Like most women, I currently live in a society where violence, harassment and scary shit can break out at any moment, just because I told some random asshole “no” without bothering to be nice about it. Doing that is so dangerous that most women don’t dare; after a few scary incidents, they learn to make up excuses, to smile, to be sweet and welcoming, to act as if every single random asshole on the street is a precious new friend that they would just LOVE to stand outside of the Chipotle and chat with FOR HOURS, if only cruel fate had not intervened. That’s what it’s actually like, being a woman: Playing nice with every random asshole, because this random asshole might be the one who hurts you. And then, if he hurts you anyway, they’ll tell you that you led him on.
I am currently working on breaking away from this defence mechanism, but half the time I don’t even realise I’m doing it.
Rape culture was intertwined with colonization from the very beginning. Rape of Native women was one of the colonizers’ tools of oppression. None of this is new. This is older than America. When we talk about rape culture in America, we are talking about something that has a legacy wrapped up in the genocide of Native peoples. This does not affect only Native American women; this affects all American women.
— Elissa Washuta, on her new memoir My Body is a Book of Rules, which explores her identity as a bipolar Native woman survivor of sexual violence [source
] (via nitanahkohe