Statistics For Thought, or What Does a Victim REALLY Look like?

Date Rape Cases Still Hard to Win

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/27825997/

You know what’s depressing to me about this, aside from the basic stats quoted in the article?

How little our society understands the myriad ways in which victims of violence react to assault. Whether it’s date rape or violence at the hands of our partners, there’s a script we’re apparently supposed to follow, and even then we have very little chance of actually being believed.

We’re expected to whimper and cry and shake and act helpless. Only if we act like helpless wretches will the justice system or society as a whole believe that we were victims of violence.

Many of the victims discussed in this article were highly composed during the trial. They were lucid and intelligent. And for that, they were NOT believed.

How screwed up is THAT?

How is it that society is unable to grasp that a LOT of the time, the NATURAL reaction one has to being assaulted, abused, raped, or violated is ANGER?

I know I always felt WHITE HOT RAGE when my ex-husband abused me. But my clueless attorney told me once that the reason he wouldn’t push the abuse issue was because I didn’t present as a typical victim.

WhatEVER the hell THAT’S supposed to be.

My composure, my education, my drive and work ethic were ALL held against me, all while my ex-husband parades around all hang-dog, claiming I ABUSED HIM.

EXCUSE ME? Was I the one that browbeat him for hours? Tackled HIM and assaulted HIM in front of my son? Used HIS dysfunctional family against HIM?

And he has the nerve to call me abusive because I was ANGRY about being abused. He had the NERVE to claim that I wasn’t really abused because I struggled THROUGH that nightmare and REBUILT my life.

How fucked up is that? I’ll ask again.

But because I didn’t “look like a victim” not even my own LAWYER would help me.

An American story:The violence we still allow

Written by: civillydisobedientbitch

Edited by: Good to be Queen.

This is the 21^st century. Like so many ugly aspects of our society, domestic violence has finally been recognized … understood … fought and resolved. Certainly that’s a widespread belief here and now, now that our modern society is so evolved, so socially aware, so enlightened.

Right?

Think again. Like so many social wrongs we think we’ve “fixed,” domestic violence still terrorizes men, women and children. Daily. And the remedies we thought we’d applied – the laws and awareness and organized groups waving signs – the things that let the rest of us sleep at night, secure in our advanced thinking, are failing. Daily.

My son and I are only one story. But I believe we’re a part of something much larger that’s only too easily overlooked by a complacent society that believes we’ve “solved” domestic violence, a society that only registers alarm when an extreme case – a husband shoots his wife on Main Street just before the evening news – jars our consciousness.

My story shines a light on the ongoing, pernicious misunderstanding – even ignorance –of the real face of domestic violence. I want to share my story so that the thousands of other abuse victims in our enlightened society who are terrorized and traumatized daily will know they’re not the only ones. That you don’t have to show up on the evening news to be a victim of domestic violence.

I live in Georgia. The state of Georgia has within its law code a provision that domestic abuse trumps all other concerns in divorce and custody cases. I only wish the state of Georgia actually worked that way.

I married my ex-husband in 2001.

The abuse began on our return from our honeymoon. I was pregnant at the time, but that never stopped him.

First the abuse was verbal. Then it became physical. He would browbeat me for hours and then block me from leaving the room, physically hold me down while I cried. He systematically terrorized me.

He also sexually abused me. He attempted to videotape us being intimate against my wishes. When I caught him, he didn’t see why what he had done was so wrong.

The emotional abuse was always the worst, though. He took painful, private confidences I’d trusted him with and used them against me as a way to control me. My mother had been physically, emotionally, and verbally very abusive to me when I was a child, and my ex would go back and forth between calling her crazy, and then siding with her, claiming that I was lying about her.

I was called a liar a lot. And crazy, unfit mother, a whore, you name it, every sick, misogynistic name in the book.

I left him in 2003. The lawyer I found was willing to get a restraining order for me. And my ex promptly violated it. Though the judge had written into the order that he could have “reasonable” visitation with our infant son, my ex decided that “reasonable” meant every night, and harassed me constantly to get it. He drove past my house, over and over and over. Tracked my every move. Accused me of having an affair. Threatened to sue for custody of our son. He was never arrested even though I called the police for help.

The judge had not included any provisions for child support in my restraining order. I was a student, and I had no income other than student loans. That money soon ran out.

I was scared. I was about to be unable to feed my child. Then my ex began what domestic violence support groups like to call “hoovering” … a reference to the vacuum cleaner. Trying to suck me back in.

He was so sorry. He was going to get counseling. Nothing meant more to him than his family. He would do anything and everything to keep it together.

So I went back. He promptly browbeat me into dropping my divorce case against him entirely.

And the abuse got worse. I now know that it almost always does, once a victim is talked into returning. The abuser, after all, knows that he or she must bear down even harder, escalate the abuse and control, ensure that the victim is terrorized into complete and utter submission.

And so my ex’s abuse escalated immediately. He added financial abuse to the list. He refused to allow me access to any money. I had finished school at this point and was staying home with my son. I had no income aside from occasional money my family gave me. No gas in my car, no way to buy any groceries while he was at work 45 minutes away, because he took the bank card with him every day. He would make me beg for five dollars to buy cigarettes. I was trapped.

When he browbeat me for hours, he would always get this sadistic little smile. He liked to buy extravagant gifts and then threaten to return them if he got angry with me. He would order me to beg for them.

In 2004, he physically attacked me in front of my son. He jumped me from behind, and when I swung my arm to get him off of me, I accidentally blacked his eye. I fled to my neighbor’s place and called the police and our local DV hotline. Amazingly, he ALSO called the police and claimed that I had abused HIM. They didn’t arrest anyone. All they did was ask him to leave for the night.

It still took me another year to get up my courage to file for divorce. I was terrified he’d sue for custody.

I was right.

When I finally did file, I wound up with a new lawyer, who refused to seek a restraining order for me. Despite numerous records of my calls to the police for help, my attorney told me that we couldn’t prove abuse. My ex refused to move out of the house, or to pay any of the bills. He harassed me constantly. I had to lock myself and my son in my room at night to protect us from him. Still, he’d stand outside the door and rant.

I briefly had a long distance relationship during that time. My ex snooped on my laptop and copied documents in order to “prove” my “adultery”. He emailed my friend. He emailed my family. He made outrageous, malicious accusations, calling me a slut, claiming that I had Borderline Personality Disorder, that I was violent and an unfit mother.

He taped me constantly. He attacked me again and I had to flee for several days with my son. I had to call the police just to get out of the house safely. One of the officers saw my bruises but didn’t say anything. And they didn’t arrest him.

This is so hard to type out. It brings back all these memories. I’m shaking.

When we went to court, he won. My attorney, inexplicably, didn’t even bring the pictures of me with bruises from his attacks. At the same time, my ex claimed that my son was autistic. My son was delayed in his speech, due to a medication he took as a toddler, too much ear wax that was eventually cleaned out, and his father’s abuse of me. Not one therapist has agreed with my ex. The physical problems are well documented by my son’s doctor. Even so, I still took my son to additional assessments, while my ex did nothing. Yet he claimed I was the one who hadn’t done anything to help my son.

The judge ruled that because I was in graduate school by this time, I wasn’t “stable” enough as a parent to take care of my son. He stated he believed my son had special needs that I was unable to handle.

During all this time, my ex had never paid for daycare, never took my son to doctor’s appointments, never put him to bed, never did much of anything that parents do. I was the primary caregiver until the divorce, and Georgia law states that the best interests of the child lie with that parent.

And Georgia law also states that domestic abuse trumps all other concerns. Yet a few earnest lies delivered by a skilled liar were all it took to sway a judge. And maybe even prompt my own lawyer to mail it in. I didn’t stand a chance.

My attorney filed a motion for reconsideration. The judge told him to re-file it as a separate motion to modify custody. While we waited, my ex made a habit of sending me awful, horrible abusive emails. He denied visitation when he was angry, he shut me out of any equal decision-making, even though I still had joint legal custody. In short, he behaved just as he’d always done.

And so we went back to court. My attorney once again failed to submit the emails as evidence of the abuse. I had remarried by this time, and my new husband was more than willing to testify to how awfully my ex had behaved. He flat out called him an abuser in open court.

We still lost.

You think the story’s finally over? Oh no. My ex asked for attorney’s fees on top of everything else. And we lost on that one, too.

The judge has ordered me to pay $5000 plus some additional expenses in monthly installments of $500 each. I can’t afford that. I already pay $400 a month in child support.

If I don’t pay, I can go to jail for contempt of court.

I filed for divorce in May 2005. I was finally granted one in October 2007. And I’m still caught in a legal system that seems more inclined to help my abuser abuse me, than to protect me and my son. Domestic abuse was simply meaningless to the police, my lawyer, my ex’s lawyer, even the judge. Just not on their radar.

I don’t understand this. I really and truly don’t. I don’t know how to make this system do what it’s supposed to do. Why has this happened?

This is, necessarily, an abbreviated version of my story, and it’s just one story. But I’ve learned that there are thousands of abuse victims just like me out there, struggling to get someone to take them seriously, trying desperately to find a so-called “authority figure,” a member of the “judicial” system, to hear us, to believe us.

Although I’m scared to death of the idea, I’m ready to go public with my story. I hope to find those other victims who have similar stories to tell. I’ve learned that only by sticking together, by shouting out loud that domestic violence is still alive, well and vastly underestimated by society and our legal system, can we get anyone to notice. And this is my first step. Talk to me.

All that glitters is not gold: the stereotype discussion continues

Written by: crabbypatter

So, the election is over.  I have to admit that my mind has been cluttered and consumed by the endlessness of it, and today I’m thinking a bit more clearly.

 

My good friend, CDBitch, has been provoking some interesting internal dialogue, and I would like to ponder who an abusive man is, starting with the campaign.

 

There are two possible directions for this post.  First, I could discuss how those who have been abused will never look at people in the same way.  I look at McCain and Obama with different eyes than the average person.  As the pundits bask in the adulation of their respective parties, I see them both with a critical eye.  I wonder if the coolly confident Obama had ever poured that smug smile and arrogant tone over his lovely wife, Michelle, who stands behind him.  I wonder if the legendary temper and impatience of McCain has rained down on the fragile-looking Cindy.

 

The abuse I’ve suffered and witnessed colors my perspective that way. But that post, I believe is for another time. 

 

Rather, today, I’d like to look at who the abuser is.  Some might find it shocking—unpatriotic, even—to look at presidential candidates and try to see the cracks in the façade that could reveal an abuser.  Isn’t the abuser a big ape of a man, a shawl of black curly hair sprouting from beneath the straps of a wife-beater undershirt, the stench of three days of unwashed beer and humanity oozing from his greasy pores?  Sometimes, he is.

 

But sometimes, the worst abuser is the charming neighbor who shoveled your driveway last winter while you were visiting your in-laws for Christmas.  He is the doctor who delivered your firstborn. He’s your pastor.  He’s your brother-in-law.  He could be your husband.

 

The statistic that one in four women will be physically abused by a domestic partner is an interesting tidbit.  One in four, according to some sources; others place the number higher.  When one does the math, it is a figure that has sobering implications.

 

Women’s advocate and groundbreaking author Lundy Bancroft has built his career on working with abusive men.  From paradigm-shattering book, Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men, Bancroft writes:

 

One of the obstacles to recognizing chronic mistreatment in relationships is that most abusive men simply don’t seem like abusers. They have many good qualities, including times of kindness, warmth, and humor, especially in the early period of the relationship.  An abuser’s friends may think the world of him.  He may have a successful work life and no problems with drugs or alcohol.  He may simply not fit anyone’s image of a cruel or intimidating person. So when a woman feels her relationship spinning out of control, it is unlikely to occur to her that her partner is an abuser.

 

It is unlikely to occur to her that her partner is an abuser. If that is true, then it would stand to reason that it would be unapparent to others that this outwardly kind, charming, and funny man could ever intentionally harm someone, much less his wife or domestic partner.

 

Yet, it happens.  Frequently.  Over the course of my extraction from my own abuser’s vile hold—some call it healing, but I find it more akin to a painful immersion to an awkward adolescence of discovering who I am and what I’ll be when I grow up all while avoiding the mean girls who have it all—I was dumbfounded to think of him as an abuser.

 

He, after all, is the person who helped me understand feminism. A professor who won awards for his quality and standard of teaching, this bright and engaging man was beloved by his students.  If his colleagues didn’t adore him (and some did not), they at least respected his work ethic and dedication to his students. Yet his dominance and cruelty was in complete opposition to his public face.  And he outwardly praised me to his friends and colleagues; the pedestal he set me upon in public belied the psychological and emotional torment at home.

 

As I’ve “healed,” I’ve met some lovely, strong, intelligent and determined women who walked the same path as I.  To my surprise, not one of these fine people has been with a stereotypical abuser.  One was married to an artist. One was married to a musician.  One was married to a lawyer. Two were married to successful business owners. One was married to someone with top government security clearance.  Several were married to respected military officers and soldiers and law enforcement members.  Teachers, professors, doctors: all of these fields were represented.

 

The first book that introduced me to the concept of upscale abuse—indeed, the very piece that opened my eyes to the fact that I might be in an abusive relationship—is Susan Weitzman’s book “Not to People Like Us:” Hidden Abuse in Upscale Marriages.  The fact that a wife-beater stereotype exists provides a safety net for the “atypical,” professional abuser—and a huge question mark for women living The American Dream. “How can this man in khakis with a $75 haircut be threatening me?” she asks. “It must be my imagination.” And, since the masses don’t want to hear about the abusive professor—or doctor or business owner or teacher—their denial reinforces her doubt.

 

No, I’m not saying that Barak Obama or John McCain is abusive to his wife. I’m saying that they—or anybody we know and admire—could be. And it presents a troubling possibility about what we, as a society, once thought was solid and hallowed ground: that our most revered might be the most despicable.

On Stereotypes, or, All the World’s a Stage but There’s No Script for This

Written by: civillydisobedientbitch

Crabbypatter’s opening comments about bloggers here, and other DV advocates, being labeled combat-boot wearing libber nutjobs has had be thinking all week. She made some fantastic points about the far-reaching effects of DV, as well as the reactions in folks you’d thoroughly expect to immediately advocate for the victims. Hence the silence here.

This stereotype about feminism is something you hear all the time. The Limbaugh-esque notion that any woman who asks, no demands, to be treated as a human being, is somehow a weirdo nutcase intent on castrating any male within 500 yards. And let’s not forget that veritable pox upon gender relations, the so-called “Men’s Rights Groups”, who endlessly whine about how all women are manipulative bitches who get pregnant on purpose, suck their poor hapless husbands dry, then run of with the beloved kids only to hit said poor sad sacks up for more child support. Ahem. This bullshit has been so rigorously debunked that I simply don’t feel like going there again.

We ought to ask ourselves, honestly, WHY it is that we as a society feel so incredibly threatened by the specter of a woman who dares to demand her equal rights as a human. Seriously, what the hell is so threatening about that?

The other side of this is a bit darker and more complex; Crabby made an excellent point that the very women who advocated for DV victims that SHE knew, were made apparently so queasy at having to confront DV in their own community, that they abandoned her when she went to them. To quote another, far better writer, PFFFFFT on them. Shame on them.

I’ve got a tangent to pursue for a minute here, and maybe it sheds some light on this painful phenomenon: during a therapy session some years back, when discussing the abuse I’d been experiencing, I said to my therapist that I felt shame. I told her I felt shame about becoming a victim because I was such a feminist: I had all the women’s studies courses, I was so thoroughly empowered and otherwise in command of my life that it was ridiculous, and somehow I felt like I should have, I don’t know, KNOWN better or something. And she said to me that this was just a more convoluted way of victim blaming. After all, how could I have controlled another person’s behavior?

She was quite correct. It’s all of a sudden so much simpler when you realize that the argument that “If you are a good feminist/don’t wear a short skirt/don’t get drunk in bars/don’t take crap from some man/take women’s studies classes/insert whatever here” then you won’t be beaten ,raped, terrorized by your partner, or otherwise abused, is so unbelievably full of shit that it’s ridiculous.

Here’s a newflash: The system victimizes women. It victimizes a whole host of other categories, too, like people of color/LGBT/etc. It’s set UP to keep everyone nicely placed in the patriarchal hierarchy, and when an individual dares to refuse her category, then she’s punished for it. Or, maybe she’s just victimized randomly as a reminder of who’s REALLY in charge.

So I suspect that those sniveling cowards who slithered away from Crabby when she needed them the most, were made VERY uncomfortable and scared by a couple of gut-level realizations that her situation forced upon them. One, if SHE, a member of their safe little progressive community, was a DV victim, then THEY COULD THEREORETICALLY BE TOO. Two, if she was a DV victim, then their friend her husband WASN’T the demure little progressive dude he CLAIMED to be, and was in fact enjoying ALL the nasty little prerogatives of his privilege as a white male. Three, and this is truly sad, is that it’s a lot easier for some to protest some idea far, far away from you, than to actually confront it full on in real life.

Crabby tells me she’s got a post coming on the “typical” abuser. I bet it’ll prove her, and my point, even more roundly. This is not about what clothes someone wears, or how they vote, or anything else. It’s about the fact that this culture is predicated on control, not connectedness. And when you realize that this is sitting on your doorstep, or eating dinner with you at your kitchen table, it’s scary and freaky, and too often people just pretend it didn’t happen. Because it’s always scary when you realize that the monster is right next to you. But remember this: we used to sleep with the enemy, so we know what to do with monsters at the dinner table. We throw them out. And so should you.

DV affects all women, whether they wear pearls or tattoos

Written by: crabbypatter

 

I think it’s important to add my voice to the outrage. 

 

I’m going to do it from another perspective.  Lest people paint my sisters as a gang of combat-boot wearing, libber mental cases, I had to chime in as a woman who lives on the other side of the political divide.  I jumped the chasm as a result of my ex-husband. 

 

I don’t suffer the same fate—or share the same personal outrage—as my friends here; their pain is far beyond anything I’ve experienced. A helplessness that I, thankfully, did not have to live through. 

 

Though I was primary caregiver for my two sons, my abusive ex-husband did threaten to take the children from me when I told him I was filing for divorce.  He snarled in my face, “You’ll NEVER take the children from me!” In that moment, I understood how women abduct their own children.  Just as he would never let me “take the children from him,” those are the same children he could never bother with.  His indignation at having to experience their joy and laughter—we’re talking the good stuff of parenting, not the dregs here—and his anger at how the children wrecked his life, were suddenly important when I wanted to take them away from the abuse.

 

He realized that he could have his career and look like a fantastic dad while I did all the work, so he relinquished their care, assumed a miserable martyrdom at my leaving him.  From that day forward, I had to hear from people who ran into him their weekends together how fantastic he was as a dad: how lucky they were!  I smile through gritted teeth because I know the truth would never ring true to them.

 

No, my anger at my ex has faded to a pity of sorts. A sadness at a dream that was bigger—much bigger—than my reality has taken the place of anger.  A resignation that in addition to my titles (wife, mother, ex-wife, sister, friend, co-worker, daughter), I could add the titles that sound so foreign to me: Victim. Survivor. Advocate. Vigilante. 

 

My anger from my situation comes from having to defend and explain again and again.

 

There is a blame that falls to the women in a domestic abuse cases.  At once, she is blamed for not leaving. She is blamed for not trying harder. She is blamed for exposing her children to abuse. She is blamed for creating a broken family. She is blamed for not conforming, for trying harder.  She is blamed for standing up and speaking out.

 

As I read my dear friend’s rant about Sarah Palin, I think about how easy it is for us to find a woman (any woman will do) and paint a target on them.  The Republicans have targeted Hilary since the last election. McCain sneaked his running mate into the running in a strategic move that nobody saw coming—and she was subjected to an immediate barrage of criticism. 

 

As I watched Palin’s speech during the GOP convention, I was proud of her grace and eloquence. Just as proud as I was that Hillary was able to let down her shield a bit and shed a few tears on her campaign trail—Lord knows I wondered what it would take to make her shed tears if she didn’t during that whole horrid, very public Monica Lewinsky episode.

 

What I find difficult to swallow (if you’ll pardon that phrase so closely placed to the name Monica Lewinsky), is how quick women are set up to jump to the defense of a man, how quickly we’ll turn against our own. How quickly we “ewwwww” the semen-stained blue dress and let history embrace that detail, while the President behind it meanders off, scott-free.

 

Turning against our own is often how we end up in domestic abuse relationships in the first place. The abusive men are quick to eliminate the women that are most dear, strong in spirit, and most apt to call them on their crap, breaking down our defenses and support networks in one fell swoop. They alienate us from them, and leave us standing vulnerable, depending on them to be friend and lover. It’s a dangerous stance to take.

 

Making the decision to leave my ex-husband was difficult.  Our relationship had been eroding, and what little remained was quickly washed away with the tears I shed alone, pregnant, watching the waves roll onto the shore of a Wisconsin lake one frigid January after he had finally crossed the line from verbal and emotional abuse to physical abuse.  It’s textbook: they escalate when a woman is pregnant.

 

My friends—our friends—turned on me, too. I spent years contemplating what it would be like to leave him.  We’d seen probably half a dozen counselors together and separate to resolve “our” issues.  I tried everything I knew how to do. I gave up designs to have a career so I could cater to his. I gave up interests. Physical activity. Family. Friends. When he finally pushed me to give our children a hostile home environment, I knew I had to leave.

 

But my friends—our friends—didn’t see the man I lived with.  They told me it was difficult to navigate a marriage with young children.  They told me that he spoke highly of me, that he loved me and our sons very much. They asked me if I thought it through.

 

These were educated people.  As the friends of my professor (then) husband, they were doctorate-holding professionals.  They were liberal. They were feminist. They were pro-woman, pro-choice, anti-domestic violence, pro-programs to address all social injustices. These were women that I would attend domestic violence rallies with, before I knew that I was in such a relationship.  They’d tsk-tsk the abusive offenders and embraced those women who didn’t know better than to leave.

 

Until they knew that I was one of them.

 

My democratic, green, pro-woman, feminist friends turned a blind eye to me when I confronted them with evidence of my “feminist” soon-to-be-ex’s emotional battery, verbal assaults and physical attacks. They swept it under the carpet of “He’s such a beloved and well-respected guy.”

 

When faced with the option of embracing a woman in need or embracing the abuser who was one of them….they chose him. 

 

I left the party that supported women in theory, but not in action. 

 

My conservative friends? Those who were supposed to hold the family together at all costs? The “Focus on the Family” people I sniggered about?  They supported me and listened. They believed me. They stood by me. I was touched by how my republican friends rallied around me and my boys.

 

My anger comes from the party and people who were supposed to get my plight. Those people who looked through me (without a greeting) rather than at me, despite years of companionship.

 

So, love Sarah. Or hate Sarah. Love Hillary. Or hate Hillary. I’m looking past the politics to the women themselves.  Women with husbands.  Women with daughters.  Women who are just as vulnerable as I was. As we all are.

 

1 in 4 women will suffer physical violence at the hands of their partner: husband, boyfriend, significant other.  According to the U.S. Department of Justice, every two minutes a woman in the United States is raped. Approximately 28% of victims are raped by husbands or boyfriends, 35% by acquaintances, and 5% by other relatives.

 

The numbers are there. We women are here. They are one of us, regardless of the color political banner above their heads.

 

In our pearls and combat boots, with coiffed hair and tattoos, we need to begin to acknowledge our commonalities and stand together. The men have made it too easy for us implode.

Thinking about Sarah Palin

Written by: civillydisobedientbitch

I’ve been mulling over this for a while now. I’ve needed that time to process because, to be quite frank, this disobedient bitch was so incredibly pissed off when McSame announced her nomination to VP that I just about literally foamed at the mouth.

It’s not pretty when I get to feelin’ rabid, but it’s not conducive to articulate communication, either. I had to sit on this one.

First up: Sarah Palin ain’t no damn feminist. She’s not a socialist, either. Why am I conflating those two political philosophies? Because one is defined in one’s public life by one’s policy, ok? For the less than literate, than means you ARE what you DO in the public sphere. You don’t get to lay claim to some label or another merely because it’s clever and politically expedient. I don’t get to call myself a neocon just for shits and giggles simply because I feel like it, yanno? I highly doubt that Dickless Cheney would fail to call ME out if I labeled myself a neocon and started some blog espousing Marxist feminist philosophy, all the while claiming that this was the REAL neocon philosophy. It’s what those of us with an education like to call incongruous, to say the least.

And let’s not forget, she has enjoyed all those advantages necessary to allow her rise to power ON THE BACKS of feminists who FOUGHT and BLED for HER right, and every other woman’s right, to operate in the world as a human being, not some action figure piece of meat.

Palin’s policies are about as anti-feminist as you can get. Plain and simple. If you want some proof, feel free to hit cnn.com, or msnbc.com, or any other damn MSM news outlet online for a laundry list of things she actually DID when she was in power. When she was actually DOING things, yanno, instead of hiring out administration duties to someone else.

So, now that we’ve disposed of this wrongheaded notion that Sarah Wolf Killer Palin is some sort of feminist icon, let’s move on, shall we?

I personally can’t stand the woman’s policy positions. I have no clue on Goddess’ green earth what she’s like as a person so I am just not going to even SPECULATE how I’d feel about her, person to person. Hell, I hear she’s quite charismatic. I might even like to do some shots with her or something. Until the issue of banning books came up, I suppose. Then we’d have to have a good natured bar fight, beat the crap out of each other, then stagger home together, arms around each other’s shoulders through some sodden, half-melted Alaskan winter twilight. But I digress.

I LIKE ballsy women. Except for when said ballsy woman would chain ME down with HER choices.

But I am SICKENED by the “cutesy” action figures, man, and let’s not even get into the VPILF jokes. Disgusting; it’s all just so damn vile. I don’t give a CRAP about her family life, her husband, her kids, or what she cooked for dinner or ordered in. It’s IRRELEVANT. And sexist. Not to mention the fact that there’s something really creepy about dolls made to represent real people. It’s like you’re trying to OWN that person or something, by having a simulacrum of them. Not cool. It’s a way of reducing her. Whether that person is some douchebag rethug frat boy wanking off to the “Sarah Palin Action Figure in a Catholic Schoolgirl Outfit” or some wannabe so-called “progressive” male closet misogynist Dem snickering about it, you’re still reducing her.

Do not reduce this woman. She is a real threat. Not for the reasons that she undoubtedly dreams about, but because she is an incredible conundrum with which the left must deal.

This is the Left’s bad Karma, methinks. They shat all OVER HRC and nobody, and I mean NOBODY called that bullshit for what it was until AFTER it was clear that Obama had won. But they failed to clean their own house and clarify their reasons for wanting B-Rock instead of Hillary in a CIVILIZED way. Instead, they talked about shrill voices, wrinkles, and pantsuits. And now they get the immense pleasure of answering for it in the face of Sarah Barracuda.

Remember, shall we, that the incredible baggage with which HRC was saddled, was a result of YEARS of slander and nonsense slung by the RIGHT, the Karl Roves of the world, and NOT the left. Does anyone here actually remember the Ken Star Witchhunt called Whitewater of the late 90s? Yeah, I thought so.

And the Left got so damn SCARED that they backed themselves into a defensive little pissant corner and sold one of the finest minds of the late 20th-early 21st century right down the river. Not that I’ve heard or seen HERwhine. The lady has class, folks. Major class.

So why am I ranting here on a blog about surviving DV in the face of a crap legal system, about Sarah Palin?

Because we need to get clear on some things, people. We need to get clear about issues surrounding equity and fairness. We need to DEEPLY examine how some women, like Sarah Palin, get the gravy by playing by the Boy’s Rules, while the rest of us get screwed.

Sarah Palin was LUCKY, or better yet, PRIVILEGED. She’s white, middle class, and insulated. She also had the good fortune and/or judgment to marry a man who clearly behaves as a partner and ally. Good for her, I say, in all sincerity.

Some of us, however, are NOT white, middle class, insulated, or lucky. SOME OF US, Many of us, grew up WITHOUT those privileges and as a consequence, ended up with abusive asshole men. And in the process of trying to be “good girls” we did the whole wife/mother thing, then realized one day that Asshole wasn’t going to get a job/was drunk AGAIN/Hit me again/Wants to KILL me and decided it was safer to go than stay.

Sarah Palin, do you hear me?

What I want to know, and what I don’t see this woman evincing, is ANY sort of understanding of circumstances beyond her own. Like I said, she GOT there on OUR backs – so what is she giving back?

Would Sarah Palin come down to Georgia and reform a corrupted court system that gives custody to proven abusers? Or come down to Kentucky like an Alaska blizzard with her talk of reform to make a damned homicidal maniac at least pay child support to his ex?

Sarah Palin, would you fight for me? For my sisters, for my friends?

I don’t think so. She made rape victims pay for their own rape kits while mayor of Wasilla, Alaska. I don’t know if this woman even has the heuristic framework POSSIBLE to know what it’s like to be where we are.

How I wish it wasn’t so. Because she’s a bruiser, no doubt. Still, the woman may have balls bigger than Texas, but she ain’t got no heart. And she ain’t got no soul.

May standard is, if a dude would get called an asshole for it, then fair play. If not, then shut the fuck up and go home.

See AlsoMcCain and Palin Don’t Care About Women

Hello

Written by: PiphISBehaving

Hello! 

 

Another claims-taker of the united Internet world here to throw my nickel in the bucket.  In a year or twenty perhaps we’ll see how much change we’ve made!

 

By passionate definition I’m a full-time single mother, a full-time Sociology student, an in-kind legal assistant, and a community project volunteer.  I thrive in the psychological aspects of living: the senses, relationships, ideas & perceptions, environment, structure and world placement.  My eyes have recently been opened to view a world where approx half the population moves through it with their eyes wide shut. 

 

I’ll tell you now that I see red, and NOT through misshapen rosey colored lenses.  

 

Eight years ago I was a clueless, voiceless housewife, i.e., covertly and overtly domestically victimized in many ways by a man twice my size.  I allowed myself to be driven to the point where I thought I was the crazy one, the stupid one.  He was a paralegal in the US Army, a mental skill often used as a weapon and was also highly effective in field combat.  Conciously weighing the level of danger, I stayed beyond the breaking point, until he more or less agreed to let me go.  The divorce was supposed to be a reasonably uncontested filing of paperwork.  Three weeks later my best friend was dead.  He said it was an accident and was acquitted after supressing certain testimony.  One year later he gave no grounds yet was awarded unsupervised visitation despite my best pro se efforts to keep supervision in place.  In fact, the judge refused to hear my arguments.  This aftermath, along with the past, has become the catalyst of today; maneuvering through the barriers of the good ol’ boy system of Appalachia and keeping in close with others on the same team.

 

You can argue my opinions.  You can argue my assumptions.  But those things not debatable are the facts. The prime majority of the states’ Family Court systems have adopted the “best interest of the child” model for deciding cases:  “Physical, mental, moral and emotional health of the child SHALL determine…”  However, too many instances exist where the abusive parent manages to distract the court away from the sake of the child, to the sake of the [abusive] parent’s rights.  The parent attempting to enforce the child’s true rights is frequently caught in the dilema of breaking out of an unhealthy dynamic – where their abuser has systematically controlled them for an extensive period — and simultaneously trying not to forsake the child for the sake of Solomon.  The solution is simple in context:  Educate the Courts; Save the children.

Unfortunately this requires unravelling the Patriarchs’ longwithstanding bias favoring the ideals of the very Men’s Groups which perpetuate the dynamic. 

 

Yes, I am too “behaving” like a “good girl”.   I aim to make a lot of people uncomfortable.  No, I won’t cry.    No, I won’t shut up.   Deal with it.

Welcome

Written by: civillydisobedientbitch

Welcome.

I’m staking out my own little corner of the internets for my own take on a few things.

Actually, I’m staking a claim on some cyber space to say some things that By Goddess need to be said.

First, though, an introduction is in order, I suppose.

I’m a lot of things, like most of us out there. There’s not a single one of those things that defines me; let’s just say it’s a synergy of them all.

I’m a scientist who’s endlessly agog at the neatness of the world. I’m an unrepentant intellectual of the populist sort. I read gossip mags and peer reviewed journals and JRR Tolkein and don’t really see any sort of disconnect between those things. I love culture and history and politics past and present, and classical Latin poetry. I even like the French and Goddess forbid, physics and chemistry. I am an unabashed combat boot wearing heavily tattooed radical feminist with post baccalaureate degrees happily married to the hottest and most wonderful MALE ever. I have a truly sick sense of humor. Deal with it.

I’m also a survivor of domestic abuse of the truly crazy-making sort. I got out, by Goddess, but thanks to the amazingly fucked up politics in family law here in the great state of Georgia, my abusive ex sought, and won, primary custody of our son.

Being a mother without custody is kind of like being biologically male without a cock, I think. There’s this overwhelming assumption that you have to be a child beating crack addict who burns kids with cigarettes for fun to lose said kids. Not true. But it’s always awkward for me to discuss this with acquaintances. I don’t like to explain it. It’s no fun, and if it’s not fun, then why do it, right?

I don’t cry about it anymore, but you bet your butter beans I’m here to raise hell about it. And many other things. Because if it makes other folks uncomfortable, then maybe they OUGHT to feel uncomfortable. Because there is something deeply wrong and sick and outside all realms of logic in a system when a man who threatened to kill himself in front of his wife and kid can go on to get the kid in a custody battle. And yes, there are police reports to that effect.

What you’ll be reading about the most here from me and my fellow bloggers is life after living with abusers. There are tons of common threads, and lots of uncommon ones, too. All of us here are unique, and many of us still have to deal with our ex-abusers. Some of us still have kids who have contact. Not one single person here that I’m aware of actually received the full protection of the law and the system the way that it’s written down on paper, though. Our society and our legal system turns a deaf ear and blind eye to an astonishing amount of abuse, and the so-called “Men’s Rights” Groups have made it amazingly hard to reach people in the legal system.

Dispose of forever, however, the notion that anyone here is a helpless victim. Oh, HELL no. We’re all here to raise hell and raise our kids and whatever it takes, we refuse to shut up until people listen and truly hear us.