Whether the numbers are 40,oo0 or 400,000 the numbers are appalling ar a national crisis. If were King, my task force would have ALL those kits ready to go. They would ALL be admissable in country. Women would preside over rape cases.
We need to find alternatives to the humiliation and terror and possible threats and repercussions and I am a conservative! This IS a societal imperative, or should be!
In a patriarchal system, there is… lip-service. I am not sure if th
Sexual Assault and Domestic Violence Prevention Program, Bureau of Health Promotion and Risk Reduction ,Ohio Department of Health 246 North High Street, 8th Floor Columbus, Ohio 43215 (614) 466-2144
Many sexual assault patients who come to hospital or other exam sites for a sexual assault examination choose to report to law enforcement. Reporting provides the criminal justice system with the opportunity to offer immediate protection for the victim, collect evidence from all crime scenes, investigate the case, arrest a suspected offender and prosecute if there is sufficient evidence. All patients need to know that even if they are not ready to report at the time of the exam, the best way to preserve their option to report later is to have the exam performed. Additionally, patients need to know law enforcement cannot mandate or request they take a polygraph, voice stress analyzer, or other truth telling test as a precursor to taking a report and conducting a thorough investigation. O.R.C. 2907.10.
Anonymous Reporting Procedure
Medical personnel and/or hospital support person should inform the adult patient of her/ his right to decide whether or not to speak to law enforcement personnel. If the patient decides not to report the sexual assault, the hospital/facility may simply provide the date and general location of the assault to the law enforcement agency having jurisdiction without giving the patient’s name, address or other identifying information.
I am not advocating to whether a victim should report or not, but that decision should the choice of the victim, or if the victim is like 10-11 years old, a proxy may be necessary.
I have not weened out the procedures for each and every state, but Statute of Limitations MUST never be the case.
If there is a false report, the juvenile justice will handle the case, then move on from there. There will NO techicalities in place, that should be off the table.
Here is the conundrum that shows what rape is. The message sent.
The girl is only 15, so we all understand what that is. But also, she passed out, and he was debating the issue whether, he should take advantage of her.
Rape, Arson, Rape!
The most troubling part is about 1:12. And these putzes make PSAs, talking about, “No means no”! Hollywood promulgates of a lot of this…
“The Violence Against Women Act protects the lives of tens of thousands of … “We have to promote human solidarity, avoid indifference, and play a part with …
RAPE IS RAPE. Calling it a date-rape, suggests that women, asked for it. This kind of rape is done in a different fashion, but is still what it is…RAPE. The suggestion is that she was drugged, meaning she DID NOT consent! She WAS, er RAPED.
If these RAPES were reported, then another battle happens. The rape kit, the police interview and last but not least, she is pilloried by defense attorneys and has to face the RAPIST. Not to mention the line-up!
Now, the accused RAPIST doesn’t have to prove anything and chuckles as the girl/woman has her entired life affected. She find it IS impossible to live her life. Every unexpected noise, becomes a panic attack. Some hate men and others are forced to watch the accused, either get an aquittal or see him get releasd on bail.
From discovery to an actual trial (if it gets that far), she is poisoned by possible malfeasence and the RAPEE facing intimidation and her own credibility almost ruined. Guys who think, she is easy! What a burden to bear!
Nasty signs are depicting College Women as fresh meat!
Now, there is the college issue!!! There are thousands of RAPES that ARE NOT reported, for the reasons enumerated above. Even more shocking are these hundreds of RAPES, that are NOT reported! The denials of those RAPES are DENIED by College Schools and Universes.
Why? Largely sports-related. As smarmy as this is, some of the refusals and intimidation are by WOMEN! How freaking apalling!! Of all things!! Throwing a RAPEE under the bus! Women as Misogynists, de facto RAPISTS.
And for what? A serial RAPIST! A football or basketball who is basically worshipped. In their recruiting process, the Blue Chip players, recieve HUNDREDS, if not thousands of letters, asking them to play sports.
And some of serial rapists and some of these recruiters ignore their violent tendencies. And it is NOT just athletics, some COEDS are themselves serial RAPISTS. And the motivation is: the school’s reputation! Some Dad’s apple grows horns and some of them, the apple of other their dad’s eyes are emotionally and physically eviscerated.
There is a great documentary ‘Hunting Grounds’ that does more than I can do, in revealing these shocking revelations. I will let you see something, that will PISS you off, I guarantee it!
One other issue is, I had to unfriend a blogger here, because she thought that men can offer nothing to the debate. Oh well! I have sisters, mothers, aunts, a girlfriend (sometimes) cousins, friends and women at large. Being a victim sexual assault, I have more than a right to opine.
As a sidebar, this movie as a two-star movie. Hell, I wonder why?
With 40,000 rape kits un-analyzed, many women give up.
Kathleen entered the room. A sense of dread is now pervading her thoughts. Finally, when M,aster Carl looks at her, there is no real recognition, just a look of loathing. Immediately, she is lost. Time stalls. Afraid to comment she waits for an answer, anything remotely resembling clarification.
He says she needs to go, that she is a slave with no alternatives, no expectations, just a tired look of contempt. She takes what little she has. Penniless and jaded, she walks the streets, head down from conditioning, a caldera of loneliness.
Her social deficits and homelessness weigh heavily upon her mind. At a loss, she sees herself as a peripheral player, as a person acclimated to punishment prostituted and jeered at, at sex parties, as Carl looks at her derisively. Suddenly she realizes that she is broken to the point where she feels like a dumpster. Human but only marginally so.
One alternative and only one, with no person to talk to. Bubbles swell in a dead pool, of foolish expectations, convinced her man in black, is a fraud. This she floats in a river going nowhere. Marked with lashes and the taste of cum, her fate was scripted, from the start.
Remember, a dead fish can flow downstream, but it takes a live one to swim upstream.
W.C. Fields
The War of the Worlds inside my mind. Anxiety and Depression on one side, Seizures and Epilepsy, on the other. Like a nation, in the midst of battle, participants languish there, while politicians ponder the narratives.
An excuse to gloss over the acts of war. Inside my brain, little battles rapidly coalesce . The net effect being like a lost street, now overgrown. Confusion, malaise and the lost synapses, brooding in contempt for each other.
Between anti-convulsants and pills for depression, my anxiety, like a bastard knife , penetrates my thoughts. The anxiety causes depression and I float along, until a seizure or the waves of confusion awaken to the thrust of reality, into the middle of a battle. A place, I cannot identify.
Stars are no good, for navigation. They mix like a cup of Alphabet soap. In there somewhere, I am. Groggily picking my way. Upstream or down, I cannot tell. On this planet, I dwell wearily.
The world can be a tricky place with thin spots in the ice while crumbling quite literally beneath our feet. One person flaunts the fact gaining attention for their intrepidness. This is a figurative ice and I will explain. We all go through our moments of self-discovery. Coming of age in our right without the knowledge of it beforehand. It is one thing to hear the story of the Birds and the Bees and quite another to feel what we feel.
During my Junior High days there was a classmate who had sex outside of the old school next to the football stadium. As stories go, this sounded like a date rape fantasy of a pretty and innocent girl but none-the-less it was prurient in nature, a myth of the preteen years. The same story-teller told of the time he had touched a classmate in the bathroom of her parent’s house. One gets the idea here in Sixteen Candles and Molly Ringwald’s panties. The sheer awe of the unknown and to the Devil with the details and how they affect others.
So using the skater analogy again let’s consider this ice. A person decides to lie about something. Perhaps that diving off a water tower into a shallow retention pond is safe. The problem is not whether anyone has tested this out in reality but simply repeated old tales. They may even say they have jumped, while they have not. Person B thinks they need some Street Cred and invariably suffer because of it.
The girl above did in fact move away but I never heard anything else about again. As to the reason or reasons why and the alleged facts by a somewhat silly boy telling other silly boys lies. And before anyone plays the Ace just be sure that there are still aces remaining.
We seem to operate at our best with someone to keep us in line. And that when no one is looking, when take something that is not ours, The human condition, I guess.
This all reminded me of the events during my school days and how these cracks in the ice, happen to the innocent and who cries for the victims in life? Like I saw at a Soup Kitchen, where a relatively young man, dressed badly, smelled worse and had a big wound on his neck that was soaked with blood. He started acting out an the Deputy summarily threw him out. A young woman at another table commented that he was not like that before going to Prison.
And in a movie I saw from one of the Baltic States where two young girls used their looks for advantage. These were nothing more than jumping lines and getting boys to hold their books on the way home from school. The more beautiful girl was able to fend off the lecherous older guy until one day she was kidnapped, passed around and eventually decided to marry this POS. Too young to be married, her advantage slipped away.
Her more conservative girlfriend stopped her from using her gun on her husband who murdered her ex boyfriend for no other reason than jealousy. The conservative girl went to the wedding while loathing the miscreant who forced a young girl into a bad situation. The more modest girl started to dance a very ethnic dance with adult movements and wowed the revellers and I guess were enamored. Anyway, part of life for women around the world is this kind of subjective justice and it sucks. The pressure of being weaker doubles down when their very utility is neutralized by seedy creeps and bullies.
Back in 1974, I was a kid, only 18 years and probably was witness in some way to a date rape. It sure felt like it because as I was leaving out the dorm that night, guys were pulling a train on a teen girl and some guy asked me if I wanted to have ‘some.’ I said, “no.” And besides, the choice of words haunts me too as well as the whimpering that went along with her disorientation.
I was so naive but a part of my soul has been tortured to this very day. If I knew then what I know now, I might have gone postal because I cannot imagine a crime worse than that. You see, she was drunk and whimpering. Damnit. That really pisses me off. No girl asks for ‘it.’ Not for that.
But date rape characterizations are nothing new and for the longest time just generally accepted. In the movie ‘Animal House’ the guy was contemplating having sex with a passed out underage girl. Did she ask for it? NO! Does it happen? Hell ya! Is it any wonder so many women want to spread the pain around.
Going a few years into my adult life, I had a girl friend and she was given a roofie. The net effect according to her, was she never felt the same about anything! Date-raped by her boss at the mall. She and I went through hell afterwards and my anger @ jerkoffs intensifies. My girlfriend was only pieces of ceramic, like Humpty-Dumpty, those pieces can’t always be fixed.
I suffer too, knowing that seedy men with seditious desires lay in wait, like Jack The Ripper or the Boston Strangler. In these instances the pain is far worse than death. It is a slow blood-letting of one’s spirit and sense of control. We had great times and every once in awhile we would talk.
From her bosses abuse of her, of us really, she went on a self-destructive binge with an older guy who was a criminal. Arrested for a crack ball and spending time in prison, he seemed to like finding young victims. Her sister said he liked to read magazines like ‘Barely Legal’ and ’18’. Yeah one of those! One day her sister gave me a journal she had written and she had talked to her sister about the parasite she was with and how she missed me and my steady decisions and what would I do in a particular situation. She said I am the guy that returns the shopping cart. For awhile I was miffed by that but then got the gist of what she was trying to express. She also got a disease from this miscreant, Herpes!
(She fell in love in the first place)))
For some reason these words tick me off. An otherwise innocent girl and not perfect by any means, paid the price for both of you and you both should be ashamed. And I harbor guilt for not being able to protect her from the smarmy underbelly of the beast that lurks with a touch of wind and a wiff of illicit drugs.
If her mom had not been a prostitute and subjected her to so much, she might have been able to cry on her shoulders. She could have told her Mom what he said and did and your Mom would turn away. Flushed with anger and disappointment, words she heard once upon a time. Now reverberating like a song that plays over and over on a music box. The ballerina fell suddenly and her porcelain dreams laid like a million shards of what ifs.
So let’s examine some of the dubious comments made by men and boys and mostly they are one and the same. Your high school heroes and high society icons flickered as capriciously as the stories of high school football players and date rapes. The bottom-line being the reputation of the boys and a girl who was allegedly asking for it. She was collateral damage in the game of cat and mouse.
He gave you wine or drugs and told you it was okay. He promised you everything to dance in the sheets and tomorrow he denies that he even knew you or the things you said, you couldn’t have meant, if you did say them….
Their friends and influences probably had mixed emotions about the destruction, from the boss to the drug abusing narcissist whose real romance is a synthetic cesspool of misery. Both now share in a common malady with excuses and no care for the damage they were doing.
What once was a fairy tale happiness transmogrified into a hellish world of missed chances. Where lightning does strike over and over again(in the same place) and the pain still flows, if even now to more or less a trickle. In the video above Boy Meets Girl they dance and sing with a love that we all want and yet finally, even they play a requiem to a love gone strange. To me, as I worked in the media in Tampa, the song was a fresh time. A promise. Together with Paula Abdul’s ‘Straight up’, it seemed life had spectacular promise, even after a lost preemie and the mother who ran off for a decade and a half with our daughter.
But life has second chances even if those chances require some modifications to retrofit them to make them work. I do remember what my daughter said about her 16th birthday and how much she loved me. That that was her best birthday ever. This after being lost to me from her early post natal days to about fifteen years later. Still, I would NOT change things too much because what if we never rediscovered that and that is why the blog about ‘Ten Years a Single Mother’ and her kids love for her touches my heart. Kids get the connections and their love is pure if they are loved.
The theme of this entire post is what are we going to do. Rather than just complain about the pain, how can we fix a thing? You, I and many others have lived on both sides of the track and nothing…… nothing gets fixed by complaining. We need to put people first because a warm place and a hot dinner matters.
To the abuse of women, children and the vulnerable, you and I can change the world. I have a few things going now. One is to get Emotional Support Animals and Service Pets for people who need them. Let’s teach men and society in general how to treat a lady and your kids. We need to focus on identifying potential abuse and treat the family not a case number but take care of it as a village. With compassion. No tolerance policies does not heal a family. Making rules is what politicians do. Why do we punish people like Aileen Wuornos the way we do? Why not find out where at-risk people are and help? That gives us all a better chance of surviving the obstacles in life.
From murderers to offenders of all kinds, punishment is the easy part, preventing tragedies can happen and should happen. That takes more than a Breathalyzer and seeing if you can walk a straight line. How much better will this world be with solutions and not grandstanding politicians and other nabobs using the moment for personal gain.
Education is the key to everything. Not just laws but helping people be better people. Not projecting how good we are, but how good we can all be, if we just try. Ghettos are going nowhere and neither are the homeless, the drug users and other kinds of abusers. Let’s get this done and stop maligning others. The old speck and the log thing.
I am building a tower and it will be built upon by the hands of time. It will be finessed and the etchings carved into marbleized histories, remnants left for consideration. A bored scholar will scribe his articulations on paper and artists upon the heart sometimes with words and other times shades of different colors.
Our passions darken as our own freedom gives us license. To establish who we are and why we should matter.
The dimming lights provide sanctuary for secrets held within, while the new trees bear the same old fruit. Replacing antiquity with green limbs envious. Accounts will be altered, values distorted like a warped window or a cracked mirror. Only tiny shards indiscernible will collect dust. The hammering thoughts of preservation are to no avail. The ebb and flow of matter reconstitutes itself. Aware of nothing but it’s new place, neither the checkered foster homes of neglected souls or the random insects in their constabularies. New kings and queens arise, like heaving opportunists secure in that moment only.
Willingness gives way to wood, brick and dust and from these new houses are made. New conflicts arise and the sentient drama of conflicting self wills lay about and scattered by Zephyrs and Foehn. Tears drip from random placements like lost toys of our youth, neither material or a ether just an unnoticed stroke of a pen and a purchase.
The final revolution spins to a stop and the cul-de-sac of expectancy gives way to a somber recollection. Momentary gratitude and an appointment looming, breaks the shadow of what once was and will never be again.
Floyd, Times Are Changin 