First, enough with the ribbons. As a friend remarked, while walking into the Campus Center, "They're going to have to start utilizing wavelengths outside the visible spectrum soon." You've got red ribbons for AIDS, yellow ones for missing persons, pink ones for breast cancer, etc. The serious among us festoon their bags with these ribbons, becoming walking advertisements for one cause or another, at least for the week. The next week, it's another color, another cause. But my point here is not to ridicule the fickleness of Amherst's political strivings, but to point out that tying on a ribbon really doesn't do anything to strike at the very real problem of domestic violence.
Why is that? Well, mostly because we're at Amherst College. Our men have been sufficiently emasculated by feminist rhetoric. How many men here support rape? How many men here support domestic violence? How many men will be prevented from beating their wives because they wore a ribbon on their backpack until it fell off somewhere between Valentine and Fayerweather?
Exactly, none.
The men who care enough to take a white ribbon are statistically the least likely to beat their partners. And yet the sponsors of the project can feel like they've "done something" and "raised awareness," when all they've really done is cut up perfectly good ribbon. "Raising awareness" is perhaps the most vacuous term ever employed to advance any agenda. We're all aware that rape and domestic abuse are bad. And (lies, damn lies, and) statistics won't make us think it's any less bad.
They could file "raising awareness" under the same category as "education," which most people-left and right alike-see as the ultimate solution to all of society's problems. "If we could only educate them enough," they appear to say, shaking their heads. But these problems are primitive ones, born of hatred and anger. If a man wants to hurt you, he will not be swayed by six inches of teal ribbon. Even if you fashion it into some sort of crucifix.
And how about those t-shirts? I find these a far more egregious sin than the ribbons-at least the latter keep their mouths shut. From a hundred paces, I thought we were having Inner Child day-bright t-shirts and glittery puff paint could fill my hours with glee. Alas, these weapons were being used to fill a clothesline with hatred. Did you read them? How many variations of "I will dance on the day you die" did you count? Then there were the political t-shirts, like my personal favorite, a rocket turned into a phallus, aimed at the Middle East. In what way does this "work towards prevention of" or "support survivors of" domestic abuse and rape? Is this therapy? Healing? Or is it just one person's attempt to bask in their own wit?
Again, puff-painting a t-shirt makes you feel like you've fought some epic battle in the struggle against women, but what have you done really? I'd have much more respect if, instead of buying shirts (What are you going to do with them now? Wear them?) they had donated their time and money to a battered women's shelter. Or, better yet, stood on a street corner in Springfield and talked to people there about rape and domestic abuse. But, for all their good feeling and righteous indignation, they just can't be bothered. Besides, it's much more fun to watch movies and listen to folksingers.
I am a victim of rape who would never in a million years participate in any of this nonsense. I do not wear ribbons. I do not paint t-shirts. I do not talk to freshmen while they look on me with a mixture of pity and awe. Want to know how I healed? I took a RAD class. I learned how to safely own and operate a firearm. I grieve for myself in private, because I don't need the affirmations of others to tell me I'm okay. Instead of a teal ribbon on your backpack, how about a can of mace in your backpack? Instead of a big anonymous pink t-shirt, how about a better awareness of how you present yourself?
Boobs are not a force field, nor should they be. I am constantly amazed by how many women put themselves in obviously bad situations and then are shocked when something bad happens to them. Want to lower your chances of dying in a car crash? Wear your seatbelt. Want to lower your chances of being raped? Keep your eyes and ears open. Let your friends know where you are and what you're doing. Know what you want and be clear about your limits. This is not news.
And, most importantly, if you are sexually assaulted or domestically abused, tell someone. Tell everyone. Scream it from the rooftops until whoever did it is punished. Underreporting is not the fault of police; it's not the fault of the patriarchy, it's not really even the fault of the abuser. No one can help you unless you take that first step. I am horrified and deeply saddened at the emptiness of the activities last week. These projects represent everything that is wrong with the Left's approach to fighting rape. It is the embodiment of the kind of soft, feel-good battle that is ultimately futile and alienating.