Rape culture is a term to describe collectively beliefs and behaviors within a societal culture contributing to rape.
Remember the godawful case out of Sandusky when the high school kids raped the girl and put the video online? And the one went to trial and was convicted, and afterward all the press could talk about was the tragedy of the whole case?
That poor young man. His whole future is ruined. Hey, how about this:
That poor rape survivor. At the very least, her rapist isn't getting away with it. Seriously, our sympathies are supposed to be with the
rapist? What a wonderful cultural quirk, eh?
To the other, there is an aspect to,
That poor, unfortunate rapist whose future is ruined, worth considering. Was this young man inherently evil? Probably not. How the hell did he end up doing this, then? And while it's true that I can't speak for any young person today specifically, I can, in fact, recall my own youth and wonder if we've ever escaped a few bad ideas. For instance, in September it happened that I took a moment to
consider the notion of the pick-up artist↱, an idea that keeps finding new ways to penetrate the public discourse.
And, you know, in this case, hell, really? She can't
get a cup of coffee without some dude somewhere thinking she owes something? Pickup artistry, being so straightforward, is a pretty easy example; women are for fucking. Such attitudes are functionally problematic, helping construct and reinforce habits in which violative behaviors are defended, advocated, and even cultivated. Framing that story for blogging was easy enough:
One note about the passing of time is that the ravages of age compel me to recall that not so long ago the idea of a pickup artist was regarded somewhere between being hapless, charming, and forgivable to the one, and admirable to the other ....
.... The idea of the pickup artist is particularly reviled right now, and for reasons we might consider exceptionally obvious. But it seems strange, in the age of #NotAllMen and #JustNotMe, how many of my peers seem a bit cloudy on the issue of how important it was for guys to get laid―by a girl!―when we were younger. And it’s one thing to invoke ego defense, but, really, what drives such suppression? Can self-indictment really be so powerful? Because, I swear, they’re not all running from memories of evils committed. And just how many self-inflicted wounds, such as it is, could they possibly visit upon themselves? Or is it possible that we really have been wandering so catastrophically astray for so long without even knowing it? The proposition seems unrealistic for both magnitude and necessary complexity. Yet one point at least remains occulted: How can we possibly forget?
And it's true; on some level my peers know. Even the ones who might say, #NotAllMen, or #JustNotMe.
Heh.
Even and especially the ones who think #NotAllMen and #JustNotMe are bullshit.
We all play our part.
The PUA is an example cast in sharp relief; what, really, is a woman to think when
this is the common bond between the guy she gets her morning coffee from and Elliot Rodger? No, really, she can't even get a goddamn cup of coffee without this shit?
Still, though, the myth of the PUA is not some odd deviation from our societal principles; rather, it is an exceptionally acute reflection of them. Because woman defined as mate is a pervasive notion.
Consider Christian-derived ownership culture, such as we see in the Duggars and Quiverfull, in which families groom their daughters to endure sexual abuse as a duty of womanhood. Or our recent visitation to the IT guy's version of
what women owe men↗.
Pickup artistry is a distillation of the functional principles underpinning larger cultural misogyny; in the U.S., for instance, it is a high-proof cocktail of traditional masculine supremacy, duty, and expectation. Consider that it took until 1993 for the last American state to accept that it really should be illegal to rape your wife. And then consider that more than thirty states consider raping a woman you're married to, even if you're estranged and amid a bitter divorce, a lesser crime than raping anyone else.
What about the monogamous commitment―
I won't fuck anybody else―means specific obligation, that,
She owes me this? Talk about prostitution? Here's one for you:
Sure, you married him, but you don't get your rights of marriage under law until you fuck him. Consummation is still a vital difference between divorce and annulment. Then again, for the most part we only need annulment in order to satisfy specific religious assertions about sex and sexuality; we still need annulment for open fraud, but otherwise divorce should suffice.
Over and over again, our society reiterates that a woman's place is under a man.
We've had discussions about street harassment here, before, and often we might hear a weird line about how is he supposed to meet women.
Well, why does he want to meet women? If it's simply a matter of one feeling enriched, enlightened, and, yes, entertained by the contributions these human beings make to one's living experience, there are all sorts of ways to meet women.
But neither do those start with, say, (
ahem!) "complimenting" a woman by telling her to smile because she's more attractive that way. To the one, functionally, if that is his opener, what does he expect her to expect of the subsequent conversation? To the other, such ideas of whether or not a random stranger is more attractive when smiling
really isn't any of his business↱.
I live in a country where a Florida judge would put a minor female in the custody of her father, a convicted murderer and accused child molester, because His Honor is afraid that the girl's mother, a lesbian, might someday decide to abuse her daughter.
I live in a country where a jury will acquit a rapist because the woman he raped was wearing a bikini. In public. In Florida. During the summer.
Or the charges can be reduced because the rapist wore a condom.
Where a guy deciding to chat up some girl in a parking lot is such his right that he can smash her teeth in with a metal pipe when she doesn't want to talk to him. No, really, how is he supposed to meet women?
Hell, I live in a country where we frequently advise women that the best way to prevent their sexual assault is to
plan on being sexually assaulted↗.
And I live in a country where a professional woman can't work with grieving families in public without some dude―how is he supposed to meet women?―telling her to smile because she just doesn't look very nice when she's not smiling.
And I live in a country where her disdain for being treated as such apparently warrants rape threats.
Whence comes this behavior? How in the world can anybody possibly think it appropriate or even defensible?
At such intersections, you find the elements of rape culture.
Now here's the tricky part:
I just handed you a clod of dirt.
And in this metaphor, I am hoping it is rich, sticky dirt, not the sandy sort that slips through your fingers from the moment you pick it up. And, yeah, when you're done considering it, you'll probably want to wash your hands.
But here's the thing. It's a clod of dirt. We live on planet Earth. This clod of dirt is hardly unique. In its context, it is exactly what it is, one fistful of dirt out of how many on Earth?
And the sad thing is that society keeps trying to find more dirt to pile up on women.
I can't give you an authoritative, encyclopedic overview of the whole of rape culture in America. But a tremendous amount orbits a basic presupposition that
fucking is what women are for.
Consider our political spectrum on "women's issues". Any time "women's rights" are reserved as being in any way functionally separate from
human rights, you are looking at a powerful current within and describing rape culture in our society.
You know, there's an old joke, and the thing is that I know it even though I thought it was Robert De Niro, not Alec Baldwin, and I never did see
Outside Providence, but what do I know. The line:
"It's not over until you both get your cookies".
Actually, it's over when one of the partners decides it's over. But that's the thing; in 1999, among my peer cohort, we all knew what it meant, and it was generally considered a funny manner of
wisdom. It is, in fact, a pretty straightforward component of rape culture.
Still, I would have thought I knew that line from before I was
twenty-six. I remember it from my teenage years.
And the bit about fucking her 'til she walks funny.
And the myth about how what she really wants is for you to surprise her and rape her ass, and how she'll thank you if you do it right.
Husband's prerogative, wife's duty.
Consider, please, the idea that there are Republican legislators in Texas trying to push a bill through that would extend right of conscience to allow state agents to force sexually abused minor females in their charge to carry a rapist's baby to term.
I cannot possibly circumscribe the whole of rape culture, but, yes, this is what the tip of the iceberg, or the visible foliage, or a few grains of sand, or a clod of dirt, or whatever figurative glimpse we might describe, looks like.