Translation? Why the hell are women still considered the weaker/lesser sex and what the hell does this mean to me as a woman. I don't know why we are, but I'll tell you what it means to me.
It means that no matter how much personal and physical power I have, no matter my training or available weaponry, I am (at best) skittish about going to a restroom in a public place by myself.
Why? Because if you match my skeletal frame exactly with a male of my species, by evolution and physics alone and by (dis)virtue of my reproductive system being the receiving vessel, I am vulnerable to rape. I don't need an erection to have sex. I only need to be there. My muscles and my tendons and my bone density are lighter than my male counterpart. I. Am. Vulnerable. And when you look at the statistics of 1 in 5 women having been sexually assaulted, it should be clear that my fear (and my entire gender's fear) of attack are not only well founded but wise.
That sucks. It's horrible but I live with it and in it and I hope I never again have to process an incident of sexual assault in my life. Still, I live. I live cautiously and carefully and nearly always on guard.
Times like these, when elected or elect-hopeful people start messing with the nuances and wording of legal rape and the means by which the survivors deal with the consequences (pregnancy), I get frightened. Not only do I have to consider how to survive a possible future attack, I also have to consider how to deal with the aftermath.
Tell you what: the week following an attack is hell. The months following are horrific no matter whether you are single or involved in a relationship. In a relationship, the one you love cannot touch you without triggering a body memory and reams of guilt and emotional anguish come pouring out of you and spill all over everything. Ruby Red Squirt (a soda pop that i don't even know if still exists) makes me dizzy and start to gag. So does a certain kind of curtain. A certain posture or body type of a man. Specific types of blades. Scents. Seasonal light in the evening. Architectural design of hallways. Triggers exist all over, but at least I know they are specific and rooted in the past.
However, every time some bastard in Congress or on his/her way there starts to mess with my ability to feel safe (relatively speaking) and I see the masses of support for this sort of thinking, I am drawn inevitably back to frightened for myself and for every other potential victim out there. These are broad stroke triggers. Because every dig at my freedom and pursuit of happiness shakes the foundations that suffragette sisters over human history have fought (and been brutalized) for. Every thoughtless action being leveraged into law sends a clear and awful message to the constituents. Somehow, somewhere, it's okay to belittle and objectify women. The more we become objects, the less hesitance people have to feel about marginalizing us.
Women's wages tell us we can be marginalized. Our frequency (or lack thereof) in positions of power, our still accepted traditional roles as workhorses and doormats, the multiple states that have made medical rape both acceptable and required, and this old but new again rhetoric that we, as women, cannot be trusted or allowed to make decisions about the only thing we have that will ever really be ours... our bodies... tells me loud and clear and threatening: You Are Not Worthy of all the human rights; therefore, you are not fully human. You're not as human as some other humans. Two legs, good. Two legs and a dick, better.
Are they honestly trying to tell me that muscle power and a penis are the qualifiers of a worthy person?
Wow.
How some folks wonder why I would take such offense to that notion both baffles and infuriates me. Do I think all men believe this? Not by a long shot. Do I think it's only men who think this? Not hardly. Do I intend to sit all quiet and nice while someone else attacks my freedom? No.
No, I do not.
And, as ever, NO MEANS NO.
