Who the #MeToo Movement is Leaving Behind

by Anu Sawhney

This weekend, while watching the Golden Globes, one which left most awestruck by Oprah Winfrey’s fiery acceptance speech, it was another – some might say less glamorous – speech that left me overwhelmed by its importance and clarity. Sterling K. Brown, the star of the NBC series This is Us, made Golden Globe history in becoming the first-ever black actor to win the award in the Best Actor in a TV Drama category. In thanking the creator of the show, Dan Fogelman, he explained how Fogelman “wrote a role for a black man that can only be played by a black man. What I appreciate so much about this is that I’m being seen for who I am and being appreciated for who I am, and it makes it that much more difficult to dismiss me or dismiss anybody who looks like me.”

Herein, I believe, Brown was able to articulate the key to authentic representation on screen. At a time when the most powerful women in the industry wore black in solidarity with those who were silenced by their assailants, I cannot think of anything more important than ensuring that no one feels like their identity is something that can be dismissed. While we can sit here at the precipice of a what feels like a new era and view the MeToo movement as a product of important progress, intolerance, and recognition of the importance of reclaiming our bodies, I’d be one to argue that it is far too little for us to move forward as a society where no one – and I mean no one, is left behind.

As a disabled woman of color, with every “first-ever” moment I can feel my heart race at the ordeal, because somewhere in my mind this means that Hollywood – and, by extension, society – is normalizing diversity and change. And there are strides of progress that have been significant, not only for women but also for women of color. Somehow, though, almost every mainstream conversation in regard to diversity manages to leave out an important minority. 19% of Americans are people with disabilities, making us the largest minority group there is, yet somehow a latent issue outside of activist circles and sometimes, politics. On screen, disabled characters are almost always played by able-bodied actors who are awarded for portraying a disability as a costume that one can simply wear on screen or learn about through others who’ve lived with the disability for a long enough time – only to return to an able-bodied lifestyle. All of those things will remain true as long as roles aren’t given to actors in the way that, as Brown explained, doesn’t allow for the dismissal of the actor’s whole, intersectional identity.

What makes this dismissal harder to accept in the year of the MeToo movement is the findings of a recent NPR study, which shows that people with intellectual disabilities are seven times more likely to be assaulted than people without a disability. Not only is this an epidemic, the victims are described as “easy targets” and it is largely underreported, especially among women who live in group homes. We cannot seriously be having a national discussion about changing mindsets or having a cultural reckoning if we’re not giving the group who have the most to win or lose a seat at the table. This would be a disservice to the victims who have been brave enough to come out, voice their stories to all those they have paved the way for, for whom the movement is created – including the most vulnerable. The harder we are to dismiss, the more important it will be for our voices to be heard.

Oprah Winfrey’s Golden Globes Speech

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source: gettyimages

Oprah’s role in influencing views on love and relationships was recognized with the Cecil B. DeMille award at the Golden Globes last night. Once again, she graced us with her enchanting words and powerful stories:

“Thank you, Reese. In 1964, I was a little girl sitting on the linoleum floor of my mother’s house in Milwaukee watching Anne Bancroft present the Oscar for best actor at the 36th Academy Awards. She opened the envelope and said five words that literally made history:” The winner is Sidney Poitier.” Up to the stage came the most elegant man I ever remembered. His tie was white, his skin was black—and he was being celebrated. I’d never seen a black man being celebrated like that. I tried many, many times to explain what a moment like that means to a little girl, a kid watching from the cheap seats as my mom came through the door bone tired from cleaning other people’s houses. But all I can do is quote and say that the explanation in Sidney’s performance in Lilies of the Field: “Amen, amen, amen, amen.”

In 1982, Sidney received the Cecil B. DeMille award right here at the Golden Globes and it is not lost on me that at this moment, there are some little girls watching as I become the first black woman to be given this same award. It is an honor—it is an honor and it is a privilege to share the evening with all of them and also with the incredible men and women who have inspired me, who challenged me, who sustained me and made my journey to this stage possible. Dennis Swanson who took a chance on me for A.M. Chicago. Saw me on the show and said to Steven Spielberg, she’s Sophia in ‘The Color Purple.’ Gayle who’s been a friend and Stedman who’s been my rock.

I want to thank the Hollywood Foreign Press Association. We know the press is under siege these days. We also know it’s the insatiable dedication to uncovering the absolute truth that keeps us from turning a blind eye to corruption and to injustice. To—to tyrants and victims, and secrets and lies. I want to say that I value the press more than ever before as we try to navigate these complicated times, which brings me to this: what I know for sure is that speaking your truth is the most powerful tool we all have. And I’m especially proud and inspired by all the women who have felt strong enough and empowered enough to speak up and share their personal stories. Each of us in this room are celebrated because of the stories that we tell, and this year we became the story.

But it’s not just a story affecting the entertainment industry. It’s one that transcends any culture, geography, race, religion, politics, or workplace. So I want tonight to express gratitude to all the women who have endured years of abuse and assault because they, like my mother, had children to feed and bills to pay and dreams to pursue. They’re the women whose names we’ll never know. They are domestic workers and farm workers. They are working in factories and they work in restaurants and they’re in academia, engineering, medicine, and science. They’re part of the world of tech and politics and business. They’re our athletes in the Olympics and they’re our soldiers in the military.

And there’s someone else, Recy Taylor, a name I know and I think you should know, too. In 1944, Recy Taylor was a young wife and mother walking home from a church service she’d attended in Abbeville, Alabama, when she was abducted by six armed white men, raped, and left blindfolded by the side of the road coming home from church. They threatened to kill her if she ever told anyone, but her story was reported to the NAACP where a young worker by the name of Rosa Parks became the lead investigator on her case and together they sought justice. But justice wasn’t an option in the era of Jim Crow. The men who tried to destroy her were never persecuted. Recy Taylor died ten days ago, just shy of her 98th birthday. She lived as we all have lived, too many years in a culture broken by brutally powerful men. For too long, women have not been heard or believed if they dare speak the truth to the power of those men. But their time is up. Their time is up.

Their time is up. And I just hope—I just hope that Recy Taylor died knowing that her truth, like the truth of so many other women who were tormented in those years, and even now tormented, goes marching on. It was somewhere in Rosa Parks’ heart almost 11 years later, when she made the decision to stay seated on that bus in Montgomery, and it’s here with every woman who chooses to say, “Me too.” And every man—every man who chooses to listen.

In my career, what I’ve always tried my best to do, whether on television or through film, is to say something about how men and women really behave. To say how we experience shame, how we love and how we rage, how we fail, how we retreat, persevere, and how we overcome. I’ve interviewed and portrayed people who’ve withstood some of the ugliest things life can throw at you, but the one quality all of them seem to share is an ability to maintain hope for a brighter morning, even during our darkest nights. So I want all the girls watching here, now, to know that a new day is on the horizon! And when that new day finally dawns, it will be because of a lot of magnificent women, many of whom are right here in this room tonight, and some pretty phenomenal men, fighting hard to make sure that they become the leaders who take us to the time when nobody ever has to say ‘Me too’ again.”

Look forward to her work in A Wrinkle in Time.

Appearance Does Not Define a Woman

By Kelsie Merrick

There is a universal theory amongst our society that the reason for fewer women running for political office is family concerns and responsibilities. In 2011, a study was conducted that surveyed a national random sample of men and women who were deemed “equally credentialed” in the four fields where political candidates commonly emerge. These are law, business, education, and politics. 62 percent of the men questioned admitted to having considered running for office whereas, only 45 percent of women had considered running for office. Jennifer Lawless, a director for the Women and Politics Institute at American University, analyzed this data and realized that family structure or family roles did not account for the 17 percent gap. She believes that “women are less likely to be encouraged to run and less likely to be considered as a potential candidate when a position opens up.” The negative self-perception and self-doubt among women is also a factor behind why they are not as involved in office races because of the scrutiny women are under once they enter the political field.

In the United States, during elections there is a tremendous problem with the media and the difference between how they judge female politicians in comparison to male politicians. When it comes to women, “media exposure is often belittling and irrelevant because newspapers and television newscasts focus on appearance and attire, rather than the candidate’s platform or attitudes about central issues.” Female politicians are acknowledged by their gender then by whether they can handle raising a family and being a politician at the same time as well as on their mothering styles. Then after the media is finished analyzing them on these two subjects, politics become the main focus. Men, on the other hand, are never questioned about their masculinity or family roles; they are immediately questioned about politics.

Two well-known female politicians that have had to endure the media’s crude comments are Sarah Palin and Hillary Clinton. They both ran during the 2008 presidential election and the media had a field day with sexist comments.

For Sarah Palin, there were plenty of topics for the media to critic her on while she was Governor of Alaska such as her defeat with big oil companies. Unfortunately, instead, she was “glorified over her participation in beauty pageants and cheerleading.” For this reason, the media immediately dismissed her as a serious candidate and continued to focus on her appearance, lack of seriousness, or lack of experience. She was also persecuted for her role as a mother. Palin, a mother of five with one child having special needs, “was constantly questioned if she would be able to devote enough time to the Vice-Presidency.” However, if she were to be a dedicated Vice-President, she then would have been labeled as a bad mother. Her credibility of a Vice-Presidential candidate was questioned even more when her seventeen-year-old daughter became pregnant. If a male candidate’s young daughter became pregnant, it is very unlikely that the media would have broadcasted it as much as they did with Palin.

Sarah Palin’s fellow female candidate during the 2008 race was Hillary Clinton. Unlike Palin, Clinton had an “impressive resume and strong qualities” but the media still “labeled her as old, worn down, and significantly less sex appeal than Palin.” Yet again, the media chose to focus on Clinton’s appearance rather than the extensive experience in politics she had. The media created a dynamic between the two women where Palin was the pretty candidate and Clinton was the powerful, manly candidate due to her “pantsuits and stout stature.” Clinton had to deal with comments about her “body, cleavage, choice of pantsuits, and speculation about cosmetic surgery.” Because of the continuous inappropriate attacks on her appearance and mannerisms, the public seldom saw any media coverage that was about her intelligence, experience or policies. Hillary Clinton being a Presidential candidate for the upcoming election has had to endure the same inappropriate critics she experienced in 2008. In April, Chelsea Clinton became a mother and this “set off speculation that being a grandmother would affect Hillary Clinton’s presidential ambitions” but Joe Biden, a man with five grandchildren, never once was asked about how it would affect his possible Presidential ambitions.

An article in the Huffington Post in 2013, spoke of Johanna Dunaway, an Assistant Professor of Political Science and Mass Communication of Louisiana State University, who conducted a research study that proved that the media covers female candidates running for office differently than men running for office. The research team employed in this study collected data from 9,725 newspaper articles from the Senate and gubernatorial races in 2006 and 2008. The team then looked at if the article focused on personality traits or political issues of those running and compared between the two genders. Their findings were that:

When only male candidates were running, stories focused on character traits 6 percent of the time and political issues 55.5 percent of the time. When only female candidates were running, the stories focused on character traits 9.4 percent of the time and issues 51.7 percent of the time. And when a mix of male and female candidates were running, the articles focused on traits 10.8 percent of the time and the issues 53.1 percent of the time.

The research team concluded that when there is a female candidate in a political race, the media tends to focus more on personality traits in general with an extra focus on the female’s personality traits over the male candidate.

In search for the undivided whole.

by Inès Ouedraogo

For my first blog post I wanted to discuss a topic that is taboo in the US culture and even more so in an academic context: pornography. As a PhD student focusing on porn studies I wanted this post to be read as an invitation for a dialogue on the way porn, especially online porn, affects, moves, inspires or confuses people. I will save here the polemical and never-ending debate on pro and anti-porn feminists. My stance is to discuss topics that are taboo specifically because of that, challenge myself and not approach them with a bias.
For today’s entry I thought of combining porn and relationships and how the former affects the latter and vice-versa. Thinking of current day relationships and porn consumption, there are many ways these two interact. Two possibilities are as follows: for some, porn is an opportunity to let go of frustrations and stress and focus on one’s bodily pleasure without being judged. For others, porn can be a way of coping with loneliness and self-experiment.
What follows is a short story that a very close friend of mine shared with me and that raises a number of questions about the dissatisfaction of relationships with men and pornography.

My Relationship with Porn

At least once a month my mother asks me when I am going to give her grandchildren, but she doesn’t understand modern relationships. I go on dates, but half of the time the men are on their phones. I can bring them home and do what people do when they go home together, we can maybe even call that a relationship, but that’s not what my mother wants from me. I am just as close to porn as I am to those men. Porn doesn’t ask me how my day was, and neither do those men. Porn doesn’t call me before they go to sleep— the last man I saw didn’t call me at any time of the day. My mother has this idea of a relationship that I’m not sure exists anymore. Maybe it does. Maybe if I couldn’t satisfy myself through porn I’d be able to “make it work” with men that I’m seeing. What I’m cheating on these men with pornography before I even meet them— hedging my bets. I’m unwilling or unable to stake my satisfaction on one person, so I get a little satisfaction here and a little there. But it doesn’t add up. Maybe four quarters don’t make a whole. Maybe I need one, undivided whole.

Hidden Noodles

by Thuy Anh Tran from Lehigh University

   Hidden Café, which was located on the lower level of building B in my high school, was an ideal place for anyone who needed an escape. This café was not recognized by my high school as an official dining hall, but it secretly opened to serve the growing demand for a small get-away. For straight A students, they came here with the hope of escaping from the cacophony in the hallway to figure out how to calculate the atomic mass of an element. For teachers, they desperately wanted to get away from all the troubles that students created. For rebels, this place was perfect for skipping classes.
   The owner of Hidden Café was Bac Huong, a middle-aged woman who was a high school teacher but then discovered that cooking was her passion. She had a small and slim figure; her short curly salt and pepper hair was meticulously hidden behind a ridiculously giant chef’s hat, and she possessed one of the most high-pitched voice you would ever hear, probably because she used to teach in many classes with sixty students. I called her “Bac,” which means aunt in Vietnamese, as my way to show my respect as well as my endearment to her. “If I had not been a teacher, I would have become a Michelin-star chef!” – Bac Huong confidently claimed. This café was opened as a result of many spontaneous moments.
   “What do you want today? Mian tiao?”
   “Yes, but it is miàn tiáo.”
   “I’m no Chinese. Wait five minutes.”
   Bac Huong enjoyed using some Chinese words that she picked up to tease me as I was a student in Chinese-English class. “Miàn tiáo” means noodles in Chinese, but it was not just any kind of noodles. It was noodles with beef jerky, sausage, mayo and ketchup. Weird. The combination of diverse ingredients could magically blend together, and it turned out to be one of the best dishes that I had ever tasted.
I loved watching Bac Huong making noodles. The main ingredient for this dish was obviously noodles, or Hao Hao noodles, which was only ten cents. The fastest way to cook was to pour hot water into a bowl of raw noodles. Bac Huong never forgot to add some spices, some onions and especially her special sauce (soy sauce). She put a plate on top of the noodles’ bowl so that it would keep the heat inside to cook the noodles. After five minutes, she went to check on the noodles. Then, she cut some boiled sausages that she woke up at 5 a.m. every day to prepare, and added some beef jerky. On top of the noodles, she put some mayo or some ketchup, depending on her mood. This dish had such a special smell that I could immediately recognize before I even arrived at Hidden Café. Within ten minutes, Bac Huong made noodles and eagerly interrogated me about my school life.
   “How’s school?”
   “Do you get a 10 out of 10 on your Chinese quiz?”
   “How did you do on your Math test?”
   The most dreadful question was yet to come.
   “Where are your friends? Call them here.”
   I stayed silent.
   You would not think that such a simple question could hurt you internally. Little did Bac Huong know that she played many roles in my high school life: my “Bac,” my emotional counselor, my teacher and my only friend.
   Who was I in high school? I was a fat kid (yes, I use the F word). I was bullied because my body figure did not comply with the standard measurements for a normal high school girl. Who came up with that anyway?
   That day, a girl in my class who was a close friend of mine suddenly asked me to tell her my body measurements for her “research purpose,” and I was gullible enough to tell her. Classic Mean Girl’s prank.
   The next day I went to class, she greeted me with a special nickname that I would try to forget every now and then: “square” (because my height and my weight looked quite the same). Then, there were “fatty”, “pig”, “rectangle”, “girl without curves”, “fat ugly girl”,… At that moment, my body was heated up with embarrassment. I kept looking down to the floor and closed my eyes so that I could keep my tears and my anger inside.
   I was not ready to face with such a challenge as I never knew there was something called confidence. The feeling that I was missing something inside my soul which needed to be fulfilled haunted me. Later, I discovered that it was validation. There was no class that taught me how to stand up against bullies in high school, which I think it should have had. Therefore, I kept myself safe by creating my own bubble, and never dared to step outside. What choices did I have? Many, but the easiest choice was to hide myself in this little corner of the Hidden.
   How wrong I was.
   The advantage of living in a bubble was that it created a strong shield to protect me from getting hurt, but bubbles could pop at any time.
   When I left for college, I chose not to say good-bye to Bac Huong and the Hidden because I did not want that chapter of my life to end. I would never imagine how difficult it could be to give up eating those delicious noodles.
   Six o’clock. Lower Court. Located in the lower level of the University Center, which reminds me of the Hidden. Lower Court is much more crowded than the Hidden, and students come with the purpose of seeking companions, not hiding. I choose a seat at the corner of the room. I tell myself not to think about Bac Huong’s noodles but it is impossible for me to do so as in college, spaghetti with beef sauce is the closest to what I used to have in the Hidden. Right now, the cooks are busy making spaghetti, but the way they make it is far different from what Bac Huong did. Spaghetti is already cooked from the kitchen before being placed in a large tray. The sauce is separated from the spaghetti, and each person will serve themselves with the amount of sauce that they want. I am struggling to calculate how much sauce I need for one dish of spaghetti, while Bac Huong always knew exactly how much soy sauce I needed for a bowl of noodles. All the cooks are friendly, but no one can speak Chinese to tease me.
   I learned the hard way that leaving was an essential part of growing up. As I grew up from a teenager, I left my favorite teddy bear in the basement. As I grew to become an adult, I left the Hidden and my favorite noodles in Vietnam. Growing up means that we have to leave things behind so that every time we look back, we will say to ourselves: “Oh, how I miss those good old days!”
   I guess I have to grow up now. I have to grow up from Bac Huong’s noodles and start to live my life here at college.
   I realize that I am still in the process of stepping outside my bubble.

How Gun Reform Will Help Women

By Kelsie Merrick

After every mass shooting, there is a heightened concern over gun laws and an increasing push for gun reform. But why does this conversation need to happen after a mass shooting? Yes, mass shootings are horrific; however, mass shootings do not even makeup half of the deaths by guns per year in the United States. One of our major issues in the gun industry is our lack of ability to guarantee background checks at every possible gun dealership, which creates a major risk for women against domestic violent threats. Compared to women in other high-income countries, women in the United States are eleven times more likely to be murdered with guns. What makes it worse is in 2011 an alarming 53 percent of women were killed by an intimate partner or family member.

A survey was conducted on women living in California’s domestic violence shelters. The results found that almost “two-thirds of the women who lived in households with guns reported that their partner had used the gun against them.” The most common ways were threatening to shoot or kill the woman. This study found that the addition of a gun in a domestic violence situation “increases the risk of homicide for women by 500 percent.”

If a domestic abuser has been convicted of a felony, federal law prohibits them from buying or possessing guns. However, if a state does not include a similar ban, “state or local prosecutors cannot bring state gun charges against the abuser.” Federal law also prohibits domestic abusers from buying or possessing firearms if they have been convicted of a “misdemeanor crime of domestic violence” or if they are “subject to certain domestic violence restraining orders.” In accordance with federal law, nineteen states and the District of Columbia have state laws in place preventing non-felony domestic violence offenders from having guns.

These laws may seem ridiculous to those who have never been affected by domestic violence, but, in my opinion, they are necessary. The FBI must agree since almost 16 percent of the total firearm transfer denials are based on domestic violence. On top of that, “convictions for domestic violence misdemeanors are the third leading basis for dealers to deny gun sales after running a NICS check.” I’m not saying that women should be the sole reason for ensuring better gun control, but when women alone make up “13 percent of victims of gun homicide nationwide” and between 2009 and 2014 they were “51 percent of victims of mass shootings” I think their safety should be a major concern to our government.

Un espacio en Australia

by Caroline Brantley

This past October, I wrote a short, contemporary scene inspired by “La casa de Bernarda Alba” by Federico García Lorca, a Spanish playwright and poet assassinated during the Spanish Civil War for being gay. My scene sought to relate these events and the uphill battle of the LGBTQIA+ community to Australia’s current nationwide postal survey for marriage equality. By November 15, 80% of Australian voters submitted their postal surveys, with 62% voting in favor of marriage equality. This past Thursday, the Australian Parliament officially accepted the postal survey’s success and voted overwhelming in favor of legalizing same sex marriage across the country (!!).

In celebration of how far the LGBTQIA+ community has come and in recognition of the barriers we still have to tackle, I present the scene I wrote (in Spanish and English) a couple months back. Here’s to Lorca and all those who have risked or sacrificed their lives so that others may now live with pride.

Un espacio en Australia

Todos los papeles de esta obra (Bernarda, Adela, Angustias, Martirio, Pepe) reflejan los papeles originales de “La casa de Bernarda Alba” por Federico García Lorca.

Arriba el telón para una casa en un suburbio conservador de Perth, Australia, 2017. En Australia, hay una encuesta postal este mes sobre la legalización del matrimonio entre personas del mismo sexo. Esta escena específicamente está en un cuarto oscuro que es tranquilo y vacío con la excepción de ADELA. ADELA se sienta en una silla en el medio del cuarto, escribiendo en la computadora portátil con una cara de consideración y estrés. La única luz es de la computadora, y brilla en la cara de ella.

(Entra BERNARDA, encendiendo una lámpara)

ADELA: (suspiro)

BERNARDA: (severamente) ¡Adela! ¿Por qué no estás durmiendo? Es muy tarde y no quiero ver que estás cansada mañana durante la cena para Angustias y Pepe.

ADELA: Estoy cansada, pero no puedo dormir. Necesito el espacio para pensar.

BERNARDA: ¡Eres demasiado dramática! Duerme porque nosotras vamos a tener un problema mañana si tu estás de mal humor. Es la cena antes del matrimonio de Pepe y tu hermana; es un día feliz y no me gustan ánimos malos.

ADELA: (con vacilación) Mamá, tengo algo que necesito decirte.

BERNARDA: No estás feliz por Angustias.

ADELA: ¡Qué!. . . No, mamá. Yo—buenas noches.

BERNARDA: (escéptica) Igualmente.

(Cierra la portátil. Se apaga la luz.)

El día siguiente en una cena antes del matrimonio entre ANGUSTIAS y PEPE. La atmósfera es alegre mientras la familia de Angustias y los invitados hablan sobre chismes y nuevas cosas de la comunidad.

MUJER: Ay, Bernarda, ¡es una fiesta muy grande! Y yo sé que Angustias estará bonita mañana cuando ella se casará con Pepe. Pues, ¡claro! Todas tus hijas son hermosas. No tendrán problemas para encontrar un esposo.

BERNARDA: ¡Por supuesto, no! Pero mis hijas piensan que es una idea anticuada, especialmente Martirio y Adela. Ellas no quieren novios ahora—a veces son demasiado liberales y modernas para mí.

ADELA: (un poco amarga) Martirio no es liberal. . .

MARTIRIO: Sí, estoy de acuerdo con ella. Es una idea loca.

MUJER: Bien, Martirio, si no tienes un novio, ¿Qué te gusta hacer? ¿Trabajas?

BERNARDA: Sí, Martirio ha estado trabajando para la campaña de “No” contra la loca encuesta postal. ¿Pueden creer que las personas quieran implementar la habilidad para la gente homosexual para casarse?

MARTIRIO: No es “un derecho”, es horrible. Quieren terminar la importancia del matrimonio.

ADELA: Voy a tomar una bebida.

(MARTIRIO sigue a ADELA)

MARTIRIO: (tranquilamente) Flaca—fue una noche muy tarde.

ADELA: (con sorpresa) ¿Qué?

MARTIRIO: ¿Estabas hablando por teléfono a las cuatro?

ADELA: No es importante para ti.

MARTIRIO: Dime con quien te hablaste anoche.

ADELA: Vete.

MARTIRIO: (pausa) Con una chica. (ADELA mira a MARTIRIO, están enojadas) Eres homosexual.

ADELA: Y tú eres homofóbica. Mi cuerpo y mi vida me pertenecen, y no hay nada que puedas hacer. ¡No es el lugar para crear una escena, pero yo sé que tú quieres atención!

MARTIRIO: (Mas ruidosa) Cállate. Cuando le diga a Mamá—

ADELA: ¿Por qué necesitas decir a madre? ¿Porque no tienes nada interesante en tu vida? Si estás tratando a arruinar el día con mi sexualidad—

MARTIRIO: Pues, si ninguna de nosotras tenemos un novio en el matrimonio de nuestra hermana, al menos mi amor por hombres es auténtico. Va a ser muy interesante—cuando yo le diga a madre sobre tu secreto y tu “novia”.

(Llega ANGUSTIAS con BERNARDA)

ANGUSTIAS: ¡Están ruidosas! Dime el chisme.

ADELA: No es chisme.

BERNARDA: No tengo tiempo para sus problemas.

MARTIRIO: Es solo el problema de Adela. Mi hermana loca tiene a correr a Nueva Zelanda para casarse, y todavía ella no sería normal.

ANGUSTIAS: ¡Martirio!

ADELA: ¡Basta! Mi sexualidad no es vergüenza. No debería una cuestión política. Ustedes me tratan como una enfermedad, pero pronto puedo casarse en Australia. Y, Martirio todavía sería soltera porque ella siempre pone su nariz en los asuntos de otros. (ANGUSTIAS empieza a llorar, BERNARDA está enojada) Y madre, mamá . . . he tratado a decirte, iba decirte, pero era demasiado—

Bernarda: Basta.

Corta el escenario a negro.

La escena final: un cuarto oscuro. Tranquilo y vacío con la excepción de BERNARDA, quien se siente en una silla al lado de un escritorio. ANGUSTIAS entra.

ANGUSTIAS: (con hesitación) Son las dos en punto.

BERNARDA: Sí. Deberías dormir. Necesito pensar.

ANGUSTIAS: Pienso sobre ti, mamá. Estoy preocupa por ti.

BERNARDA: Estoy bien—es cierto. Y te quiero una montaña, y necesitas volver a Pepe.

(ANGUSTIAS sale)

BERNARDA: (murmurando) Es cierto que amo a todas mis hijas. (Completando la encuesta postal sobre apoyo para el matrimonio homosexual de Australia y sellando el sobre) Sí, Adela.

Fin.

A Space in Australia

All the roles in this work (Bernarda, Adela, Angustias, Martirio, Pepe) reflect the original roles from “The House of Bernarda Alba” by Federico García Lorca.

 

Curtain up to a house in a conservative suburb of Perth, Australia, 2017. In Australia, there is a postal survey this month about the legalization of same sex marriage. This specific scene is in a dark room that is quiet and empty with the exception of ADELA. ADELA sits in a chair in the middle of the room, writing on her laptop with a face of consideration and stress. The only light is from the computer, and it shines in her face.

 

 

 

ADELA: (sighs)

BERNARDA: (severely) Adela! Why aren’t you sleeping? It is very late and I don’t want to see you tired tomorrow during Angustias and Pepe’s dinner.

ADELA: I am tired, but I can’t sleep. I need space to think.

BERNARDA: You are too dramatic! Sleep, because we are going to have a problem tomorrow if you are moody. It is the dinner before Pepe and your sister’s wedding; it is a happy day, and I don’t like bad spirits.

ADELA: (hesitantly) Mamá, I have something that I need to tell you.

BERNARDA: You are not happy for Angustias.

ADELA: What! . . . No, mamá. I—good night.

BERNARDA: (skeptically) Same to you.

(ADELA closes the laptop. She turns off the light.)

The next day at the dinner before the marriage of ANGUSTIAS and PEPE. The atmosphere is happy while Angustias’ family and guests talk about gossip and new things for the community.

MUJER: Ay, Bernarda, what a big party! And I know that Angustias will be pretty tomorrow when she marries Pepe. But, of course! All your daughters are beautiful. They will not have any problems finding a husband.

BERNARDA: Of course not! But, my daughters think that this is an outdated idea, especially Martirio and Adela. They don’t want boyfriends now—sometimes they are too liberal and modern for me.

ADELA: (a bit bitterly) Martirio is not liberal. . .

MARTIRIO: Yeah, I agree with her. That is a crazy idea.

MUJER: Well, Martirio, if you don’t have a boyfriend, what do you like to do? Do you work?

BERNARDA: Yes, Martirio has been working for the “No” campaign against the crazy postal survey. Can you all believe that people want to implement the ability for homosexual people to marry?

MARTIRIO: It is not “a right”; it’s horrible. They want to end the importance of marriage.

ADELA: I’m going to get a drink.

(MARTIRIO follows ADELA)

MARTIRIO: (Calmly) Flaca (skinny girl)—It was a very late night.

ADELA: (surprised) What?

 

MARTIRIO: Were you talking on the phone at four?

ADELA: It’s not important to you.

MARTIRIO: Tell me whom you were talking to last night.

ADELA: Go away.

MARTIRIO: (pause) With a girl. (ADELA looks at MARTIRIO, they are mad) You are a lesbian.

ADELA: And you are homophobic. My body and my life belong to me, and there is nothing that you can do. It is not the place to create a scene, but I know that you want attention!

MARTIRIO: (louder) Shut up. When I tell Mamá—

 

ADELA: Why do you need to tell our mother? Because you do not have anything interesting in your life? If you are trying to ruin the day with my sexuality—

MARTIRIO: Well, if none of us have a boyfriend at our sister’s wedding, at least my love for men is authentic. It is going to be very interesting—when I tell our mother about your secret and your “girlfriend”.

 

(ANGUSTIAS arrives with BERNARDA)

ANGUSTIAS: ¡You are so loud! Tell me the gossip.

ADELA: It’s not gossip.

BERNARDA: I don’t have time for your problems.

MARTIRIO: It is only Adela’s problem. My crazy sister has to run away to New Zealand to get married, and she still would not be normal.

ANGUSTIAS: Martirio!

ADELA: Enough! My sexuality is not shameful. It should not be a political question. You treat me like an illness, but soon I will be able to marry in Australia. And, Martirio still will be single because she always puts her nose in other people’s business. (ANGUSTIAS starts to cry, BERNARDA is mad) And mother, mamá . . . I had tried to tell you, I was going to tell you, but it was too much—

Bernarda: Enough.

Cut the scene to black.

The final scene: a dark room. It is quiet and empty with the exception of BERNARDA, who sits in a chair next to a desk. ANGUSTIAS enters.

 

ANGUSTIAS: (hesitantly) It is two o’clock.

BERNARDA: Yes. You should sleep. I need to think.

ANGUSTIAS: I think about you, mamá. I worry about you.

BERNARDA: I am fine—truly. And I love you a lot, and you need to return to Pepe.

(ANGUSTIAS leaves)

BERNARDA: (murmuring) It is true that I love all my daughters. (Completing the postal survey about support for marriage equality in Australia and sealing the envelope). Yes, Adela.

End.

Men Do It

By Madison Frilot

Center stage, there is a stool.
Beside it, Chelsea stands under a single fluorescent light bulb with a pull chain,
wearing all black:
a loose shirt that falls sloppily off her shoulder, black jeans,
and tall black stiletto heels.
On the other side of the stool there is a small table.
Lying on top the table is a pack of cigarettes and a crystal ashtray.
The stage is pitch black.
We hear a lighter strike and we watch a cigarette be lit, unable to see anything else.
She then pulls the bulb’s pull chain and stands under it for a moment,
scanning the audience.
She walks to the stool and takes a seat, legs crossed, takes a few short puffs and puts out the cigarette in the ashtray on the table. She returns to her position.

CHELSEA: I have a prophecy. A motto. A golden rule I’d call it. Everyone has one. Or maybe a few. It’s something you live by- values, morals, what have you. Maybe it’s religious, maybe it’s not. Ha. Mine sure isn’t. (beat) But I’ll get to that.

{She takes out another cigarette, lights it, takes a luxurious drag,
dramatically puts it out, and continues.}

Charles? Charles was a stunner- at least top 12 in the looks category, I’d say. A total stunner. He had the lightest blue eyes, they sparked. I swear I could even see my own reflection in them. Muscular, tan skin, and golden locks. I even called him Goldilocks once. (beat) He didn’t like that. He came and went.

{She takes out another cigarette, takes a drag, puts it out.}

Steve wasn’t as… charismatic. But he was cute, and he was there. He was there a couple times actually. Longer than most… But he had this horrible anxious vibe and grew out a weird mustache so I stopped returning his calls.

{She takes out another cigarette, takes a drag,
changes her seating position to something more casual, knees apart,
puts out the cigarette.}

Oh, don’t forget about Jonathan. First black man I’d ever been with.

{She stands up, lights another cigarette, takes a drag and puts it out.
Then she walks across the stage.}

Charlie. He was older. Much older. He moved slower and constantly nagged me- (mocking) “Honey can you hand me my Rogaine?” and I had to repeat myself over and over. I felt as though I was constantly startling him too, and God knows I can’t possibly tone this down so I blocked his number.

{She turns to the table, hastily walks to it,
quickly lights a cigarette, takes a quick drag, puts it out.}

Nicolas had this… this hardness about him. I was attracted to his decisiveness and agency. But then he hit me.

{After a moment of silence
she picks up the pack and takes out a cigarette for every name she mentions,
dropping it to the floor and moving on to the next.}

Tom. Zander. Marcus. Another Tom. Thor. Jenna… I was curious ok? Cameron. Jack- or was it Zack? Billy. Sebastian. Claire- (defensive) Look, I’m no lesbo I just had to make sure. Wyatt. Asian John. White John.

{She holds up the last cigarette left in the pack and walks downstage with it.}

I’ve been called things, sure. Many things. Some men stay longer than others. I prefer a weekend fling to a one-night-stand after all. But that’s only so I can have the time to figure out something wrong with them to avoid wondering. But I’m not looking for love, not me. Men do it. So why can’t I? Are they given shit? Tom #2 told me I was his seventh girl of the week. Because of that, I don’t ask many questions, nor do I answer them. Would you? (rest) They’re like puppies- the more attached you get, the harder it is to ignore their calls.

{Chelsea then walks to the light bulb and swivels back towards the audience.}

I’ll quit smoking the moment I meet a decent fucking man.

{Standing under the bulb, Chelsea lights the last cigarette.
She then pulls the pull chain and lights go out.
She takes a puff and we watch the warm light intensify,
then she walks offstage with the lit cigarette, heels clacking.}

Sexual Assault: A Global Issue Part 2

By Kelsie Merrick

In this election, sexual assault has grown to become a controversial topic with allegations coming from all sides. Whether it’s women saying Donald Trump has sexually assaulted them or Hillary Clinton has covered up rape cases. We’ve heard them all, and people and parties from both sides agree with these women or disagree with these women. However, it does not matter if you agree or disagree with any of these allegations because what we should all agree on is that this is an issue that needs to be fixed, not just in the United States but worldwide. The United Nations has been an avid supporter of reducing the violence against women for years. In 1993, the UN General Assembly created the “Declaration for the Elimination of Violence against Women” to provide a framework on how to act against this crisis. However, it’s been over 20 years since that declaration and “1 in 3 women still experience physical or sexual violence.” If that statistic doesn’t sicken you, just know “around 120 million girls worldwide, that’s 1 in 10, have experienced forced intercourse or other forced sexual acts” during their lives. The most common perpetrators of these sexual assaults are former husbands, partners or boyfriends.

We can talk about sexual assault all we want, but that won’t change anything. We need action.

 

What Can We Do To End This Violence?

Stand together in protest against our government until they implement better laws like in Argentina. Ni Una Menos (Not One Less) is a movement of women’s rights advocates that began in June of last year. They are fighting against femicide, a crime involving the violent and deliberate killing of a woman, because, in Argentina, a woman is killed every 30 hours. On Wednesday, October 19th there was a mass demonstration held for every woman that has been killed in the past five years, but mainly for a 16-year-old girl by the name of Lucia Perez who was abducted then drugged, raped repeatedly, and sodomized with an ‘unspecified object’ so violently that she eventually bled out from her internal injuries. The United States needs to join the Ni Una Menos movement, and hopefully, together change will occur. In the US, every 109 seconds an American becomes a victim of sexual assault. Every 8 minutes, a child becomes a victim of sexual assault. Think about those numbers for a second. Think about your mother, sister, brother, father, niece, or nephew. In 109 seconds, they could be a victim. Sexual assault happens too frequently for us to not do anything about it.

We need to encourage victims to speak out against the violence done to them and with this, we need to encourage society to not shame them. According to a study by RAINN, the nation’s largest anti-sexual violence organization, 20% of victims do not report sexual assault out of fear of retaliation and 13% don’t report because they believe the police wouldn’t do anything to help. Often when a victim speaks out about assault we hear the excuses of “you were drinking too much” or “you shouldn’t have worn such revealing clothing.” What we should be hearing is “we are here to help you” or “they will not get away with this.”

On top of that, we need to start holding offenders accountable. Out of every 1,000 rapists, only 344 are reported to police. However, from that 344 only six rapists will be incarcerated. Six. Imagine being a victim and knowing these statistics. It’s understandable for them to think nothing will happen. Combine the lack of punishment and victims not reporting, 994 perpetrators walk free. 944 people have gotten away with a disgusting crime. 994 people are able to assault another innocent person.

I was raised learning that we should respect each other and to live by the “golden rule” that you should do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Especially being taught from an older generation that believed men were supposed to treat women respectfully and protect them. Many women from the Feminist Movement will take offense to that statement now because we as women can take care of ourselves and protect ourselves, but honestly, only to a certain extent. When you’re a young girl or are intoxicated, willingly or unwillingly, you are not able to protect yourself against a man that is two or three times your size. Together, every country, every nation, every man and women and innocent child needs to come together so that people don’t get away with these vile and torturous crimes and that they serve the correct sentences.

Patriarchy? Don’t be a pussy

By Fernanda Gutierrez Mello Vianna

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