Meet Deric Lostutter, a 26-year-old cybersecurity consultant who also goes by the moniker “KYAnonymous.” Lostutter obtained and published tweets and Instagram photos in which members of the Steubenville High School football team joked about an incident in which a 16-year-old girl was raped.
Lostutter’s actions inspired a group of people to take justice into their own hands. A hacker called “Bobcat” vandalized the Facebook page of the Steubenville football team. Other hackers took similar action.
It’s unclear if Lostutter participated in any hacking shenanigans, but if he’s indicted and found guilty of any, he faces 10 years in jail. By comparison, the Steubenville rapists received one- and two-year sentences each.
because crimes against men’s pride are still considered more vile than those committed against women’s person.
PR FAIL of the Day
Shortly after the Super Bowl halftime show on Sunday, BuzzFeed posted a few unflattering screen captures from Beyoncé’s performance. Fast forward to yesterday, BuzzFeed was apparently contacted by the pop star’s publicist who requested the removal of her photos he deemed “unflattering.” Needless to say, the e-mail exchange quickly gave way to the latest headline that reads “Beyonce’s Publicist Asks BuzzFeed To Remove ‘Unflattering’ Photos.” Seriously though, are there still publicists in Hollywood who didn’t get the memo from Barbara Streisand’s PR agent?
this shit though. the fact the beyonce has to look absolutely perfect at every single moment through out her performance is completely absurd and unrealistic. it’s just another testament to the standard of looks that women are held to. should you look even slightly unflattering for half a second, someone will take a screen shot and use that against you. you cannot have normal human expressions. you must be on point ALL OF THE TIME.
it’s so maddening i run out of words.
by finishing the statement “When I experience street harassment I feel __________.”
I need you to respond with:
1. how you feel when you experience street harassment
2. your name
3. your age
4. your city
5. your gender identity (if you have one.. otherwise you can leave this section blank).
6. sexual orientation
For those who need clarification:
Stop Street Harassment defines street harassment as “Catcalls, sexually explicit comments, sexist remarks, groping, leering, stalking, public masturbation, and assault.” (http://www.stopstreetharassment.org/)
This information will be used for a zine I am making to spread awareness about street harassment and the link it has to patriarchy.
Submit to my ask
I can’t get my head around these feminists online attacking guys for mentioning rape.
You have no issues saying things such as “I am going to kill you.” Well, murder isn’t exactly something to joke about either but it’s more than obvious that murder isn’t actually your intention.
Same principle with rape, now chill the fuck out ok
I have been a victim of rape on more than one occasion. One very recently, in fact. I am, for the most part (depending on the statement/joke) largely unaffected because I know it’s not a literal threat, see?
You saying you want to kill all men doesn’t have a literal meaning, just as me saying I’ll rape you if you don’t give me my book back or something.
As a survivor, I don’t see why so many women get so butthurt over something they haven’t experienced.
You do not speak for all survivors, and the last thing women are about rape jokes is “butthurt.” Try actual hurt, threatened, and powerless.
So why do they not feel the same why when someone “threatens” to kill them?
Granted, I don’t speak for all survivors but I don’t understand why people have to take every little thing so fucking seriously.
I don’t know, but they don’t.
The thing is that people don’t “take every little thing so fucking seriously” for the hell of it. Negative reactions to rape jokes are genuine. It’s not that we want to be uppity or whatever; it’s just that those jokes are legitimately upsetting.
Gonna jump on in here… So the thing with rape jokes is that it perpetuates rape culture. It normalizes rape. When rape is normalized it is seen as inevitable. And responsibility is placed upon the victim to not get raped, not the rapist to not rape. Rape is largely a crime against women. It is used in an effort to exercise control over another person’s body.
It isn’t just about being sensitive to those who have been assaulted. OP says they have and that they were able to recover, that is fantastic, not all survivors can do that. It’s about sending a message to those who commit rape that the rest of the population is not like them. And when someone tells a rape joke and a rapist happens to be around, that rapist thinks the person telling the rape joke is just like them.
Murder and Rape aren’t really comparable. Rape is always about control, murder isn’t. So, yeah, false comparison is false.
not to mention that murder and rape are incomparable because after you’re/i’m raped, you/i become a rape survivor. and you/i have to live with that all the time. and the trauma can be re-triggered at any time from anything. yes, murder is awful. but, as it is murder, there’s no survivor to keep being re-traumatized.
rape jokes are awful because they’re a reminder that the torture you/i went through is just fodder for people to laugh at. that’s really hurtful. rape is about control and dehumanization. these jokes and the people who laugh at them reinforce that we do not own our bodies nor have any autonomy over them; someone else does, which keeps up the dehumanization.
fuck you, societal norms.
are prisons obsolete? by angela davis
zami sister outside undersong by audrey lorde
black feminist thought by patricia hill collins
beyond the frame: women of color and visual representation by angela davis & neferti tadiar
also, not by WOC but:
envisioning (black) male feminism: a cross-cultural perspective samuel adu-poku
And then I debated whether or not to put it on Tumblr…but I decided it was important. Because in my own way, I can (unfortunately) point out exactly what is wrong with men when they don’t realize how hard it is to be a woman. How we do not have equal opportunities and freedoms in everyday life. How most men, even good caring men, have no clue what we go through on a daily basis just trying to live our lives.
So here goes.
I often ride the Metro when I commute from North Hollywood to Long Beach in order to save money. I bring a book, pointedly wear a ring on my ring finger to imply I’m married (I’m not) and keep to myself.
Without fail, I am aggressively approached by men on at least half of these commutes. The most common approach is to walk up to where I am sitting with body language that practically screams LEAVE ME ALONE and sit down next to me or as close to me as possible, when the train is not crowded and there are many empty rows. Sometimes an overly friendly arm is draped over the railing behind me, or they attempt to lean in close to talk to me as if we are old friends. Without fail, the man or boy in question will lean to close and ask me
What are you reading?
Is that a good book?
What’s that book about?
This serves the double purpose of getting my attention and trapping me in a conversation. If I stop reading the book I enjoy to talk to you, random stranger, you hit on me or just stay way too close to me. If I tell you to leave me alone, you get mad at me. Because I somehow, as a woman, owe you conversation.
Tonight when I boarded the train in Long Beach at 10:30pm, it started up right away. I was not on the train more than three minutes before three boys who looked eighteen sat in the row behind me and leaned over the seats into my personal space, close enough to breathe on me. The one with his arm draped over onto the back of my seat asked me—surprise— “what are you reading?” I went through my usual routine. I told them loudly and firmly that I wanted to be left alone to read my book. They got angry. I was told “Why are you going to be like that? I just wanted to talk!” His friends start laughing at me and they don’t move, telling me come on! and why are you gonna be like that? until I tell them to leave me the fuck alone, stand up, and move to the front of the car near the three other people on the train, a couple and a business man in a suit. They spend the next two stops shouting at me from the back of the car, alternating between trying to sound flirtatious and making fun of me, shouting “I bet she’s reading Stephanie Meyer! I bet she’s reading Twilight or some shit! You reading Twilight or some shit?”
They exit the train at the next stop, and I’m relieved. The train is going out of service at the next station, so we all exit to board a new train to Los Angeles. As we board, the business man steps aside to let me go through the door first and asks me if those guys were bothering me. I say yes, that it happens all the time, and he tells he’ll beat them up for me if they come back. He is a nice person who talks to me like I’m a human being instead of a walking pair of tits, and I make a mental note: This is how a real man talks to a woman on a train.
The business man and the couple exit our new Blue Line train an exit or so later, and I think my night is ending on a good note. A seemingly normal man enters the train with his bicycle. At this point I am three rows from the front of the car, another man was sitting near the back of the car, and the rest of the car is empty. Bicycle Man walks halfway down the row, and settles into the seat directly opposite me. Perfect, I think. Twice in one night.
It’s not the first time I’ve been bothered multiple times. As such, I’m still amped from the teenagers on the first train. So when this man leans across the aisle into my personal space and asks me, yes, what are you reading, I assertively but calmly tell him to please leave me alone, I am reading. The man stands up, moving to the front and muttering angrily over his shoulder that it isn’t his fault I’m pretty.
Yes. Exactly that. I am the bad person in this situation because somehow this is all my fault. I started this by being attractive. I am making a mental note to bitch about this to my friends later. I go so far as to write it down so I know I’m remembering it properly.
It is at this exact moment I realize Bicycle Man is not taking it well. The seemingly annoying but normal man a moment before is now talking to himself, becoming agitated. In my years of being bothered by total strangers, I have learned how to hold a book and seem to be reading while taking in everything around me. He is glaring at me, and says out loud in an angry baby talk voice “PLEASELEAVEMEALONEI’MREADING. PLEASE LEAVE ME ALOOOONE.”
Then he’s up out of his seat and things go from bad to worse. He begins pacing back and forth in front of his bike, alternating between screaming something about his mother being dead and calling me a slut, a hoe, a bitch. I am frozen in place. There is one other person in the car, and I’m not sure if trying to change seats will draw more attention to me or less. I trust my instincts and show no fear, doing my best to appear to be calmly reading my book, never once looking up to acknowledge the abuse he’s hurling at me. There are four stops left until we reach the main downtown station where there are lights and security officers. Those four stops are virtually abandoned, and I have no guarantee that leaving to wait for another train won’t motivate him to leave the train as well, leaving us potentially alone at a metro station platform just outside of Compton. I’m frozen in place, trying to plan what I’m going to do if he decides to take all this rage directly to me. I’m ready to kick him, scream, make enough noise that he panics and flees.
At this point he’s punching the walls and doors of the train, screaming at me. He stares me full in the face and screams
SUCK MY DICK, BITCH
YOU STUPID BITCH
YOU GODDAMN HO
IF I HAD A GUN I’D SHOOT YOU
I WOULD FUCKING KILL YOU BITCH
This went on for two stops. No one came to see what was happening. The man in the last row was as frozen as I was. I’m not angry he didn’t come to my defense. He was smaller, older, and frailer-looking than I was. Again, I was worried if I got up, I would be turning my back on him to walk down the aisle. In the state he was in, I had no guarantee it wouldn’t get physical, and I had more physical strength with my back to the window and feet in kicking position where I was. If he had chosen to assault me, I would only be making it easier for him by standing up and putting myself directly in his path. On and on, over and over, he screamed at me, screamed at his dead mother, screamed at me again.
The moment we reached the downtown station, I was out the door and down the stairs. I still had to catch a connecting train to North Hollywood, and made sure there was no sign of Bicycle Man before I entered the car. That’s when I finally starting shaking, and almost threw up. By the time I exited the Red Line and reached my car I could barely breathe and my heart was pounding out of my chest. Even now, in my own home, my hands are still shaking and for some reason the stress has made my back muscles feel cold and numb. From all the tension, I can only assume. I can’t eat anything, I still feel like I’m going to vomit, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t cried so much, so hard I still have the headache.
So when people (men) want to talk about “legitimate” forms of assault, tell girls they should be nice to strangers and give men the benefit of a doubt, tell them to consider it a compliment, tell them to ignore the bad behavior of men, I want them to be forced to feel, for even one minute, what it feels like to have so much verbal hatred and physical intimidation thrown at them for nothing more than being female and not wanting to share.
I just wanted to read my book.
It’s not my fault I’m pretty.
That is some fucked up shit. I am so sorry you had to go through that. You are a far more collected person than I, I know in your situation I would have caused the event to escalate further because I tend to lose my temper at assholes. >.>