Rape Culture: A letter to School and Society.

Dear School and Society

 I'm writing this letter because I believe you two are not on the same page. You see I passed Life Orientation with flying colours but yesterday a man touched me, and I saw my dignity crash down like an injured blackbird falling to her death. He was my mother's best friend. I rushed home feeling like I was falling apart and had tried to scrub away his unwanted hands that were like ghosts haunting me, in need of answers I searched for my notebook. You know the one that I was required to have marked and checked regularly? Yes, that one.

You told me not to talk to strangers and not to accept anything from them. Society taught me to respect my elders, and not to argue, traditions found ways to promote strangers to ‘aunt’, ‘uncle’ and ‘grandfather without my consent. I was never comfortable calling him uncle but when I tried to raise that issue I got disciplined on respect. They were strangers to me, but mom and dad have known them for what felt like forever they are like family, and I guess I was supposed to be safe, right? I was never taught on how to deal with my uncle touching me uncomfortably, or when my other "uncle" stared at me a little too long, like imagine my family's embarrassment when I recited your lesson on violation without stuttering?! So I was taught to swallow it up and be okay with it all, at least until something bad enough that can give mom, gran and the judge undoubting evidence that it did happen. Until then it is his words against mine, right?

My L.O teacher told us awkwardly that if "it" happens to you don't bath. Go straight to the police station or the hospital. She never told me how my dress filled with blood and semen can be second-guessed, because money and status can have the officials debating on how "I might have asked for it", but they will not say such blunt words to my face, instead they will dictionarynize their twisted words, as if trying to cover-up dirty deeds with expensive paint that he funded. They will give me the bare minimums of justice then serve me educated bull as if that makes the remark easier to swallow. As if the walk of shame and humiliation from where I died and resurrected to where my innocence should have been avenged was easy.

It is odd how startling and wordless protest is seen as consent. You never told me how society can see my “No” as a “Yes”, like some twisted yes-only reality where “yes” is “yes”, “no” is “yes” and “leave me alone” is “I want you to continue”. You told me I just had to say it once, you failed to mention how my voice had to be a certain tone, and how the word “No” easily dies in my throat when his hands grip me so hard to the point that it hurts to even think of the word, let alone utter it.

 I can't quite grasp how blind society is to a woman's cries because “I was abused” or “I was raped” needs to be whispered in shame because it will make everyone uncomfortable, as if I don't feel discomfort in-between my legs every single time I walk or sit still long enough to be reminded of the haunting memories. While I fight ghostly hands at the dinner table, flashing my practiced smile to ease everyone's discomfort, he is allowed to walk away with his pride and mine. School never taught me how to deal with that. I feel like you and society are parents going through a bitter divorce, all your other children and I are torn in-between your unspoken words, and ill-constructed examples nested in-between the chapters of national textbooks were you tiptoe around daily issues as if we don’t feel violation almost every day on the way to school.

 As I finish this letter off I just want to say that the notebook held no real-life answers for me. All I have now is freedom of speech and expression, but both you and society have subtly reminded me to not speak too loud about subjects that make the world uncomfortable, so instead we are pushed to feed a culture that turns females into walking objects.

Yours faithfully                                                                                  

Soul turned Statistic.