If you are a woman, and reading this, the probability of you feeling upset about what is happening in the United States right now is high.
Dr. Christine Blasey Ford stood up in front of a panel of men with power and influence (read: the patriarchy) and described in granular detail her experience of sexual assault in the 80s by Brett Kavanaugh, nominee to the Supreme Court, and his peers. It appears that this testimony has fallen on the deaf ears of men whose upper lip sweat was glistening in standard definition as the wheels turned, and they thought about instances from their high school or college years when *maybe* they took advantage of women in a way they felt entitled to back then. “A simpler time” I think I’ve heard it referred to by people who make excuses for the Kavanaughs of the world.
Ruth Bader Ginsburg must be foaming at the mouth to dissent.
The reason you are probably angry about what is happening in fallen Rome is not only because Kavanaugh will most likely still be appointed to his position in the Supreme Court (and make the most powerful rulings for other Kavanaughs of the world) but because you are Dr. Christine Blasey Ford, but you.
I am Dr. Christine Blasey Ford, but me.
I think I can confidently say that all women, at some point in their lives, know fear at a primal level. Even if you call it by another name, you know the details:
You feel, almost hear, your pupils dilate when your breath catches in your throat. The hair on the back of your neck stands up instantly and sweats, a chill runs down your spine. You shiver uncontrollably, unable to catch your lost breath because your diaphragm is spasm-ing. You are thankful your bladder is empty because you’ve already lost control of so many things: safety, security, space. Numbness takes over in self preservation. You hear fog, and think to yourself, “Next time I’ll be more prepared. Next time I’ll be stronger. Next time I’ll have an escape plan. Next time I won’t be so nice. Next time. Next time.” Not realizing that the problem isn’t you.
It’s like that every night out. Sometimes on the nights in. Every shift at work where the safety protocols are lacking. Every midnight change-over with that coworker who backs you into corners. A phone call from that customer who got your number from your dunce work mate. A knock on your door from that same customer who also found out your address. In that parkade. At that movie theatre. On that dark street. In your neighbourhood. At your home. If you’re a woman, it is inescapable.
Unless you point the finger and you name it. You call it out when you see it happening to another woman. You teach your sons that women are powerful and respected, and that consent is the most important. Teach your sons to teach their peers, and hold strong in their feminism. We are all born of woman. We must act accordingly to not only ask, but insist that “our male counterparts remove their feet from our necks.”
You are a hero Dr. Blasey Ford. A goddamn hero.
#ibelieveher
Sincerely,
Fumbling Mom of feminist sons
Fumbling Mom 