White, ‘Professional’, and Over 45? When Next Inclined to Talk About How Insulted You Felt When a Stranger Catcalled You …
I hear people when they talk about how egregiously insensitive older white women can be. I look back with guilt about a billion things I thoughtlessly said, did, or failed to do, which certainly hurt others.
That said, I felt inspired by the latest news about CBS soon-to-be-former head Les Moonves, because the stuff Moonves’ accusers reported that he did and said were so familiar to me.
Moonves is from a terrible generation. He and his ilk are as bad or worse than ones we read about from warzone accounts of rape and pillage to Genghis Khan’s purported parentage of a third of today’s Asian population.
Today’s incels are frustrated because they cannot achieve the abuse pinnacles from which men like Moonves have ruled. They have the inclinations and same general level of humanity, but none of Moonves’ power or ability to dominate.
I can’t really compare today’s wealthy, powerful male criminal mentalities to those of prior generations because a) I wasn’t there; and b) it’s impossible to know the truth of historical accounts, since all historians prior to the present generation aspired to the power, material wealth, and ability to devastate possessed by the ‘great men’ they chronicled.
This also said, I am someone who was not unsuccessful in traditional female pursuits such as attracting men and getting them to do the things I want using covert, manipulative means. I do not appreciate the violence that men have perpetrated on me, but I’m not a victim of it — I am a survivor. And I feel really great to see that I think things are getting better for young women. It doesn’t feel like it, and it’s loathesome to see the things we used to be abused with in private broadcast in the public square (like Twitter) by incels and low-T attempted abusers.
There’s no question in my mind, having been close to a number of men, the worst abusers are the lowest-T failures. They are men that can’t function adequately in normal social pursuits. They are the male versions of women who have dry, unsexy, unfulfilled lives or who make a choice that I observe, but literally cannot comprehend: enabler and helpmate to the Moonves, the Weinsteins, the Trumps, the Clintons, the Frankens, the Mahers (sheesh this is one hell of a long list — sure I could do a phone book on this one) of the world.
Seriously. In a previous mini-uprising of #MeToo, I bet I saw a thousand “a man slapped my a** on the bus!” and “I was catcalled walking down the street!” narratives.
Lady, if I spent time getting bothered about that I would be so busy that I would be homeless due to lack of income instead of just being afraid I will be.
None of that’s nice. But guess what? It’s really not “rape culture.”
Raping you on the bus and nobody does jack: that’s rape culture.
Les Moonves ordering you to do oral sex on him and then blackballing you when you do it the first time and refuse to continue: that’s rape culture.
Telling your HR department about it and you lose your job, not him: rape culture.
Getting pulled over by Highway Patrol, raped and thrown off a bridge: rape culture.
Just about 100% of women with my demographics are physically assaulted. If not raped by someone at work or school, assaulted in the home or by a friend or relative. Often, more than once. By demographics, I mean upbringing in poverty, lacking one or both parents, and with no strong family support. 10–10 on the ACE scale. I happen to be white and blonde. This is where social class intersects.
Unlike a lot of ladies in my age, skin color, and supposed “professional” status, I not only understand what it means, I get physically ill when I read that:
94% of Indigenous women in the Seattle area say they have been raped or physically coerced into sex.
African American females experience intimate partner violence at a rate 35 times higher than white females.
48% of Latina immigrants report they were treated more violently by their partners after coming to the United States than before.
So, I know what it feels like to report being raped and nothing happens to the perp. I know what it feels like to be sitting in a police station telling two cops what the guy did to you, have them take pictures of the tears and bruises and only realizing at the last minute some were in intimate areas — so call a female — and have the guys tell you up front
You were lucky. They were pretty sure the guy had killed other girls who weren’t students at your college.
When I see people weeping because they will never see justice for their family member, whether that person was killed by a cop in out of control violence (as we see daily) or victim of a serial rapist and killer whom they will maybe get around to stopping if maybe it comes out they are not part of the elite sociopathic so-called ‘leadership’ group — I know how it feels to know there will never be justice.
It would not cross my mind to ever, ever privilege a catcall, a pinch, or a rude remark from a stranger as if it were the same as rape, beatings, and killings.
I will read EVERY SINGLE DAY at least one or more articles about what I just said. I will read articles written by white women with 1/100th of what I have to say that are the emotional equivalent of a spoiled 4–year old declaring her dominance over the fashion world and every Princess.
So when they say “white mediocrity,” it’s hard to be better when one’s representatives are the same mud-souled people that enabled their Moonves/Clinton spouses to buy them what they have and want.
When you, who have benefited in ease and comfort to the point the worst you can come up with is some jerk catcalling you while walking down the street — can understand that this is indeed, compared to what so many live every day —
such privilege and ease and comfort
Then, things may change.
You’re using your damn cellphone because a 7-year-old girl is getting poisoned mining cobalt in the Congo.
Your mind and soul is deadened by the endless drumbeat of nonsense. You live with false clicks, false praise, and false comfort that would and could end in a second when the power shuts off.
All we have are our bodies, our senses, our perceptions: life is a collection of moments.
And how very sad and dreary yours must be, to not listen to the genuine pain and heartache of others.