to engage in them, she must submit herself to their categorizations, and of course at the time of her writing, to be transgender necessarily meant maintaining a proximity to diagnoses of mental illness. She comments on the effect of this, “Through the filter of this official pathologization, the sounds that come out of my mouth can be summarily dismissed as the confused ranting of a diseased mind.” (Stryker 6) This highlights the uneasy relationship between transgender people and the medical community at large. After all, the doctors who perform sexual reassignment surgeries and the like are not accused of insanity, as are the patients who submit to their care.

    The essay shifts into a journal entry about the day the author’s partner gave birth. She describes a powerful and moving birthing process, awkwardly interrupted for her alone by a thoughtless designation by the baby’s biological father, upon seeing the baby’s genitals, “It’s a girl!” (Stryker 7) Returning home, she was filled with a well of pent-up emotions. She says, “To conclude the birth ritual I had participated in, I needed to move something in me as profound as a whole human life.” (Stryker 7)

    She looks inward, and backward through time, reflecting on the relationship she had been in when she had her first child, before coming out as a woman. She remembers, “I had always wanted intimacy with women more than intimacy with men, and that wanting had always felt queer to me. She needed it to appear straight.” The author wanted to love women as a woman and her partner needed love from a man. Thus, refusing the gender she was assigned at birth, she refused the love that was predicated on it. In other instances related to the most recent birth, after she came out as a woman, people would ask if she were the baby’s father, of which she says, “It shows so dramatically how much they simply don’t get about what I’m doing with my body.” (Stryker 8) This interconnected web of rejections and losses is perhaps what leads her to conclude that “Nature exerts such a hegemonic oppression.” (Stryker 8)

     The text continues in italics, in a more-poetic tone before breaking into poetry completely. The author was reeling from the day’s compressed emotions: the intensity of birthing, the dark cloud of the baby’s gendering, and the recollection of past relationships. She seems sad here, and angry, but also resolute, saying, “I can never be a woman like other women, but I could never be a man.” (Stryker 8) This hard realization drives her to reject that false choice. Instead, she says, “I do war with nature. I am alienated from Being.”

    From here she moves on into the actual poetry. She references drowning and becoming water to escape, “If I cannot change my situation I will change myself.” (Stryker 8) This moment of recognition of her existence in an unlivable space and being forced to become something else carries through to the final lines of the poem, “In birthing my rage, / my rage has rebirthed me.” (Stryker) and into the final portion of the essay.

    If the categories of gender are transmutable, then anyone with the power to “...cite the culture’s visual norms of gendered embodiment.” (4) also has the ability to reduce all the trappings of identity to a tactical level and explore new possibilities, or as Stryker puts it, “... by mobilizing gendered identities and rendering them provisional, open to strategic development and occupation, this rage enables the establishment of subjects in new modes, regulated by different codes of intelligibility.” (10)

    Gender attribution robs individuals of this tactical posture toward gender and expression, pushing them into narrow corridors of expression instead. Babies are unable to choose this fate for themselves. This is critical because fotr Stryker, gendering a child is not a simple labeling, it is a prescription for a lifetime of behaviors that will have to be programmed into the child. She explains, “Gendering is the initial step in this transformation, inseparable from the process of forming an identity by means of which we’re fitted to a system of exchange in a heterosexual economy.” (Stryker 10) This fitting for a system of exchange, she says, is exactly what is meant by phrases like, “It’s a girl.” (Stryker 10) It is for exactly this reason that to be without gender, or even to perform gender incorrectly, would form the basis for social exclusion. If gender is meant to be a universal means of social coding, being able to express one clearly is a precondition to be understood. Stryker puts it this way, “A gendering violence is the founding condition of human subjectivity; having a gender is the tribal tattoo that makes one’s personhood cognizable.” (Stryker 10) Considering her own participation in gendering an infant, she speculates about the baby’s future, “I stood for a moment between the pain of two violations, the mark of gender, and the unlivability of its absence.” (Stryker 10) As violent and painful as her relationship to gender has been, she wonders whether it would be possible for the child to exist at all in our world without a gender, “Could I say which one was worse? Or could I only say which one I felt could best be survived.” (Stryker 10)

    In bringing the piece to a close, Stryker continues to look toward the future and its possibilities for herself and other creatures like her. Even if gender presents itself as inescapable, that does not preclude the strategic approach to its expression she suggested earlier, “Though I cannot escape its power, I can move through its medium.” (Stryker 10) Perhaps, she suggests, by using the medium against itself, she can short-circuit the meanings that gendered signification are meant to communicate and even elaborate new and exciting ways to use the social coding of gender to express new ideas, “Though I may not hold the stylus myself, I can move beneath it for my own deep self-sustaining pleasures.” (Stryker 11)

    In spite of this optimistic note about the potential to play with gender’s meaning, she holds that transgender people undermine this system’s integrity, because “To encounter the transsexual body, to apprehend a transgendered consciousness articulating itself, is to risk a revelation of the constructedness of the natural order.” (Stryker 11) She also reasserts that one cannot take part in this process without being transformed by it, “Be forewarned, however, that taking up this task will remake you in the process.” (Stryker 11)

    The ultimate subversion is that the monstrous are resolute in articulating themselves in spite of the peril such expression spells for civilization. “Like that creature, I assert my worth as a monster in spite of the conditions my monstrosity requires me to face, and redefine a life worth living.” (Stryker 11) After all, Stryker didn’t ask to be born into this particular world. Like the monster, she asks, “Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay to mould me man? Did I solicit thee from darkness to promote me?” (qtd. in Stryker 11)

    In the end Stryker parts with her reader with a sort of benediction, “May your rage inform your actions, and your actions transform you as you struggle to transform your world.” (Stryker 11) In the final words of the essay, then, she is returning to one of its central themes. One cannot engage with the world without being changed by it. Perhaps this is the process by which the world moulds monsters from each of us. It is only by investigating our seams and sutures for ourselves that we can learn the impact the world has had on us, or the impact we might have on it.

    Works Cited

Stryker, Susan. “My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above the Village of Chamounix” June 1993, https://sites.evergreen.edu/politicalshakespeares/wp-content/uploads/sites/226/2015/12/Stryker-My-Words-to-VF.pdf

[thecrimsonvalley]

RDR Secret Cupid - “For my next trick...”

This one goes out to you @smithandrogers!  I’m your backup cupid for the @rdrsecretcupid2020 and I really hope you’ll enjoy the text, it was super fun to get to write these two dorks <3  ~~~ There were many people he would consider when the phrase “skulking off” came up around the camp. In fact, Arthur was well aware that he himself was one of these individuals, though his position as golden boy, adoptive son and all those other lovely phrases gave him quite the leeway to come and go as he pleased. One of the few individuals for who he would not use this word was Josiah. It was not so much the action of him taking his leave or moving from camp to get a breather. No it was the word “skulking off” that did not suit this well dressed gentleman. A person of his composure did not “skulk”: they “took their leave”, “withdrew”, “removed themselves” or whatever other fancy word they could possibly come up with. No matter which one, he had seen the other man move away from the camp site and, after a short debate, he himself had followed.

Arthur found no particular shame in confessing he enjoyed Josiah's company. There had been many, both men and women, whose presence he had found a great deal of enjoyment in yet he could never help himself from placing an individual scale onto it. While some were soft and gentle, requiring a great deal of attention others blew through his life like a hurricane and every encounter left him with the feeling he had just been ran over by several trains. For the time being he had not managed to figure just where this man was supposed to be categorised. 

Stepping into a clearing between the trees, his eyes set onto the back of the other man. With a smile he acknowledged that this place was certainly a neat little spot for some brief alone time. The trees gave enough shade, cutting off any view from the main camp yet their roots had not shot up enough through the ground to render it completely unusable. Thought the thought felt quite out of place, Arthur could not help but to consider that this would be an almost idealistic place for a little outing, if one was so inclined.     Almost as if Josiah had sensed his presence, the man spun around, the gesture almost unnaturally smooth. The only one he had seen coming even close had been the manners in which Hosea had held himself in younger years when retelling his endeavours during his short acting career. It was either a scene thing or a conman thing, neither of which he himself possessed. A smile played over the other man's lips as he gave a light bowing motion.      “If it isn't Arthur out for a stroll” Josiah said, his voice as melodic as ever “what a pleasured encounter!” “Just thought I ought to make sure ya don't get eaten by a bear or what not.”  He heard Josiah give a laughter combined with the low line of “perish the thought” as he once more turned. By now Arthur could see that he had been carrying along one of his bags, full of what he had never really figured out. It was a private matter, outlaws or not it was not in his nature to rummage through the belongings of anybody in camp. “Now that you're here” came Josiah's cheerful voice “you might as well be my test audience.” “Ya sure you wouldn't rather have me fetch Jack? Or Sean?” Arthur muttered, adding on a grumble “then again, we'd all have to listen to that idiot yap his mouth off about faes and what not!” “Let's not spoil the act before you've seen it.” There was a bit of an accusing tone in Josiah's way of speaking and, despite his own pride taking a little bit of a turn, Arthur did sit down in the grass. Sure, he had enjoyed some of those tricks, even though he couldn't for his life figure out of what use they were. Perhaps he had lost some touch with his sense of wonder and whimsy; a sentiment he felt most strongly to be the truth. “Pick a card.” Choking back a laughter, Arthur bit down onto the line of how it was the oldest trick in the book and instead did as he was told. Hovering his hand above the outstretched deck, he took a small bit of amusement out of almost pinching one of the cards before shaking his head and once more “contemplating” which one he should settle on. Throwing a glance at Josiah, he was rather surprised that the other man did not appear to be bothered at all by his jest, just patiently holding onto the cards with that charming smile on his lips. Saving his own mind before it went wandering, Arthur finally tugged one out. “Don't show me” Josiah continued, turning his face rather dramatically “memorise the number and colour!” With a shrug of the shoulder, Arthur did as told before sliding the card back into the deck. It was quite hard to pretend like he did not know how this would end but he patiently waited through the other man shuffling the deck about. With a snarky sentence resting onto his tongue, he felt a light pinch of surprise as he watched Josiah give the deck a sharp slap, the cards seemingly vanishing from out of his hands. “Well good look finding it now” Arthur muttered, though he was quickly silenced with a “shhh, it's not done yet” from the other man. “Pray tell, Mr Morgan, is this your card?” Josiah's hand movement was as flowing as water as he reached over towards the side of his face, brushing against his cheek, sending shivers down his entire body. With all his might, Arthur tried to pretend like it had not bothered him, all the while attempting to get a read on the other man. Was the smirk an invite? A mere gesture of amusement because he had been caught off guard? As the card was flashed before his eyes he gave a grunt, pushing the other man's hand away. “Yeah, yeah, that's the right one, you've done it a thousand times.” “You offend me Mr Morgan” Josiah responded, dramatically pushing his hand towards his chest “it seems I have to really floor you with the next one!” “Really? Ya gotta work on that originality ya know? What ya gonna do, pull a crow out of yer sleeve? Never ending handkerchiefs?” It did feel like a tiny victory as he watched Josiah give a little frown, his fingers sliding up to twirl through his dark curls and stroke down his moustache. It was a gesture that Arthur found as fascinating as it was charming. Then again there was a lot of things he found absolutely infatuating about this man that came and went as he pleased. He would be damned if he could not confess, at least to himself, that he found him alluring in all the right ways. “Well Arthur, you've forced my hand” Josiah said, straightening his back “I shall have to perform the act of a lifetime!” “Finally something original then.” “So it shall be.” Half by half expecting the other man to turn about, Arthur felt a tad dumbfounded as he watched Josiah instead step up in front of him, straightening his sleeves in that manner that only a skilled con artist could. It was a terrible gesture: not for its performance itself but rather for how it made his heart make a leap in his chest. He was not a man used to being wooed, it was him who did that to others but Josiah, this terribly wonderful man, he certainly had at least a hint of power to do so. “I shall now ask a person in my audience to close their eyes.” “Well now, how's that gonna impress anyone?” Arthur chuckled. “Patience, Mr Morgan, patience.” Shrugging his shoulders, he did as told, though the mere fact of sitting there, hands rested over his own knees and heart still beating like a drum gave him an awful strange sensation. He could hear the other man move about, the ruffling of shirt sleeves and the steps in the soft grass heightened by his lack of sight. Over it all was the low beat of his own pulse, his inner voice screeching while outwards showing nothing. The gentle brush of Josiah's fingers came against his cheek and Arthur thanked his lucky star that he had perfected the art of remaining stationary. While still trying to figure the trick out, a vain attempt from his side to remain one step ahead of his companion, he felt the sudden warm sensation of a pair of lips upon his own. Almost choking on his own breath, Arthur quickly opened his eyes, looking right into the soft yet oh so amused gaze of the other man. “You shall now fall hopelessly in love with me.” No matter how much he wished to say something, be it protest or agreement, Arthur felt his throat choking up, rendering him speechless. He did observe how the other man seemed to tense for a few seconds, perhaps awaiting some sort of outburst or reaction yet when none came, Josiah instead gave an amused “oh my, is it already taking effect?”. This simple sentence, dripping with a teasing tone, finally shook him back into gear. With a mix of wishing to defend his own selfish pride and not be made a fool of, Arthur reached his hands out, grasping onto the coat of the other man and with a swift movement he managed to tug him down, trying his best to soften the fall. Despite how much his thoughts told him to “pay back in kind” he was none too keen on accidentally hurting the now laughing man in the process. To wrestle Josiah down onto the ground, pinning his hands onto the grass, was barely a sport at all. Brutal strength was his own talent and one he knew that few in camp could match him with. Despite how much he had wished for it to be a move to show power or confidence, Arthur could not help but to let his lips crack up into a smile upon hearing the amused chuckle from the man before him. “Yes, indeed, I would say it is working just as it should.”  

[itslula1991]

My Jewel (In Corrections)

Hello everyone! I am very sorry for the delay in uploading this chapter but the inspiring muse is failing me lately. Here is the second part, sorry if this is too long. I hope you enjoy ❤️

Genre: Adventure, comedy, romance, fantasy

Summary

An ancient spell causes a millenary young lady to weaken, it is up to Larry and her friends to help her find the key to return her to normal while an unknown woman, along with three known individuals, and in order to proclaim her “how hers,” she try to take over a captive jewel somewhere in Egypt. (The shock of all the chaos in the girl).

Objective? The guard and the exhibits must prevent it from falling into the wrong hands while between Ahkmenrah and the girl, a romance will slowly emerge that will bear fruit over time.

Chapter 2 

Nowadays…

After graduation he was able to move to a fabulous place in Queens, without any more instability, without any more worries about unpaid bills and all thanks to his good salary as a teacher when getting the job in the same career in which he was oriented for a better life. However, at night Larry still worked as a nightstand at the New York Museum of Natural History, because after all for his wax, metal and polyurethane friends, he is a hero so to speak.

Larry mentioned: "Follow everything as it was the last time.", walking happily as he toured his workplace.

"Not much has changed, Lawrence. Except for one detail.", Mr. Roosevelt mentioned in his peaceful voice.

Larry frowned in confusion: "I've been out of the museum for over three years due to my studies and I'm not very aware, what is it about?"

The sky razo remained the same, like all the inhabitants, revived by the magic of the table of Ahk, who walked their house going from one place to another, browsing other exhibitions than their own, in themselves continued the consistency of each of the corners of the enclosure in details, also the floating floor of warm color, waxed and always slippery as usual. What could have changed over the years?

Well, Larry's curiosity was answered by Mr. Roosevelt when he pointed to a museum space where a pretty girl with ornaments and Egyptian clothing, she was sitting on the bench in a neutral room conversing animatedly surrounded by four girls from different times, a girl Colonial, an Italian girl, a Greek girl and a Native American girl, sitting on the floor the women listened to her narrate, perhaps a funny story about her because the women laughed along with the young woman.

But not everything ended there, hidden behind a showcase with artifacts from the first African tribes, King Ahkmenrah allowed his striking eyes to be seen above a vessel at the level of his nose, observing the lady in question. It could be seen how the polychromatic orbs radically mutated from a deep tourmaline pigment to a brilliant green-water, and everything indicated that the change was connected according to their mood, making their eyes clearer, denoting joy or darker, showing absolute sadness, and in this case it seemed that the green color exposed light to all its essence.

"She is new, I hadn't seen her before I temporarily retired from here."

"She's a lovely young lady.", Teddy commented with acceptance towards her.

Larry smiled looking at the scene: "So that detail is Ahk and the Egyptian girl."

"This is Larry.", Sacajawea contributed her good eyesight being sweetly taken by the arm by Teddy. "Ahkmenrah has not skipped a day since she appeared. They are the same as two young people from this time playing to fall in love."

Sacajewea was tenderly made by the king to spend hours at random, other times too, choosing the hiding place behind the plants of Africa spying on that particular someone.

"I still remember the day the boy first saw the young woman.", Teddy smiled at the two teenagers.

**** Flash ****

A month ago...

It was night, and there was a little party, maybe it was the one that Larry started attending night classes to get his teaching degree.

Nothing particular happened as King Ahkmenrah came down from that balcony leaving Jed and Octavio in charge of the music.

Since Doctor McPhee already knew everything that was happening with the tablet, it was not surprising to see a figure come to life, so wandering next to one of them was not considered nonsense either.

It turned out that the aforementioned was a beautiful Egyptian girl, with light skin, hazel eyes, long brown hair, sandals, a fine long kalasiri (dress) with two straps that covered her bust made in real white linen with bows gold at his waist. She, too, was wearing a kind of short cape covering her shoulders, a two-piece cylindrical snake bracelet adorning her left arm, a small crown with a baby cobra, and a delicate pendant in the shape of a winged golden and green beetle with an ankh completing the young woman's outfit.

Ahkmenrah's face said it all, it seemed that everything happened in slow motion in his mind.

"Wow...", Ahkmenrah whispered as if he were seeing a wonder of the ancient world. "By Ra and all the gods."

Ahk's face lit up as he was dazzled by the bubbling chestnut. It was as if he were in a dream.

When he saw her speak willingly next to the Museum Director on one of the stairs, he was fascinated. No matter what she was doing, he smiled and his eyes filled with love and wonder. Ahkmenrah did not miss a single movement of the pretty girl, standing next to the desk watching her with a half-twisted smile and her gaze was as if billions of stars lit up within her eyes. The boy was indeed in love, and although not any woman managed to shake his heart as the Sheik of a harem in the past, she instantly shot him or, as the cliché is vulgarly said, love at first sight.

“I had not seen a museum more impressive than this one. It's amazing.”, she was so happy.

“I am extremely pleased that you feel comfortable, Your Highness. I will leave you with the figures of the establishment so that you can get to know the place. Miss.”, Doctor McPhee said goodbye with respect and she made a slight bow allowing her withdrawal.

Like everything an Egyptian goddess, she glamorous went down the stairs, the girl moved exploding sensuality and with a comic touch when everything happened in slow motion to the rhythm of the background music.

She ran her hair back with one hand, blinking coquettishly looking around while some exhibits threw roses at her, adoring her presence, therefore she greeted with extremely overwhelmed and gratefulness as she slid down the hall, seeming to parade like a 1999 BC model.

And to all this Ahk thought that she addressed him with that hip shake, he enlarged his smile but it was not, she followed long and the comical sound of when one track is run to another, made him raise an eyebrow reflecting a little disappointment. However, he continued absorbed in his thoughts without taking his eyes off each line of the toned and fine female figure, wandering in those curves when Mr. Roosevelt's voice made him come out of that trance.

"I don't want you to be the same as me.", Teddy spoke solemnly.

Ahkmenrah was half foolish trying to spin his answer well: "What do you mean?"

“In the sense that I have spent more than 50 years observing and not daring to say a word to my dear Sacajewea until Larry's arrival prompted me to do so. Do not hesitate or let her escape, Your Majesty.”, Teddy wisely advised as the boy sighed looking at the Egyptian girl.

The young woman with an unknown name detailed every corner and she never realized that those jade eyes did not lose sight of her.

Sac spoke very sweetly: "Teddy?", Appearing on the scene as she wrapped her arms around Mr. Roosevelt and inevitably smiled.

"He knows what he's doing, love."

It seems that the words of Mr. Roosevelt encouraged the king to arm himself with courage, inflate his chest, accommodate his deshret (crown) and approach her to relate, establish a bond, perhaps.

"This is so beautiful.", she whispered fascinated looking at the divine building and how the party continued with its magic.

"Hello.", Ahkmenrah finally said with real elegance behind her.

She gently spun on her axis as she was distracted watching the constellations form mirror balls illuminating the room in soft blue. The pretty girl greeted him with a friendly smile once they were face to face.

"Hello."

"What is your name?"

"I am Larempteh.", she introduced herself with singular elegance.

And Ahkmenrah raised an eyebrow detailing her peculiar appearance at a considerable distance, she had almost no makeup, just a little soft brown shade that accentuated her sweet eyes and bushy lashes, kohl for a discreet black liner and lipstick lipstick, privileged to possess the fleshy. Beautifull.

"High Blue Sapphire of the Nile, fourth queen of the fifth great king and sovereign of the reign of my pharaohs. It is a pleasure.", Larempteh added with graceful finesse in his speech.

She was not conceited, only that the way of presenting herself in the ancient world was that way when you were belonging to the nobility of Upper Egypt, and her voice was a caress with words for him since the girl was cordial, warm and very respectful , in addition to sweet and possessing that mix between shy and intellectual. She illuminated the whole place only with her presence.

"What a beautiful name.", Ahkmenrah recognized and she smiled, she was hypnotic and Ahk's eyes could not detach from the young woman for any reason. "Excuse me, I don't look at girls like that."

Larempteh excused him with a pleasant laugh: "Don't worry, it's fine. For that you have a view, you appreciate what you see."

"Also your English is perfect, you speak divinely, where did you learn?"

"I went to Cambridge University."

Ahkmenrah was amazed with a smile.

"Were you in Cambridge?"

"On display..."

"From the Egyptology Department?", both agreed in the sentence with surprise.

"Yes, that's right! What a coincidence!"

"Have you been there too? Wow, that's great."

"Is this your first night at the museum?"

"No, I came here in 1954 from the Giza expedition.", Larempteh said.

"How come I have never seen you before?"

"Here or Cambridge?"

"Both answers have value."

"Well, I arrived there in 1940 and have spent 14 years in my sarcophagus."

"That explains a lot."

"Yes. And here they kept me away in the warehouse until they created my showroom just around the corner from your showroom. I have had so few visitors interested in the old world that all this time I have been around my exhibition and never dared to abandon it, habit, melancholy perhaps... It is difficult to detach yourself from Cambridge once you belong 14 years."

"Indeed. It feels weird."

"It would also be due to the fame of a little docile nature that was instilled in us and I did not want to be feared by the other exhibitions. Apparently, today I took a lot of courage after 66 years being here and I left tonight finding a beautiful place."

Larempteh apparently hinted at Ahkmenrah, but Pharaoh did not catch that eulogy in the air.

"I understand you."

"I must add that it may be by fate, I would say."

"And why were we in different temples?", Ahkmenrah joked.

Larempteh found a cute shoulder: "Or maybe the gods had prepared our meeting for a suitable moment and I think it worked today."

"It is wonderful and you believe in destiny, that is fabulous."

She gave him a sweet smile with the music still playing in the background and neither she nor he stopped inspecting each other, reviewing his features, the most prestigious in her and manly in him. Larempteh decided to cut the air to get into the conversation a little more.

Larempteh said: "And, you're from around here I guess or..."

"I belonged. I am a limited time conservation."

She was stunned, Larempteh asked, "Limited time conservation?"

Ahkmenrah gave the queen a cute smile.

"Yes, I am a British museum of treasures."

She frowned and asked a little confused: "What?"

That's where the voice came into play in the king's mind.

"Great Ahk, now you will look like a clown from 4000 BC for the rest of your life."

Ahkmenrah was slow to process his own words, what he least wanted was to be an idiot in front of her and accidentally he did, he mentally reprimanded himself for the inconsistency he had just said, feeling ashamed for possibly making a bad impression within minutes of having her known.

The pharaoh spluttered trying to accommodate the correct sentence in her brain while she paid no attention to anything other than the strong blush of shame that formed from her cheeks to the bridge of her nose, therefore Larem smiled attentively at that detail. because it made her feel tender that there was still a young man like him and that she blushed in such a way, and that made him more nervous.

His throat went dry, his usej suffocated him, and Ahk swallowed thickly, omitting such awkwardness.

He adjusted his voice and said: "No, I meant that I am part of the treasures of the British Museum."

"No problem, I understood.", Larempteh laughed lightly. "And what is your name?"

"I am Ahkmenrah, the fourth king of the fourth king, the ruler of the lands of my parents and the pleasure is all mine."

Ahkmenrah showed up bowing in his presence showing Larem cordiality when he kissed the back of the queen's hand, she could not believe that that kind of young man with approximately 18 years of age, a classic conservation of 4000 years, was real. Like the man she dreamed of all her life but hearing the boy's name, she divinely opened her eyes at a certain surprise of having him face to face.

"For Isis! Are you the famous Ahkmenrah?”, Larempteh questioned with deep happiness.

Ahkmenrah frowned in confusion: "Famous?"

"Yes, in Cambridge. All the time the museum figures have talked about you, you are an icon there. By Ra! I can't believe it, I didn't think I had the chance to meet you one day and... Oh, what happiness! What an honor, son of the Sun. You must be considered a legend in the history of Egypt, not many reach one of the most remarkable and visited venues in the world as the British museum. It is a luxury that you are there then, you are very lucky.”

"Yes, I do not know if I am as important a figure in the history of Egyptian humanity as Ramses was, I knew later that he was more important than me."

"But you must have had fabulous feats to have been a part of here in the past as well."

“I suppose, although I don't entirely remember it, my memory has always been blank since I arrived. I mean, I wish they would help me a little more to understand myself and to know who I am apart from my name because all I know is that my determining home is there because my family is there. But sometimes I am only treated as a piece of archaeological piece from my Era.”

The glitter in Ahk's eyes faded slightly.

Larempteh grieved: "Oh what a shame they make you feel like this because you are a very nice boy."

Ahkmenrah analyzed the girl's words, the pharaoh blushed timidly again, his face was a poem and he frowned with a vague smile thinking that she could not not get over you by not resisting her charms.

Larempteh had a blush when reformulating his sayings: “Sorry, I didn't mean it like that, it was not my intention to bother you. I mean, you're cute in the sense of your soul.”

“You don't care, I've never been told before. It is precious that it comes from you. Thank you."

Larempteh smiled at Ahk's intense gaze, wiping a slight perspiration from her dress against her palms.

"You do not have to thank. After all, you do have a splendid shine and impressive eyes, they attract attention, they are very pretty.”

Ahkmenrah did 'the thing' with his smiling mouth, showing off his defined cheekbones.

"And maybe it must be because I just have them in the middle of my face.”, Ahkmenrah built a good sense of humor in which she laughed refinedly. "I also like your eyes, they are very warm and sweet. Since they are conspicuous and shocking to the delight of others, it would be considered a crime not to appreciate them in such a way nor are they how to be wasted.”

Queen Larempteh's eyes sparkled. An action that made her smile.

"Thank you. So your family is in the British museum, huh? It's great to have your parents nearby in one place or someone by your side to remind you of where you came from.”

“Yes, the boys made me stay close to them and it was also to keep my board safe. But don't worry, it's just a long story that I'll tell you already.”

"Okay, no inconvenience.", Larempteh said quietly.

"And where are yours?"

"I do not know. I am adrift just like you with my mind.”

"Oh I'm sorry."

"Do not worry, nothing happens. I suppose it is part of our life as museum exhibits having to find pieces of ourselves at random to feel complete. It's just a matter of divine intersession.”

"We can change the subject if you want."

"As you like."

Ahkmenrah watched her closely: "Dynasty XIX? I suppose."

"Yes, how did you know?", Larempteh cackled with sophistication.

She was charmingly curious to tuck a strand of hair behind her right ear, revealing one of her sparkling triangle-shaped hoops and elegant burgundy nail varnish.

"About the above, it is that you have an unseen face and it is impossible for you to go unnoticed. My guess is that you happen to be an old relative with proximity to Nefertari's family ancestors or perhaps it is because she has reincarnated in you."

Ahkmenrah learned to maintain his cordiality by behaving like a great nobleman, he was taught that his feelings should be fair and necessary before anyone but it seems that Larempteh appeared only to make him break the rules, disobeying his archaic teachings.

Well, Ahk always did, but Larem made it worse, like a fever with no disastrous results.

What he could never hide was a dazzled observing of her tangible beauty, he winked at her giving her a warm smile indirectly telling Larempteh how extremely beautiful she was.

Perhaps the young man hinted that the girl would be a descendant of the most important queen that Egypt had, making her an extremely attractive goddess for her taste and reach.

Larempteh thought, "No, I don't think that's the case either. Well, one knows who it comes from to reincarnate as a living human god on Earth, but one of my parents may have had the honor of belonging to the offspring of the Nefertari's lineage from the many children she had. Perhaps I am some great-granddaughter or great-great-granddaughter, as were the many siblings I had."

"The hundreds of kings who claimed your love should tell you."

Ahkmenrah guessed vehemently. And how not to do it? If she radiated sweetness and owned an exquisite exotic image; how it was not possible that the kings would not argue the hand of that venerable woman.

"No, well, yes, in part, but it was my older sister who received ninety-nine point nine percent of all these courtships.", Larempteh let out a natural laugh.

"Sister.", Ahkmenrah was not interested, rather he was unsuspecting. Shocked by the fact that her beauty is not praised.

"Yes. You see, Dad wanted two male rulers, one who was a strong pharaoh and who knew how to command the kingdom and another who was a champion in battles, especially in Kadesh. As you see, it could not be, he had my sister and me some time after that event. And considering that my father's wish was fulfilled very late, yes, he had more secondary children, but she and I were the eldest daughters of the family and for Real rules we had the privilege of direct access to lead a nation for being of pure lineage. Although something happened along the way and it was damaged or rather someone made history change its course regarding that. A long story that I will tell you.", Larempteh commented with a frown with a smile naturalizing his story.

"And why her and not you, how is that possible?", Ahkmenrah used a tone of Royal disbelief.

"It was just that she was extremely beautiful.", Larempteh just shrugged her shoulder in a cute way continuing the thread of praise. "She was so crazy though."

"I am sure she does not exceed the honey of your voice or your delicate presence.", Ahkmenrah said raising his jaw with elegant bearing.

The young queen did not know where to look, and of course, if Ahk's electric eyes did not dare to detach themselves from his youthful features.

Larempteh was intimidated by these charming courtships and tilted her face to the side a little hiding a faint blush keeping a thin smile as she tilted her head to later observe him.

"Excuse my daring but I couldn't stop watching you since I saw you. It's just that you're more beautiful than the Giza pyramids.", Ahkmenrah complimented her and the girl felt another strong blush take over her face.

In a delicate tone, Larempteh said: "How divine.", stunned with a slightly strange smile wandering her lips for all the praise she got from him.

"I spent 54 years wrapped in dirty linen bandages, locked in a sarcophagus and after waking up 66 consecutive nights to meet you, that's divine. You are a precious, beautiful creature."

Ahkmenrah after that praise, smiled sideways showing his immaculate teeth, without showing lewdness or perversion, it was like a seductive tactic in him.

The queen laughed in elegant confusion as she said: "Thank you?"

Obviously, in her time she was not very familiar with more than 100 compliments in a row due to her real beauty and so many coming from a single pharaoh, it was something intense but that was still a nice touch on her part.

"Don't be thankful since the pharaohs used to have an aggressive and unkind image. You should be suspicious.", Ahkmenrah commented regaining his posture of standing up.

Larempteh said: "I'll be careful then."

And her whispering was a little less than what's called suggestive, perhaps being eerily suggestive was a healthy seduction tactic to start the romance game.

"Although if someone stands between me and your beauty, probably the king of 4000 years ago, perhaps he will make an exception. But as long as none of that happens..."

"I knew what pharaohs were like in our time. Not tolerant, only in tiny exceptions.", Larempteh reaffirmed.

Ahkmenrah leaned down again, bringing the female hand to her lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles.

"I am kind, believe me not unless..."

The pharaoh straightened up, winking at the girl again so she smiled at him causing Ahk to wrap himself in the infinite tenderness of her beautiful grimace and lose herself in the brilliance of her precious eyes.

Maybe it was because of an attraction that burned inside her or an irrepressible instinct to want to touch her, even if it was to take something from her to remember her before returning to the darkness of her sarcophagus, extinguishing that sadness and going to 'sleep' happily and waking up a bit more alive by an obtension, and then the pharaoh felt the need to approach very slowly to Larem's face reviewing his eyes for each of its smooth details directing his lips to hers, who incidentally, looked at that mouth with reverie.

Larempteh for her part closed her eyes at the preamble of the stimulus in which her heart beat a thousand times stronger than before, announcing that perhaps she would have her first kiss under the beautiful blue light of the constellations. How romantic would it be, right?

She stood still with her eyelids hiding her pupils without startling when Ahkmenrah gently cupped a hand on her right cheek, it was such a sweet touch, he transmitted so much peace to her from the first moment.

Ahkmen closed the distance between the two more, and more, and more, and more, and more until Tilly's voice was heard as he ran to Laaa through the hall interrupting the moment.

"Laaa, no! Don't touch that! Those aren't headphones! It's a defibrillator!"

Ahkmenrah and Larempteh suddenly opened their eyes and immediately regretted the situation in which they found themselves and laughed without penalty or glory.

Larempteh said with a laugh: "How pitiful."

The queen touched her own face that burned from the strong blush, but she continued to laugh, being accompanied in good humor by the loud and manly laughter of the pharaoh.

That commotion where Tilly chased Laaa, made Rexy and Trixy freak out and make sounds minimally chasing away the crowd causing Larempteh to dodge the alpacas, the flames, the terracotta soldier and the Vikings fleeing in terror in his direction. .

There was a moment when the girl lost her balance due to their action and it was there when she fell into the arms of Ahk, who reflexively held her tight by the waist like the gentleman she is. That caused her to sink her face into the hollow of the precious and soft neck of the king, thus forming an electricity that was made at the clash of skin against skin and at that moment a spark ignited between the two upon closer inspection.

"Well, I must reaffirm it, now more than before, what divine eyes you have."

Ahkmenrah praised the color of the girl's irises that now mutated to the striking honey pigment, giving Larempteh a soft grimace on her lips as she watched him from behind her thick lashes as she smiled tenderly, with her too, of course losing herself in his eyes.

**** End of Flash ****

@sherlollydramoine​ @xmxisxforxmaybe​ @txmel​ @moon-stars-soul​ @sunkissedmikky​

[plantveined]

A study regarding the reception of published fanfiction by male and female authors

How is male- and female-written fanfiction received when it gets legitimately published? That is the question I wanted to tackle with my project. I was curious: much of the fanfiction I’ve come across in my life has been written by women and while most have been positively received within their respective communities and fandoms, fanfiction as a whole has always been rather shamed or ridiculed. My limited exposure to male-written fanfiction meant that I had no idea about the other side of the spectrum, so I wanted to find out if gender bias actually did play a role in how fanfiction is viewed. I thought this was an important inquiry to make as this could reveal or debunk any apprehension on behalf of young writers such as myself wanting to make that leap from fanfiction to published novel. 

I learned that the reception of male- and female-written fanfiction is biased in more ways than I realized and in ways I didn’t expect. From looking at the language used to discuss them to how much they are discussed, I learned the different values assigned to these types of stories and authors. 

 My findings could change the literary world—it reveals the gendered hypocrisy behind newly published stories and their non-traditional starts. This could get readers to re-examine their personal biases before they actually read those kinds of books. It could raise awareness towards the treatment of upstart female authors and help widen the avenue of new fiction to include legitimized fanfiction, as my findings show that male fiction with roots in fandom can be well-received despite of that.

Before I could collect any data, I had to figure out my list of authors to examine. I wanted authors that had previous experience writing fanfiction, or that had a reputation for having published stories that began as fanfiction. I defined fanfiction as any piece of fiction with origins from a previously published other work. I counted alternate lives of real life people as fanfiction. I read through the lists of authors that fit this criteria and came up with 7 female authors and 7 male authors. I then searched for 5 reviews of each author on their books that had been associated with fanfiction beginnings. I edited my list a few times because I only wanted to focus on modern books.

Once I picked out all 70 reviews total, I organized them by author and read through each review once before going back to tally for any instance where the words “fanfiction,” “fanfic,” or “fic” was used and then classified their usage as either positive, negative, or neutral. After that, I read through the reviews again. This time I was codifying for any instances where the books were being discussed by pure literary elements. These included tone, pace, characters, setting, plot, theme, and writing style. I considered dialogue to fall under the same category as character. I added up all these instances for each author and then found the average amount of times these literary elements were assessed per review. Then I found the average length of each author’s review, measured by its amount of sentences, and divided the average amount of literary assessment by the average review length to find the average percentage of how much each author’s review discussed what I considered relevant opinions regarding the books themselves. All of these calculations were represented in tables and graphs so that I could better analyze general patterns. I also noted recurring words used within the reviews for female and male authors.

Upon conducting this project I discovered that while all those books could be classified as fanfiction or started as fanfiction, “fanfiction” was only used to describe the works of 6 out of 14 authors and most often with the female authors. I wasn’t surprised by that, but I was surprised that in the case of male authors, “pastiche” or “homage” were used instead. That coded as a double standard. Pastiche, homage, and fanfiction all center around roughly the same concept of further exploring a pre-existing work by applying your own ideas. The difference between these words are their individual connotations. A homage can be seen as an act of admiration for the original creator that classifies the fan’s work as acceptable to the public. A pastiche is generally associated with a style of art defined as a celebration of the original. Both pastiche and homage hold associations of respect. Fanfiction doesn’t hold that universal association. In fact, the reviews that did mention fanfiction tended to do so in mainly negative or neutral light. The only male mention of fanfiction was positive. This shows that fanfiction—especially when associated with women—tends to be mocked, whereas when associated with men is often celebrated.

This negative gendered connotation with “fanfiction” further extends to the reception of a book it spawns. Although the female reviews seemed to spend more time discussing the literary merits and pitfalls of these books, much of the reviews tended to focus on character and writing styles. Attacks on character design opened the playing field for comparisons with the source material, something relished by many of the Anna Todd and E.L. James critics. For example, in one of the reviews for E.L. James’ book 50 Shades of Grey, the critic writes:

“It is entirely obvious to me that this used to be Twilight fan fiction because James manages to capture the vibe of the original: the shoe-gazing, eye-gazing, pseudo-angst of Bella and Edward’s tumultuous love affair. Yes! It’s all there from the zero conflict to the zero chemistry! However, as it turns out—and believe me I’m as surprised to be saying this as you are to hear it—Twilight turns out to be the more sophisticated version.”

Character development is a valid criticism of any novel but what stood out to me was the phrasing of the first line: “It is entirely obvious to me that this used to be Twilight fan fiction.” The critic could have voiced their distaste of James’ protagonists without negatively reviewing 50 Shade of Grey’s past as Twilight fanfiction. Instead, the critic opened their opinion with that phrased as if you can automatically write off a book just because it has roots in fanfiction. Another negative instance where “fanfiction” was mentioned was in regards to Anna Todd. One critic writing for Medium stated that their issues with Todd’s book After was “not just that it’s basically Fifty/Twilight with a thin coat of peeling paint and carries with it the dangerous relationship dynamics (more on that later), but it’s also clearly written to exploit the 1D fandom.” Here, the idea of a fan writing fanfiction stories for other fans is seen as exploitative of the original material. None of those previous connotations of respect can be seen. Contrast that with the reception of male fanfiction: whenever “fanfiction” was mentioned in a review for a male author, it was never presented as a drawback of the piece. Rather, the fact that the book was published by a fan for fans was often cheekily praised. One review title for John Scalzi’s Redshirts referred to the book as a “love-letter to fans.” The same critic said again at the end of the review that Redshirts was:

“A dramatic remove, yes, but it's deeply fitting that a book so centered in the fan experience should contain fan fiction; the codas provide a further look into the lives of characters only glimpsed in the main narrative, a comforting meta-redshirt hat-tip that, like the novel itself, is a love letter to fans of the fannish.”

What a double-standard this revealed!

These results matter most to writers, publishers, readers that enjoy new fiction. Writers should take from these findings that fanfiction can be a productive way to transition into a published author. A review from The Atlantic even said about After, “Multiple literary agents reached out to [Anna Todd], but [Anna Todd] dismissed them as ‘crazy people,’ figuring no legitimate professional would seek out One Direction fan fiction.” Turns out, they did! Their publications may not always be severable from their fanfiction past, but that can be seen as a positive. Publishers should explore these fan-lead routes that give way to new books. These reviews show that people do pay attention and often have a lot to say about their literary elements; fanfiction is not merely frivolous and self-indulgent. Readers should see that new stories can sometimes come from offshoots of pre-existing stories (much like they always have in the history of story-telling). They should be more aware of gender bias that surrounds the fanfare of a new book, especially one that may not have been published if not for fanfiction. Fanfiction has genuine merits helpful for creators and consumers of the literary world, and they shouldn’t be overlooked before the story is told.

[scripttorture]

So. I have this story where MC is a slaveborn, was bought by a powerful man at the age of 7. This man basically planned on training him as a soldier - in the long run - to use him for his State-sponsored PMC's dirtiest missions, the ones where there's high mortality risk and the actions must not be linked to the company, etc. Training is harsh and brutal, it's full of horror and humiliation and it does involve torture, because they are trying to make MC "resistant to pain and interrogation [1/6]

byenemies" (I know it doesn’t work that way, but these individualsare torturers themselves, they believe in these methods.) This beingsaid, in my story this man kind of succeeds in coercing andbrow-beating MC into compliance and deference (meaning that he’ll endup doing a host of shitty things for the PMC), he convinces MC he’snothing more than a property, a tool to be used in various ways forthe efficiency and safety of the city, and so on. BUT. What I’mtrying to do here is [2/6]presentingthis kind of mental process as a result of *abuse* (and pre-existingabuse also, i.e. being born in slavery), not *torture.* I mean, Iwant to make it clear that MC’s personality, identity and willpowerget gradually crushed because of his terribly young age (and the factthat every tie he had previously with family and friends getssevered, much like it happens to actual child soldiers) that makeshim prone to manipulation (not as in ‘brainwashing’ but as in'gaslighting and [3/6]weaponizationof guilt complexes and a lot of nasty stuff that actually mighthappen even in a more common scenario like domestic child abuse’),because he’s put in a do or die situation where he has no choice butfollow through with orders otherwise he dies, until he actuallystarts internalizing the whole situation and it slowly becomes dailyroutine. I guess that what I’m asking is: how does this sound to you?How can I write it effectively so that it’s blatantly clear thattorture/pain [4/6]arepart of MC’s ordeal but they’re not the reason he ends up obeying?Because I know that torture doesn’t change hearts and minds, I don’twanna paint that picture. It has to be more about surviving andadapting and believing in something because it feels there’s nofuture - and no past - beyond that. (I want to reassure you that Ihave already picked symptoms for MC and that during his time as thisman’s slave he’ll never stop trying to enact passive resistance, eventhough actively [5/6]hedoes what he’s told and he kind of believes he has no right to deemit bad and he deserves it etc. I mean, this is not going to be just astory about a broken victim who does nothing but be his Master’s toy– it’s going to be a story about finding awareness, finding thestrength to fight back and break free and oppose to this wholesystem. It just starts, and for a very large swathe stays, in a worseplace.) [6/6]

Hi.I’m the anon who sent that 7-part ask about the enslaved boy boughtby a PMC. I re-read my words and I realized there was room formisunderstandings: when I said “who planned on using him aschild soldier” what I actually meant was “he started totrain MC very harshly since he was 7 and MC did take somewhat distantpart in military actions during his childhood as part of a'observe&learn’ process, but he wasn’t scheduled for active dutyon his own until he was a teenager. Just to be clearer!

Thank you for the clarification but just to be 100% clear that is being a child soldier according to the legal definition.

 Child soldiers are not always used for front line active combat. Sometimes they’re used as messengers, cooking or cleaning staff, to transport equipment or a variety of other things that aren’t active combat. But all of these count. Whether a child used by an army fights or not they are a child soldier.

 For the purposes of story telling it is a useful distinction to make. I understand exactly why you’ve made it. But keeping the legal definition in mind helps because it broadens the scope of sources you can use.

 If you were ruling out accounts by child soldiers age 7 before, on the grounds that they were probably fighting- You’ve now got a whole new host of things that apply.

 I put together a list of books and other sources on child soldiers in this post here. You might find them useful.

 You might also get something from Kara’s books on modern slavery. I’d suggest Modern Slavery: A Global Perspective as the most relevant simply because it covers a broader range then his other two books.

 You’ve given me a really helpful level of detail here and before I go any further I wanted to thank you for that.

 It’s clear that you know you’ve picked a difficult plot. But everything you’ve describe sounds possible to me.

 I think a lot of the difficulty with these plots is wrapped up in that: ‘possible’. There’s a strong tendency for authors to treat these extreme scenarios as black and white.

 They ‘heroically’ resist (to the point they’re unaffected) or they’re ‘broken’ and become a passive object. Too often we write about these scenarios as if they can produce one definite, sure-fire outcome.

 The truth is messy. Compliance is part of that mess.

 Because it’s possible but it’s never certain. And it’s often narratively tempting to cut out the complexity, to make things nice and simple and easy to write. Which does everyone a disservice.

 I’ve read anecdotes from a few anti-slavery activists describing how some slavers hire fake aid workers/anti-slavery activists to try and make their victims too scared to seek help. And it does intimidate some victims, but some still try to escape and some still succeed.

 And you can show those different responses here.

 Your main character complies but in the kind of setting you’ve described he’s far from the only slave. And since the MC is in this situation for years he would meet others, he’d hear stories. You can establish that his response is not the only response by mentioning others as background details.

 Here are some possibilities.

Seeing other enslaved people physically resist or attempting escape.

Hearing rumours about successful escapes.

News stories or rumours about attacks on slavers.

Rumours about anti-slavery activists.

Fleeting contact with anti-slavery activists.

 Those probably all sound a bit obvious so let me put them in context with some summarised anecdotes.

 A lot of the women Kara interviewed as part of his work on modern slavery described seeing escape attempts. Most of these stories ended with the victim being caught by slavers, tortured and killed. This was often done in view of the enslaved women in an attempt to intimidate them.

 In most cases the enslaved women didn’t actually see the escape attempt itself and weren’t always aware how many other women were held. Which means that the slavers were creating a sort of pattern; the majority of escape attempts the women heard about ended in them watching the person who tried to escape die.

 When enslaved black people in the American south were fleeing north a lot of southern slavers responded with rumour campaigns. They told slaves that the people who successfully escaped were worse off.

 I haven’t read enough of those rumours to say if there was a pattern to them. But the ones I remember were addressed towards specific, undeniable escapes. They (completely falsely) said things like, the escapee was homeless, jobless and isolated. They described them starving and begging for food-

 This was all designed to discourage escape attempts by creating the impression escapees were worse off then slaves.

 One of the things that seems consistent about historical slavery in the Caribbean and Brazil is how goddamn paranoid white people were. There was a massive and pervasive fear of uprisings and also smaller scale violence such as poisonings.

 The impression I get is that slavers were so afraid of this and talked about it so often that it would have been impossible for slaves to be unaware of these fears. This might not have been helpful to anyone actually planning something but it can be used in a story to add to that background impression that other responses are possible.

 All of these are things that can be worked in with short scenes or a few sentences.

 Once you have that background of other possible responses you can start weaving them in with the reasons why this character isn’t acting in those ways.

 Personally I think that part is the harder task.

 I tend to emphasise that people in highly abusive situations are still making choices. I believe that is true. But these are not free choices.

 It’s a lot easier to falsely position something as a free choice (and hence attach blame) or falsely position the character as completely controlled (and hence defined by the abuser). I think a lot of well meaning authors fall into one trap or the other. Recognising it as you’ve done is essential. But- keeping that balance is always going to be hard.

 A lot of this will come down to execution and how the piece comes across to individual readers. Whenever that’s the case I recommend finding people to read over your stories and check that the scenes are working the way you want them to. I’ve found face to face writing groups very helpful. If that’s not an option for you then a good beta reader (or several) is the next best thing.

 But back to the question of writing coercion. Let me put in some examples of how that constrained thought process could be used for your story.

 The character’s seven at the beginning. Let’s say that he’s young the first time he sees an escape attempt. It’s well thought out and planned, it involves multiple people. He’s told he can’t come because he’s too small and too slow, he’ll slow everyone else down. But it’s exciting seeing this, for a moment he looks up to these people more then anyone else in the world-

 And then they get caught. And he sees them murdered or tortured for attempting to escape.

 He gets older. Life is horrible and hard. But he keeps hearing stories about how much worse it is if you get away.

 I’m not sure whether you’ve got a more urban or rural setting here but either way you can come up with horror stories about exposure, lack of food and lack of clean water.

 As an example of each- In the winter in some Russian cities someone who collapses at night can just end up covered in snow, frozen solid and not found until the spring (that’s an urban legend I’m unsure how true it is). In rural Europe ripe deadly nightshade berries look almost like blueberries and can be found in a lot of hedges. They taste sweet and the poison only kicks in hours later. In parts of South America fresh water pools can hold a brain eating amoeba, there’s no treatment or cure for it. The organism gradually eats you away.

 These sorts of stories mix in with the reality of being enslaved: the exhaustion, the hunger and the way that hunger and exhaustion can combine to produce intense apathy. When doing anything is difficult then actually acting on ways to escape can become too hard, too triggering, too risky.

 Someone new sneaks into the compound and tells stories about how they’re going to help people escape, who wants to come? And may be the MC wants to, he thinks about it. But fear can paralyse and he doesn’t know if he can trust this stranger.

 A few days later the stranger vanishes and everyone who said ‘yes’ to them is publicly punished. Not making the attempt starts to look like wisdom.

 Bring up the legitimate fears anyone trying to leave an abusive situation has when they’ve spent their life dependant on the abuser.

 How is he going to eat? Where is he going to stay? How will he ever get the money he needs to survive? What happens if he gets ill or injured, who would possibly want to take care of him? If he fails won’t it make things worse? If he succeeds won’t people come after him? What if he’s caught again? What if running away just puts him in the hands of another abuser? What happens to the people he’s grown up with if he escapes? Will they be punished in his place?

 Whenever people ask why victims ‘don’t just leave’ they ignore these questions. And they are real questions.

 Show that. Mix practical assessment of his chances with a paralysing stream of anxiety based around all the ways every single step of an escape could go wrong.

 Show how goddamn scary the unknown and lack of support (of everyone he’s ever known) can be.

 If you’re worried about readers interpreting this as due to pain or torture rather than deep, practical fears- Well this character is enslaved for a very long time. Much longer then the modern average (across types of slavery it’s around four and a half years, for debt bondage it’s a little over five). He’s not going to stay in one constant emotional state for that entire time.

 If you’re leaning in to depressive symptoms and the apathy things like starvation can cause then you can use torture and it’s aftermath to show a sudden, shocking surge of anger, aggression. You can show it sparking, however briefly, a will to rebel.

 Even without that symptom set I think you could use it in this way. You could have him actually acting a little and getting half way through escape preparations before bottling a couple of days later.

 Wrapping this up-

 It’s clear you’ve put a lot of thought into this story. You’ve read up at least a little on the subject matter. You’re concerned about doing it justice. That’s completely understandable.

 Don’t let your concern or the fear that you might do a bad job paralyse you.

 Write.

 You’ll make mistakes in the process. That’s OK. Writing is a learning process and the beautiful thing about it is that we can always go back and correct our mistakes.

 You’ve set yourself up for a long and difficult project. But it is achievable. Break it down. Tackle it a little at a time. Take breaks. Seek advice from other writers.

 You can do this.

 I hope that helps. :)

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[fireeaglespirit]

@fireeaglespirit @viviane-lefay i do worry sometimes with the stories I write if things might be too much for you. To be fair I dont think in any fanfic Ive ever written anything too explicit but now Im so conscious of other people’s viewpoints and being inclusive that it is a concern. Ultimately I write what I want to/need to but I am aware it might not be for all tastes hence always trying to follow ratings etc.

Replying here so it doesn’t cause any problems with OP, etc..

Ohh. I’m sorry if this worried you.. tbh this was very random and I wasn’t even thinking about fiction when I rb this. This one reminded me of a few times I went out with friends and colleagues and I just felt starkly asexual, lmao

About my tolerance regarding sex and explicitly in fiction, I’ll be honest with you…

There’s hardly anything I could say I wouldn’t read about. I just don’t feel ‘triggers’ or anything of the sort, no hard feelings when it gets to fiction and I value your will to be conscious of other viewpoints but its practically impossible to cater to all tastes like you said, so don’t worry about it much… there’s always someone out there who will feel offended and others who will fiercely love it.

As for myself, I’m very tolerant to sexual content in fiction, idk? I don’t seek it out particularly but its not a deal breaker either.

I know some asexual people are less tolerant, I usually just get a ‘meh’ feeling whenever those subjects are touched in much detail, idk some works do get nasty and bothersome because of much detail involving sexual practices so I just give up on them or put them aside when they bring me no joy but I gladly consume material with sex on it as long as I like some aspects of it. Also, I’m good at ignoring or glossing over things I don’t like in fiction… when I read explicit scenes with intercourse it does nothing to me and my eyes focuses on the sentences I loved such as regarding the feelings between the characters and subtle interactions instead of the physical/carnal aspects of it, and this makes it all worthy it.

Even so, some works might become overwhelmingly depressive or repulsive so I might put them aside even if I enjoyed an aspect of it or I might just skip through them and this happened recently to a series of fantasy books I tried to read which were actually really good but they were so overwhelmingly and unnecessarily dark and had an horrid oppressive atmosphere towards women an sex so I just felt no joy reading them? Its not like I was traumatized by its tone but it felt like a chore and I couldn’t care about it further and no character inspired me whatsoever that the world could change for the better, so I dropped them.

But its not like I’m judging it, I just feel weirded out to some things and I just imagine the kind of mind that takes upon themselves the chore to write a whole series of book which has nothing but suffering and misery in them, especially concerning women, lol. We already had this shit in history and still have in some places in the world so I kinda feel like its not interesting for me to read about it in a fictional setting, especially if I don’t feel like the writer is going to challenge the setting.

But I’m aware most people are much more sensitive… these things can be horrid for those who are more sensitive, and perhaps my own asexuality protects me from feeling it fully as I don’t even think of myself as a being capable of partaking in this (weird, I know), so I have problem even projecting.

But I did felt really strongly for the way women were oppressed absurdly and had their agency completely obliterated, so that sparked a sort of empathy or kinship in me which made progress in such book a chore…

You got my point and this just illustrates a bit my relationship to fiction and things that irk me since you were interested in my opinion… I have another example of fantasy book with lots of sex in it:

I read asoiaf even thought its full of sexual stuff but I don’t feel joy at these parts, yet the work is so good on other themes that I ignore it for the most part… but even so, recently I’ve read F&B and it was kinda overwhelming on the sexist aspect with myriads of female characters turned into child brides and raped and dying at their childbirth repeatedly it just got very tiresome and repetitive near the end, because there where almost no counterpoints to it, unlike in the main series where the situation is dire for women but we have characters challenging it more often and idk. F&B just lacked on that front.

So, this shows a bit my sensitivity towards sex is more related to sexism and the feeling that women are confined to their reproductive aspects: motherhood, childbearing, marriage, sensuality, etc.. I don’t have a problem with sexual intercourse per se as you can see, but that’s from my unique point of view and I know some asexuals are more repulsed towards it, but you asked my opinion…

So, if its consensual sex: its not my cup of tea but I don’t feel like its a deal breaker…

Just to give you a positive sex example: when I see an OTP of mine getting to the point of having sex I think its pretty sweet, like when Jon and Dany consummated their love on that boat… I was happy for them, for all that it means, the symbolism between the union of ice and fire and just two characters which I love dearly, finding happiness and comfort in each other. What’s not to love about it??

This is a rare stance I can say I saw a pair I ship get to that point xD

I love shipping as you know, but its more about the psychological aspects and potential for character development and even when I’m reading fanfic about my OTPs I enjoy more the angst and symbolism than the ‘hot’ parts which usually just makes me go ‘meh’ (again).

So this makes me say: when sex is the focus of works I could feel like I’m too asexual for this, even if it regards an OTP, it just doesn’t have a very exciting effect on me or I’m not explicitly interested in this part of a relationship, when so many other things caught my eye… sometimes subtle interactions and dialogue and and gentle approximation (touches, caresses, kissing, etc..) is so much more exciting for me to read about than the ‘thing’ itself, lol.

To sum it up: when its there just for p*rn or even worse, shock value it just makes me go ‘meh’ or ‘ugh’ or ‘uhh why am I even reading this?’

This reminds me of Vivi’s take on the ‘hiero gamos’, in this case I just say I might even enjoy the theme as long as the scenes involving sex are meaningful and passionate and the aspect I value the most about them are sublime and platonic instead of carnal but I’m aware the carnal aspects are very important for the characters and the audience so I also worry when I get to show my stories people will think they lack sexual content ^^  I get you.

Now that you know my feelings towards sex in fiction, to a broader sense I just wanted to say..

There’s no way to guess people’s sensitives but it doesn’t mean you need to walk on eggshells afraid to trigger people all the time, hell no! I’m all for freedom of creation. At least around me there are no metaphorical ‘eggshells’.

Everyone has their own set of opinions which makes them unique, not just me, I mean…  even so I will let my snowflake syndrome show but I’m quite peculiar if you could say, so I sort of grew a strong ‘carapace’ towards the world as I deal with people with completely different views and values on a daily basis which might make me have inflamed political opinions while at the same time, I’m very flexible and forgiving when it comes to fiction in general.

I don’t expect much of the population to be like this so I’m also self conscious when it gets to writing my own stuff because I know people can feel very strongly about it and you’ve seen the way fandom reacts to minor things and bash creators when they perceive flaws in their work… I’m just not a judgmental person, its not in my nature. I just ignore things in fiction if I don’t like and I became even more relaxed over time in regards to this all, lol I nearly reached a ‘nirvana’ as I don’t even feel strongly negative feelings in regard to this.

Snarky and bitter comments from time to time? Yes… but no hard feelings. RL needs my hatred, lol so I don’t have it to spare with fiction any longer.

Anyway, on an unrelated sub note… as you might have noticed, I don’t feel comfortable about current fandom trends and specially policing, and with reason as this gets very serious and quick with literally ‘wave chain reactions’ of hatred sparked apparently from nowhere. I hope people could create more freely instead of the political correct police and restraining of creativity we have now. It was good for a while and I’m all for diversity and change in status quo (for the better), but I think this has gone too far and I perceive a lot of rigidity in fiction right now due to fear of fandom backlash we have creators afraid to make their thing and afraid it isn’t ‘inclusive or progressive’ enough… so they bend themselves endlessly until fandom ‘approves’ them, but even so someone is bound to scream and say the work is offensive and the cycle of hatred is restarted.

I know this reply was like a huge egocentric monologue and I strained with non related issues at the end, but you asked my thought on this so I tried to convey it with detail.. including things related to the perception we have concerning fictional themes and I just kinda had to vent at some parts of it.

etc…. This doesn’t mean I forbid judgment from others or criticism or that I forbid people from harshly criticizing works of fiction, just that sometimes it gets more harmful than beneficial and scare people off, and I felt like saying that.

Anyway,,, just want to say nonetheless I find it very sweet and considerate that you are taking different opinions in mind while writing, but you don’t need to worry at least from my part, and I don’t think you ever got even close to being explicit in your writings so there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.

[sisterspace]

A CAUTIONARY TALE AND MANY DREAMS DEFERRED

               On early Sunday morning August 16, 2015 my ex-boyfriend Lamar Davenport murdered his girlfriend E’dena Hines. The other day he was sentenced to 20 years in prison for first-degree manslaughter. It made headlines because she happened to be Morgan Freeman’s granddaughter. I have been having nightmares since she lost her life because I was very well aware of her. He made it official with her right after him and I ended so many years ago. There were many articles that poured out immediately after the murder but none of them touched on what really needed to be said. None of them took the chance to make a statement that would matter. None of them took the opportunity to make sure E’dena Hines’s death was not in vain. Unfortunately this type of crime happens every day, perhaps not as gruesome, but women are killed by people they were in relationships with every day, and there are usually signs. If we can learn to notice these signs then maybe we can prevent more senseless deaths. That is my sole reason for speaking out.

             I wavered back and forth for a while on whether I even wanted to speak on this matter. I am not interested in bashing Lamar (a lot of that has already been done). I am also not interested in defending him. He committed a heinous act and should suffer the consequences for his actions. My only interests are to speak to other women to help them recognize the traits of a potential abuser or an abusive relationship so they can get out, help individuals recognize those signs in their family member or friends so they can push them toward getting help, and to encourage those who are abusers themselves to seek help before they do something they regret for the rest of their lives. I feel my relationship with Lamar could serve that purpose. Many people who are in abusive relationships do not even know it. As with me, this could be happening in your life right now but the picture looks a little different than you expect so you may not notice it.

            I was involved with Lamar for approximately 3 years. We started out as friends and he eventually became my best friend. He was sweet, smart, attentive, and very religious. When we would hang out we would write songs and brainstorm ideas off of each other. My creativity was at its peak when we were together. He was able to make me feel like I was the most special person in the world. I do not know if it was real or not but out of all people I have met I think he believed in me the most, and I believed in him as well. His passion fueled mine. Even with such a positive impact on each other there was still a destructive element to our relationship. Often times our time together included drinking and getting high. Something I would indulge in when we were together because I felt safe with him. Whenever I would get too drunk he would always walk me all the way home. He could be a gentleman like that.

            One night at a mutual friends party I got so drunk I could barely walk without assistance. He wrapped his arm in mine and proceeded to walk me home like usual, but this time I noticed us going toward the roof instead of downstairs out of the building. I remember him laying me down on the floor so I could sleep it off, and waking up to him inside of me. I said to him “What are you doing?” He leaned down and kissed me and said, “It’s alright.” My mind couldn’t decide if this was sweet or was I being violated? But I never imagined violations being so tender. The mixed emotions caused tears to stream down my cheeks. I liked Lamar; in fact I had a serious crush on him at the time. I had imagined us making love one day…. just not that way and not without him actually being my boyfriend first. I tried to push him off but couldn’t muster any strength in my arms. He kissed me again as to comfort me and again assured me it was okay. So I relented. The next morning, not being sure if I dreamed everything I asked him “did we have sex?” He told me “yeah” with a huge grin on his face. It would be some time before I realized that’s actually rape.

             I convinced myself I had an equal part in that night due to being inebriated. So when I found out I was pregnant I decided to “give him a pass” because I loved him and felt he didn’t really mean any harm. The only problem is it later happened again. I say this to say; I have seen how Lamar could get when he is intoxicated so it wasn’t hard to picture what occurred on that fateful August night. If you are someone who notices that situations get out of hand when you get intoxicated then that is something you need to make the sober decision to stay away from. 

            After that night Lamar and I continued to be involved. I figured we had already had sex so we shared a special bond now. I grew more attached to him. As I fell deeper and deeper in love with him the more he seemed to resent me. He constantly spoke of his love for another woman. He was having sex with other women as well which I was in serious denial about. He made disparaging remarks about my appearance and in an effort to find out why he would not commit to me I would ask him what was wrong with me and he would tell me. There was always something wrong or something I was not doing. It killed any remnants of self-esteem I had. “At least he was being honest” I would tell myself. My mind was so mixed up there were times he would physically hurt me and I would end up apologizing to him. Even with all of that, he would always do or say something that would give me hope that one day he’d be committed and I would get all the love I saw he was capable of. I hoped him spending so much time with me would reveal to him that I was the one he needed. Sitting here older and wiser I say to all of the women reading this, if “hope” is a big part of your relationship, let it go. Hope isn’t real. Your relationship needs to be based on the good that is actually happening and not the hope that things would get better or return to the way they once were. If hope is the main ingredient of your relationship take the steps needed to walk away.

            One of the most confusing things is being abused by someone you love. No matter how much you are being hurt, your heart tells you to protect them. We must recognize this and fight those tendencies. One time he punched me in the face in front of his friends and a few days later they were pleading his case to me. “You know Lamar would never intentionally hurt you.” Everyone made me feel like I was overreacting. I did not trust my gut but went along with what was easiest to believe. If these actions mirror those of your friends, please get new friends. Your well-being should be any true friend’s priority. Do not allow anyone to stay in your life that enables your victimization. Also if you have a friend that you constantly witness disrespect their partner, ignoring it or “minding your business” is only encouraging them. Your speaking out maybe what they need in order to get help.  

            One of the things that could have helped me was the school we both attended. When he punched me in the face, instead of counseling me on abusive relationships the staff at the school made it seem like it was a mutual fight. We were not asked any questions to find out the dynamics of our relationship. No one took me aside to talk to me privately. The staff at the school let me down and it also let him down. This could have been an opportunity to teach him anger management techniques that would have saved his life down the line.

             I eventually became pregnant. I was so sick during that pregnancy that I loss the baby and my doctor told me not to have sex for at least 6 weeks. Lamar came over to my house that night extremely high and drunk and tried to have sex. I told him that I could not have sex for 6 weeks. That did not register with him and he took it by force. I was pushing and kicking him off and he overpowered me and had sex with me anyway.  After it was over I was crying and I said to him “You just raped me.” He was furious yelling “how could you say that to me?” “How could you think I would do something like that?” He was so angry that it made me feel guilty for hurting his feelings. I spent the rest of the night apologizing to him and doing things to try and “make it up to him”. This night resulted in my second pregnancy, immediately after the loss of my first one. I endured all the disappointment from my family and friends without saying a word. I allowed everyone to think I was just irresponsible because I wanted my child to have a father. If they were to view Lamar negatively it would turn into a huge mess that I wasn’t ready for.

              Despite us not being in a perfect place I looked very much forward to having my child. One day Lamar told me he would come with me to one of my ultra-sound appointments. I was excited because this was the first one he had been to. He was a little late but he did show up, but he also showed up high. His eyes were glassy and he was acting spacey. I was angry and disappointed that on such an important day with our new life he would bring old habits into the equation. I needed to see him grown up. I needed to see that he could be a responsible father and he was proving otherwise. When we saw our baby on the monitor it was magical and I saw his eyes light up. I knew it meant something to him. When the doctor left the office he started going through the drawers and stealing miscellaneous items. That is when I knew he would not be able to be a responsible father. If I had this baby I would never get away from his destructive behavior and I would be including a new innocent life to the equation. I could not do that, for once I was going to use my better judgment. I told that to Lamar and he said flatly “If you kill my baby, I will kill you.” Part of me believed him but I knew what I had to do. Aborting my child was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make. One I regretted until three years ago. I overlooked what he said but threats should always be taken seriously.

            What finally gave me the strength to leave was reading something he wrote in an online journal all our group of friends had access to, where he described having to “will himself to sleep with me” and how “ sleeping with me was good practice for the woman he actually loved”. Deep down I always feared he felt that way, but it was something about the public humiliation of it and seeing it in writing that cemented it into my heart. Truth is I should not have had to read it to finally get the hint. If only I recognized all the things that all lead to the same destination back then. But hopefully I can prevent someone from needing proof set in stone before they walk away. Your instincts are enough.

            There are many reasons a person maybe attached to a relationship that is not good for them. The up and down feelings can be so intense it is like adrenaline. The connection I had with Lamar was nothing like I had ever felt before. Even today, it is something that I look back on as uncanny. Most people do not understand me, but he got me. Being around someone who understood me without having to say a word was refreshing and something I desperately wanted to hold on to. It was so valuable to me and I never thought I could find it again. But now as I sit here in my 30’s I can say with over 7 billion people in the world there are many people out there who will understand you. It is all about being patient enough to wait until they come into your life. Your life is worth that wait.

            One of the saddest things in this whole situation is all the unrealized talent. Who would be open to Lamar’s talent now? And his talents were breath taking. He was an avid writer. In the years we spent together he had filled about 8 full composition notebooks with songs. Thoughts now run across my mind about his family and all the people dependent on him. He was great with kids and appeared to be nothing but a doting father. His immediate family adored him and he was very much the apple of their eye.

            So is this man who murdered his girlfriend in cold blood evil?  Is he crazy? Did he have some sort of undiagnosed mental illness? Was it the drugs? I don’t know. I have not examined him nor do I have the expertise to diagnose him. I can definitely say he was disturbed but we all just looked at it as part of his quirky personality. There was a lot of missed opportunity for us to get him some help. There were a lot of missed signs. I wonder if others are experiencing as much guilt as I am. We all could have done more to prevent this. He was a powder keg.

            After I got the strength to walk away from him a year or two went by when I received a text message from him out of nowhere. It was an apology. He said he was sorry for everything he put me through and told me I did not deserve any of it. His words seemed sincere. I had not pushed for an apology nor did I hold my breath for one, but I would be lying if I said it did not help with the healing process. It is difficult for me to see someone with remorse as pure evil.

            After his apology there was contact via social media but I stayed out of his life. Lamar is easy to love and a part of me still loved him, but I did not trust his ability to not let chaos into our relationship and I did not trust myself not to slip into the darkness with him again. I knew I had to love him from a distance. That was not easy for me so I developed a tactic to help give me the strength where there wasn’t any. I wrote down all the bad things he had ever done to me and all the negative emotions I felt being with him and I read it every day for a year. Whenever I felt like reaching out and calling him I would read that list and it reminded me what I never wanted to feel ever again. Eventually it got easier and I did not have to look at the list anymore. I suggest whoever is bound to a toxic relationship to develop different techniques that would keep them safe and keep them from going back. 

            A relationship should feel good. You should not feel like you are walking on eggshells, never knowing if you and your partner will have a good day or a bad one. You should not feel anxious that you may say the wrong thing. You should not have to maneuver around their moods.

            I must also say we focus a lot on the woman in domestic situations; teaching women how not to get raped and how to leave abusive relationships, but who is catering to the men? One thing I take from this is that Lamar should have had places to turn to. Men with anger issues sometimes do not know they have a problem because society encourages aggression in men so fits of rage are seen as normal. I would love to see workshops, classes and programs where abusers can go to get help without shame. The only way we end this epidemic is if we include men in the treatments and solutions. Just calling them evil won’t make any man get help, and our goal should be solutions. I would love to see men who overcame this affliction speak out and talk to other men and guide them on how they can rid their violent urges and become better men. 

            Friends and family should speak out when they notice this destructive behavior and when they do they should have a place to refer their family member to, to get help. So far in society we only work on half of the problem.

            I implore women to notice the signs and do not ignore the tales of other women involving your guy. They aren’t just “hating on you” or “mad that he won’t be with them”. I happen to know that E’dena was contacted by other women and in an effort to stay above the fray she chose not to indulge it. I wish she had.

            Lastly the focus of this article was about men abusing women, but abuse can happen between any gender and orientation. Women can abuse men, abuse can take place between same sex partners, inside the LBGTQ community and it can also happen within platonic friendships. Abuse does not discriminate. This is my personal story but I hope this is read and applied to whatever relationship is relevant and I hope it speaks to the heart and gives those who need it the strength required to find peace within themselves.

            As far as Lamar is concerned I would like him to get the help and counseling he needs. I would like to see him not touch drugs ever again. I would like to see him live with a clear mind. I would like to see him get to the bottom of his issues and understand all his mistakes and actively work to not revert back.  Most of all I wish healing for his family, healing for E’dena’s family and for her to be at peace and her life still be able to have an impact.

This can help if:

your partner tries to control your behaviour

your partner threatens to harm you, your pets or people you love

you’re scared of your partner.

Girl facing away from upset boyfriend

Key signs of an abusive relationship

An abusive relationship isn’t just limited to physical violence. It can include sexual, emotional and physical abuse, and may involve control of your finances. Here are some signs to look for.

Possessiveness

They check on you all the time to see where you are, what you're doing and who you're with.

They try to control where you go and who you see, and get angry if you don't do what they say.

Jealousy

They accuse you of being unfaithful or of flirting.

They isolate you from family and friends, often by behaving rudely to them.

Put-downs

They put you down, either publicly or privately, by attacking your intelligence, looks, mental health or capabilities.

They constantly compare you unfavourably to others.

They blame you for all the problems in your relationship, and for their violent outbursts.

They say things like, 'No one else will want you.'

Threats

They yell or sulk, and deliberately break things that you value.

They threaten to use violence against you, your family, friends or a pet.

Physical and sexual violence

They push, shove, hit or grab you, or make you have sex or do things you don't want to do.

They harm you, your pets or your family members.

In Need of Help?

[moodboardinthecloud]

Transcript: Richard Flanagan in Conversation with Ramona Koval

Transcript: Richard Flanagan in Conversation with Ramona Koval

Watch the interview here.

RAMONA KOVAL: Richard Flanagan, it’s a pleasure to have you here. Welcome to the Monthly Book.

RICHARD FLANAGAN: It’s lovely to be here with you, Ramona.

RK: Richard, even though it is about lots of things, including war, sacrifice and courage, this book started with a love story. I wanted you to talk about the kernel of this book, the thing that got you thinking.

RF: Well, my parents used to tell this story of a Latvian man who lived in the town I was born in, Longford in Tasmania. He’d immigrated to Australia in the wake of the war. But at war’s end he’d gone back to his Latvian village, which had been utterly destroyed and with it, he was told, his wife. Everyone said she was dead and he searched for her there; he searched that hellish wasteland that was Europe, in the immediate postwar period, for two years – the refugee camps with the various organisations that were set up for displaced people. And in the end he had to accept that she was dead. He came Australia. After some years, he married a woman here and had children to her. And then in 1957 he went to Sydney; he was walking down the street there and saw his Latvian wife walking towards him with a child on either hand. He had a few moments when he had to make the most momentous of decisions: whether he would acknowledge her, halt and speak to her, and thus set both their lives perhaps on an irrevocably different path, or just walk on by and ignore her. He had to weigh up his love for her then, his love for her now, what that meant – a most extraordinary, I would imagine, avalanche of feelings – and come to a decision. I thought this was the most beautiful of stories because it spoke about love in so many ways. It was very much an image and a story that I built the whole book around. I always saw the couple walking towards each other on Sydney Harbour Bridge because when I’m in Sydney, I like walking across there. It is the most beautiful way to appreciate Sydney. There’s something beautiful, particularly in the afternoon, the way light and shadows fall across those vast ribs. That was the image: a man seeing a woman he thought was dead approaching him, with a child on either hand, and his realising his whole life comes to that point.

RK: So, many of the decisions people make, including those made by characters in the book, are those momentous decisions. Suddenly you’re faced with something: which way do you move? How do you summon up the courage or the strength to go one way or another, and these things can haunt people for the rest of their lives.

RF: Well, I think life’s like that, don’t you, Ramona? It proceeds glacially. Then there are sudden moments and we realise we’ve lived only for those moments, and in those moments everything in our lives is happening and we’re faced with choices. I think this is something not so uncommon to us. It’s just strange how the world proceeds, though, with the illusion of the tramline of progress, and we get off at all stations in equal time. It’s not like that; it’s like a glacier that suddenly carves an iceberg.

RK: In many ways, that scene could have taken place in many of your other books: the man, the villain, the past, the future, the present. What was it about this book that meant it was the nest for that scene?

RF: I really don’t know. I knew that these things were coming together in my mind over 12 years ago, that I wanted a love story. I knew it would be about prisoners of war, or it would have the prisoner of war experience at its centre, and I went up to Sydney and I spent a few days wandering around with Tom Uren, who was in the same camp as my father. I guess I had the whole feeling for novel in my head at that point; I just didn’t have the details, which would take me over a decade to assemble in a coherent fashion and led me through not drafts but really five different novels. There was a novel of linked haiku; there was a novel of haibun, which is a Japanese form, a nature journal written in prose with occasional haikus. I wrote a large Russian sort of war epic with a ridiculously large and impossible to remember cast. I wrote a family epic. I finished each one and then abandoned them because they didn’t work. But I had to write all them to write this final book. There are large elements, even of the linked haiku novel, in this one. So each one clearly had to be written in order for me to write this book, but I wish I could have written it far quicker.

RK: You grew up with some stories from your dad, who was on the Burma railway. What kind of stories did he tell? Of course, the book is dedicated to ... you say the prisoner number.

RF: Prisoner san byaku san ju go, which was number 335, which was my father’s number in the prisoner of war camps, which he taught us as children. We grew up very aware that he’d been a prisoner of war but he didn’t impose it on us; we sort of imbibed it. He didn’t talk about it all the time, by any means, but nor was he silent about it. He would tell these stories really in a querying way. They were gentle, often funny, stories, and there was about them a great humanity and pathos and love. He didn’t dwell on the suffering at all; he really disliked that. He would tell the stories and then think aloud about them, and I remember one time he said that he was very lucky, that they were the best thing that ever happened to him, to be in these camps, because they only had to suffer. He felt that to go to war as a soldier means for most people that you have to inflict suffering, and then, if you survive it, you have to live with the fact that you acted as an agent of evil. He felt they were in a situation where they would discover, not the worst of themselves, but the best. What’s that line of Whitman’s? “I contain multitudes”. I think he slowly came to feel that he contained multitudes, and it was that vast experience, that mad slave system that was this quarter of a million people working naked, or near naked, with tools that would have been used millennia ago to build this extraordinary folly, this railway through the unknown jungle.

RK: You talk of containing multitudes and that he was grateful he didn’t have to inflict punishment or pain on other people. You write in this book from the point of view of the Japanese guards as well because you are interested in the multitudes that were there at the time. Tell us about going to visit and meet some of these people who worked for the Japanese in the camp, which was part of your research for the book.

RF: I think that one of the things that was extraordinarily difficult for the Australian prisoners of war was that the violence in the camps was to them utterly arbitrary, without sense. There was no pattern they could discern, no reason why the violence would suddenly erupt. I think this is immensely spiritually and psychologically destructive for any human being. In fact, I remember years ago reading a study by a Salvadorian psychologists who were Jesuits, who were actually killed by a death squad in the end. They had done a big study on the uses of terror in Pinochet’s Chile. What they discovered was that initially Pinochet had used terror in a systematic way. That is, if you were an intellectual or someone whose politics differed from that of the regime, well, then, you would be picked up and tortured or killed. What Pinochet realised with the advice of psychologists, which was revealing, was that this sort of terror doesn’t frighten people, because they know that if they go silent, if they don’t stand up and oppose, they will be safe. Then they bide their time. It doesn’t mean that the whispering in their hearts ceased. Pinochet’s regime after a year or two, on the advice on psychologists instituted a regime of random terror. They would pick up an old woman, some children from a shopping centre, someone out of a car – utterly random – and their charred bodies might turn up in a gutter two weeks later. That terror, although statistically it was as unlikely to happen to you, really does terrify people because then you do not know when they might come for you. And that was one of the things that was terribly corrosive for the Australians in the prisoner of war camps because the violence seemed completely random. And yet it seemed to me that it would not have been that way to the Japanese, and I have a great love of Japanese literature, and I wanted to try to understand it from the Japanese perspective: why people would have done this. Near the end of writing the novel, I went to Japan to meet some of the former guards who’d worked on the death railway. To answer your question: how’d I meet them? Some Japanese women had come to my father’s house to say sorry to him some years before. They were part of a network in Japan that had campaigned hard to try to get the history curriculum in the schools changed to accurately reflect the reality of Japanese militarism. One of them was a journalist who had done very brave and extraordinary work exposing the horrors of Unit 731, I think it is, the Japanese small army in Manchuria, that did the most horrific biological experiments on Chinese civilians and prisoners. Through these quite extraordinary and brave women I was able to find these guards and make contact with them and go and meet them. I met one who had been the sort of Ivan the Terrible of my father’s camp, who the Australians knew as “the Lizard”. I hadn’t known until five minutes before I arrived at this taxi company in an outer suburb of Tokyo that this man I was meeting was actually the Lizard, and that rather undid me, I must say. He was hated by the Australians for his violence; he was sentenced to death for war crimes after the war; he had his sentenced commuted to life imprisonment, and he then was released in an amnesty in 1956. The man I met though was this courteous, kindly and generous old man. Bizarrely, an earthquake hit Tokyo as I was sitting in the room with him, and the whole room pitched around like a bobbling dinghy in a most wild sea, and I saw him frightened. I realised whatever evil is, it wasn’t in that room with us. I talked with him about his childhood, about the way he’d been press-ganged into becoming a prison guard at the age of 15, how he’d hated the training, which was incredibly violent, and wanted to run away back home. But he knew if he ran away, his father would be punished by the Japanese. He told me how he hated the way the Australians whistled and sang and seemed happy.

RK: Because he was unhappy?

RF: He didn’t say that. He said some quite extraordinary things. He said, I am not Korean; I am not Japanese; I am a man of a colony. That’s how he understood himself, and he saw that his fate was a fairly wretched one and he sort of understood that he’d never be forgiven, and that he had to live with those things. These people are despised by the Koreans, who see them as traitors, despised by the Japanese because they are Koreans. They don’t belong in Korea or Japan; they have a very hard place to live in. These same people often had sisters who ended up “comfort women” for the Japanese. They were inculcated into a culture of extreme violence, and it was understood that if they didn’t in turn inflict this violence onto the prisoners, who they were made to believe were less than human in any case, they would suffer terribly.

RK: But he did stand out for your father and your father’s friends.

RF: He was monstrous. But I wasn’t there to accuse him or judge him. I was there to hear his story, to try to understand what it must have felt like to be condemned to death, to try to feel what he felt about his parents. Really what happened to Japan from the turn of the century up until what we call World War Two, which they call the Great East Asian War, I think a perverse death cult took over the whole society. That death cult meant, for example, the Japanese commandant commanding a section of the line that had to be built, if he didn’t get it built, he would have felt he’d have to kill himself out of shame. Everyone suffered in that death cult. No one’s life had any value. The Australians’ lives had no value, but neither did the Koreans’ and neither did the commanders’. It was an utter perversion of humanity and everyone became trapped in it. I still find it hard to comprehend: more people died on that railway than there are words in that book. More people died on that railway than died at Hiroshima. And yet really outside of Australia, it’s been forgotten. It’s been forgotten by those who were there, such as the Malaysian Tamils, the Burmese, the Thais. It’s an inexplicable story from recent times.

RK: You went back to the railway with your brother, I guess the same way you went to Sydney with Tom Uren. You like to make these sorts of journeys, it seems, on which something might happen, or you might see something? What were your thoughts when you were in the place where the Burma railway was built? Is it all jungle now?

RF: I think it’s very different now. My understanding is that it was much more teak jungle then, and Thailand had a pretty small population. The population has since exploded, and there are a lot of people living in these places now. It really was a fairly remote wilderness even for the Thai and Burmese people. But nevertheless, you still get a strong sense there was a jungly sort of bush there. The railway is mostly overgrown except for those places that have been cleared for the tourists, essentially. But we were able to find my father’s camp and we were able to walk the track through to the railway. We were able to work out where the cholera compound was, where the creek that brought the cholera into the camp was. Once that exists in your head you begin to absorb... I didn’t go there for sensation or cathartic revelation, I went there to feel the humidity, to feel what it was like to move in that humidity, to grab hold of thorny bamboo, to look at the limestone-rock cliffs and the mud and to try to understand what it would be like to walk barefoot through that. To look at the embankments and the cuttings and work out how you would use hand tools to create such things. I carried rocks just to feel what that was like in the heat. I realised the more I opened myself up to that sensory world, then I would have something to draw on when it came to write the book. I think it’s wrong to try to pretend that you can relive that experience or to know that experience. But you can open yourself up to the physical world of it. That for me is a very important tool because you’re writing truths about human beings but they always have to be embedded in that very real, concrete detail.

RK: I wanted to talk about the writing of this book because if I remember parts of the book, of the camp, or some of the engagement of war beforehand, I think of death and heat and hunger and suppurating wounds and filth and shit and sweat. As I read it, I can see that you’re right in there; I’m right in there as a reader, and I notice there are some repetitions of language, of words: death. But I’m not bored by it, I’m going along with you. It’s almost like they rhyme in some way; it’s a kind of poetry. You’ve got me bound, as long as those guys are down there. Tell me about writing that kind of scene and the language that you need to use. I suppose there’s a sort of limitation when it comes to the kind of language you can use.

RF: Well, I’m always interested in trying to make things more readable, and it won’t be news to the followers of your book club that repetition is regarded as very poor writing in modern literature. Modern literature frowns upon it, and editors are trained to strike it out. Modern word-processing programs make it so easy to – well, “global” is the term – global a word to make sure it’s not repeated. But really the great literature always uses repetition to build up rhythms and patterns – essentially the music – and I think we are very tuned in to those musical patterns, and it is those more than even characters or the progress of plot that allow a reader to enter the world of a novel and open up to it. Specifically, that means you might repeat an adverb three times in a paragraph but hopefully artfully enough that the repetition doesn’t strike people but it gives it a tone which is much closer to conversation, where we do repeat words and yet we don’t notice it. You were talking about “death”, and there’s a passage I know you were interested in where the words “death” and “dead” build up a drum-like marshal beat. In one way, it’s a little like the Molly Bloom soliloquy in reverse, but I was also very taken by the power of Paul Celan’s poetry and the way he creates rhythms with language, with his most harrowing of poems about his experience of the holocaust.

RK: He repeats: “Your hair, Margaret, your hair.”

RF: Yeah, that’s the poem. That very famous poem. It repeats the same three or four lines over and over, doesn’t it, with a slightly different patterning of the words, and slowly this universe of horror opens up to you because he manages to convey the sense of a marshal evil, drumming. Within is the doom of you and everything you love. And the drumming grows and grows. I think there is an idea of high modernist prose particularly common with people out of American creative writing schools that actually has lost the importance of those poetic cadences and tropes in the writing of prose.

RK: And you’ve quoted at the beginning Paul Celan’s “Mother”.

RF: Well, Celan was a German speaking and writing Romanian, who lost both his parents in the holocaust. He continued to write in German, and he wrote some of the greatest German poems of the century about the greatest evil the Germans had done. I felt, in a way, that spoke to the challenge I faced, which was to try to write about this great evil that the Japanese people were responsible for, but honouring all that is great and truly beautiful about their culture, and their literature truly is. And so that’s why I called the book, “The Narrow Road to the Deep North”, which is of course the title of one of the most famous works of Japanese literature: A haibun by Basho, the great haiku poet.

RK: And of course the railway is the narrow road too.

RF: And throughout it, there’s a lot of very famous haikus reversed. So things like: “blow after blow, on the monster’s face, a monster’s mask”, which is Basho’s famous haiku: “Day after day / On the monkey’s face / A monkey’s mask”. There are many, many inversions of haikus, which those who know Japanese literature will see very clearly what’s being done there.

RK: Your father died earlier this year. What did he think about you writing this book. He knew you were writing it, you were asking him questions about his experience. He knew you went to Japan; he was worried about you going.

RF: I told him I was going to Japan and that I’d be meeting some guards. Because it was such a vast project, I didn’t think any of them would be people who’d been at his camp; I didn’t think that for a minute. When I got back, I was able to tell him I’d met several guards that had been at his camp, or the death railway or the slave-labour camp he ended up in Japan, south of Hiroshima, that I’d met the Lizard, and that I felt they’d all said sorry. That they’d all, I felt, carried regret and shame. That although they weren’t necessarily entirely honest and that although I wasn’t sure it was possible that they’d ever quite reconcile their souls with what had happened in a fully honest way, I still felt there was something genuine in all this. That there was regret. He suddenly stopped talking and said he had to go, which was unlike him. His mind was still very sharp and he was interested in these things. And later that day he lost all memory of the prisoner of war camps. Nothing else happened to him: his mind remained very sharp and alert in every other way. He knew he’d had this experience – like being in the womb – but he could recall no detail of it. It seemed as if he was finally free of it.

RK: How do that make you feel, as a son and as a writer?

RF: It’s hard for me to talk about. This is really a book about love, written in the shadow of my father dying. I literally finished the final draft on the day he died. In our last conversation, he asked how the book was going and I told him it was finished. I don’t feel the events are connected but nevertheless it is a strange thing to have happen to you – that you would finish such a book and then your father would pass away. In the manner of books, particularly large novels like this, there have been revisions, consequent on copyediting, to be made, and I worked on them thereafter. But the book was done, and then he died, and that’s it. A large part of my life came to a strange conclusion, I guess.

RK: Was it a struggle to have to deal with such – I mean, there are passages of love and sex and fun in this book so I don’t want people to think it’s all very depressing – but tell me about getting down into the dirt, getting down into the mud. How did you manage that each day when you were writing those passages? Was it something you could leave at the end of the day and live your normal life? Did you think, “Oh, I have to go back into that room with these terrible images”? Actually they were images, weren’t they? They were sketches of camp life and cruelty? And there’s a character there who does sketch in your book. How did you manage the emotions of writing those things and living as Richard Flanagan?

RF: Firstly, I should say, to me, the book is an affirmation, strangely, of joy in life. And although it passes through a dark place, I hope it’s uplifting. And people who’ve read it tell me that they do find it that. Because it is really about the beauty of human beings in the most extraordinary circumstances. How did I write it? In the end, after I got back from Japan – I have a shack on a place called Bruny Island, where no one much is – and I went there. And I pretty well lived by myself; my wife used to come down at weekends, and occasionally some friends would turn up, but I was more or less alone in this place by the sea in the bush for the best part of five months. I rewrote the book top to bottom. I’d get up at five and be working by six and work through till I went to bed at nine or ten. I’d go for a swim; I’d do a bit of snorkelling in between and then I’d go back to the book. I had to do that because I had nothing else in me: it all had to go in to the creation of this book. Balzac said he only had one hour of the day to give to life, the rest was for writing his novels, and I didn’t even have that one hour; it all had to be for the novel. These things for most writers are an extraordinary labour; there’s no getting away from it. There’s a very slow crafting of sentences that just takes an inordinate amount of time, and you just have to slowly hew away at it.

RK: The sentence crafting: was that separate from the emotional tenor of the material you were writing about?

RF: I think it’s searching for an accuracy not a description of feeling. And that means then you have to be very disciplined about avoiding emotion, really. I think it was Chekov who said, If you want people to feel sad, never let a tear be seen on the page. You just have to try to accurately describe what your characters are doing and saying and so on, and that’s the labour. I don’t think it’s a case of working yourself into a joyous state or an erotic state or a miserable state, and then writing from that. It’s both simpler and harder: you have to think, how would you describe that particular feeling and how would you write it accurately.

RK: There are some memoirs that have come out of these experiences, that have been written. Which were the memoirs that you found most useful?

RF: I’d grown up reading them. I think the most wonderful are Ray Parkin’s, the greatest war memoirs that Australia’s produced. But I tried not to lean on them too much. Really my biggest influence were just the stories I grew up with and heard from my father. Only my family would know, but the ways in which they are torn apart and reassembled in strange order and strange mismatching would hopefully tell something of my father’s story and yet was a completely different story. The lead character is utterly unlike my father.

RK: The lead character is a person kind of like Weary Dunlop, or who had Weary Dunlop’s job, I suppose.

RF: Weary Dunlop was one of many doctors up there. It was a strange thing but the doctors were the leaders in the camps, and they were idolised by the men. Weary Dunlop is the best known of them. But there were quite a few: Rowley Richards, Arthur Moon, Kevin Fagan, to name just some, and they were all held in equal high regard by the men and performed similarly extraordinary feats as Weary Dunlop. So I was interested in a character who wasn’t seen to be a leader who finds himself in that role and then has to do things, extraordinary things, but doubts his capacity to do them, who feels in a way like a sham and a fraud but who ultimately still does extraordinary things because in a way he was actually being led by the men to do them. It’s a necessary thing. In the same way that Australians talk about mateship as something very simple, but I think it’s a very complex form of human survival, where the mateship in the camps was a system of incredibly strong bonds and loyalties. I don’t think it necessarily meant you even liked someone; it meant you were locked into a pattern of obligation that ensured they would survive, and therefore you had a chance of surviving. An enormous sense of self-sacrifice existed within that, and it’s an extraordinary idea of human behaviour.

RK: It sounds a little bit like Malinowski writing about the Kula Ring or some of these arrangements you find in Polynesia or Melanesia, where tribes are dependent on each other and obligations are built up, and you may not like this person but you trust them. You owe them and they owe you.

RF: Yeah, I think there was a lot of that. I think there was also acts of great altruism as much as there were harrowing stories of betrayal, failings and weaknesses on the part of the prisoners.

RK: You used the word “evil” before. “If evil was here, it wasn’t in this room,” you said when you talked about meeting the guard. Do you believe that there is evil or are people acting because of colonialism or they’re being forced to do this or that, or a kind of mysterious death cult that arises through history? I mean, you were a historian.

RF: I do believe in evil, yeah. I believe in goodness and I believe in love. I think human beings and human history are the consequence of these hugely irrational forces. Much as we want to deny them and corral them, these are the things that propel us, and we carry all of these – the worst things and the best things – within ourselves. I think it was Clint Eastwood who said, “Violence has consequences.”

RK: That great poet!

RF: [Laughs] It has causes too. It’s always wrong to focus on the moment of violence, and think that tells you the whole story. You have to understand what led to it, and what leads to it – my very limited understanding of Japanese history – is that you have half a century of a culture slowly being poisoned by ideas of militarism, of nationalism, of race, and a poisonous religious aspect, which crept in from Zen Buddhism, in the same way that we know so well about Christianity and Europe in the 20th century. All the wickedness and the evil goes back to those people advocating these ideas, and slowly seducing, press-ganging, forcing and finally shaping society in the image of these very evil ideas. Any society can go down that path, and than we all become the agents of evil. So, I think it’s always very important that these things are resisted early on and resisted for what they are at the beginning, because you can do something about them then. By the time you’re building a railway through a wilderness with a quarter of a million slave labourers, it’s a little too late to expect the jailers to behave with any humanity. It’s gone beyond that. But you still have to seek to understand what led to it. I’m not a historian and this isn’t a historical book but it is a book about the truth of human beings, I hope.

RK: Well, it’s a wonderful book, Richard, and it’s always great to talk to you. Thank you for coming in and talking to us at the Monthly Book.

RF: Thank you very much, Ramona. Thank you for everything.

https://www.themonthly.com.au/transcript-richard-flanagan-conversation-ramona-koval

[pretishaarts]

CONSENT IS SEXY

In the UK, 1 out of 5 women will experience sexual assault during their life time. Sucks, right.

In 2017, the Crime Survey UK, reported that 20% of women have experience sexual assault since the age of 16, which is equivalent to 3.4 million women. Approximately, 85,000 women from the ages of 16-59 have experienced rape, attempted rape or sexual assault, meanwhile only 15% of those who experience sexual abuse report to the police. These statistics clearly shows that women of all ages have been taught to feel frightened to stand up towards sexual abuse of men they do not want to engage with, as a result this has led women to post-traumatic stress disorder and emotional responses such as depression, anxiety, guilt, anger etc.

When I first considered writing a manifesto based on sexual consent, a friend of mine asked me who would the target audience be and what level of understanding do I want them to gain after reading this? I answered “everyone.” However, my manifesto is for women, reason why I say women is due to the way society views us. Being a woman myself, I observe the way men degrade us on a daily basis for things that were gifted with, from our knowledge to our sexuality. Therefore, it’s my responsibility to stand up for women and by doing this, I will be discussing about cultural change that we need to help tackle sexual abuse. My aim is to help girls/women become aware of sexual violence that occurs all over the world, meanwhile providing ways to prevent it from happening.

There’s a large number of individuals who are unaware of the meaning consent that have experienced sexual assault in their lifetime. Majority of these victims, blame themselves for the wrongful incident thinking that it’s their fault which isn’t the case at all. I believe that majority of us are told the definition of sexual assault quite briefly rather than in detail, for instance “If you say no but they continue without your consent, then its rape”. However, they’re numerous ways that a person could be assaulted and what bothers me are the number of victims who aren’t aware of this, which leads to predators getting away with it.

Historically, rape culture was entirely normalised in the western world during slavery. Slavers experienced sexual violence on a daily basis, however they didn’t consider their abuse as rape under the logic that their oppressors couldn’t rape someone who consistently wanted to have sex which is totally false. In many cases, rape was only rape if only the victim was a white woman. If black men were accused of sexually assaulting white women, they would face harsh consequences such as lynching or imprisonment. On the other hand, white men wouldn’t face any legal punishment for the same crimes against black women. Black women sexuality has made them unrapeable and unworthy of protection, slavers didn’t have the authority to stand up for themselves without being threatened, abused or murdered by slave masters.

If we compare rape culture during slavery and today, many changes have occurred culturally and politically. According to legal systems in 19th century rape was non-existent amongst slave but currently sexual abuse is recognised and illegal in many countries no matter what race you are. Beliefs have also changed as more people understand that sexual violence is wrong and whoever commits this unjustified act deserves to be sentenced. Although we’ve seen many improvements, culturally, legally and politically, we still have a long way to go in order to see a huge difference especially in third world countries. India is known to be the most dangerous country for women, having the highest rates of sexual abuse experts say that ‘a woman is raped in India every 16 minutes.’ Women are often seen as possessions or objects rather than human beings, which suggests that cultural change doesn’t occur in India quite often. Legally, the system continuously fails women in India by giving little legal assistance to victims.  Moreover, there's hardly any support shown towards rape victims, leading them to fight a lonely battle against their abuser where justice isn’t delivered timely.

The economic, social and cultural contribution of creative industries are key factors of many societies and their policies. There’s various confirmation that precarity, competition and the lack of regulation within these industries is aggravating inequalities with respect to gender, race and class. These cultural patterns create and reproduce the way we think towards sexual abuse, whether it's worth fighting over and what should be accepted as the norm. In order to prevent sexual abuse, this will require action at the individual, educational and governmental levels, starting with public discussions to inform society that sexual abuse is never okay. Organisations can inform others about inequality in different aspects that will help influence culture. Many prevention will help create cultural patterns and reproduce how we think and feel about sexual abuse. Social media has a large impact towards cultural change i.e. Twitter and the prevention of sexual abuse. It’s very accessible for finding information and keeping updated with the latest news, therefore, individuals standing up online for what they believe in, spreading awareness and creating petitions allows us to understand that there’s a shift in cultural change within society as many people become aware of what's right and wrong. This helps create a culture of respect politically and legally by ensuring that the law enforcement takes sexual abuse a lot more seriously.

One big mover and shaker who has a major influence towards spreading awareness of sexual abuse would be Tarana Burke who’s a well-known activist and the founder of #MeToo movement. MeToo is a movement against sexual harassment and abuse in today’s society, which started in 2006 to help raise awareness. The movement is globally recognised and has successfully made an impact to cultural change throughout societies and adjudicative systems, meanwhile uplifting survivors of sexual abuse by letting them know that they’re not alone. Tolerance, silence, acceptance and victim blaming take hold and become the norm. With the MeToo movement, it helps challenge the cultural ground rule that women have no say in who is in their intimate life. The MeToo movement has definitely been the start of cultural change within the creative industries and working environments by determining professional standards. The movement has made organisations reconsiders their policies and guidance by stating what is unacceptable and the consequences you’ll face if you violate these rules stated. This allows women to feel confident enough to speak up on unethical, unprofessional and discriminatory behaviour that we are exposed to. Even though this strategy is very encouraging, there's still a lot of development that needs to happen. However, the movement has made a massive impact in attitudes, behaviours and the contrast in culture especially in creative industries. MeToo movement managed to investigate an abuse of power that has empowered wider discussions about inequalities as many are now confident enough to speak out when we see inappropriate behaviour.

Another method that can be used to spread awareness and condemn sexual abuse within the creative industries would be art. Using art is a very effective way to speak on issues that happens across the globe, this can be expressed through music, shows, poetry, drawing and etc. An American neo-conceptual artist, Jenny Holzer reclaimed the concept of ‘Lustmord’ to discuss rape. Holzer addressed the sexual abuse against women during the Bosnian War in the 1990’s by creating texts from the perspectives of a victim. Holzer writes each line of the poems on women skin and photographs them individually, ‘I want to suck on her to make her respond’ reads one. She ensured that the poems were never read in full to complicate the identities of the victim, observer and the offender, making it difficult for her audience to detect which perspective each line came from.

It’s my duty that through this and other attempts, the next generation of women maintain the power that they own in order to have access to complete freedom by owning their sexuality, fighting for their equality and speaking out without being back lashed. I will be applying this to myself by creating a platform where myself and other women can speak on the harsh reality that we face as rape victim as this allows us to deal with trauma in a healthy way. In conclusion, I strongly believe that sexual abuse is an important issue that we should be well informed on as millions of people have been in this predicament globally. For sexual assault to stop it all begins with what you understand, your morals and what you could do to prevent it from occurring.

LINK TO VIDEO: https://vimeo.com/450350632

References:

https://rapecrisis.org.uk/get-informed/about-sexual-violence/statistics-sexual-violence/

https://www.unwomen.org/-/media/headquarters/attachments/sections/library/publications/2019/discussion-paper-what-will-it-take-promoting-cultural-change-to-end-sexual-harassment-en.pdf?la=en&vs=1714

file:///C:/Users/preti/Downloads/Hennekam_et_al-2017-Gender_Work__Organization.pdf

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_sexual_slavery_in_the_United_States

https://www.dw.com/en/what-is-behind-indias-rape-problem/a-51739350

https://exhibitionfem.wordpress.com/2015/02/24/lustmord/

[littleglassanimalwrites]

Begin By Letting Go

Cullen somehow finds himself in an Orlesian pleasure house with Dorian and has no idea he’s to meet and spend several nights with an old friend of Dorian’s.

Nothing turns out quite how he expects it, much to his surprise.

Chapter Two: Between The Happiness And The Hardness

Click to read on ao3!

Summary:

In which our favorite Commander contemplates murder, but decides to forgo the action in favor of his own piqued curiosity.

Notes:

I apologize for taking so long to update....I was getting over an illness and my muse has been resting in its wake. Hopefully, my updates will be much more frequent from here on out! ^_^

-----------------------------

"Maker's breath..." Cullen's quiet voice tumbled from his lips into his glass, and his words promptly drowned themselves in his wine in embarrassment of his surroundings. From the moment he'd first stepped foot into the foyer of the lavish estate house, his face had been doing a wonderful job of mimicking the brightest shade of beet known to man.

To be fair, he'd never really been all that comfortable when it came to....ladies of the night. His comfort level was at its absolute lowest despite - or perhaps because of - the fact that this establishment was incredibly high class. What little bit he did see before sticking to the safe view of his boots and then his hands on the table had him wishing he'd refused Dorian's request for his company on this visit. Looking back on it now? Well, it was a weak ploy to get him laid, it would seem.

"What was that, Commander?" Cullen's permanently downcast eyes made a quick trip to Dorian's face to see the smug man giving him one of his signature smirks. Cullen's own scruff twisted into a scowl as his eyes once more made intense study of his glass of wine. He slowly spun the expensive cut crystal vessel between his fingers and watched as the small light from the candle at their table played against the cross sections in rainbows. "You know very well what I said, Pavus. Remind me again why we're here?" He squinted at his wine as though it had committed some atrocity against him before lifting the glass to his lips. He knew well that the alcohol was doing no favors for his reddened face, but if he was to be here, he might as well have a bit of liquid courage for whatever was to come.

Be it Dorian's murder or some other fateful event that would end in the man's death.

"You wish to know why we're here? Or would you rather recount how I tricked you into coming in the first place?" Cullen was met with an amused laugh in reply, and it took everything he had not to go running for the front door. Maker forbid he embarrass himself any further already, though. No, he would stay put and do his best to think of creative ways to end his friend. A strong hand clapped onto his shoulder and Dorian leaned closer to Cullen's line of sight. "We are here because of someone who is very dear to me. Don't look so glum, friend. She is a much better chess player than I could ever aspire to be." He could see Dorian's mustache twitch slightly with a smile, and Cullen's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly at the thought of a heated chess match.

They instantly tightened back up at the thought that perhaps this match would be expected to be played in the nude. As though he could read the Commander's mind, Dorian burst into laughter and slapped him gently on the back. "Oh, to be inside of your head at this very moment. I do so wonder what sorts of sordid thoughts run rampant inside of that righteous mind of yours." Dorian tilted his own crystal wine glass to his lips and sipped long before once again offering Cullen a wicked smile. "I imagine you're not quite so chaste as we all imagine you are. Though, to be fair, I have imagined you in many unchaste positions."

Andraste preserve him, but he wished he could quietly slip into the void and disappear from this place.

"Sit easy, Commander. Finish your wine in peace while I search out my friend." One last slap on the back was the only indication that Dorian had left him to his cups and not so chaste thoughts. He almost wished Dorian hadn't left. Without his eccentric friend's teasing banter, Cullen was better able to hear the various conversations going on around him.

"Whatever shall we do about your very LARGE problem?" He groaned internally. For an Orlesian affair, the women here were absolutely shameless.

"I bet you did not find anything out to sea quite as pretty as MY pearl, Captain."

Cullen could have crawled under his table and absolutely died. Between suggestive sentences and demure giggles lay an entire world of action and motion that he was not entirely familiar with. Not to say that he wasn't entirely unfamiliar, just not as well versed as those in the room around him. It made him incredibly uncomfortable and he wanted nothing more than to leave. But, at the same time, he did not wish to disappoint his friend who continued to insist that Cullen would find a suitable chess match despite knowing that he was not this type of man - the type to frequent a house of flesh.

He wished he still thought they were visiting his friend's estate house. At the very least, he was lucky the women in the room seemed to be avoiding him thus far. Was it because they thought he was here with Dorian?

"Little bird, you look absolutely ravishing. I think that Orlais agrees with you." Cullen glanced towards the hallway Dorian had disappeared into, but it would seem the man's eloquent voice was the only thing to make an appearance thus far. Sometimes Dorian was too loud for his own good. He quickly turned his eyes back to the table before they fell upon some unwanted sight in the room. "Of course I look ravishing, Wren. I would not be seen any other way." A pair of low laughs twined together as the sounds came closer. He still was not able to hear Dorian's friend, but he would be damned if he would move his gaze from his hands.

Cullen grew worried when Dorian's voice fell to a quiet whisper, and he was no longer able to hear what was being said behind him. It caused his back and neck to itch in the worst way. He had to fight his warrior's instincts to not have his exposed back to the open room, and without realizing it, he'd reached to the back of his neck and began trying to rub the sensation away. He could feel eyes on the back of his head as though it were painted with a target. He tilted his head to the side and rolled his shoulders, and he was about to turn around to face Dorian and his friend when a quiet and slightly hoarse voice met him at his left elbow instead.

"Commander Rutherford? I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

Sorry to have kept him waiting? She said it as though it had been his idea to come here in the first place. He turned to say as much to Dorian, but instead was met with a lone woman wearing an incredibly endearing smile.....complete with dimples.

It completely threw him for a loop, and his hand once more reached to the back of his neck. "I - we were not waiting long at all, milady. That is, I mean....there is no reason for you to apologize." Maker, he was rambling. Gather your wits, man. He watched as her smile turned a little wider on one side, which gave her a mischevious sort of look. It was a smile that said she found his rambling amusing. His eyes moved from her mouth - and dimples - to take the rest of her in as she spoke.

She had a warm and honest sort of face, though he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was that made him think this. Her clear blue eyes were slightly uptilted at the outer corners, and her dark lashes matched her dark hair - black hair, though it was hard to tell in the dark room. It fell to her waist in soft waves save one braid that peeked out from behind her neck to fall across her bare shoulders, though bare was not entirely a true statement. Her neck and what he could see of her chest was covered in pale, almost opalescent tattoos in a design that seemed to scratch at the back of his memory. He was almost afraid to move his gaze too far down on the off chance she was not dressed properly, but his curiosity got the better of his embarrasment. The dress she wore was unlike anything he'd seen and definitely did not follow any of the fashions he'd seen in Orlais. Instead of being shaped like a puffed out mop complete with handle and covered in frills and lace, her dress instead dared to flow naturally over her form like a lazy stream. The midnight blue of the fabric seemed to make her eyes stand out, and dotted here and there were tiny silver emrboidered stars that shone randomly as she moved in the candlelight. Her fingers were adorned with only two small rings, and she wore no other jewelry that he could see. She was, thankfully, in direct opposition to all of the noble ladies he'd come into contact with.

"Dorian asked me to send his apologies for running off on you, but he had scheduled a massage. Being late to a massage with Frederick just isn't done." Her crooked smile once more evened out, and she tilted her head to the side as though she was assessing the man seated in front of her. "So Commander, why don't we take this chance to disappear? There are entirely too many eyes and ears in this parlor." Her slightly hoarse voice was still quiet as she spoke, and Cullen wondered if perhaps she was getting over some illness that had caused stress upon her voice. He was also becoming aware of the fact that she had an accent that he could not quite place. She was not Tevene and she definitely wasn't Orlesian. His brows furrowed for only a moment as he made a decision, but his instinct to retreat from this public room got the better of him. "I was told there would be chess." For the first time since he'd stepped foot into this Maker forsaken place, Cullen's mouth turned up in a genuine smile.

Leave it to him to come to a high class Orlesian pleasure house to play chess.

[igiti2019]

Day 15 (6/2)

I’m running out of introductory sentences for these entries, but my oh my what a great day!!! It started early, at 7:30 when I woke up naturally and decided to stay awake. At 8:30, Ndoli, our cab driver, arrived at the apartment to pick us up. Today is car-free Sunday in Kigali, so we needed to leave the apartment early to ensure that we would have enough time to find a route around the closed roads to get to the Marriott Hotel. Car-free day happens once a month, and shuts down the major streets in Kigali for a few hours in the morning, during which there are organized gatherings to run, play soccer, walk, do anything active. It’s an initiative started by the current government, and it’s meant to bring awareness not to air pollution, but to exercise and health!! The idea is that during those hours people will all run, and if there are any illnesses that they didn’t know they had, the symptoms will show themselves after running for a few hours. Anyways we were going to the Marriott Hotel because the founder of possibly Kigali’s most well-known tour company went to Yale, and he offered us a 50% discount on a day-long tour!! At the Marriott we met our tour guide, Eric, and the other 5 people in our tour in a gift shop with incredibly beautiful but incredibly expensive goods handmade by women around Rwanda. Our tour group consisted of us three, an older man from Germany and his friend from Singapore, a Harvard grad student named Stella working on a degree in international development, a Stanford medical resident named Andrea (both of them also working in Kigali), and an older woman named Jan from England. At 9:30 we all boarded onto the bus and we were off! Our very first stop was a wall featuring murals from artists commissioned by the government to depict Rwanda post-genocide. Eric walked us through what each mural meant, from “Thinking outside the box” to gender equality. As we were walking slowly along the wall, which was the wall of a primary school playground, the children of the primary school would come running up to us in small groups, waving, high fiving, giggling, they were so damn cute it hurt. At the end of wall at the top of the hill our tour bus met us and we got back in to go to our next destination – A MARKET!!!!!! This market made me ABSOLUTELY elated. Not only did it remind me of the medinah where I lived in Morocco, but everyone’s smiles when I said “Murakoze!!” (Thank you!!) warmed my heart. And the walk through the market ended with Eric purchasing, washing, cutting up, and serving us locally grown bananas, passion fruit, tree tomatoes, and mandarin oranges, which we ate huddled together in the middle of the market, with more adorable children surrounding us again. Also inside the market we got to smell and guess the contents of different containers holding spices, help a woman empty out her pea pods, and taste sorghum used for making beer. Our next destination was a milk bar, something that’s very popular in Rwanda. We grouped around a small table and were each served a glass of first fresh naturally sweet whole milk, and then a glass of fermented milk which was somewhere between buttermilk and greek yogurt. Both types of milk were distinct from each other, and the smell of the sweet whole milk made me realize that all of Kigali smells like milk. After the milk bar, which was in the Muslim neighborhood of Kigali, we went to a mosque where I was PUMPED to hear the PRAYER CALL!!!!! It sounded ENTIRELY different from the one that I heard 5 times a day in Morocco, it was much more sing-songy, and of course the accent was different, but it made me so happy. We didn’t go inside the mosque, only stood outside between the mosque and a soccer field where what looked like a high school game was going on. Then we got back in the bus and went to Mount Kigali!!!!! We drove to the top of it (somehow) and only walked a couple hundred meters from where we parked to a beautiful clearing that offered a near-perfect view of hilly Rwanda. Unfortunately it was very cloudy today, which is why I say near-perfect. But Eric told us that on clear days you can see volcanoes from the top of Mount Kigali. We took plenty of pictures, with the younger people in the group (us three) standing on the rock at the very edge for pictures, and then started back towards the bus. On our way back we saw a group of young adults in the woods dressed in traditional Rwandan attire, dancing to music for what I think was some type of video project. They told us that the theme of the project was “Peace” and dressed Zodi, Ananya, Stella, Andrea, and me up in their outfits. Eric was happy to indulge and let us experience such a rare opportunity, but eventually we needed to get back to the bus because we had a lunch reservation, and the dancers were upset that we couldn’t stay. Of course I don’t speak Kinyarwanda, but I think that they wanted us to be a part of their project, and said that Eric didn’t believe in peace if he didn’t let us be a part of their project. Anyways we did have to go, so we got back in the bus and went to a restaurant that I’ve forgotten the name of, and said goodbye to the two tourists from Germany and Singapore who were only doing the half-day tour. The rest of us went to the restaurant, and I had my first traditional Rwandan meal!!!!!!!!!!!! The main thing I was SO excited for is called Ubugali, and I’ve been wanting to try it since we arrived. It’s cassava flour and sorghum flour mashed together and formed into a very malleable texture that you use as a spoon sort of for the vegetables, meats, stews, etc, on the table. The dishes that we used the ubugali for included stewed bananas and peas, tilapia, beans, potatoes, and a ground-up leafy vegetable whose name I forget. Also a very spicy chili sauce called “chili secret”. After lunch we went to Question Coffee which made Ananya, Zodi, and me very happy, and made us feel super cool being recognized by the employees like the true locals that we are. We all got coffee and were able to sit down for a while which was nice after eating such a filling meal on a hot day. I got, of course, cold brew. While everyone was ordering, Eric and I talked about coffee in Rwanda, and he recommended some other cafés that Ananya and I have yet to try out. Then, once we were all sitting, Eric filled us all in on the history of the social enterprise funded by Michael Bloomberg that became Question Coffee. Once we were finished with our drinks, we got back in our trusty bus and went to Nyabarango river, a small river that flows into the Nile. At this river there are boats for people who are denied access onto public buses because they have too much luggage, so they cross the river in a small boat. We all boarded on one of these boats for a blissful two minutes before we were already at the other side. Once on the other side we started a steep ascent up a hill, and oH MY GOD SO MANY LITTLE TINY CHILDREN RAN UP AND HUGGED MY LEGS AND I HAD TO STOP AND HUG EVERY SINGLE ONE AND I THINK I’M OVULATING OR SOMETHING BECAUSE WOW THESE KIDS WERE SOMETHING ELSE. The hugs made my ascent a little bit slower, but we did finally get to the top and finally walked on level ground to get back in our bus. On the way to the bus MORE kids (equally adorable but older) followed us and waved and giggled, even chasing our bus once we were inside. It was a quick bus ride after that to our last stop, the Rwanda Genocide Memorial. Here, Eric left us to have an hour in the memorial before meeting our bus driver to go home, because he had to go to a meeting back at the Marriott. The memorial was of course intense. I don’t know if I’m willing to or capable of explaining it in this blog, but I will say that anyone who wants to spend any time in Rwanda should be required to visit RGM. There’s only one way to go through the memorial, so we were all kind of together, but going at our own paces. After a very quiet hour of reading and watching, we reconvened in the parking lot and led the bus driver to our various stops. We all exchanged numbers and created a WhatsApp group to exchange pictures, and Andrea said that she wanted to meet us for a wine night at Judith’s place, Flute! Once at the apartment we gave Anita our laundry, Ananya and Zodi went to the convention center, and I took a moto taxi to Java House, where I am now. When I got here I was warmly greeted by the waiters and the manager, and I sat down at a table outside to read for about an hour, until Benny (one of the waiters) told me that a booth cleared up inside. The manager even offered me a drink on the house tonight!!! So I’m currently drinking a large green tea with honey, just read for about two hours, and I’ll read again after posting this blog and photos.

[astro-bird]

Get it Together BSU

Alright children, buckle in cause this is going to be a long ride.

Earlier this week, the facebook page for Boise State School of public service shared an opinion piece written by Scott Yenor, a tenured political science professor. The title of the piece? “Transgender Activists are Seeking to Undermine Parental rights.” I’m disappointed in my alma mater to say the least, and even more disappointed in the response of the school of public service to the back lash. But let’s start at the beginning with the “article” itself.

I won’t link to it, cause I don’t want the Daily Signal to get any more views than it already has, but I will quote large sections of it in order to give context.

Radical feminists aspire to revolutionize society in three ways.

First, they seek to eliminate the different ways boys and girls are socialized, so that they will come to have very similar characters and temperaments.

Second, they seek to cultivate financial and emotional independence of women and children from the family.

Third, they hope to erase sexual taboos, embracing new ways for individuals to achieve sexual satisfaction outside of monogamous, procreative marriage.

So...I don’t entirely get why any of this is a problem? And it’s not like feminists are hiding that these are their goals. Great start.

Same-sex marriage undermined sex roles within marriage. It put children ever more outside the purpose of marriage. It reinforced the idea that all means of sexual satisfaction are equal.

Again, not sure what the problem is. Didn’t know children was ever the sole purpose of marriage either. 

Parental rights are related to the age of consent, which states protect in order for children to give time and space to become mature, independent adults. Americans do not want their children overly sexualized, and they respect the right of parents to educate their children.

Alright, we’re getting into the purpose of this article. We’ve got a brief explanation of parental rights. 

Transgender rights activists are seeking to abridge parental rights by elevating the independent choices of young children. Respecting the sexual and gender “choices” of ever-younger children erodes parental rights and compromises the integrity of the family as an independent unit.

I’ve got two things to say to this. 1. Children have rights as well. Parental rights don’t take precedent over the child’s rights. 2. The idea of an independent, nuclear family unit is a recent development in society. It developed in the 40s when a “family” could reliably be supported on one income. For most of human history, the raising of children was a community effort.

American states such as Minnesota are now promoting the transgender ideology in elementary schools against the wishes of parents. They have made “gender identity” toolkits available to kindergarten teachers, so that 5-year-olds can learn to explore their identities.

These laws, and others like them, aim to make children independent of their parents and to bless their sexual exploration even at a young age. They undermine the foundation of educating children toward marriage and family life.

Apparently exploring how a child identifies themselves is sexual exploration. Cause gender identity and sexual orientation are apparently the same thing? No one tell this guy about this children’s book. Also, um, it’s perfectly normal for children to explore their sexuality?

And all of this is ignoring the fact that GENDER is not the same as SEXUALITY.

Around half of American women of childbearing age do not have children, so parental rights will not in the future be respected because majorities of Americans are actually parents.

Those interested in securing parental rights must see these rights protected in law and promoted in public opinion, and more and more must come to see that the public interest is promoted through respecting parental rights even though they are not parents.

Again our lovely professor makes a point that I see nothing wrong with. So what if women aren’t having children as much? What’s actually wrong with that? Also, assuming I’m reading this horribly phrased sentence correctly, if the majority of Americans are not parents, we’ll still have parental rights, whether that’s for better or worse. Cause we’ve got this whole thing here about protecting minorities. Something I imagine this guy is probably against.

Essentially, this whole argument boils down to “children can do things and that’s bad cause family.” It’s a badly made argument, that honestly doesn’t even have much to do with transgender identities. He seems to have a problem with the whole concept of seeing children as people.

So that’s the article in question. Shared by the school of public service. And here we reach the crux of why this is a problem. The piece by Yenor contained the trifecta of homophobia, misogyny, and transphobia. Unsurprisingly, people were not happy that a page affiliated with a school with this quote on their shared values page:  “Being civil means being constantly aware of others and weaving restraint, respect and consideration into the very fabric of this awareness,” (Forni, 2002, p. 9). So, after more than a hundred comments decrying this piece as not upholding BSU standards, how does the school of public service respond?

** Editorial Policy ** The School of Public Service Facebook page exists to promote the programs and institutes of the Boise State School of Public Service. We share the published work of our faculty not to endorse the ideas or opinions expressed, but to encourage robust discourse. Our faculty maintains a diversity of thoughts and opinions and the School shares those expressions in the interest of encouraging the civil dialogue necessary for an open and democratic society. We encourage students, faculty, and staff at Boise State, and the general public, to share their opinions on any post. And competing perspectives are always encouraged. This is a forum that we have opened for the free expression of ideas. However, if you believe content here violates Facebook’s community standards, please contact Facebook; if you believe content here constitutes harassment or otherwise constitutes speech not necessarily allowed in this forum, please email reportdiscrimination@boisestate.edu. Posts and comments will not be deleted by the University unless they constitute speech that the University determines is not Constitutionally protected.

“Encourage robust discourse” and “civil dialogue”? Because debating the validity of subsets of humanity has worked out great in the past. See slavery, the holocaust, etc. While the piece may not directly constitute harassment, I know I wouldn’t feel comfortable in a class taught by this guy. That doesn’t exactly promote an inclusive campus.

The facebook page further went on to share this article in an attempt to remain “neutral” and “balanced.” I mean, cool article but I have to wonder if they would have shared it if there hadn’t been such a backlash to the Yenor piece. Also isn’t a “published work of our faculty.” Just saying.

Then...THEN we got a wonderful non-apology apology posted at 9 pm on Saturday night. Let’s go through that shall we?

The decision to post the article was not an attempt to endorse Professor Yenor’s opinions or arguments, but rather the result of a decision rule that our Facebook administrator highlight the published work of faculty across the School.

...Okay.

“Content neutrality” is a fine guideline in principle, but it masks the broader dilemma facing higher education today. We encourage our faculty to engage in important public discussions and to help inform those debates with their disciplinary knowledge because we think that public higher education promotes core democratic values. Additionally, and as importantly, we strive to be an inclusive campus in which students, staff, and faculty are welcomed, respected, and valued.

Two things. “Broader dilemma facing higher education today”? I think I see where this is going. Second, Yenor’s piece clearly did not make people feel welcomed, respected and valued.

As we prepare students to be effective participants in a diverse democracy, we recognize that intolerance undermines core democratic values and indeed does violence to our community. The vast majority of the time, these two values are mutually reinforcing. But in this case it is clear that they are in conflict.

Alright, acknowledgment that this piece was a problem!

It saddens me that our alumni, students and others are disappointed in the University and have been made to feel demeaned and further marginalized. I sincerely apologize that by drawing attention to Professor Yenor’s piece we have given the impression that we are in agreement with his perspective and worse that we do not value or respect the diversity of our students, faculty, and staff. To be clear, the School of Public Service does not endorse the opinions expressed in Professor Yenor’s piece in The Daily Signal or the scholarly writing upon which that piece is based.

Look at that carefully worded phrasing! “Been made to feel.” Not “feel demeaned” but “made to feel.” Do you see what they did there? That simple inclusion puts part of the blame on the people feeling demeaned! To the rest of this part? ...Okay.

But at the same time, I am not willing to condemn Professor Yenor’s scholarship and writings or worse, agree with those posters who question why university faculty should be engaging in public debates at all. In talking with faculty and staff from diverse political perspectives across the country I worry deeply about the contemporary political environment and the chilling effect it is having on discourse at public universities.

And there it is. “I won’t condemn these hateful, bigoted remarks.” And bonus! PC culture is ruining higher education!

The “apology” then goes on to talk about some event thing I have no knowledge of so I won’t comment on it. 

As the New York Times put in a recent OpEd, college campus should not be in the business of providing a smooth passage across an ocean of ideas. Instead, the truth emerges from a "contest of perspectives and an assault on presumptions."

I think they missed the key part here. OpEd. OPINION. That does not mean it is fact. And I don’t believe any colleges are “providing a smooth passage.” Students are reacting by making “an assault on presumptions.” And universities are calling them whiny babies. I don’t believe students are expecting to be coddled, I think they’re just fighting back to not let harmful ideas be given a platform for communication. Maybe if we stop trying to debate these people, we can actually have more important discourse. People are tired of arguing “I am a human and I deserve respect.” We want to start talking about more than basic rights. We want to progress as a society. 

But anyway, the rest of the “apology” is rather boring stuff along the lines of “we’re good people” and “my free speech!” I don’t think it requires much of a response since it’s just a lot of meaningless talk.

The “apology” was signed by the dean of the School of Public service, and has been receiving just as much backlash as the rest of this debacle. It would have been easy for him to instead say “we apologize for posting such an inflammatory article. We’ll screen further articles more carefully in the future.” There. Done. No need to go on a rant about how we’re all little babies that need coddling. We’ve heard it a million times before and we’re sick of it. 

I can only hope that the university at large will make a statement condemning Yenor’s viewpoint.

[avonromance]

Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows excerpt - Coming soon from William Morrow

Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows by Balli Kaur Jaswal is a lively, sexy, and thought-provoking East-meets-West story about community, friendship, and women’s lives at all ages—a spicy and alluring mix of Together Tea and Calendar Girls!

Nikki lives in cosmopolitan West London, where she tends bar at the local pub. The daughter of Indian immigrants, she’s spent most of her twenty-odd years distancing herself from the traditional Sikh community of her childhood. When her father’s death leaves the family financially strapped, Nikki impulsively takes a job teaching a "creative writing" course at the community center in the heart of London’s close-knit Punjabi community.

When one of the widows finds a book of sexy stories in English and shares it with the class, Nikki realizes that beneath their white dupattas, her students have a wealth of fantasies and memories. Eager to liberate these modest women, she teaches them how to express their untold stories, unleashing creativity of the most unexpected—and exciting—kind. But when some of the class erotica is shared among friends, it sparks a scandal that threatens them all.

Read an excerpt for this spicy and fun novel before it goes on sale 6/13 below. Find out more about this novel here 

Around the corner from the car park, Nikki had discovered a spot where she could hide and have a cigarette before class. Here the temple was completely cut off from her view. She shook a cigarette from its pack and lit it. Her shift at O’Reilly’s last night had felt longer than usual and she found herself looking forward to tonight’s lesson. Nikki finished her cigarette and entered the community centre building, running straight into Kulwinder Kaur on the stairwell.

‘Oh hello,’ she said.

Kulwinder’s nose crinkled. ‘You’ve been smoking. I can smell it on you.’

‘I was standing near some smokers, and . . .’

‘Maybe these excuses work on your mother, but I know better.’

‘I don’t think my smoking should be your concern,’ Nikki said, straightening her shoulders.

There was heat in Kulwinder’s stare. ‘The behavior of an instructor is my concern. The women look to you for guidance. I don’t know how they’re supposed to respect any instructions that come from the mouth of a smoker.’ ‘I’m doing everything that’s expected of me in the classroom,’ Nikki said. She made a mental note to cut short the storytelling session in favour of a grammar lesson in case Kulwinder did a spot check.

‘Let’s hope so,’ Kulwinder said. Nikki wedged past her uncomfortably on the stairs and found that all the women had arrived promptly. Tarampal had chosen a seat a noticeable distance from the others. ‘Nikki!’ Sheena called. ‘I’ve written a story. It’s a combined effort from all of us.’

‘Wonderful,’ Nikki said.

‘Can you read it aloud to the class?’ Preetam asked.

‘I think Nikki should read it,’ Sheena said.

‘In a minute,’ Nikki said. ‘I’ll just set some work for Bibi Tarampal here.’

‘Don’t bother with me,’ Tarampal sniffed. ‘I’ll just be working on my A-B-C book.’

‘For what?’ Arvinder asked. ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport.’

‘I’ll learn to write soon and you’ll still be illiterate,’ Tarampal shot back.

Nikki pulled up a chair next to Tarampal and searched for the page on linking vowels and consonants. There were pictures representing each simple three-letter word. CAT. DOG. POT. 

‘I don’t know all of these letters,’ Tarampal complained. ‘You haven’t taught them all to me.’

‘Do the ones you know,’ Nikki said gently. ‘We’ll work on the others together.’

Nikki was aware that the women were watching her very closely as she began to read their story. Her Punjabi was rustier than she expected and Sheena’s rushed handwriting was unlike the careful print in the books she had learned from. ‘I’m not sure if I can read this, Sheena,’ Nikki said, squinting at the page.

Sheena shot up from her seat. ‘I’ll do it then.’ She took the papers from Nikki. The other women sat up in their seats, their faces wide with anticipation. Watching them, Nikki had the dreadful sense that somebody was out to play a joke on her. Sheena began to read. ‘This is the story about a man and a woman taking a drive in a car. The man was tall and handsome and the woman was his wife. They didn’t have any children and had lots of free time.’ Sheena paused for effect and glanced at Nikki before continuing.

‘One day they were driving along a lonely road and they were running out of petrol. It was dark outside and they were scared. It was also cold, so the man stopped the car and hugged the woman so she would stop shivering. She was actually pretending to shiver. She wanted to feel the man’s body. Although she had felt his body many times before, she wanted to be with him in this dark car.

‘He began to feel quite like a hero because he was protecting his wife. He moved his hands down her back to her bottom and gave it a squeeze. She leaned closer to him and gave him a kiss. With her hands, she also moved down—’

‘Okay that’s enough,’ Nikki said. She took the story from Sheena and told her to have a seat. All of the women in the class were giggling except Tarampal, whose face was buried in her book. Nikki scanned the page. A sentence caught her eye: His throbbing organ was the colour and size of an aubergine, and as she gripped it with her hands and guided it towards her mouth, he became so excited that his knees began to shake. Nikki gasped and dropped the pages on the desk.

The women were laughing loudly now, and their voices had begun to echo down the corridor. They reached the doorway of Kulwinder Kaur, who turned to listen but the sounds just as quickly settled down.

‘What’s the matter?’ Sheena asked.

‘This is not the type of story I had in mind,’ Nikki said.

‘You can’t be too surprised. You read stories like this yourself,’ Manjeet said. ‘You bought us an entire book of them.’

‘I bought the book as a joke for my sister!’ That said, Red Velvet had graduated from the charity shop bag to Nikki’s bedside table, from where she had no intentions of removing it.

‘I don’t get the joke. Were you supposed to buy her a different book?’ Preetam wondered.

‘She’s a bit reserved,’ Nikki said. ‘I thought the stories would remind her that she needed to lighten up, that’s all.’ Were the widows smirking? They appeared to be challenging her. She cleared her throat. ‘I think we’re done with stories for now.’

The women groaned when Nikki presented the alphabet chart. ‘Today we’ll review consonants.’

‘Oh, not that bloody thing,’ Arvinder said. ‘A for apple, B for boy? Don’t treat me like a child, Nikki.’

‘Actually “A” is a vowel. Remember? What are some other vowels?’

Arvinder scowled and said nothing. The other widows stared back blankly as well.

‘Come on, ladies. These are important.’

‘Last time you said we could do storytelling during these lessons,’ Preetam protested.

‘Right. I probably shouldn’t have said that. The fact is, I was hired to teach you all to write. I need to honour that promise.’ She glanced once more at the pages on the desk. If Kulwinder knew about this story, she’d accuse her of deliberately setting the women on the wrong path.

‘Why don’t you like Sheena’s story?’ Preetam asked. ‘I thought modern girls prided themselves on being open-minded.’

‘She doesn’t like it because she’s just like everybody else,’ Arvinder said. ‘All those people who say, “Take no notice of those widows. Without their husbands, they’re irrelevant.”’

‘That’s not what I think of you,’ Nikki protested, although Arvinder’s observation was not far off the mark. She had certainly expected these widows to be more impressionable than they turned out to be.

‘We’d be invisible in India,’ Arvinder said. ‘I suppose it makes no difference that we’re in England. You must think it’s wrong of us to discuss these things because we shouldn’t be thinking of them.’

‘I’m not saying your story was wrong. It was just unexpected.’

‘Why?’ Sheena challenged. ‘Because our husbands are gone? Let me tell you, Nikki, we have plenty of experience with desire.’

‘We talk about it all the time too,’ Manjeet said. ‘People see us and assume that we’re just filling our empty evenings with gossip but how much of that can one do? It’s far more fun to discuss the things we miss.’

‘Or what we were never given in the first place,’ Arvinder said dryly.

Laughter rippled though the classroom. This time the noise pierced Kulwinder’s concentration just as she was about to solve a row in her sudoku puzzle.

‘Keep your voices down,’ Nikki pleaded.

‘Come on, Nikki,’ Preetam urged. ‘This will be fun. I’ve got a story brewing in my mind. A more satisfying series finale to my favourite television drama.’

‘Do Kapil and Anya finally get together?’ Manjeet asked.

‘Oh, and how,’ Preetam said.

‘There are stories about men and women that I tell myself when I’m lying awake at night,’ Manjeet said. ‘It’s better than counting sheep or taking Rescue Remedy. It helps me to relax.’

‘I’m sure it does,’ Sheena said, raising an eyebrow. The women burst out laughing again.

‘Even Tarampal has some stories, I’m sure,’ said Arvinder.

‘You leave me out of this,’ Tarampal warned.

Suddenly, the door of the classroom swung open. Kulwinder Kaur stood with her arms crossed over her chest. ‘What is going on here?’ she demanded. ‘I can hear the commotion all the way from my office.’

Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows by Balli Kaur Jaswal will be on sale 6/13/17. Learn more.

[druiz17ahs-blog]

Blog Post #7: Political Party Action

Republican Party

a. “We renew our call for replacing “family planning” programs for teens with sexual risk avoidance education that sets abstinence until marriage as the responsible and respected standard of behavior. That approach — the only one always effective against premarital pregnancy and sexually-transmitted disease — empowers teens to achieve optimal health outcomes. We oppose school-based clinics that provide referral or counseling for abortion and contraception and believe that federal funds should not be used in mandatory or universal mental health, psychiatric, or socio-emotional screening programs.” That is what is written on www.gop.com and basically states that they are against any education about sex or anything of the sort in schools. As well instead of teaching how to properly plan and build a family they advocate against it completely until marriage, very conservative.

b. I strongly disagree with their position because I believe that education is key and if younger adolescents are not informed about sex they will possibly take matters into their own hands without knowing a single thing. Going in with knowledge and some insight is better than going in blind. 

Democratic Party

a. “Democrats are committed to protecting and advancing reproductive health, rights, and justice. We believe unequivocally, like the majority of Americans, that every woman should have access to quality reproductive health care services, including safe and legal abortion—regardless of where she lives, how much money she makes, or how she is insured. We believe that reproductive health is core to women’s, men’s, and young people’s health and wellbeing. We will continue to stand up to Republican efforts to defund Planned Parenthood health centers, which provide critical health services to millions of people.” The Democratic party has this statement on their website (www.democrats.org) and from it we can tell their views on women’s reproductive rights are pretty much polar opposites of those of the republican party. They want to secure those rights and fight for them. They are accepting and understanding of all the decisions made by women concerning their reproductive rights and are aware of how not only does it affect women but everyone else as well.

b. I strongly agree with the Democratic Party’s views on womens reproductive rights and I appreciate the efforts made to secure those rights. I believe its morally and constitutionally correct to have these views because after all it is a right. You cannot tell someone what to do with their own body especially if you have never been or will ever be in their situation.

Libertarian Party

a. “Recognizing that abortion is a sensitive issue and that people can hold good-faith views on all sides, we believe that government should be kept out of the matter, leaving the question to each person for their conscientious consideration.” On the Libertarian Party website (www.lp.org) they have a statement one sentence long about the issue claiming that it is not an issue the government should get involved in. They claim that both views can be seen as ‘right’ and that each person can individually make decision for themselves and handle it on their own.

b. I disagree because I feel like the government should get involved not necessarily to make rules and regulations but more for support. Leaving the issue so open ended makes it seem like they don’t care very much about the issue when for some people it’s very personal. They are right when they say it’s a sensitive issue but they can’t just ignore it. They should handle the issue in a way that doesn’t make anyone uncomfortable.

Green Party

a. “Women's rights must be protected and expanded to guarantee each woman's right as a full participant in society, free from sexual harassment, job discrimination or interference in the intensely personal choice about whether to have a child...Women's right to control their bodies is non-negotiable.” The Green Party’s statement about women and their reproductive rights is in favor of women by almost praising them and making it obvious that women are just as important in society as men and the disrespect they have gotten over the years is unacceptable. The Green Party also views women's rights over their bodies as their rights and their rights only.

b. I agree with the statements of the Green Party about women and their reproductive rights. I believe they have a good mentality on the issue and good intentions. 

Peace and Freedom

a. The Peace and Freedom Party’s(PFP) statement demands many things for women, one of them being free abortion on demand. Nothing else is said on the topic so making assumptions can lead to inaccurate understandings of their views/intentions.

b. Free abortions on demand would save a lot of trouble for many women especially those who cannot afford to pay for an abortion or can’t afford to take care of a child. I don’t disagree, but I can’t say I agree because there is no further explanation on their views/intentions.

c. I think I mostly identify with the Democratic Party just because I agree with their views and they claim to actually working towards solving the issue and challenging the Republican Party, which we can assume their views on women’s reproductive rights are not in women’s hands. It’s not very surprising since apparently I am pretty Liberal. I would most likely vote for a Presidential candidate in this party assuming I agree with most of their other views of course.