I just walked a half mile to a Subway restaurant, and it was the most stressful experience of my recent experience. Because I am a woman.

Sometime around 7:30 pm, I decided I wanted something to eat. Recently, I’ve been back at Webster University, living in the dorms while training for work before the rest of the students come back and classes begin. Since it’s technically still summer, though, there are no food options available on campus, so I looked for cheap food places nearby to fill my stomach. Subway is only a half-mile (a ten-minute walk, according to Google Maps) from where I was staying, so around 7:40 pm, I took off in that direction, thinking it was a close enough distance I didn’t need to bum a ride—I would be back really quickly.

By 7:43, just as I was leaving the residence area, I started to become a little nervous, realizing sunset was rapidly approaching. When I saw the first person on the street, I quickly pressed my keys between my fingers, as Law and Order plots started whispering through my mind. It wasn’t too hot or muggy, but I had started sweating profusely. I was beginning to mentally kick myself for not bringing the pepper spray I usually carry with me; my parents insisted I buy it so that when I’m walking home from night classes at 9:30 pm by myself, I am “safe.” I became hyper-aware of everyone and everything around me; the sound of every rabbit and squirrel running through a bush startling me and making me jump. I smiled tensely at everyone I saw, wary of anyone in arms-reach.

I should take a moment to note that this is by no means a shady or sketchy area in which I was walking; much of it was actually on or right by campus. I’ve never seen anyone suspicious around campus or in that vicinity; the area was well-lit, there were shops and apartments up and down the entire stretch of road I was walking. There was even a sidewalk for the convenience of walkers. And yet, still, I felt unsafe.

By the time I got to Subway a few minutes later, I was just relieved to be able to let my guard down for a second. And you can be sure that as I was leaving the restaurant, food in hand, I put the key between my fingers again and had several plans running through my head that, if I was approached maliciously, I would throw my drink at them and run, or I would knee them if they were too close or stab with the key. or I could run into that shop because I knew the staff well and they would help me. It was frightening. Halfway to campus– a quarter of a mile away– I was literally praying for my safety as I walk-ran. And by the time I got back to campus, I was almost shaking from the adrenaline flowing through my veins, thanking God that I was safe.

Again, there was no reason for most people to feel afraid in that situation. Literally none. But I’m a woman. And walking by myself close to nightfall for any length of time just gives me a moment to put into practice the litany of things I’ve been told to do to protect myself from the ever-present threat of an attack. All the little self-defense things I had picked up rushed through my brain as I realized I had violated the number one rule by walking alone by myself too close to nightfall.

The reason I’m sharing my experience is that I know it’s not a novel one– too many women can identify with it. In fact, it’s probably reasonably normal in comparison to many other women’s stories.

And, honestly, that kind of terror is part of the college experience for too many women. But that doesn’t mean it’s a four-years-and-done kind of thing; it’s forever. It is a terrifying, paralyzing fear always lying at the back of our minds, always questioning our choices and making us doubt that an even slightly risky decision (like going ten minutes away for Subway) could keep us safe.

Women are constantly threatened by the existence of men around them because all women have felt terrified for their safety, simply because they were alone. I dare you to find a woman who hasn’t. And that is indicative of a far larger issue within our society: Women never truly feel safe in their own company, always looking for a threat on the horizon, living a life dominated by fear.

And perhaps now you’re looking in this article for the quick 30-second fix to this problem, so you feel like you have done your part. But it’s not that easy. Honestly, I wish I had one for you. I really do, I really, really, really do. But it’s not that easy.

The post Walking in a “safe” neighborhood sparks fears shared by all women appeared first on Occasional Planet.

Time is running out on the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA).  Set to expire at the end of December, VAWA might become the second social-legislation casualty of a lame-duck session in which Republicans seem hell bent on sending a final-hour poke in the eye to women, minorities, and the disabled. And what is it they’re trying to tell us?  First, that they don’t give a damn about the majority who clearly expressed broad-based opposition to Republican governance by returning President Obama to the White House and increasing the Democratic majority in the Senate. Second, that in the House they’ll fight to the last to prevent expansion of programs and protections against domestic violence, sexual assault, dating violence, and stalking to communities whose lifestyles they reject or prefer to ignore.

(Not to be outdone by the stonewalling of their colleagues in the lower chamber, Senate Republicans shamed themselves and damaged American leadership on human rights by recently voting down ratification of a U.N. treaty that would have expanded the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) to nations and individuals around the world.)

Bipartisanship gets left behind

Historically VAWA has not been controversial. Originally drafted by Senator Joe Biden and passed into law in 1994 with bipartisan support, the bill easily passed reauthorization with little or no opposition in 2000 and 2006.

This past April reauthorization of the bill, including an expansion of provisions covering the LGBT community, Native Americans, and undocumented immigrants, passed the Senate, again with broad, bipartisan support.  Senator Patty Murray, Democrat of Washington, best summed up the case for benefit expansion: “Where a person lives, who they love, or what their citizenship status may be should not determine whether or not their perpetrators are brought to justice.” By the time the 68-to-31 tally was complete, every Republican female senator had the decency to vote her conscience and joined Democrats in assuring all victims of abuse and violence that they will receive the legal support and services they need.

The story couldn’t be more different in the House. On a near party-line vote, the Senate’s expanded version of the Violence Against Women Act failed to gain reauthorization. What is it that’s ruffling the feathers of Republican male members of the House?  What is comes down to is that Republicans have decided to defend their right to exclude LGBT individuals, undocumented immigrants, and Native Americans from legal protections and support services that have proven effective for countless women and men.

 Worse yet, House Republicans chose to ignore the more than three hundred national organizations, including faith-based groups and others spanning the political and ideological spectrum, which lobbied passionately for passage of the Senate version. In May, the Republican caucus proposed its own version that passed on a near party-line vote. According to reporting in the Huffington Post, the House bill  “discourages undocumented immigrant women from reporting abuse without the threat of being deported.  It also makes it harder for Native American women to seek justice against their abusers, and it leaves out protections for the LGBT community altogether.”

Obama gets tough

The truncated House version prompted a vow by President Obama to veto any bill that excludes expanded coverage. The president knows full well what’s at stake. He and compassionate members of Congress know that we cannot in good conscience ignore the horrifying statistics.  Every twelve seconds –in less time than it takes to read this paragraph—another woman somewhere in this country is physically abused by the man who professes to love her.  Every two minutes, a woman is traumatized by the violence of rape. Every day three women are killed by their abusive husbands or partners.

Once again, House Republicans are playing a high stakes game with other people’s lives. If the Senate and House versions of the Violence Against Women Act cannot be reconciled, continued allocation of taxpayer dollars to set up and support programs and services for those who have suffered abuse will be in jeopardy. Those services include community-based violence-prevention programs, rape crisis centers and hotlines, and legal aid for survivors of violence, as well as funds to enable investigations and prosecutions of violent crimes against women.

Programs that work

To the peril of the abused, House Republicans have chosen to ignore that this is one government program that’s yielded extraordinary results. Since 2000 the outcomes of having programs and services in place have been dramatic. Nonfatal partner violence against women has decreased by 53 percent.  The number of individuals killed by intimate partners has decreased by 34 percent for women and 57 percent for men.

House Republicans justify their opposition by arguing that Native American women and the LGBT community are not experiencing equally high rates of violence and abuse and, therefore, do not require coverage.  This argument is so devoid of statistical confirmation that it seems that what they actually believe is that those communities do not deserve the same protections.

Debunking myths about Native Americans and the LGBT community

Senator Max Baucus of Montana is one senator who knows first-hand the speciousness of these Republican talking points.  Baucus tried nobly to educate his  colleagues about the epidemic of violence and abuse of Native American women and their desperate need for expanded protections and services in his state and across Native American lands.

This year’s reauthorization strengthens the legislation by specifically addressing the crisis of violence against women in tribal communities who  face extremely high rates of domestic violence and sexual assault.  It fixes the patchwork of criminal jurisdiction over those who assault Indian spouses  and dating partners in Indian Country, toughens up assault statutes,   improves grant programs, and clarifies jurisdiction for civil protection orders.

The bill also consolidates 13 existing programs into four.  This helps reduce administrative costs and adds efficiency in getting resources to law enforcement, prosecutors, and victim service providers.

Not surprisingly, another bone in Republicans’ throats is the provision for providing effective services to the LGBT community.  Contrary to Republican claims, the facts show that the LGBT community experiences domestic and sexual violence and stalking and dating violence at approximately the same rate as non–LGBT victims.  Most disturbingly, LGBT victims often are denied services altogether.  According to a 2010 survey, nearly fifty-five percent of LGBT individuals who sought protection orders were denied. Where services are made available, many providers lack the training and resources to assist effectively with the unique needs of LGBT victims.

For those of us who long for the safety of ourselves, our daughters, our mothers, our sisters, and our friends (both male and female), we share the exasperation of now–Vice President Joe Biden. Joe doesn’t mince words nor does he hide his disdain for the shameful indifference and political charade of Republicans.  Joe certainly speaks for us when he says, “the idea that we’re still fighting about this [VAWA] in the Congress, that this is even a debatable issue, is truly sad.”

The post Lame duck imperative: Violence Against Women Act set to expire at end of December appeared first on Occasional Planet.

“If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.”  U.S. Representative Todd Akin (R-MO).

“If it’s inevitable, just relax and enjoy it.” Texas gubernatorial candidate Clayton Williams (R-TX), March 1990.

“I think the right approach is to accept this horribly created — in the sense of rape — but nevertheless a gift in a very broken way, the gift of human life, and accept what God has given to you.” – 2012 Presidential candidate Rick Santorum (R-PA).

Republican Vice Presidential candidate Paul Ryan, Rep. Todd Akin, and 214 other Republicans co-sponsored the “No Taxpayer Funding for Abortion Act” which would prohibit federal funding of abortions except in instances of “an act of forcible rape or, if a minor, an act of incest.” (H.R. 3, 112^th Congress, January 20, 2011)

I have a friend who is one of the strongest — yet most gentle and loving — souls I have ever known. She asked me to bring you her story. She doesn’t ask for your pity. She asks only for understanding. According to the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network, there are over 207,000 sexual assaults in the United States each year. Here is my friend’s story, in her own words.

Catherine’s story

I am a rape survivor.  I cannot speak for every rape survivor; I can only describe my own experience.  It is nothing like some of the recent politicians would like us to believe.

My name is Catherine Mary Redfern. I was 24 years old that day. I waited at the bus stop in my baggy sweats with my backpack, just having finished a long hike.  An approaching pickup truck slowed down. The driver asked me if I needed a ride. I said no. He continued down the road, then he turned around. He was out of the truck and dragging me into the bushes before I could react.

For me, this is what rape is:

It was screaming so hard and for so long for help that didn’t come.  Screaming that made me lose my voice for four days.

It was fighting so hard for myself, that when I was finally alone and could see, I saw that I had no fingernails left – just bloody nail beds where my nails had been from fighting and scratching to fight off my rapist.

It was tears running down my bloody face because I wasn’t strong enough to fight him anymore as he held me down and beat me into submission.

It was whimpering while praying as he thrust and pushed so hard against an unwilling participant, and calling on God to help me, wondering why he had abandoned me when I needed him the most.

I was raped – I did not experience the rapture of God’s intention to bless me with a child.

I was raped – it was not consensual, it was not legitimate, and my body certainly did not start working to shut down a conception process – it was too busy fighting for its own life.

I was raped – I am unable to categorize it as honest or dishonest rape.  I can categorize as violent, painful and cruel.  It was physically and psychologically scarring.

I was raped – it was unexpected; I did not ask for it; it certainly wasn’t planned.  Does that make it an emergency rape?

I was raped – for hours I fought for my life and the right to control who touches my body.  Although I lost that fight, I did not rape easy.

I was raped – I felt a lot of things when it became clear that it was inevitable.  I hated my rapist.  I hated myself.  I hated God.  There was no desire to relax, lie back and enjoy it.

Regardless of whether you are a man or a woman, if you think men and women in this country are overreacting to a few comments taken out of context, sit for a moment and think some more.  Think hard about what your real, visceral reaction would be if your wife, mother, sister or daughter called you from the hospital to tell you she had just been raped.

Unfortunately, if your wife, mother, sister, or daughter were raped, you may never have the opportunity to feel a reaction, offer comfort or give support.  You may notice some intangible change in the vitality of the woman you love, but to spare you the pain and anger of knowing what happened to her without being able to do anything about it, she may not tell you.  Even if she wanted to, she may be afraid of what her family, friends, coworkers and society would think of her — because on some level, our society still blames a woman in part for being raped.  Why else are words like “honest rape,” “legitimate rape” and “forcible rape” being tolerated as part of our lexicon about this crime? My rape was thirteen years ago. I have not yet told my parents.

I have always considered the United States to be one of the most progressive countries in the world when it comes to women’s rights.

That is why it angers me to see the word “rape” being used without thought and bandied about as a political ideological concept, rather than a word to describe a violent, abhorrent crime against women. I was raped. I am a survivor. I was fortunate enough to live in an age when I did not have to worry about bearing the child of the man who brutalized me. There are some in America who would force me to bear that child, in the name of some warped God-directed concept of respect for life

I ask you this: What god deserves worship who would “bless” a violent, soul-destroying act with an unwanted living reminder? What nation would allow a religion to write law that dehumanizes a woman into nothing but a vessel, as my rapist saw me?

I ask you this: Think of the women you love as you choose your lawmakers.

Thank you for reading my story.

The post A rape survivor tells her story. Think about it when you vote. appeared first on Occasional Planet.