That's not how it works...that's not how any of this works!
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Greetings, faithful Dot Calm Readers, Truth Crusaders, and Freedom Fighters!
OK, I have a bee in my bonnet again, and you can thank my Tea Party Christian friend for putting it there.
This time, my Tea Party Christian friend has got his panties in a bunch about transgender people using public bathrooms. He is "concerned" for "the children"--the same children his party won't lift a finger to help or spend a penny to feed, clothe, house, educate, or medically care for--and he's "concerned" about "upsetting" the "old" women who've seen it all anyway and wouldn't give a wet slap. He is convinced that there is "proof" that trans people rape people in public bathrooms--but there has not been a single recorded case in the U.S. according to reliable sources that debunk the myth. He is also convinced that being transgender is purely psychological and a disorder because someone associated with Johns Hopkins says so.
That's not how it works...that's not how any of this works!
I speak as both producer and consumer of science--professionally so for nearly three decades. To rise to this level within in my profession, I must know how to perform basic scientific research and evaluate published science to meet my employer's objectives successfully. I have seen colleagues who do not understand science try to do what I do--it is a recipe for disaster. Some think they can get by with memorizing formulae instead of understanding first principles. Others try to guess at answers instead of analyzing the evidence under their noses. And still others try to twist the evidence to fit their desired conclusions (hum, where they failed at science, they would have excelled as religious apologists). These types do not do well in the profession. Only those who truly understand and can apply science excel. So, yes, I consider myself qualified to say--albeit informally--what science is and to aver whether it produces reliable results regarding the nature of reality (or the reality of nature).
What I see in the current trans panic manufactured crisis is that the ultra-right is pulling its usual stunt of fomenting fear and hate among people who are too ignorant to know better so they can distract the public from the real issues--the ones that endanger us all, like global warming...oligarchy...poison in our food and environment due to Republican deregulation...you get the idea.
So of course my poor gullible Tea Party Christian friend is lapping up the Kool-Aid being dumped out by FUX Noise and Christian television.
And corporate media ain't helping.
Corporate media simply regurgitate what is told them, reporting the "debate" or whatever "conclusion" is most recent without taking the time or putting in the effort to ask follow-up questions or fact-check what they are hearing. This isn't investigative journalism we're talking about, friends--American media abandoned that decades ago. This is Journalism 101 that is falling by the wayside.
Stick with me--I'll circle back to how journalism contributes to the American public's inability grasp science, but let's talk about the actual science first.
Let's review what science is and how science works.
Science is the effort to understand the natural world through observation and analysis. In other words, an observer starts by making one observation (evidence, or data). He or she analyzes that observation and wonders what caused it, positing a possible falsifiable explanation (hypothesis). If the hypothesis is correct, then the observer can predict possible future observations--and he or she collects more data (experiments to collect more evidence) to compare against the hypothesis. If the hypothesis only explains part of the data, then the observer modifies the hypothesis to fit the new observations and performs more experiments to collect even more data. If the hypothesis is completely wrong, then it is discarded.
When the observer has a working hypothesis that covers all the evidence he or she sees to the best of his or her ability, he or she shares the findings with other observers, who then try to falsify the hypothesis with their own observations. Over time, the hypothesis is refined as all of the observers contribute their experimental observations, hypothetical explanations, and predictions. The cycle repeats until, again, the hypothesis is discarded, tweaked, or accepted as a theory. Becoming a theory is as strongly proven as a hypothesis can be in science. (Read here for differences between definitions of scientific laws and theories--spoiler: a law is not "above" a theory. Many people define a scientific law as a theory that can be expressed in a nice, neat "closed form" equation, like Ohm's law, V = iR.)
Here is a diagram illustrating the scientific method:
Here is a theory that underpins all of biology as humans now understand it: living things change gradually across generations through inherited changes that confer survival advantages in the presence of pressures from natural selection. Recognize it? If you said "evolution," give yourself some dark chocolate and a shot of Fireball whiskey. If you want to understand more about evolution and why it is the best explanation for biology that we have, check out this link.
News flash, creationists: every fossil is a transitional fossil!
Here is another theory you may be familiar with: every object in the universe attracts every other object with a force which for any two bodies is proportional to the mass of each and varies inversely as the square of the distance between them. Did you recognize the theory of gravity? If you click the "theory of gravity" link, you'll see the nice, neat, compact equation that Richard Feynman (one of my heroes) refers to as the law of gravitation.
Another usage of "theory" is "field of study," like evolution, gravitation, controls (the study of the world as a collection of systems and the design of new systems to control those other pesky systems), and music. Did you ever study music theory in school? If so, did all the local religionists compel your teacher to inform you that music doesn't really happen because it's "just" a theory?
Now you understand what a theory is--and what it is not--and you understand that it takes many years of research by people all over the world trying but failing to falsify a hypothesis for it to "graduate" to the status of "theory."
Whew!
So, then, what's wrong with my Tea Party Christian friend's understanding of the world when it comes to the "threat" of transgender people using public bathrooms?
- Transgender and gender non-conforming people have been using public bathrooms for as long as there have been transgender and gender non-conforming people and public bathrooms...and there have been transgender and gender non-conforming people for as long as there have been people (unfortunately, American Psychological Association does not include links for the documentation they describe; however, there is an interesting example here: ancient Rome's Elagabalus. And, yes, they did have public bathrooms in ancient Rome).
- Who's to say that trans and gender non-conforming people haven't been using the public restroom of their identity for as long as there have been public restrooms? People are more than how they dress, just as people are more than their genitals (unless you're a Christian, in which case you believe that a woman is a vagina is an incubator--Christians don't believe that women have brains, which is why Christians insist that women allow men to think for them...d'oh).
- Transgender and gender non-conformity are not--as Christians like JHU's Dr. Paul McHugh would have you believe--psychological issues. Sexuality, like handedness, seems to develop in utero, and transgender people's brains are different from cis-gender people's brains. Even if McHugh were correct in his understanding of the science--and he isn't, any more than JHU's Dr. Ben Carson is correct about evolution or the ancient Egyptian pyramids being the biblical Joseph's grain silos--his is only one person's opinion. As you know by now, it takes many observers many years trying but failing to falsify an idea experimentally before it becomes accepted as provisional truth within the scientific community. No single person's say-so constitutes accepted reality without a crap-ton of proof from independent experimenters to back it up. And even when an idea finally becomes a theory, scientists will never proclaim it "100% true." Scientific truth is always provisional, so one man's opinion, even when it's right, is just barely spit in the ocean.
- Again, just a little research shows that the Christo-fascists' trans panic is a solution looking for a problem. Politifact dug like crazy and found one case of a man dressed as a woman to gain entry to homeless shelters in Canada. They also confirmed "three cases in the United States in the last 17 years in which a biological male was convicted of a crime that involved him in a women’s bathroom or locker room and dressed as a woman. It’s unclear if any of the three identified as transgender women, but none of those cases happened in cities where it would have been legal for a transgender woman to use the women’s room anyway. And none involved sexual assault or rape." Now, that's what I call
an ex-parrota non-problem.
Now...getting back to how American media entirely fail the public when it comes to science (I'm rerunning the John Oliver video below because it really makes my point for me). Medical frauds, like McHugh and Carson, and fraudulent "historians" like David Barton largely go unchallenged by the media when they twist facts and spew lies. The media "teach the controversy" instead of teaching the facts that people need to make wise decisions. The media chase cheap, sensational headlines, like "coffee causes cancer" and "coffee cures cancer" without ever offering any of the back-story on what science is and how science works (i.e., no single article ever changes accepted scientific opinion instantaneously without tons of independent corroboration). Every chance they get, our media fail us. Part of the blame lies with Ronald Reagan, who abolished the Fairness Doctrine, thus exonerating the media from ever again serving the American public and, thus, cursing us with FUX Noise.
And that, dear ones, is why we can't have nice things.
Don't forget to read Dot Calm's shadow's favorite independent sources of news and information:
Daily Kos
AlterNet
Democracy Now!
Slate
Conservatives are Destroying our Future
Conservative Clown Car
Americans Against the Republican Party
Americans Against the Tea Party
...And, whatever you do, please keep supporting Bernie's "revolution"--back to the center. Send him a buck o' five if you can. At the very least, I'm gonna send $15 to Debbie Wasserman Schultz's Democratic primary opponent, Tim Canova, on Bernie's behalf. That woman needs to GO!
Thanks for reading, and thanks for being good to yourself and your loved ones. If you have a senior friend or rellie, please visit, bring cookies, or take him or her out for a meal if you can. They and I will love you for it!
Peas!
- Dot Calm's shadow
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Christian apologetics:
the use of logical fallacies
to attempt to prove
that for which there is no evidence.
-- Dot Calm's shadow
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Mailbag
Sit down, strap in, and hang on--there's a lot in here today...including the letter Brock Turner's rape victim wrote. It turned my stomach when I read it. And yet people like my Tea Party Christian friend blame this girl for having been raped while running around screaming about non-existent trans bogeymen.
-- Dot Calm's shadow
The letter Brock Turner's victim wrote, describing his irresponsibility and the effects his raping her had on her
You don’t know me, but you’ve been inside me, and that’s why we’re here today.
On January 17th, 2015, it was a quiet Saturday night at home. My dad made some dinner and I sat at the table with my younger sister who was visiting for the weekend. I was working full time and it was approaching my bed time. I planned to stay at home by myself, watch some TV and read, while she went to a party with her friends. Then, I decided it was my only night with her, I had nothing better to do, so why not, there’s a dumb party ten minutes from my house, I would go, dance like a fool, and embarrass my younger sister. On the way there, I joked that undergrad guys would have braces. My sister teased me for wearing a beige cardigan to a frat party like a librarian. I called myself “big mama”, because I knew I’d be the oldest one there. I made silly faces, let my guard down, and drank liquor too fast not factoring in that my tolerance had significantly lowered since college.
The next thing I remember I was in a gurney in a hallway. I had dried blood and bandages on the backs of my hands and elbow. I thought maybe I had fallen and was in an admin office on campus. I was very calm and wondering where my sister was. A deputy explained I had been assaulted. I still remained calm, assured he was speaking to the wrong person. I knew no one at this party. When I was finally allowed to use the restroom, I pulled down the hospital pants they had given me, went to pull down my underwear, and felt nothing. I still remember the feeling of my hands touching my skin and grabbing nothing. I looked down and there was nothing. The thin piece of fabric, the only thing between my vagina and anything else, was missing and everything inside me was silenced. I still don’t have words for that feeling. In order to keep breathing, I thought maybe the policemen used scissors to cut them off for evidence.
“You don’t know me, but you’ve been inside me, and that’s why we’re here today.”
I shuffled from room to room with a blanket wrapped around me, pine needles trailing behind me, I left a little pile in every room I sat in. I was asked to sign papers that said “Rape Victim” and I thought something has really happened. My clothes were confiscated and I stood naked while the nurses held a ruler to various abrasions on my body and photographed them. The three of us worked to comb the pine needles out of my hair, six hands to fill one paper bag. To calm me down, they said it’s just the flora and fauna, flora and fauna. I had multiple swabs inserted into my vagina and anus, needles for shots, pills, had a Nikon pointed right into my spread legs. I had long, pointed beaks inside me and had my vagina smeared with cold, blue paint to check for abrasions.
After a few hours of this, they let me shower. I stood there examining my body beneath the stream of water and decided, I don’t want my body anymore. I was terrified of it, I didn’t know what had been in it, if it had been contaminated, who had touched it. I wanted to take off my body like a jacket and leave it at the hospital with everything else.
On that morning, all that I was told was that I had been found behind a dumpster, potentially penetrated by a stranger, and that I should get retested for HIV because results don’t always show up immediately. But for now, I should go home and get back to my normal life. Imagine stepping back into the world with only that information. They gave me huge hugs and I walked out of the hospital into the parking lot wearing the new sweatshirt and sweatpants they provided me, as they had only allowed me to keep my necklace and shoes.
My sister picked me up, face wet from tears and contorted in anguish. Instinctively and immediately, I wanted to take away her pain. I smiled at her, I told her to look at me, I’m right here, I’m okay, everything’s okay, I’m right here. My hair is washed and clean, they gave me the strangest shampoo, calm down, and look at me. Look at these funny new sweatpants and sweatshirt, I look like a P.E. teacher, let’s go home, let’s eat something. She did not know that beneath my sweatsuit, I had scratches and bandages on my skin, my vagina was sore and had become a strange, dark color from all the prodding, my underwear was missing, and I felt too empty to continue to speak. That I was also afraid, that I was also devastated. That day we drove home and for hours in silence my younger sister held me.
My boyfriend did not know what happened, but called that day and said, “I was really worried about you last night, you scared me, did you make it home okay?” I was horrified. That’s when I learned I had called him that night in my blackout, left an incomprehensible voicemail, that we had also spoken on the phone, but I was slurring so heavily he was scared for me, that he repeatedly told me to go find [my sister]. Again, he asked me, “What happened last night? Did you make it home okay?” I said yes, and hung up to cry.
I was not ready to tell my boyfriend or parents that actually, I may have been raped behind a dumpster, but I don’t know by who or when or how. If I told them, I would see the fear on their faces, and mine would multiply by tenfold, so instead I pretended the whole thing wasn’t real.
I tried to push it out of my mind, but it was so heavy I didn’t talk, I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t interact with anyone. After work, I would drive to a secluded place to scream. I didn’t talk, I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t interact with anyone, and I became isolated from the ones I loved most. For over a week after the incident, I didn’t get any calls or updates about that night or what happened to me. The only symbol that proved that it hadn’t just been a bad dream, was the sweatshirt from the hospital in my drawer.
One day, I was at work, scrolling through the news on my phone, and came across an article. In it, I read and learned for the first time about how I was found unconscious, with my hair disheveled, long necklace wrapped around my neck, bra pulled out of my dress, dress pulled off over my shoulders and pulled up above my waist, that I was butt naked all the way down to my boots, legs spread apart, and had been penetrated by a foreign object by someone I did not recognize. This was how I learned what happened to me, sitting at my desk reading the news at work. I learned what happened to me the same time everyone else in the world learned what happened to me. That’s when the pine needles in my hair made sense, they didn’t fall from a tree. He had taken off my underwear, his fingers had been inside of me. I don’t even know this person. I still don’t know this person. When I read about me like this, I said, this can’t be me, this can’t be me. I could not digest or accept any of this information. I could not imagine my family having to read about this online. I kept reading. In the next paragraph, I read something that I will never forgive; I read that according to him, I liked it. I liked it. Again, I do not have words for these feelings.
“And then, at the bottom of the article, after I learned about the graphic details of my own sexual assault, the article listed his swimming times.”
And then, at the bottom of the article, after I learned about the graphic details of my own sexual assault, the article listed his swimming times. She was found breathing, unresponsive with her underwear six inches away from her bare stomach curled in fetal position. By the way, he’s really good at swimming. Throw in my mile time if that’s what we’re doing. I’m good at cooking, put that in there, I think the end is where you list your extracurriculars to cancel out all the sickening things that’ve happened.
The night the news came out I sat my parents down and told them that I had been assaulted, to not look at the news because it’s upsetting, just know that I’m okay, I’m right here, and I’m okay. But halfway through telling them, my mom had to hold me because I could no longer stand up.
The night after it happened, he said he didn’t know my name, said he wouldn’t be able to identify my face in a lineup, didn’t mention any dialogue between us, no words, only dancing and kissing.
Dancing is a cute term; was it snapping fingers and twirling dancing, or just bodies grinding up against each other in a crowded room? I wonder if kissing was just faces sloppily pressed up against each other? When the detective asked if he had planned on taking me back to his dorm, he said no. When the detective asked how we ended up behind the dumpster, he said he didn’t know. He admitted to kissing other girls at that party, one of whom was my own sister who pushed him away.
He admitted to wanting to hook up with someone. I was the wounded antelope of the herd, completely alone and vulnerable, physically unable to fend for myself, and he chose me. Sometimes I think, if I hadn’t gone, then this never would’ve happened. But then I realized, it would have happened, just to somebody else. You were about to enter four years of access to drunk girls and parties, and if this is the foot you started off on, then it is right you did not continue. The night after it happened, he said he thought I liked it because I rubbed his back. A back rub.
Never mentioned me voicing consent, never mentioned us even speaking, a back rub. One more time, in public news, I learned that my ass and vagina were completely exposed outside, my breasts had been groped, fingers had been jabbed inside me along with pine needles and debris, my bare skin and head had been rubbing against the ground behind a dumpster, while an erect freshman was humping my half naked, unconscious body. But I don’t remember, so how do I prove I didn’t like it.
I thought there’s no way this is going to trial; there were witnesses, there was dirt in my body, he ran but was caught. He’s going to settle, formally apologize, and we will both move on. Instead, I was told he hired a powerful attorney, expert witnesses, private investigators who were going to try and find details about my personal life to use against me, find loopholes in my story to invalidate me and my sister, in order to show that this sexual assault was in fact a misunderstanding. That he was going to go to any length to convince the world he had simply been confused.
I was not only told that I was assaulted, I was told that because I couldn’t remember, I technically could not prove it was unwanted. And that distorted me, damaged me, almost broke me. It is the saddest type of confusion to be told I was assaulted and nearly raped, blatantly out in the open, but we don’t know if it counts as assault yet. I had to fight for an entire year to make it clear that there was something wrong with this situation.
“I was pummeled with narrowed, pointed questions that dissected my personal life, love life, past life, family life, inane questions, accumulating trivial details to try and find an excuse for this guy who had me half naked before even bothering to ask for my name. “
Instead of taking time to heal, I was taking time to recall the night in excruciating detail, in order to prepare for the attorney’s questions that would be invasive, aggressive, and designed to steer me off course, to contradict myself, my sister, phrased in ways to manipulate my answers. Instead of his attorney saying, Did you notice any abrasions? He said, You didn’t notice any abrasions, right? This was a game of strategy, as if I could be tricked out of my own worth. The sexual assault had been so clear, but instead, here I was at the trial, answering questions like:
How old are you? How much do you weigh? What did you eat that day? Well what did you have for dinner? Who made dinner? Did you drink with dinner? No, not even water? When did you drink? How much did you drink? What container did you drink out of? Who gave you the drink? How much do you usually drink? Who dropped you off at this party? At what time? But where exactly? What were you wearing? Why were you going to this party? What’ d you do when you got there? Are you sure you did that? But what time did you do that? What does this text mean? Who were you texting? When did you urinate? Where did you urinate? With whom did you urinate outside? Was your phone on silent when your sister called? Do you remember silencing it? Really because on page 53 I’d like to point out that you said it was set to ring. Did you drink in college? You said you were a party animal? How many times did you black out? Did you party at frats? Are you serious with your boyfriend? Are you sexually active with him? When did you start dating? Would you ever cheat? Do you have a history of cheating? What do you mean when you said you wanted to reward him? Do you remember what time you woke up? Were you wearing your cardigan? What color was your cardigan? Do you remember any more from that night? No? Okay, well, we’ll let Brock fill it in.
I was pummeled with narrowed, pointed questions that dissected my personal life, love life, past life, family life, inane questions, accumulating trivial details to try and find an excuse for this guy who had me half naked before even bothering to ask for my name. After a physical assault, I was assaulted with questions designed to attack me, to say see, her facts don’t line up, she’s out of her mind, she’s practically an alcoholic, she probably wanted to hook up, he’s like an athlete right, they were both drunk, whatever, the hospital stuff she remembers is after the fact, why take it into account, Brock has a lot at stake so he’s having a really hard time right now.
And then it came time for him to testify and I learned what it meant to be revictimized. I want to remind you, the night after it happened he said he never planned to take me back to his dorm. He said he didn’t know why we were behind a dumpster. He got up to leave because he wasn’t feeling well when he was suddenly chased and attacked. Then he learned I could not remember.
So one year later, as predicted, a new dialogue emerged. Brock had a strange new story, almost sounded like a poorly written young adult novel with kissing and dancing and hand holding and lovingly tumbling onto the ground, and most importantly in this new story, there was suddenly consent. One year after the incident, he remembered, oh yeah, by the way she actually said yes, to everything, so.
He said he had asked if I wanted to dance. Apparently I said yes. He’d asked if I wanted to go to his dorm, I said yes. Then he asked if he could finger me and I said yes. Most guys don’t ask, can I finger you? Usually there’s a natural progression of things, unfolding consensually, not a Q and A. But apparently I granted full permission. He’s in the clear. Even in his story, I only said a total of three words, yes yes yes, before he had me half naked on the ground. Future reference, if you are confused about whether a girl can consent, see if she can speak an entire sentence. You couldn’t even do that. Just one coherent string of words. Where was the confusion? This is common sense, human decency.
According to him, the only reason we were on the ground was because I fell down. Note; if a girl falls down help her get back up. If she is too drunk to even walk and falls down, do not mount her, hump her, take off her underwear, and insert your hand inside her vagina. If a girl falls down help her up. If she is wearing a cardigan over her dress don’t take it off so that you can touch her breasts. Maybe she is cold, maybe that’s why she wore the cardigan.
Next in the story, two Swedes on bicycles approached you and you ran. When they tackled you why didn’t say, “Stop! Everything’s okay, go ask her, she’s right over there, she’ll tell you.” I mean you had just asked for my consent, right? I was awake, right? When the policeman arrived and interviewed the evil Swede who tackled you, he was crying so hard he couldn’t speak because of what he’d seen.
Your attorney has repeatedly pointed out, well we don’t know exactly when she became unconscious. And you’re right, maybe I was still fluttering my eyes and wasn’t completely limp yet. That was never the point. I was too drunk to speak English, too drunk to consent way before I was on the ground. I should have never been touched in the first place. Brock stated, “At no time did I see that she was not responding. If at any time I thought she was not responding, I would have stopped immediately.” Here’s the thing; if your plan was to stop only when I became unresponsive, then you still do not understand. You didn’t even stop when I was unconscious anyway! Someone else stopped you. Two guys on bikes noticed I wasn’t moving in the dark and had to tackle you. How did you not notice while on top of me?
You said, you would have stopped and gotten help. You say that, but I want you to explain how you would’ve helped me, step by step, walk me through this. I want to know, if those evil Swedes had not found me, how the night would have played out. I am asking you; Would you have pulled my underwear back on over my boots? Untangled the necklace wrapped around my neck? Closed my legs, covered me? Pick the pine needles from my hair? Asked if the abrasions on my neck and bottom hurt? Would you then go find a friend and say, Will you help me get her somewhere warm and soft? I don’t sleep when I think about the way it could have gone if the two guys had never come. What would have happened to me? That’s what you’ll never have a good answer for, that’s what you can’t explain even after a year.
On top of all this, he claimed that I orgasmed after one minute of digital penetration. The nurse said there had been abrasions, lacerations, and dirt in my genitalia. Was that before or after I came?
To sit under oath and inform all of us, that yes I wanted it, yes I permitted it, and that you are the true victim attacked by Swedes for reasons unknown to you is appalling, is demented, is selfish, is damaging. It is enough to be suffering. It is another thing to have someone ruthlessly working to diminish the gravity of validity of this suffering.
My family had to see pictures of my head strapped to a gurney full of pine needles, of my body in the dirt with my eyes closed, hair messed up, limbs bent, and dress hiked up. And even after that, my family had to listen to your attorney say the pictures were after the fact, we can dismiss them. To say, yes her nurse confirmed there was redness and abrasions inside her, significant trauma to her genitalia, but that’s what happens when you finger someone, and he’s already admitted to that. To listen to your attorney attempt to paint a picture of me, the face of girls gone wild, as if somehow that would make it so that I had this coming for me. To listen to him say I sounded drunk on the phone because I’m silly and that’s my goofy way of speaking. To point out that in the voicemail, I said I would reward my boyfriend and we all know what I was thinking. I assure you my rewards program is non transferable, especially to any nameless man that approaches me.
“This is not a story of another drunk college hookup with poor decision making. Assault is not an accident.”
You are guilty. Twelve jurors convicted you guilty of three felony counts beyond reasonable doubt, that’s twelve votes per count, thirty six yeses confirming guilt, that’s one hundred percent, unanimous guilt. And I thought finally it is over, finally he will own up to what he did, truly apologize, we will both move on and get better. Then I read your statement.
If you are hoping that one of my organs will implode from anger and I will die, I’m almost there. You are very close. This is not a story of another drunk college hookup with poor decision making. Assault is not an accident. Somehow, you still don’t get it. Somehow, you still sound confused. I will now read portions of the defendant’s statement and respond to them.
You said, Being drunk I just couldn’t make the best decisions and neither could she.
Alcohol is not an excuse. Is it a factor? Yes. But alcohol was not the one who stripped me, fingered me, had my head dragging against the ground, with me almost fully naked. Having too much to drink was an amateur mistake that I admit to, but it is not criminal. Everyone in this room has had a night where they have regretted drinking too much, or knows someone close to them who has had a night where they have regretted drinking too much. Regretting drinking is not the same as regretting sexual assault. We were both drunk, the difference is I did not take off your pants and underwear, touch you inappropriately, and run away. That’s the difference.
You said, If I wanted to get to know her, I should have asked for her number, rather than asking her to go back to my room.
I’m not mad because you didn’t ask for my number. Even if you did know me, I would not want to be in this situation. My own boyfriend knows me, but if he asked to finger me behind a dumpster, I would slap him. No girl wants to be in this situation. Nobody. I don’t care if you know their phone number or not.
You said, I stupidly thought it was okay for me to do what everyone around me was doing, which was drinking. I was wrong.
Again, you were not wrong for drinking. Everyone around you was not sexually assaulting me. You were wrong for doing what nobody else was doing, which was pushing your erect dick in your pants against my naked, defenseless body concealed in a dark area, where partygoers could no longer see or protect me, and my own sister could not find me. Sipping fireball is not your crime. Peeling off and discarding my underwear like a candy wrapper to insert your finger into my body, is where you went wrong. Why am I still explaining this.
You said, During the trial I didn’t want to victimize her at all. That was just my attorney and his way of approaching the case.
Your attorney is not your scapegoat, he represents you. Did your attorney say some incredulously infuriating, degrading things? Absolutely. He said you had an erection, because it was cold.
You said, you are in the process of establishing a program for high school and college students in which you speak about your experience to “speak out against the college campus drinking culture and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that.”
Campus drinking culture. That’s what we’re speaking out against? You think that’s what I’ve spent the past year fighting for? Not awareness about campus sexual assault, or rape, or learning to recognize consent. Campus drinking culture. Down with Jack Daniels. Down with Skyy Vodka. If you want talk to people about drinking go to an AA meeting. You realize, having a drinking problem is different than drinking and then forcefully trying to have sex with someone? Show men how to respect women, not how to drink less.
Drinking culture and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that. Goes along with that, like a side effect, like fries on the side of your order. Where does promiscuity even come into play? I don’t see headlines that read, Brock Turner, Guilty of drinking too much and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that. Campus Sexual Assault. There’s your first powerpoint slide. Rest assured, if you fail to fix the topic of your talk, I will follow you to every school you go to and give a follow up presentation.
Lastly you said, I want to show people that one night of drinking can ruin a life.
A life, one life, yours, you forgot about mine. Let me rephrase for you, I want to show people that one night of drinking can ruin two lives. You and me. You are the cause, I am the effect. You have dragged me through this hell with you, dipped me back into that night again and again. You knocked down both our towers, I collapsed at the same time you did. If you think I was spared, came out unscathed, that today I ride off into sunset, while you suffer the greatest blow, you are mistaken. Nobody wins. We have all been devastated, we have all been trying to find some meaning in all of this suffering. Your damage was concrete; stripped of titles, degrees, enrollment. My damage was internal, unseen, I carry it with me. You took away my worth, my privacy, my energy, my time, my safety, my intimacy, my confidence, my own voice, until today.
See one thing we have in common is that we were both unable to get up in the morning. I am no stranger to suffering. You made me a victim. In newspapers my name was “unconscious intoxicated woman”, ten syllables, and nothing more than that. For a while, I believed that that was all I was. I had to force myself to relearn my real name, my identity. To relearn that this is not all that I am. That I am not just a drunk victim at a frat party found behind a dumpster, while you are the All American swimmer at a top university, innocent until proven guilty, with so much at stake. I am a human being who has been irreversibly hurt, my life was put on hold for over a year, waiting to figure out if I was worth something.
My independence, natural joy, gentleness, and steady lifestyle I had been enjoying became distorted beyond recognition. I became closed off, angry, self deprecating, tired, irritable, empty. The isolation at times was unbearable. You cannot give me back the life I had before that night either. While you worry about your shattered reputation, I refrigerated spoons every night so when I woke up, and my eyes were puffy from crying, I would hold the spoons to my eyes to lessen the swelling so that I could see. I showed up an hour late to work every morning, excused myself to cry in the stairwells, I can tell you all the best places in that building to cry where no one can hear you. The pain became so bad that I had to explain the private details to my boss to let her know why I was leaving. I needed time because continuing day to day was not possible. I used my savings to go as far away as I could possibly be. I did not return to work full time as I knew I’d have to take weeks off in the future for the hearing and trial, that were constantly being rescheduled. My life was put on hold for over a year, my structure had collapsed.
I can’t sleep alone at night without having a light on, like a five year old, because I have nightmares of being touched where I cannot wake up, I did this thing where I waited until the sun came up and I felt safe enough to sleep. For three months, I went to bed at six o’clock in the morning.
I used to pride myself on my independence, now I am afraid to go on walks in the evening, to attend social events with drinking among friends where I should be comfortable being. I have become a little barnacle always needing to be at someone’s side, to have my boyfriend standing next to me, sleeping beside me, protecting me. It is embarrassing how feeble I feel, how timidly I move through life, always guarded, ready to defend myself, ready to be angry.
You have no idea how hard I have worked to rebuild parts of me that are still weak. It took me eight months to even talk about what happened. I could no longer connect with friends, with everyone around me. I would scream at my boyfriend, my own family whenever they brought this up. You never let me forget what happened to me. At the of end of the hearing, the trial, I was too tired to speak. I would leave drained, silent. I would go home turn off my phone and for days I would not speak. You bought me a ticket to a planet where I lived by myself. Every time a new article come out, I lived with the paranoia that my entire hometown would find out and know me as the girl who got assaulted. I didn’t want anyone’s pity and am still learning to accept victim as part of my identity. You made my own hometown an uncomfortable place to be.
You cannot give me back my sleepless nights. The way I have broken down sobbing uncontrollably if I’m watching a movie and a woman is harmed, to say it lightly, this experience has expanded my empathy for other victims. I have lost weight from stress, when people would comment I told them I’ve been running a lot lately. There are times I did not want to be touched. I have to relearn that I am not fragile, I am capable, I am wholesome, not just livid and weak.
When I see my younger sister hurting, when she is unable to keep up in school, when she is deprived of joy, when she is not sleeping, when she is crying so hard on the phone she is barely breathing, telling me over and over again she is sorry for leaving me alone that night, sorry sorry sorry, when she feels more guilt than you, then I do not forgive you. That night I had called her to try and find her, but you found me first. Your attorney’s closing statement began, “[Her sister] said she was fine and who knows her better than her sister.” You tried to use my own sister against me? Your points of attack were so weak, so low, it was almost embarrassing. You do not touch her.
You should have never done this to me. Secondly, you should have never made me fight so long to tell you, you should have never done this to me. But here we are. The damage is done, no one can undo it. And now we both have a choice. We can let this destroy us, I can remain angry and hurt and you can be in denial, or we can face it head on, I accept the pain, you accept the punishment, and we move on.
Your life is not over, you have decades of years ahead to rewrite your story. The world is huge, it is so much bigger than Palo Alto and Stanford, and you will make a space for yourself in it where you can be useful and happy. But right now, you do not get to shrug your shoulders and be confused anymore. You do not get to pretend that there were no red flags. You have been convicted of violating me, intentionally, forcibly, sexually, with malicious intent, and all you can admit to is consuming alcohol. Do not talk about the sad way your life was upturned because alcohol made you do bad things. Figure out how to take responsibility for your own conduct.
Now to address the sentencing. When I read the probation officer’s report, I was in disbelief, consumed by anger which eventually quieted down to profound sadness. My statements have been slimmed down to distortion and taken out of context. I fought hard during this trial and will not have the outcome minimized by a probation officer who attempted to evaluate my current state and my wishes in a fifteen minute conversation, the majority of which was spent answering questions I had about the legal system. The context is also important. Brock had yet to issue a statement, and I had not read his remarks.
My life has been on hold for over a year, a year of anger, anguish and uncertainty, until a jury of my peers rendered a judgment that validated the injustices I had endured. Had Brock admitted guilt and remorse and offered to settle early on, I would have considered a lighter sentence, respecting his honesty, grateful to be able to move our lives forward. Instead he took the risk of going to trial, added insult to injury and forced me to relive the hurt as details about my personal life and sexual assault were brutally dissected before the public. He pushed me and my family through a year of inexplicable, unnecessary suffering, and should face the consequences of challenging his crime, of putting my pain into question, of making us wait so long for justice.
I told the probation officer I do not want Brock to rot away in prison. I did not say he does not deserve to be behind bars. The probation officer’s recommendation of a year or less in county jail is a soft timeout, a mockery of the seriousness of his assaults, an insult to me and all women. It gives the message that a stranger can be inside you without proper consent and he will receive less than what has been defined as the minimum sentence. Probation should be denied. I also told the probation officer that what I truly wanted was for Brock to get it, to understand and admit to his wrongdoing.
Unfortunately, after reading the defendant’s report, I am severely disappointed and feel that he has failed to exhibit sincere remorse or responsibility for his conduct. I fully respected his right to a trial, but even after twelve jurors unanimously convicted him guilty of three felonies, all he has admitted to doing is ingesting alcohol. Someone who cannot take full accountability for his actions does not deserve a mitigating sentence. It is deeply offensive that he would try and dilute rape with a suggestion of “promiscuity”. By definition rape is not the absence of promiscuity, rape is the absence of consent, and it perturbs me deeply that he can’t even see that distinction.
The probation officer factored in that the defendant is youthful and has no prior convictions. In my opinion, he is old enough to know what he did was wrong. When you are eighteen in this country you can go to war. When you are nineteen, you are old enough to pay the consequences for attempting to rape someone. He is young, but he is old enough to know better.
As this is a first offence I can see where leniency would beckon. On the other hand, as a society, we cannot forgive everyone’s first sexual assault or digital rape. It doesn’t make sense. The seriousness of rape has to be communicated clearly, we should not create a culture that suggests we learn that rape is wrong through trial and error. The consequences of sexual assault needs to be severe enough that people feel enough fear to exercise good judgment even if they are drunk, severe enough to be preventative.
The probation officer weighed the fact that he has surrendered a hard earned swimming scholarship. How fast Brock swims does not lessen the severity of what happened to me, and should not lessen the severity of his punishment. If a first time offender from an underprivileged background was accused of three felonies and displayed no accountability for his actions other than drinking, what would his sentence be? The fact that Brock was an athlete at a private university should not be seen as an entitlement to leniency, but as an opportunity to send a message that sexual assault is against the law regardless of social class.
The Probation Officer has stated that this case, when compared to other crimes of similar nature, may be considered less serious due to the defendant’s level of intoxication. It felt serious. That’s all I’m going to say.
What has he done to demonstrate that he deserves a break? He has only apologized for drinking and has yet to define what he did to me as sexual assault, he has revictimized me continually, relentlessly. He has been found guilty of three serious felonies and it is time for him to accept the consequences of his actions. He will not be quietly excused.
He is a lifetime sex registrant. That doesn’t expire. Just like what he did to me doesn’t expire, doesn’t just go away after a set number of years. It stays with me, it’s part of my identity, it has forever changed the way I carry myself, the way I live the rest of my life.
To conclude, I want to say thank you. To everyone from the intern who made me oatmeal when I woke up at the hospital that morning, to the deputy who waited beside me, to the nurses who calmed me, to the detective who listened to me and never judged me, to my advocates who stood unwaveringly beside me, to my therapist who taught me to find courage in vulnerability, to my boss for being kind and understanding, to my incredible parents who teach me how to turn pain into strength, to my grandma who snuck chocolate into the courtroom throughout this to give to me, my friends who remind me how to be happy, to my boyfriend who is patient and loving, to my unconquerable sister who is the other half of my heart, to Alaleh, my idol, who fought tirelessly and never doubted me. Thank you to everyone involved in the trial for their time and attention. Thank you to girls across the nation that wrote cards to my DA to give to me, so many strangers who cared for me.
Most importantly, thank you to the two men who saved me, who I have yet to meet. I sleep with two bicycles that I drew taped above my bed to remind myself there are heroes in this story. That we are looking out for one another. To have known all of these people, to have felt their protection and love, is something I will never forget.
And finally, to girls everywhere, I am with you. On nights when you feel alone, I am with you. When people doubt you or dismiss you, I am with you. I fought everyday for you. So never stop fighting, I believe you. As the author Anne Lamott once wrote, “Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining.” Although I can’t save every boat, I hope that by speaking today, you absorbed a small amount of light, a small knowing that you can’t be silenced, a small satisfaction that justice was served, a small assurance that we are getting somewhere, and a big, big knowing that you are important, unquestionably, you are untouchable, you are beautiful, you are to be valued, respected, undeniably, every minute of every day, you are powerful and nobody can take that away from you. To girls everywhere, I am with you. Thank you.
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Dot Calm would have been delighted to see Hillary smash the glass ceiling
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How California is being stolen
from Sanders right now
Special bulletin from Greg Palast
[Los Angeles] It's not some grand conspiracy, but it's grand theft nonetheless. Sen. Bernie Sanders’ voters will lose their ballots, their rights, by the tens of thousands.
The steal is baked into the way California handles No Party Preference –"NPP" voters –what we know as "independents."
There are a mind-blowing 4.2 million voters in California registered NPP – and they share a love for sunshine and Bernie Sanders. According to the reliable Golden State poll, among NPP voters, Sen. Sanders whoops Sec. Hillary Clinton by a stunning 40 percentage points.
from Sanders right now
Special bulletin from Greg Palast
[Los Angeles] It's not some grand conspiracy, but it's grand theft nonetheless. Sen. Bernie Sanders’ voters will lose their ballots, their rights, by the tens of thousands.
The steal is baked into the way California handles No Party Preference –"NPP" voters –what we know as "independents."
There are a mind-blowing 4.2 million voters in California registered NPP – and they share a love for sunshine and Bernie Sanders. According to the reliable Golden State poll, among NPP voters, Sen. Sanders whoops Sec. Hillary Clinton by a stunning 40 percentage points.
On the other team, registered Democrats prefer Clinton by a YUGE 30
points. NPP's can vote in the Democratic primary, so, the California
primary comes down to a fight between D's and NPP's.
And there's the rub. In some counties like Los Angeles, it's not easy for an NPP to claim their right vote in the Democratic primary – and in other counties, nearly impossible.
Example: In Santa Rosa County, if you don’t say the magic words, “I want a Democratic crossover ballot,” you are automatically given a ballot without the presidential race. And ready for this, if an NPP voter asks the poll worker, “How do I get to vote in the Democratic party primary, they are instructed to say that, “NPP voters can’t get Democratic ballots.” They are ordered not to breathe a word that the voter can get a “crossover” ballot that includes the presidential race.
I’m not kidding. This is from the official Election Officer Training Manual page 49:
And there's the rub. In some counties like Los Angeles, it's not easy for an NPP to claim their right vote in the Democratic primary – and in other counties, nearly impossible.
Example: In Santa Rosa County, if you don’t say the magic words, “I want a Democratic crossover ballot,” you are automatically given a ballot without the presidential race. And ready for this, if an NPP voter asks the poll worker, “How do I get to vote in the Democratic party primary, they are instructed to say that, “NPP voters can’t get Democratic ballots.” They are ordered not to breathe a word that the voter can get a “crossover” ballot that includes the presidential race.
I’m not kidding. This is from the official Election Officer Training Manual page 49:
"A No Party Preference voter will need to request a crossover ballot from the Roster Index Officer. (Do not offer them a crossover ballot if they do not ask)."
They’re not kidding. Poll worker Jeff Lewis filed a description of the training in an official declaration to a federal court:
Someone raised their hand and asked a follow-up question: ‘So, what if someone gets a nonpartisan ballot, notices it doesn't have the presidential candidates on it, and asks you where they are?’ The answer poll workers are instructed to give: ‘Sorry, NPP ballots don't have presidential candidates on them.’ That's correct: even when people ask questions of that nature, obviously intending to vote with a party.
This affidavit, and several even more horrifying, come from Election
Justice USA, a non-partisan watchdog, hoping to get injunctions to stop
this nonsense.
Hear my talk
with the group’s spokesman, Paul Thomas, on a special edition of the
The Best Democracy Money Can Buy: Elections Crime Bulletin, which I host
with Dennis Bernstein on the Pacifica Radio Network. –– Subscribe to this weekly podcast and download my Election Guide Comic Steal Back Your Vote for FREE.
Let me throw in another complication. Nearly half of Californians
vote by mail, ballots sent to your home automatically. Most NPP voters
don’t realize that, to vote in the Democratic primary today, they must
bring in their NPP ballot with the envelope, and say these magic words: “I want to surrender my ballot in return for a Democratic ‘crossover’ ballot.”
Got that memorized? Because if you don’t, if you say the wrong syllables, in some counties, you will be denied a Democratic presidential ballot.
Bruce C. Carter is losing his mind over this. I interviewed Carter who arrived in his Black Men for Bernie bus, decorated with a giant image of Bernie’s arrest while demonstrating for civil rights. Carter warns that, If an NPP voter doesn’t say they are “surrendering” their NPP ballot, the clerk can take it and count it, blank, instead of giving the voter a new one.
It gets far worse. There are simply not enough “crossover” ballots printed. If they run out of ballots, Carter his telling voters to demand a recorded vocal vote using the voice recorders set up for the disabled.
Unfortunately, the games hardly end there. Election Justice filed still more declarations with the courts of poll workers being told to give NPP voters “provisional” ballots even if they say the magic words, “I want a crossover Democratic ballot.” As I’ve previously reported, provisional ballots are “placebo” ballots that let you feel like you’ve voted, but you haven’t. Provisional ballots are generally discarded.
Minutes ago I got a note from NPP voter Olga Martinez in Contra Costa (Orange County) where she was told she must take a “provisional” ballot. She heard our reports and demanded the Democratic ballot and got it. ML King told us, you don’t get your rights unless you demand them.
And this note just came in minutes ago from my KPFK co-host, Cary Harrison.
Got that memorized? Because if you don’t, if you say the wrong syllables, in some counties, you will be denied a Democratic presidential ballot.
Bruce C. Carter is losing his mind over this. I interviewed Carter who arrived in his Black Men for Bernie bus, decorated with a giant image of Bernie’s arrest while demonstrating for civil rights. Carter warns that, If an NPP voter doesn’t say they are “surrendering” their NPP ballot, the clerk can take it and count it, blank, instead of giving the voter a new one.
It gets far worse. There are simply not enough “crossover” ballots printed. If they run out of ballots, Carter his telling voters to demand a recorded vocal vote using the voice recorders set up for the disabled.
Unfortunately, the games hardly end there. Election Justice filed still more declarations with the courts of poll workers being told to give NPP voters “provisional” ballots even if they say the magic words, “I want a crossover Democratic ballot.” As I’ve previously reported, provisional ballots are “placebo” ballots that let you feel like you’ve voted, but you haven’t. Provisional ballots are generally discarded.
Minutes ago I got a note from NPP voter Olga Martinez in Contra Costa (Orange County) where she was told she must take a “provisional” ballot. She heard our reports and demanded the Democratic ballot and got it. ML King told us, you don’t get your rights unless you demand them.
And this note just came in minutes ago from my KPFK co-host, Cary Harrison.
“I am in West Hollywood and was just denied voting twice! I’m NPP. I do not even appear on the voting rolls nor does my STREET on the voting rolls. Voting suppression is in full swing.”
Cary just called. He drove to a new precinct as directed: and was again denied a ballot.
And dig this: Some counties are demanding that some of the first-time voters show official voter ID—as if California is now New Alabama. New voters are, in the main, the young Sanders supporters who are now finding out what it’s like to be treated as if they’ve turned Black.
There is no evidence this ‘Grand Theft Voto’ is part of a massive scheme by Hillary supporters to swipe the election. The voting system is run mostly by the Democratic Party which is totally in Hillary’s pocket. So while the establishment party officials know of the absurd impediments to voting, they see no reason to solve these problems because it doesn’t harm “their” voters.
Most of this procedural nonsense, like the need to surrender an NPP ballot with an envelope and request a “crossover” ballot – well, frankly, Bernie’s campaign has known about that all year.
The Sanders campaign was spending time talking policy at giant rallies instead of educating their voters on how to vote. In the rat maze called the American voting system, the painfully amateur Sanders campaign never provided a vote-guiding map.
I don’t believe Clinton booster Governor Jerry Brown intended to play Bull Connor. Nevertheless, Brown and the Democratic establishment’s mad hunger to see their candidate wrap up the nomination, has led them to turn a blind eye to a catastrophe for our democracy.
And dig this: Some counties are demanding that some of the first-time voters show official voter ID—as if California is now New Alabama. New voters are, in the main, the young Sanders supporters who are now finding out what it’s like to be treated as if they’ve turned Black.
There is no evidence this ‘Grand Theft Voto’ is part of a massive scheme by Hillary supporters to swipe the election. The voting system is run mostly by the Democratic Party which is totally in Hillary’s pocket. So while the establishment party officials know of the absurd impediments to voting, they see no reason to solve these problems because it doesn’t harm “their” voters.
Most of this procedural nonsense, like the need to surrender an NPP ballot with an envelope and request a “crossover” ballot – well, frankly, Bernie’s campaign has known about that all year.
The Sanders campaign was spending time talking policy at giant rallies instead of educating their voters on how to vote. In the rat maze called the American voting system, the painfully amateur Sanders campaign never provided a vote-guiding map.
I don’t believe Clinton booster Governor Jerry Brown intended to play Bull Connor. Nevertheless, Brown and the Democratic establishment’s mad hunger to see their candidate wrap up the nomination, has led them to turn a blind eye to a catastrophe for our democracy.
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You ask anyone running for office what they hate most about it, and I
guarantee that virtually every single candidate will say that it's
raising money.
The way that you have helped me run for president is absolutely
unprecedented. I get to talk to voters, while my opponent has to talk to
donors.
The candidates we're endorsing for other races are seeing similar results.
We funded state legislative candidates' entire campaigns through one
email. We completely transformed several congressional races because of
your generosity.
That's why today
I'm endorsing 2 new progressives – Eric Kingson in New York, and Paul
Clements in Michigan – and asking you to again support Lucy Flores,
Zephyr Teachout, Pramila Jayapal, and Tim Canova in their races for
Congress.
Split a contribution between our campaign and these six
progressives we need in Congress. Your support can change their races
overnight and help elect progressives across the country.
If you've saved payment info with ActBlue Express, your donation
will automatically be evenly split between Lucy Flores, Pramila Jayapal,
Zephyr Teachout, Tim Canova, Eric Kingson, Paul Clements and Bernie
2016:
After 10,000 people contributed to Chris Pearson, who's running for the
Vermont State Senate, his entire campaign was funded. For the whole
election! Chris said in response, "What it means for me is now I don't
have to spend time asking a small number of donors for big checks."
When you helped raise huge sums of money for Zephyr Teachout's campaign
in New York, she was able to cancel her fundraising calls and head out
on the picket line with striking workers throughout her district.
Lucy Flores' election is in just one week, and your support for her this spring completely upended her primary. Your support for her today could put her close to victory.
I'm endorsing Eric Kingson for Congress in New York because he led the
fight to protect Social Security, and I'm endorsing Paul Clements in
Michigan because he can help unseat the leading climate change denier in
Congress. I know that we can transform their races too, like we did for
Chris, Zephyr, and Lucy.
What we are proving – you and me – is that it is possible to take
back our country from the billionaire class. It is possible to stop
millionaires and billionaires from buying our democracy. And we can do
it $27 at a time.
Our movement is so powerful that we can change congressional elections overnight. Let's keep going.
In solidarity,
Bernie Sanders
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| |
| The military’s sexual assault problem | |
| When the Military Justice Improvement Act comes up for a
vote as an amendment to the National Defense Appropriations Act,
senators need to be ready to do everything they can to help stop sexual
assault in the military. Can you call Senators Mark R. Warner and Tim
Kaine today to urge them to do the right thing?
Click below for a sample script and the number to call:
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Ultraviolet: Remove Judge Persky
A judge just sentenced Stanford University star athlete Brock
Turner--who was caught in the act of sexually assaulting an unconscious
woman--to only six months in jail.
Why? Because the judge, Aaron Persky, worried that a prison sentence would have a "severe impact on him"--yes, the rapist--and said, "I think he will not be a danger to others." It's a horrifying example of rape culture: when a judge is more concerned with the well-being of a rapist than with justice or public safety.
This judge has no business staying on the bench. Sign the petition: Remove Judge Persky.
Now the story is making headlines around the country and Judge Persky is coming under fire. If we all speak out, we can generate enough outrage to force California's judicial oversight commission to remove Judge Persky from the bench--sending a message to judges and law enforcement everywhere that rape culture has no place in our courts. Will you add your name?
Tell the California Commission on Judicial Performance: "Remove Judge Aaron Persky from the bench."
After Turner was found guilty by the jury, his father wrote a letter to the judge pleading for a lenient sentence, saying that prison time "is a steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action," and asking for probation instead. Turner's six-month sentence is a disgusting perversion of justice that's all too common. Only three percent of rapists ever spend a day in jail.
One in four women will be sexually assaulted in college. With an epidemic of that proportion, California can't afford to send the message that as long as you're a wealthy, white, star athlete from a prestigious school, you can attack women with impunity. That's why it's so important that we all speak up now, so that Judge Persky's terrible sentence doesn't set a precedent and reinforce rape culture across the country.
Add your name.
Thanks for speaking out,
Ultraviolet via Daily KosWhy? Because the judge, Aaron Persky, worried that a prison sentence would have a "severe impact on him"--yes, the rapist--and said, "I think he will not be a danger to others." It's a horrifying example of rape culture: when a judge is more concerned with the well-being of a rapist than with justice or public safety.
This judge has no business staying on the bench. Sign the petition: Remove Judge Persky.
Now the story is making headlines around the country and Judge Persky is coming under fire. If we all speak out, we can generate enough outrage to force California's judicial oversight commission to remove Judge Persky from the bench--sending a message to judges and law enforcement everywhere that rape culture has no place in our courts. Will you add your name?
Tell the California Commission on Judicial Performance: "Remove Judge Aaron Persky from the bench."
After Turner was found guilty by the jury, his father wrote a letter to the judge pleading for a lenient sentence, saying that prison time "is a steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action," and asking for probation instead. Turner's six-month sentence is a disgusting perversion of justice that's all too common. Only three percent of rapists ever spend a day in jail.
One in four women will be sexually assaulted in college. With an epidemic of that proportion, California can't afford to send the message that as long as you're a wealthy, white, star athlete from a prestigious school, you can attack women with impunity. That's why it's so important that we all speak up now, so that Judge Persky's terrible sentence doesn't set a precedent and reinforce rape culture across the country.
Add your name.
Thanks for speaking out,
Paid for by Ultraviolet
------------------------------------------------------
Nevada Unions for Ruben Kihuen
This is time sensitive!
Paid for by Ruben Kihuen for Congress
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A little birdie forwarded me this--my Tea Party Christian friend would choke to see such a big defense contractor be so "liberal"!
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********************************************
Rape is NEVER the woman's fault.
If a man is intent on rape,
he will find a victim.
In America, we blame the victim
for being
at the wrong place at the wrong time.
We don't understand
that if it hadn't been her,
the rapist would have found another to attack.
********************************************
Rape is NEVER the woman's fault.
If a man is intent on rape,
he will find a victim.
In America, we blame the victim
for being
at the wrong place at the wrong time.
We don't understand
that if it hadn't been her,
the rapist would have found another to attack.
********************************************
Democracy Now!
Stories |
A
Stanford University law professor has launched a campaign to recall the
judge who sentenced former Stanford swimmer Brock Allen Turner to six
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Leading
Republicans have continued to criticize presumptive Republican
presidential nominee Donald Trump for attacking a Mexican-American
judge. Trump has ... Read More →
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Black Lives Matter Activist Jasmine Richards Faces Sentencing in "Felony Lynching" Case
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Daily Kos
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6 months for raping an unconscious woman
when the minimum sentence is 2 years?
Can you imagine
what the sentence would have been
if Brock Turner had been BLACK?
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6 months for raping an unconscious woman
when the minimum sentence is 2 years?
Can you imagine
what the sentence would have been
if Brock Turner had been BLACK?
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AlterNet
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I saw a news program, like 60 Minutes,
about 30 years ago:
the reporter interviewed a rapist in jail.
She was wearing a business suit...
professional, non-descript...
not particularly
low cut, tight, or short in the skirt.
Blandly attractive at best.
To understand him, she asked,
"Do you find what I'm wearing
to be provocative?"
"Yes--oh, yes," he replied
in a tone that made her and me cringe.
She and I both needed showers after that.
********************************************
I saw a news program, like 60 Minutes,
about 30 years ago:
the reporter interviewed a rapist in jail.
She was wearing a business suit...
professional, non-descript...
not particularly
low cut, tight, or short in the skirt.
Blandly attractive at best.
To understand him, she asked,
"Do you find what I'm wearing
to be provocative?"
"Yes--oh, yes," he replied
in a tone that made her and me cringe.
She and I both needed showers after that.
********************************************
Movie time!
Secular Talk on the amazing Muhammad Ali--I was in awe of him as a kid. He was larger than life!
Secular Talk on the most racist pastor in America
TYT: Trump's energy plan is INSANE
TYT: the Alt-Right Jew-stalking app (if this doesn't creep you the hell out, YOU'RE the problem!)
Secular Talk: Trump BUSTED on faking donation to Vets--well, whaddaya gno? The media actually did its job FOR ONCE. I'm sure heads rolled.
Honest talk from Secular Talk--liberals attacking people at Trump rallies become the violent monsters they abhor
potholer54: Suck on this, atheists!
John Oliver infotains us once again with his expose on how the media fails us on science
Stephen Colbert skewers Trump over his "outreach" to Blacks
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posted by Dot Calm @ 6:35 PM
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