Thursday, December 6, 2012

Why We're Getting "All Activist": an FSU Organizer Responds [TW sexual assault]

    I’m writing this article to address the closing question, posed by Sal Rodriguez, in the Quest article about his performance in the SU on November 17th. FSU immediately mobilized around Sal’s performance because his words caused immediate and dire harm to both audience members and survivors and allies who heard about it afterwards. During a support workshop held in the Women’s Center on November 19th, over a dozen survivors and allies sought mutual support and worked to craft a cogent response to Sal’s actions. As was discussed in the workshop, reactions to this incident have made it clear that many people at Reed are still gravely undereducated about harm reduction and trauma.
    According to RAINN (the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network), someone is sexually assaulted in the US every two minutes. 44% of sexual assault survivors are under 18, and 66% of survivors know their attacker. 1 out of 6 women and 1 out of 33 men has experienced attempted or successful sexual assault. Reed’s current student population is approximately 1,455. Doing the math yields a sobering local statistic: according to RAINN’s statistics, there are likely around 130 female-identifying and 20 male-identifying sexual assault survivors currently enrolled at Reed. This makes around 150 total survivors of sexual assault at Reed. That means that 10% of our population is at increased risk for serious psychological hardship from sexual assault alone. Unfortunately neither database includes trans*people although they are at a statistically higher risk for experiencing sexual assault than cis-people.
As such, this article aims to provide a response to Sal’s actions by explaining what trauma, re-traumatization, and triggering are and entail. I take my definitions from Nina Kammerer and Ruta Mazelis’ 2006 article, “After the Crisis: Trauma and Re-Traumatization.” The two begin with trauma itself, which they describe as
Interpersonal violence…which may or may not entail physical violence against a person but always entails violation of that person… Thus ‘trauma’ designates both events and their impact, in part because the actual experience of abuse and the assault that experience poses to sense of self, safety, belonging, and connection are intertwined.
It is incredibly important to emphasize that trauma does not only come from sexual assault. It does not only come from physical assault. Trauma can happen whenever a person is directly exposed to violent behavior or speech. Thus, the racist comments that Sal made on Saturday had just as much of a potential to be traumatizing as his comments about women and sexual assault. As such, all mention of trauma and triggering in this article includes racism in its purview despite the fact that such language has yet to be widely applied to the lived experience of those who have been subjected to racist aggression.
--
    Because managing power asymmetry has already injured so many people at Reed, the potential for retraumatization as a result of Sal’s performance was my primary concern. Kammerer & Mazelis note, “By attaching the meaning of ‘again’ only to trauma…erases the possible repeated nature and duration of…trauma and its impact… So, rather than as trauma once again, retraumatization should be understood as trauma yet again, with this ‘yet again’ likely to be again and again…” This ‘yet again’ is what Reed needs to shift its focus to—especially because, for many people who are attacked here, it isn’t for the first time.
    Having had this lived experience myself, what I see as the fundamental flaw in discussion around Sal’s performance, free speech, and sexual assault at Reed is the extent to which the emerging narrative prioritizes students’ rights to say whatever they want, wherever they want, and neglects the right of all students to feel safe at this school. Campus climate is far from threatening of free speech—except for when it involves damaging community property, the administration is remarkably tolerant of student expression. Across the board, the student body is even more tolerant.
As such, allowing dialogue about Saturday’s performance to center on Sal’s right to speak freely turns him into a martyr of a crusade that doesn’t exist. Spinning this story in a direction that privileges Sal’s right to free speech (which isn’t being challenged) over the right of survivors to avoid being triggered and feel safe on campus (which has been transgressed) is unconscionable, especially as an honor case does not amount to censorship. The point of an honor case would not be to punish Sal—it would be to benefit those harmed by holding Sal accountable for the very real damage he caused on Saturday.
Again, the issue at hand is not and never has been that Sal’s bit wasn’t funny, or that people didn’t “like” it. Triggering has absolutely nothing to do with aesthetic judgment, and everything to do with uncontrollable, brutally manifest physiological pain. The word “trigger” comes from the language of clinical psychology around symptoms of PTSD, “the most widely known impact of trauma” (Kammerer & Mazelis). Thus, when people talk about “triggering” they are referring to the sudden incursion or exacerbation of any adverse symptoms associated with trauma, such as “Dissociation, flashbacks, and nightmares…[but also] depression, anxiety and panic disorders, obsessive-compulsive disorder, psychotic disorders” (Kammerer & Mazelis). In other words, triggering is often as detrimental to life as the trauma that grounds it—if not moreso. Incidents of violence are what create the psychological infrastructure that enables triggering, but a survivor is likely to experience many more episodes of triggering in their lifetime than they are of immediate violence. As such, on a day-to-day basis avoiding triggering actually becomes much more central to the quality of many survivor’s lives than avoiding directly abusive contact.
--
It is in understanding all of this that consent and honor come into play. Like behaving honorably, practicing good consent is not about protocol. It’s not arbitrary. It is about avoiding treating someone in a way that could deeply impair their ability to thrive as a person. Frankly, it means giving a shit if or when you’ve hurt someone’s feelings.
Like behaving honorably, good consent can and must happen socially and sexually, and Reed’s criteria for defining both effective and ineffective consent are applicable to both. The audience’s resistance to Sal’s performance is an example of retaliation to actions taken without effective consent—“Silence does not equal consent, [for] a lack of verbal resistance does not, by itself, constitute consent. Resistance is not required, [for] a lack of physical resistance does not, by itself, constitute consent” (Reed College 2012b). During Sal’s performance, sincere demonstrations of both verbal resistance and physical resistance were present. Because these reactions were elicited as a genuine response to unwanted and spontaneous violence, both the audience’s reaction and Sal’s behavior can be read under the rubric of assault.
--
From my experience at Reed, it seems that many students worry that being asked to avoid triggering behavior will limit their right to speak freely because they don’t understand what is triggering and what isn’t. Unfortunately, there is no universal metric. This why, rather than focusing on censoring potentially offensive student speech, we need to encourage folks not to behave aggressively or callously, and come to a sanctioned agreement that enables students to call out triggering or hurtful behavior when it does arise in a protected, supported, and respected way. Making discourse accessible to everyone at Reed ultimately means maintaining a certain level of awareness about where and who we are.
We are here because we have so much potential—to be brilliant, constructive, lovely, and whole. Attacking one another as Sal did on Saturday seriously undermines our ability to be all of these things, both as individuals and as a community. As painful as it is, experiences like this one are what access our potential—both positively and negatively—and force our community to grow in necessary ways. The tragedy of this situation is that growth should never be involuntary, as someone will always be harmed by the violence inherent in impulsion. In this case, the person harmed is not Sal—it’s the many people he hurt with his speech. We owe those people accountability, and we owe them transformation. Influencing what Sal thinks is not my aim—but improving the standards of what our community will tolerate is. I will never advocate against free speech, but I will advocate changing the debate towards something that is much more in jeopardy: the right of all students to exist happily, safely, and equitably at Reed.
Sources

Feministing.com
    2011    Critic’s Pick: Definitions of Sexual Assault. Feministing.com. Accessed
        11/21/12,         definitions-of-consent/>.

Kammerer, Nina & Ruta Mazelis
2006    Resource Paper: Trauma and Retraumatization. SAMHSA’s GAINS Center    for Behavioral Health and Justice Transformation. Presented at the After the Crisis: Healing from Trauma after Disasters Expert Panel Meeting in Bethesda, MD. Accessed 11/21/12, .

RAINN
    2012    Statistics. The Rape, Assault, and Incest National Network. Accessed
        11/21/12, .

Reed College
2012a    Facts about Reed. Reed Website. Accessed 11/21/12, .

2012b    Sexual Assault Prevention and Response at Reed. Accessed 11/21/12, .

Thursday, November 22, 2012

test pdf 2


Downloads: 
 

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

fairytale

This is a fairytale.
It's the story of a little boy
who was invisible
and a little girl who knew
he was there.

And all she has to do is know
and believe
and he will become real

but he is timid and scared
so she has to be very, very quiet.

These little children knew each other
before
but the little boy got left somewhere.

She can feel his heart
still beating,
connected to her heart
by a golden thread.

And so she goes to find him
but he can only visit her
in dreams

so she dreams with him
until he wakes up.

She had been a dream of his own
for the whole long time
he'd been orbiting the black hole of death.

He woke up for the first time
in ten years
and was himself again.

- -

The Amber Peach Child

Once upon a time, a little boy and a little girl met and were created in dreams. They were spirits of the dream world -- little embodiments of its essence.

As such, they were invisible. But, because they were both of the same stuff, they could see each other and the glowing light held inside each of their chests. The little boy and girl were siblings -- kindred -- and they loved each other very much. They told each other stories, and when they laid together, this is what they felt:


stage I

Closing eyes leads to
thoughts, visions
of pink clouds swirling mysteriously
like Japanese wallpaper.
This nebulous form is dotted
with a uniform panoply of gold flecks,
a frail shell
which contains and controls the pale dream
as it spins silently
through black velvet space-
a capsule unto itself.


stage II

We are lying
I hold your hand
both eyes are closed
but we talk
and I think that we are traveling;
the small of your back arches gently.


stage III

You are here, on my planet

and around us, the air is humming.


- - - -


But something happened to the dreamworld. It was wrenched and sundered (the tower) and they were torn apart. The little boy got left in the dreaming, while the little girl awoke to find herself in the body of a human. she was very confused as to how she got there and missed the boy and the dreamworld very much.

But she adapted. She found other people who had been torn from the dreamworld and put in human bodies. Eventually she began to realize that most people had been born there, like she.

Eventually she forgot about the little boy -- but she was nonetheless aware that there was something missing, something wrong.

People couldn't see her. They could see her body, sure, and they could see the things she had conditioned it to do. Some people were very impressed by how she'd trained it -- they were amazed by the breadth and depth of her skill for self-cultivation.
But nobody saw her -- they saw the contours and motions of the living flesh that she controlled, but not her, the puppeteer. she was a spark and a force, not a living human body.

- -

Then, one day, another pair of eyes found her. They looked through her body -- into her -- and fixed on her. She froze. What was happening to her? She'd waited for so long to be seen again, but now that it was happening, she was scared. Every time she looked back, she felt her gaze being captured and drawn within the other body in front of her.

Those eyes connected straight back to the dreamworld.

The girl realized this in a rush that terrified and enlivened her. The force behind these eyes -- the spirit -- was still in the dreaming.

The girl became drawn to these eyes -- magnetized. She needed to see what they led to, but the force and power contained within that place were so raw that she was unable to maintain her gaze -- every time she caught a glimpse of it she had to turn away. But how she had to look…

- -

Eventually, the girl became accustomed to staring into the heart of the dreamworld. She began to be able to look for longer, to slowly pick out murky forms. She kept looking, and as she did, she noticed her heart began to change itself -- it began to glow.

The girl remembered this. She knew she must be getting close. There was something in this place -- some spirit -- that was connected to her own. This spirit was meandering, aimless, but alive and so very present. Slowly, the girl began to feel it watching her.

The glow around her heart was getting more and more intense. As time went on, the girl began to feel the glow taking form, unspooling from her chest to create a line extending from the front of her. This tendril soon unwound farther than she could see.

The girl chose to follow it.
She took a step further -- finally, she moved.
She was fully in the dreaming now.

The girl allowed the thread to lead her like Daedalus. She was in an utterly new place, but did not feel disoriented or scared. She had the golden thread to guide her -- and so she began to feel comfortable where she was. She began to remember how it felt to walk in dreams.

- -

Eventually she will see him.
What will happen then?
Will it be like seeing the sun and becoming the world, as in tarot?
Will they both die?
Will she return to the dreamworld?
Will he come to the physical world?
Or, will she eventually leave him, having to return to her body and, upon waking, leave him back where he was?

Or, will he wake up? He will wake up and be himself, aware and alive. And she will have been his dream.

eulogies


my grandfather believes he has died
because my grandmother is gone

i will always remember her voice
and i can see her
from when i was three years old
teaching
as she pushed the swing
back and forth
with me flying a little
closer towards knowing
what it means to be alive

- - - -


The process of eulogizing
is seeing what shards we hold
on to over years of dropping
the bowl of our memory
of putting it back together
weeping with glass in our hands
because it will never again be what we thought it was.

- - - -
my grandfather asks my mother to call him on the hour
because he believes he has died

and wind rips around the glowing box
of his apartment, screaming
like the stray cats my whole family loves
to feed and cradle in arms.

- - - -

my grandmother is gone
and all my family can talk about is feeling
around in the darkness
we are all blindfolded
by a grief longer than we've ever known

and we reach for the same similes
groping for meaning and comfort
over the phone,
processing her absence like walking
through a long, dark tunnel

each of us praying
that we won't be left there for good.

- - - -

grief

is

a clear
light

- - - -

hold me.

Saturday, August 4, 2012

What does REALNESS mean?
In the 80s when shit was on fire everywhere
and people wrenched tv sets out of windows
like the screens were extinguishers, and their fists
the hammers chained to breakable glass,
the whole body an axe handle --

it was to camouflage in combat --
when Paris is burning what's fiercer
than to become a flame?

But I'm not sure now.
My upturned face in the sprinkler
because I don't have a bikini,
or money for the community pool
means something,
suddenly --
it's 2012 and the fire's out in the bronx,
cos rich people ice everything
nearby with the coolness of empire.

a white woman raises her arm
to capture me in her hands

forcing me to perform for her
suddenly, and surprised.

Friday, August 3, 2012

i shake off what little fear remains like fish scales
from a flaying knife.
"yo, you a real gangster,
I give you props!"
A man salutes me as I bike by.

maybe he's right, and courage does
stream down my legs like sweat.
I'm biking half-naked
through Red Hook,
my hair a wet rope down my back
in a black lace bra and silver helmet
gleaming like a dirigible above the empire
state building
of my neck.

gowanus sketch lll

guppies pooling by rocks fish for garbage and rat carcasses to nibble in the dark. my shadow raises its hand above the surface of the canal and they scatter faster than roaches on the basement floor. there is no way they can see my waving arms. there is no way they can know i am sitting her above them, watching their line brace the tide, opening to the force of waves inside their guts. but they respond to every shift my hide makes
closer for being afraid.

gowanus sketch ll

groupers pulling the tide along
behind them, laminated
between layers of green dust
narrowly escape the crawl
of a plastic bag mottled by algae.

it lurks like a predator,
a lamprey made from the myths of cities.

gowanus sketch l

watching mourning doves mating
i'm reminded of us; i flutter along
behind you confused by what my heart says is lust
although not for your body, just to be close.

our crying says it is much more complex.

Perpetual remembrance -- the chase and everything else
driven on by what used to be love,
by what is now birds
winging away into the dusk.

response

Drawing flesh
out from between my eyes and yours
the Owl hangs still
in the air, unblinking.

We are corpses together,
hung from the fishing line of electricity
to bob and dangle like living things.

But only elementary particles can truly be called animating.
Everything else disappears
with enough time
entropy is so alluring
that long tunnels have been built by scientists in Sweden
to attempt disintegrating that which the light
of oblivion is never supposed to touch.

Yet there is something ineluctable about ourselves.
It's the fate of bodies.
If being has Become, it has been.
Its fact is infinite


and Being becomes contact eventually. the whole world
is swelling out. Wind
wrapping around a rock polishes it smooth,
and air drives in currents like the sea.
Everything does, and is
brought weightlessly to everything else.

The weight of your flesh could rest
in the palm of my hand like lead.

And then we would be meeting,
electricity confusing the lines that once suspended us,
the day's catch,
still as plumbobs depicting gravity.
Rows of subdivision
rectangles enclosed to face waning light
shrouded in the radiance of the evening,
place-marking the end of a day in a frame.

A shrill scream:
"I'm like a devil, flying through the night air!"
accompanies the quiet oscillations of a swing,
a small boy sailing ever higher
away from the moment of his conception
and turning to his sister, he speaks:
"let go of everything."

early july

The character of spending a summer day
alone in Portland is so different
from solitude in Brooklyn
that I can't feel I'm doing
what I would anywhere; that still I am myself.

A long leisurely walk to think in,
plenty of water shy funny glances
from the children on the swings
and sitting under a tree
watching the light fade over some roofs, hungry
for the geometric certainties it leaves
behind there is wind, always more swirling
around me and i'm in a field of clover.
It's all impossibly soft and i don't know what to do but to touch it.
I've been here before. every time it's still
the same place in me and in the air;
the rustling a reminder that it's not emptiness
i seek, but grace.