Famous Rapes #1: Old Master Paintings
This is the first in a series of retrospective collage art focusing on myth, stories, historic events, and cultural attitudes about rape as seen through different time periods.
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rape
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Twenty-Seven
For two days, I fight the story welling up in me, denying the itch of the burn, the angry redness biting at my skin. And then I wake up the third day and say to myself, “My mom was raped when she was my age. When she was twenty-seven.”
The Sacred and the Profane
There is a total silence in the West on India’s culture of dissenting women in the face of severe patriarchy and authoritarianism. It doesn’t quite fit, does it, into the dichotomy carved out for Indian women by Americans and the British...
“A Tragedy of Choice”
But for those of us who didn’t have a choice, those of us who survived the choices of men who violated our bodies, those of us who defend ourselves everyday,…
We Still Have A Long Way to Go
A grim reminder of one of the reasons we still need things like International Women’s Day: the suggestion that men should take responsibility for not raping women is apparently outrageous.…
Holy Orange
Years later, Bombay is still fresh in my mind and in my bones. As a visitor, I was naïve and lost. When I hear bells, I still see statues of Ganesh in a cool, stone temple and smell sandalwood incense.
Kissa Yoni Ka: What The Vagina Monologues Mean In Hindi
As reports of the utterly horrifying rape and death of a woman in Delhi have made clear, India, like most countries, can be a dangerous place for women. In a…
In the Wound Lies the Gift
At 13, I never hear anyone use the words “slut, whore, bitch,” until they are said to me, about me. Brain damage, in one area of my skull. Straight A’s in the other.
Eleven
We don’t know how to talk about children anymore. We get so wrapped up in these shallow narratives about children being preternaturally advanced, about little girls wearing make up and dressing provocatively and seducing the camera, about little girls maturing faster, developing sooner. We forget.
What I Learned In Homemaking
I sped up, my head down, my attention pressed toward the sidewalk. The boys stayed turned from me, hushed, and I thought for a moment that they had tired of me, that I could finally get by.