Where ignorant armies clash

Content note: misogyny, violent misogyny, and state-sponsored, violent misogyny. This is rough, y'all.

I feel my body vanishing.

The following exchange took place between Republican Senate candidate Tom Smith and Associated Press reporter Mark Scolforo:

SCOLFORO: Well, how would you tell a daughter or a granddaughter who, God forbid, would be the victim of a rape, to keep the child against her own will? Is that something that you would–do you have a way to explain that?

SMITH: I lived something similar to that with my own family. She chose life, and I commend her for that. She knew my views. But, fortunately for me, I didn’t have to… She chose they way I thought. Now don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t rape.

SCOLFORO: Similar how?

SMITH: Uh, having a baby out of wedlock. You know.

SCOLFORO: That’s similar to rape?

SMITH: No, no, no, but… Put yourself in a father’s position, yes. I mean, it is similar. This was a–But, come back to the original–I’m pro-life, period.

The whole conversation was recorded and you can hear it here.

Smith is saying that for a father, the devastation of discovering that your daughter has chosen to participate in premarital sex and has become pregnant is similar to the devastation of discovering that your daughter has been intimidated, overpowered, subdued, assaulted, tortured, and traumatized (either by force or coercion) and that now she has to make a critical decision about the pregnancy that has resulted, all the while dealing with the stigmas and pressures of a culture that chooses to erase her pain. Similarly to how Smith just erased her pain himself.

Smith is also saying that because his daughter chose to carry to term the pregnancy she conceived when she happily and freely engaged in consensual sex with a partner of her choice, society should expect a woman who was intimidated, overpowered, subdued, assaulted, tortured and traumatized (either by force or coercion) to carry to term the pregnancy she conceived by the man who intimidated, overpowered, subdued, assaulted, tortured and traumatized her (either by force or coercion).

It's no longer one or two right-wing extremists saying this. The whole party recently approved a new party platform that would deny the choice to have an abortion from all rape victims, as well as all other women, including women whose lives are endangered by pregnancy. (Note that "pregnant rape victims" and "women whose lives are endangered by pregnancy" can and do include girls 10 years old or younger.)

Vice presidential candidate Paul Ryan, as you've probably heard, co-sponsored with Todd Akin the legislation that introduced the concept of "forcible rape." The bill proposed that victims of rape would not be granted abortions unless they were victims of "forcible rape." This, of course, puts the burden on the woman/girl to prove that she isn't just a lying slut trying to escape responsibility. And further, the message it really conveys is that any woman/girl who wants an abortion must be able to prove that she is as innocent herself as her innocent blastocyst, and therefore equal to the blastocyst in value.

Then is it any wonder that I feel my body vanishing?

Because when a Republican state legislator here in my home state says that a woman should be denied the choice to terminate a pregnancy even when the fetus is known to be dead, citing that animals have done it on his farm, that woman is me, that is my body.

When legislators of my national government say that some ideologue in an office somewhere should be free to decide that a woman should die rather than receive a life-saving abortion, that woman is me, that is my body.

When women in my country are charged with murder because of their miscarriages, that is me, that is my body.

When Republicans in Virginia try to pass laws that a woman should be vaginally penetrated for no medical reason, but only because the State wants to shame her out of her decision, that is me, that is my body.

When acts of terrorism are committed against women's health professionals, that is me, that is my body.

When a communications director for a Republican representative goes on Facebook and says, "Let's hurl some acid at those female democratic Senators," that female is me, that is my body.

When the most pro-life state in the nation also has the highest rate of sexual assault against teenage girls at 17.3% (all evidence of a culture hostile to female autonomy and consent), that girl is me, that is my body.

When a woman nearly dies because the ER doctor on call refuses to abort a non-viable fetus, that woman is me, that is my body.

When pro-lifers propose "personhood" amendments giving full human rights to zygotes and making it murder to terminate ectopic pregnancies that result in maternal death, that is my body.

When a Republican state legislator in Kansas says that women should "plan ahead" for their eventual rape by purchasing separate abortion coverage plans, that woman is me, that is my body.

When the Arizona Senate passes a bill to allow doctors to withhold information from a pregnant woman about fetal abnormalities or genetic disorders, that woman is me, that is my body.

When a regular contributor to Fox News says that women who report sexual assault in the military "want to be warriors and victims at the same time" and asks "what did they expect?" that is me, that is my body.

When all this goes on, and then Republicans say that the war on women is "fiction," it's not fiction to my body.

I don't believe that an embryo, or a blastocyst, or a zygote has more value than I do. I don't believe that the rights of an embryo, or a blastocyst, or a zygote trump my rights. If you do believe those things, get your beliefs off of my body.

If you're not comfortable acknowledging just how heinous any kind of rape truly is, or what an omnipresent terror it is to all women every day, or if you think it can be compared in any way to a consensual act, or if you are intent on legislating the behavior of rape victims who are trying to reclaim their lives while the judicial system remains so inept at prosecuting rapists that 54% of rapes continue to go unreported, keep your illusions the hell away from my body.

I never asked for all this violence, but it is being waged across the landscape of my body.

Does that sound dramatic? It is dramatic. This misogyny is extreme and terrorizing. Surely this revelation cannot be shocking to you: that I can never be at peace while my body remains the darkling plain.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
           -from "Dover Beach" by Matthew Arnold

Product Review

She's basically pretty. She sort of looks like me. Which is good because a doll ought to be relatable. She can sit and stand without falling over. It'd be nice if her hair were longer, since it's long enough for a ponytail but not long enough to braid.

She speaks a few phrases, which is satisfactory, but her voice is too squeaky to be appealing, so I mostly don't use that function.

I'll just mention that a doll ought to be able to wear a hat or glasses if the occasion calls for it, but these things fall right off her.

Of course, the main trouble is she just doesn't do very well in her playtime roles. She tolerates her wicked stepsisters well enough, which is fine when we play Cinderella, but when we play Runaway, the plot just falls apart because she can't ride a horse. She dances okay, but she can't sigh convincingly, so the romances never work. I can tell the prince is frustrated by the lack of chemistry in their performance.

I've tried playing Schoolteacher with her, but she has no compassion for her students. Panda is failing and will have to be held back a year if this continues. I thought a more exciting plot might please her, so I tried Joan of Arc. But when we got to the end, I'd swear she was relieved to be burned at the stake.

She just doesn't want to be the ingenue in my stories, which I don't understand. I let her play the villain for a while, but she was terrible at that as well. She refuses to abuse the other toys, even for the sake of thematic climax. And all this is extremely aggravating for me, because I spent entirely too much of my allowance on this doll to end up having to drop her down to a bit part.

I'm not a difficult girl. There is only one quality I require in a doll, and that is flexibility. She needs to have a steady hand when she operates on Snuggles. She needs to faint gracefully when she's kidnapped by the Evil Witch. She needs to pull the other doll's hair if I tell her to.

And this should go without saying: if she can't be punctual for teatime, what good is she? Plus it's entirely too hard to get her clothes off. If you tug the back of the dress, the snaps just break. I've got half a mind to leave her naked.

She has no appreciation for the opportunities she's been given. If she would put forth a little effort, she would see that I'm a very loving person.

But when I look into her little eyes, I can almost hear her saying, "For the love of God, put me back on the shelf. I'd rather sit alone with my empty, plastic head than be loved by you."

Migraine

Only a sliver of light slices into the bedroom from the hall, but I have shielded myself against even that, with the bedsheets pulled over my face. Underneath them the air is hot and still and noiseless.

Only the faintest sounds reach me. They are hardly more than the sound of my own blood in my ears. Behind my dark eyelids I am underwater.

My husband's laughter bubbles up, breaks my surface, clear but distant. Then his voice, joyful and adoring, entreating the little black dog we both love to find a toy he is hiding for her. I hear her playful whines and the jingle of her collar. In my mind I see her prancing and my husband's arms reaching for her.

I don't wish, not even for a second, to stand up, walk into the other room, smile, speak or touch them in that bright, bright world that is no longer my world. I lie still and love them - skills, I realize, I will one day be grateful to have practiced.