OCTOBER 29, 1993

GAY PEOPLE'S CHRONICLE

SPEAK OUT

I cannot be blamed for this

by Celeste McCarty Picture this:

It is summer and you are making love ⚫ with a woman you met previously on the bus en route to D.C. for the March for Women's Lives. She is beautiful and charming and you've told the folks about her, so you're pretty serious. And the love-making is pretty serious, too. The night is a hot breezy one, as muggy and fecund as the juices that flow between the two of you. A light breeze blows soft kisses over your naked skins, cooling the streams of sweat. It's that kind of close, intimate, hot sweaty sex that you share with someone you're serious about.

But something's wrong. Something is a little askew in this picture perfect scenario. You can't seem to get your mind around it, you can't focus from the passion. What is it?

An element of fear. You recognize it because it's coming nearer and though you try to ignore it, it just gets closer and closer. You try to push it away and enjoy the feeling, the trust and understanding that was there only moments ago. The intimacy and warmth are draining, running from the fear ambling ever closer.

And that beautiful woman over you, the one you just called goddess only moments before. But minutes have passed since then, whole 60-second minutes and now the fear is here, right at the front door and it never bothers knocking, it just walks right in. You look up at the woman over you and your eyes widen and you are naked and flat on your back and her face is twisted with rage. And she is hurting you, she is forcing her way inside. You say stop, once, then louder the second time. And she replies, her face distorted beyond recognition and says, "Who's in control?”

And you lie there and you leave your body, your mind is floating on the ceiling and won't even watch the event on the bed. Your own mind refuses to bear witness to a crime against your own body.

You have just been raped.

Okay, you confront the woman the next day, and you call it rape. And what does she do? She cries and apologizes, she blames it on her childhood and does everything but take responsibility for her own actions.

But, you don't forgive her. What you do is neatly wrap up the whole thing and tuck it safely into some corner of your mind. So it can't hurt you anymore. But it's there and as long as you don't deal with it, it only gets worse. And the effects are everywhere. They show up in your every action. You try to rationalize it; women don't rape other women, right? Right? You don't hear about it much, do you? And if it were a man, you'd either press charges or kill him. Why is it so different with a woman? Do you know why?

It's not different.

You uphold the conspiracy of silence by not talking about it. And if a female rapist and rape is so different, then why are you afraid to talk about it? Afraid you'll be blamed, like every other rape victim? And your straight friends don't take it seriously just like they don't take lesbian sex seriously.

So what do you do? You hold it in. And the longer you keep it inside, the more damage it can do. And it does do damage. You can run, but you can't hide. And you do run, you move to another state, but it's still there, right with you.

And after so long, you cannot deny it any longer. Simply because you see that it wasn't an isolated incident, but a personality trait within this person. And the thing that moti-

vates you the most is making sure it doesn't happen to other women. Because the possibility is screaming at you. So, you release it into the gay community. In order to protect other women, and because you're sick of the denial and especially sick of the patriarchal conspiracy of silence you have upheld for nearly a year.

You talk about it. Once. To one person.

And you feel good about it. Shaky, but good. Because you're practicing what you've preached to all your straight friends about feminism and the importance of standing up for their rights no matter who they

are.

But you know what happens?

C'mon, you know what happens to rape

victims. She asked for it, she wanted it, it's all her fault, etc. Because if I open my eyes, and blame the rapist I might have to stretch my mind and understand what rape does to you. And just what rape means to me. And maybe that's just too hard for me right now. Maybe I'd rather hide behind ignorance and denial. Yeah, it's easier to echo men than it is to stand up and be a woman, isn't it?

I'm amazed that after all this talk about sisterhood and supporting one another and patriarchal theory and rape and blaming the victim and the damage of blaming the victim, etc. that I have been blamed for coming forth. It has taught me an invaluable lesson. I am not a rape victim. I am a rape survivor. And for that, I cannot be blamed.

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