For a moment there, I thought there wouldn't be a misogynist asshole involved, but luckily they were able to secure someone who called his then-11-year-old daughter "a rude, thoughtless little pig" who doesn't have "brains" or "decency," and then "joked" two years later (on Letterman's show, ahem):
I see why, in these films where they represent the Mayan culture or any tribal cuture or Hawaiian culture, they always throw the teenage girl into a volcano. They always say, oh, it's their hormones, and I really don't care. They should be sent to some kind of Chinese re-education camp in the mountains for five years.
[Spoiler warning if you don't know who was voted off last night.]
Legacy and Kathryn got my vote for best performance again last night. This Stacey Tookey-choreographed piece was just amazing; Legacy and Kathryn danced it beautifully, and I found it incredibly moving (and personally meaningful). It was Iain's favorite, too.
As regards the eliminations, I was sad and disappointed to see Bianca go. I strongly suspect she was a casualty of Channing needing a stronger partner. Phillip was definitely going home (and deservedly so); if they'd sent Noelle home, Channing would have been partnered with Russell, who probably wouldn't have been strong enough for her, either. Victor, on the other hand, is probably big and powerful enough to successfully partner Channing. I think their decision came down not to whether Bianca was better than Noelle, but whether she was better than Channing.
None of which changes the fact that they've now sent home four people of color and none of the white contestants.
Bianca looked hella pissed, and I don't blame her—even though I think partnering Channing with Victor instead of Russell will keep Russell in the competition longer, which I count as a good thing, since he's one of my favorites.
For those who can't see it, here's a recap of the commercial.
In an average, everyday house and average, everyday man inspects his (presumably) belongings. Vaguely Johnny Cash-esque music plays over the scene. Everything he comes across is labelled with distinctly non-Made-in-America wording. Made in Mexico. Something in Chinese. Made in Malaysia. Made in Iran. One by one the man drags these items out of his house and dumps them onto his lawn. A woman sits in the living room and looks on disapprovingly. Who is she? The man's spouse? Mother? It's not clear. She knits. Until he drags her out and puts her on the lawn too. Finally he comes upon a rifle hung above the mantel. Stamped in (ridiculously) large letters on the barrel: Made in America. The man smiles and places the rifle back on the wall.
A lot of things struck me about this commercial. Besides its aggressive stupidity (buying something then throwing it out isn't really a boycott, not that that is the advertisers intended message), I found the Made in Iran bit quite interesting. Made in Iran? Really? Is Iran a big exporter of cheap clocks to the U.S.? Is Iran a big exporter of anything to the U.S.? I am pretty sure, in all my life, I've never seen a single item marked Made in Iran.
In spite of its weird and jingoistic message (sloppily delivered though it is) the ad did inspire me to wander around my house and attempt to determine the origin of ten random items. Just FYI, I purposefully picked things that A) I didn't know the origin of and 2) I assumed would be labelled. I knew the toothy, grinning crocodile head on the nightstand was from Florida, where I acquired it, but was likely not labelled as such, so I skipped that item. Same for my Maltese Falcon, which I am pretty sure was actually made in America too. (Take that, Malta!)
But I did look at the telephone, a frying pan, a peppermill, a plate (like the guy in the commercial), a nightlight, my laptop, a few other things. I did not check my firearms, because I don't own any. Here's what I found out: One item was from Taiwan. Three were actually unmarked. Three came from China, and one from France. The plate was from Sri Lanka. The frying pan was marked with Wisconsin, but I'm not sure that is where it was actually manufactured.
Not one thing was marked Made in Iran. Know why? Because most trade with Iran is prohibited. So why include this mendacious little moment in the commercial? Aside from trying to connect with racist, jingoistic douchnozzles who may be your target audience?
As you'll certainly recall, after a popular Shaker favie Emma Thompson signed the Roman Polanski petition and broke our hearts, Shaker Caitlin put together a petition asking Thompson to remove her name, which she intended to deliver to Thompson during a brief meeting.
This morning, Caitlin emailed with this update:
Dear All,
I have just returned from meeting Emma Thompson. While I would love to dwell on the experience – how friendly she is, how compassionate and how incredibly driven she is, there is a more important issue I need to address.
I took Emma the petition I had drawn up about Roman Polanski, with the 410 signatures and everyone's comments. Any comments that I was aware of that didn't show up on the petition, I took as a separate document. I also took the wording of the petition she had signed, and information about another petition (to be found here) which has over 3,000 signatures supporting Polanski's arrest.
Emma did not have much time between meetings, but she gave me all of the time that she had. I asked her why she had signed the petition, and she explained about how well she knows Polanski, how terrible his life has been, and how forgiving the survivor of the rape all those years ago now is. She said she thought the intentions of the judge were unclear, as were the intentions of those who arrested him recently. She told me that a lot of her friends had rung her up asking her to sign the petition, so there had been a certain amount of pressure. She said that she had already been thinking a lot about the petition, as others had expressed their dismay at her signing it.
I handed her our petition and the comments. She read them both through thoroughly, and came back to me. She said, while she supported Polanski as a friend, a crime is a crime. I don't know whether she had realised the extent of Polanski's crime, but she is now fully aware. She will remove her name from the petition – in fact, she said she would call today and sort it out. Even though, she stressed, Polanski has had some truly terrible experiences in his lifetime, experiences that we couldn't even imagine and which should not be taken out of the equation, she agreed that she could not put her name to a petition asking for his release.
Assuming that she will be true to her word, her name will be removed in the very near future. Hopefully the press will pick up on it.
She left me with this, to pass on to everyone who has signed the petition/raised awareness of this issue: "Know that I will remove my name because of you, and all of the good work that you have been doing. I have read your petition. I have heard you. And I will listen."
I hope that this will encourage others to do the same, as I really do believe that many of those who have signed the Polanski petition did so not knowing what it was that they were signing.
Yours, with a teaspoon salute and a sigh of relief,
Caitlin
I'll reserve my grateful blubbing for when I see her name actually peeled off Bernard-Henri Lévy's petition, but, in the meantime: Thanks for being willing to listen, Ms. Thompson.
And I'd like to offer Caitlin a resounding cheer and a fist-pumping teaspoon salute, for what was some mighty fine teaspooning. Thank you, Caitlin.
Keith Bardwell, the Louisiana Justice of the Peace who refused to marry interracial couples, has resigned. Awwww. Hey, don't let the door hitcha where the good lord splitcha on your way out, asshole.
Bardwell, speaking to CNN affiliate WBRZ, said he was advised "that I needed to step down because they was going to take me to court, and I was going to lose."
"I would probably do the same thing again," he said. "I found out I can't be a justice of the peace and have a conscience."
...[Bardwell] told CNN affiliate WAFB that he had no regrets about the decision. "It's kind of hard to apologize for something that you really and truly feel down in your heart you haven't done wrong," he said.
..."I'm not a racist," he said. "I do ceremonies for black couples right here in my house. My main concern is for the children."
Who is cheering me up with her goofy but authentic smile.
(If you've a ridiculous and/or embarrassing photo of yourself from your youth, please send it to shakerwhatthehell_at_yahoo_dot_com. I'll post them up as part of our series called What The Hell? so everyone can laugh at with you.)
Maine Gay Marriage Law Repealed: "The tide of extending marriage rights to same-sex couples—which has swept across New England in recent months—has stopped at Maine. Voters rejected a state law Tuesday that would have allowed same-sex couples to wed. The repeal comes just six months after the measure was passed by the Maine legislature and signed by the Democratic Gov. John Baldacci."
Late last night, with most precincts reporting, marriage supporters had lost 53-47%.
I'm just...FUCK. This is why equality shouldn't be up for a goddamn vote.
What food did you hate as a child that you love now?
When I was a kid, I loved raw carrots, but cooked ones would literally make me vomit. I couldn't get them anywhere near my mouth. Now, I really love them. Mashed carrots and parsnips? Yummmm.
Another one: Brussels Sprouts. How could I have ever hated them?
Last night, after getting totally shit-faced on two glasses of wine while over at my parents' for dinner (I have no tolerance at. fucking. all. lol), I tried to explain this video, a perennial Shakesville favorite, to my dad:
Transcript:
Voice Off-Camera: Hey, Kiefer. You're a pirate, man.
Kiefer: That would explain everything. [jumps into Christmas tree]
"It's Kiefer Sutherland and it's—did I mention it was Christmas? Yeah, it's Christmastime, and there's this tree. Wait. Okay, so Kiefer Sutherland is there, and he's like maybe as drunk as I am right now, and some dude says—oh, and there's music playing. But yeah, the dude says, 'You're a pirate, man,' to Kiefer, and he's all: 'That would explain everything.' And then he fucking JUMPS into the Christmas tree. It's awesome. It's my favorite video on the entirety of YouTube. You know what YouTube is, right? Yeah? Kinda? Okay, well, whatever, it's the best video pretty much anywhere ever. Like, seriously, he JUMPS into the Christmas tree. For realz."
By the time my head lolled back around to look at my dad, I noticed he wasn't even paying attention and was staring at the football game.
Which he does when I'm sober and saying something important, too, but this time I couldn't blame him.
O hai. Remember me? I'm the mythical Perfect Ladymomwife! I just arrived back in your mailbox care of the Backlash Express. So nice to see you again! All that post-feminist society stuff sure was wacky, huh? Now, about making you feel guilty for not being flawless and occasionally doing things for yourself...
Shaker Zan, whose story I am sharing with her permission, emailed me about escaping an attack six months ago while visiting South Africa, which is in the throes of a brutal rape epidemic. Though staying in a relatively safe town, in a hostel "no more than three minutes walk to the center of town, and literally across the intersection from the very busy taxi center," Zan was returning from shopping at a nearby grocery store on a Sunday morning when she was greeted by "three boys a few years younger than me, hanging out on the corner," near the taxi stand, deserted at that time on a Sunday, one of whom shouted at her as she passed. She didn't understand what he'd said.
The part of me that has been dealing with street harassment since I hit puberty started to walk faster, but the part of me that is trained to be polite had me turning my head to say 'Sorry, what?'. The boy repeated whatever he said, but I didn't even try to understand because I was a bit preoccupied by the fact that the three of them were now following me. They kept talking to me, and sped up until they were right next to me, surrounding me. My heart was beating in my throat, and I said 'I'm uncomfortable, you need to stop.' They didn't, so I yelled (but not loudly enough to be heard by a potential rescuer) 'Stop following me! You need to leave me alone.' All the while they were herding me, pushing me towards the bushes on the side of the road. Fortunately these were right outside my hostel, and as they got me to the curb and tried to shove me into the bushes, I broke free, ran to the gate, and was thankfully immediately let in. I didn't stop shaking for ages. I was so scared.
The part of this story that I want to address is that I didn't scream. Not once. I yelled, and was actually hugely proud of myself for doing so even though it wasn't very loud, because it went against all my instincts to not make a fuss. And that's the fucked up part—there was no possible way to interpret what was happening to me as anything other than an attack, yet there was still this huge part of me insisting I not scream. Up until they started pushing me into the bushes, part of me was saying 'but what if you're misinterpreting this?' There were other parts of me that weren't even trying to rationalize why they didn't want me to make a fuss; they just emphatically didn't.
Zan continues…
Now I know that I have a stronger impulse towards not making a fuss than many people. Some of that is just who I am, though some of it is certainly due to plenty of harassment in school by people who didn't like my opinions or clothes or the fact that I would dare to be different and be noticed. I'm incredibly lucky to have a mother who really taught me how to know what I need and think and how to say it. Part of that is because she was sexually abused by an uncle when she was younger, and was silenced by her family. She worked very, very hard to make sure I would NEVER be silenced. Thanks to her training I always stand up for what I believe, but I still find it scary when that means really standing out.
Yet there I was, in this incredibly threatening situation, unable to scream. I hope (and think) that had I not been so close to my hostel I would have brought myself to full out shrieking, but who knows? Before this, I thought I would have started to scream the second they surrounded me. I know myself well enough to know I would never have started screaming when they began to follow me, I would've tried to excuse their actions. Your blog talks a lot about silencing after the fact, or not speaking up because you're not sure if you've given consent, or because it's an adult or person in a position of power and you're confused, etc. I haven't seen any talk about not screaming when no one in the world could possibly fault you for it.
I felt crazy. Even at the time, I recognized that I didn't want to scream, and felt crazy for it. But there it is. Even now, after all this time thinking about it, I can't completely unpack the parts of me that had that gut reaction to screaming that was stronger than my fear of rape. With a family that never gave any message other than 'be yourself, be safe, be loud, do whatever you need to, we will always believe you', I still had that in me. Is the societal conditioning to be a good girl so strong that it could override that message? I don't know. I don't know what all that was. But I know if I felt that, other women do too.
There's a lot in Zan's account that really resonates with me, particularly overcoming the socialization to be a good girl, a quiet girl who doesn't make a fuss, and the feeling of self-silencing rooted in the fear of embarrassing a man/men who aren't really trying to hurt me. I've had so many conversations with ostensibly anti-rape men who nonetheless complain about women who regard them with obvious suspicion; a former acquaintance once accused me of being a "profiler" for feeling on-guard in situations like being the only other person in, for example, an otherwise deserted parking garage with a male stranger.
I recognize that any man who claims to be anti-rape, yet has the temerity to complain about being "profiled" by a woman whose step quickens if they are the only two on a dark street, is not much of an ally. And yet the frequency of those conversations has nonetheless created a lingering feeling of "I'm going to feel terrible if I act scared and imply this guy intended me harm when he didn't." There is, within me, an internalized sense that I'd be causing him insult for no reason, even though I have a damn good reason—but the reason is mine alone and thus gets rendered as objectively unimportant.
My feeling of safety sacrificed in deference to the feeling of offense potentially experienced by a man who would only be offended if he's an asshole, anyway.
It's shitty to uncover that stuff dwelling within me. But there it is.
And, having found myself in a similar situation to Zan, and having similarly not screamed, I've realized that another part of the subconscious shit that creates my self-imposed silence in those quick seconds is the fear that screaming would induce him to violently silence me, that my screaming would somehow escalate the situation. Was I thinking there was still a chance he wasn't going to do anything, but would only if I screamed? As if rapists are made by screaming? Ugh.
What a terrible, terrible calculation. I know intellectually that screaming is, in reality, more likely to deescalate a situation than escalate it (though the movies would have us believe otherwise). And yet, I was still, in that split-second decision, more viscerally inclined to keep schtum.
That was many years ago. I hope I would react differently now, but I'm not sure.
I have dreams, all the time, in which I need to scream but can't. Sometimes it's because I'm being attacked, sometimes it's because I'm lost, sometimes it's because I'm in a fight, sometimes it's because I'm trying to yell a warning to someone else who's about to be hurt. I open my mouth and I try to scream with all my might—and nothing comes out but silence.
These are the only dreams I have that really terrify me.
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I'll Play You Out on My Tiny Violin
