Why I care

[Written in response to the people who can't understand why The Vagina Monologues means so much to me.

Dedicated to Eve Ensler, every woman and girl who has ever survived sexual assault, and those who support them, male and female.]


You Will Understand


If I have anything to say about it, yes, you will.
You will understand
that it does not take experiencing rape to hate it.
Why, you ask, do I care?
What is it that attracts me to V-Day
and similar, less-publicly-known causes?
You are human, you should know.
It is not fear, it is not trauma.

It is anger.

It is the stories I hear
that we all hear
from our mothers
and our best friends
and our girlfriends
our classmates, our friends
our aunts, cousins, sisters, grandmothers
our wives, lovers, teachers, even our enemies
all of them, the same thing:
Stories of survival.
It is almost impossible, these days
to meet someone who has not survived rape
or at least knows someone who has.
No, is not fear.
It is the fact, plain and simple
that at any minute, it could be me.
It is the knowledge that there are millions of women
who did not have someone to walk them home.
It is the presence of a new story every day,
either told by my friends
or seen on the news,
of a missing girl or a freshly-located body.
It is the tabloids that exploit those women
using the scandal of their demise to enhance sales.
It is the fashion magazines that prey on us,
the music videos that objectify us,
the celebrities who set impossible standards for us,
the songs that call us sluts,
the movies that make us cry.
It is the people who will call a girl a whore
because she was wearing a short skirt when she was raped.
It is the people in the world
who would see me walk down the street
minding my own business
holding hands with my girlfriend
and only stop themselves from shooting me
because it would land them in jail.
It is the knowledge that in my best friend's home country
women are raped daily for the crime of loving other women.
It is the knowledge that ex-gay conversion therapy exists.
It is the story of Brandon Teena, which always makes me cry.
It is the sight of a six-year-old girl in a halter top.
It is the sound of a teenage girl calling herself fat.
It is the fact that my mother
whenever I call her from the library at night
demands I ask my male best friend to walk me home.
It is the knowledge that she would not make me do this
if I were male and straight.
It is the controversy over abortion law.
It is the comments about "legitimate" rape.
It is the fact that women are taught
"Don't get raped"
because there are men out there
who were not taught, "Don't rape."

It is hope.

It is the knowledge that for every man out there
who would rape me quick as look at me,
there is another man, a friend,
who would walk me home to prevent exactly that.
It is the sound of a famous rapper
saying that women should be respected.
It is the sound of my girlfriend calling me beautiful.
It is me, in my backyard, with my dad
holding his hand as if I am a little girl
and hearing him say that he is proud of me.
It is my best friend telling me he would never hurt a woman.
It is forty women standing in a room, holding hands
waiting to go onstage
and tell the world how they feel about rape
and sexism
and homophobia
and suppresion.
It is those same forty women onstage
standing up to rape--literally.
It is the sound of a woman saying
"Stand up if you are committed to ending sexual violence"
and seeing the entire audience rise.
It is the feeling of my mentor's arms around me
as he tells me he is proud of me for taking a stand.
It is the knowledge that there are good men in the world.
It is the knowledge that there are girls who have sex
and know that it is perfectly okay to do so.
It is the choice I am allowed to make,
about where and when I lose my virginity.
It is my conviction that every woman should have that choice.

If you don't understand now, you never will.
No, I was never subjected to rape...
But what kind of person would I be
if I let that stand in the way of my hatred for it?