Thank you, Judge Kavanaugh.
I needed a reminder that as a woman, my recollection of past events is suspect, but a man’s memory is never to be questioned.
That as a woman, if I drink at a party, that immediately disqualifies any statement I may make about that party, but … men like beer.
That as a woman, if I show a temper, I’m a bitch. But if a man shows a temper, you a force to be reckoned with.
That as a woman, a high office is a privilege for which personal privacy must be sacrificed. But as a white man, a Supreme Court seat is a right for which you should not have to be vetted thoroughly.
That as a woman sharing a story of assault, it’s done at the risk of embarrassment, at a minimum, and death threats on the other end of the spectrum. But for a man to be asked to answer to an accusation, it is an outrage.
That as a woman, I need to wait my turn to talk, whereas a man can interrupt.
How dare they pick on you. Don’t they know who you are?
Also? You can shut the fuck up.
I am so angry at today’s events — a woman coming forward at great personal peril to share her story of sexual assault at a man’s hands, and it’s treated as a window dressing of a hearing by majority committee members insistent upon placing a conservative justice on the Supreme Court. I am disgusted that this government, MY government, does not value my gender above politics. Sen. Lindsay Graham? I hope the women of your state rise up and kick your sorry ass right out of D.C. Horrifying, that was.
I am so angry that I can’t look my daughter in the face and say with certainty that she has a better shot at gender equality than my generation had. That I am turning 50 and I feel like the clock is turning backward on my rights and privileges. That everything our culture has been doing for the last 25 years when it comes to teaching men the NO MEANS NO has been thrown out the window.
As I wrote earlier, anger is almost always a secondary emotion. So I ask myself, why I am so mad?
I think it’s a combination of being hurt. Being dismissed. Whatever the opposite of validation is. Oh yeah. INVALIDATED. As if because I am not a man, I don’t count quite as much.
There’s also being afraid. Afraid for my daughter when she goes off to school next fall. Afraid that the worst boys will think it’s OK to get her sloppy drunk and then call her a tramp. Because of this jackhole we are about to put on the Bench. Because of that jackhole in the White House.
So, what can I do? What can we do? VOTE. Vote these small-minded excuses for men out of office. There are better men, and women, out there making a difference. Show them how strong we are, and roar with the thunder of millions of voices saying together, we DO matter.
What else can we do? Teach our children that voting matters. Teach our daughters their body is their providence. Teach our sons respect. Teach them all that opportunity is equal, and that they can and will do whatever they set their heart to do, with hard work and resilience fueling their adventures.
This was a bad day, Tomorrow might be even worse. But women, let’s keep the faith we can do better.
Day 12: Fall in my Favorite Chicago
Day 40: On Stories Never Told Book Recommendation: After Visiting Friends
Today’s recommendation: Missoula. This. This is the bullshit we are still trying to overcome. Fuel that hate fire, ladies.
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