activism
Feminist activists are not deterred by the daunting statistics so much as they're fueled by them.
Asifa: 5 Months on
Ah, the hashtag. It has many uses: be it for expressing your views on the latest series of a TV show such as #loveisland (still have no clue what it's about), to complaining about your broken phone charger before realising it is a #firstworldproblem; and of course, there are its more serious uses. #NotOurPresident. #Metoo. And in India, 3 months after 8-year-old Asifa Bano was found dead after an 8 day gang-rape, she too got a hashtag: #JusticeforAsifa.
Vaishnavi RamuPublished 6 years ago in VivaZero Tolerance
I was a late bloomer. This meant that while other girls were getting their periods, going on dates and talking with their friends about babies and sex, I was playing Legos with my younger cousins. I didn’t even get my period until I was 16-years-old, and though I had sex-ed many years before, in sixth grade, my memory of the things we talked about were hazy at best. I understood that babies came from sex, but I didn’t know the first thing about arousal, or masturbation, or sexual harassment.
Eugena LewisPublished 6 years ago in VivaMe Too
Honestly, I’m not sure how this is going to go. Yet, I know I need to get this out and keep moving forward. It was July 2016. My boyfriend of two weeks was coming over again and couldn't wait. I was 20 years old and I finally had my first boyfriend. I thought I was with someone who really cared for me. I still lived with my parents and that just made things awkward. He finally showed up and we decided to hop in the pool. It was a gorgeous day and there was no way I wasn't going to get my pool time in. My mom was coming and going from the backyard while doing yard work. She didn't like the guy at all and she made it very well known. I'm going to give this guy a different name just to play it safe. Roy was kissing me, totally awesome and I didn't see a problem. Eventually, my mom was out of the backyard for awhile and we were all alone. He kept forcing me to touch him even though I kept pulling away, afraid I was going to get caught. He then pinned me against the pool wall with me facing west, towards him. He began touching me and kissing my neck. On the inside, I was yelling and trying to break free. But on the outside, I was frozen as if I was a photograph. I only remember seeing the evergreen tree in front of me. He began grinding on me, causing large waves in the index quick set up pool. I remember trying to stop him from pushing aside my bikini bottom. He came closer to me and grabbed ahold of himself through this bottoms and teased until I felt him getting closer and closer to the opening. He began taking himself out when he heard my mom returning and quickly backed away from me.
Stephanie AdolphiPublished 6 years ago in VivaHow I Became a "Woke" Black Girl and the Journey I'm Still On...
Summer 2009, my estranged mother and I began speaking again for the first time in about eight years. That same summer I was whisked away, involuntarily, to Virginia to live with her. Up until this point in my life, I grew up in Louisiana, surrounded by lots of family and even more mosquitoes. Now that all that was gone, it was up to me to adjust to my new surroundings. My new life came with a new White stepfather, two little dogs, and two new White step-siblings. A bit much for a girl who was used to being an only child living with her grandparents. Nonetheless, I made the best of my situation. I kept my head low, never acted out of character, and got decent grades for a someone who had to get over a hell of a learning curve. I finished my first year of middle school relatively okay considering the changes. Then in seventh grade, things began to shift when I developed my first crush and I started to notice some things...
Raven BickhamPublished 6 years ago in VivaWe Are Diana Prince
A person connects with a character, storyline, or even a community for a number of reasons. My current icons are Wonder Woman and Jessica Jones. I didn't find them in the comic book store or, in the case of Wonder Woman, on reruns on TNT. I found my love of them when they hit the screen in the last few years. The idea that a woman could save the day when her male counterparts didn't think she could made my little feminist heart sing. And with the state of the world as it is right now, we need all the heroes that we can get. And the amazing thing about Wonder Woman is that she's not just Diana Prince. She's all of us. Diana Prince is white, black, indigenous, Middle Eastern, LGBTQIA+, Trans+, Nonbinary and Genderqueer.
Katie KirbyPublished 6 years ago in VivaSexual Misconduct Within the Film Industry
Rape within the film industry is prevalent now more than ever. Whether that be the sexual violence integrated within the plot lines of upcoming films or the illicit sexual assaults that take place behind the scenes.
Kay McCannPublished 6 years ago in VivaWhat No One Tells You About Sexual Assault
I used to think sexual assault was something that happened to people at the hands of strangers and in violent attacks. As I got older and heard more about the issue, I realised I was wrong and that it's more likely to be from those that you actually know. But I never would have thought it would happen to me by someone I believed to be my best friend.
charlie delaneyPublished 6 years ago in VivaThe Wage Gap
While discussing the newest Avengers movie, one of the actors came up, and a few of my friends laughed a little at Benedict Cumberbatch's statement of how he refuses to take a role if his female costars aren't paid the same. I was surprised to find out that one of my friends believed the wage gap to be a myth created by feminazis as propaganda.
Maya ConroyPublished 6 years ago in Viva#MeToo Movement
The topic that I am about to cover in this blog post is sexual assault. I am going to tell the stories of two women who experienced sexual assault. I am going to tell the story of a woman who was not given a fair trial, or a trial at all for that matter. I am going to tell the story of a girl who was hurt several years ago and can no longer look at herself in the mirror. I am going to tell the story of a girl who sought out several different resources, and she was turned away by each and every one of them. This is my story. This is our story.
He Won Once. He Won't Win Again.
How do I come to terms with the fact that a man did not just shove himself into me? He did so much more. He shoved hatred into the deepest part of what is left of a broken soul. Four months later and every breath I take rattles. I pray that each breath will become the last but it never does. I am forced into a life I am not ready to live. Before he raped me I was someone. I felt like no matter what I was of some microscopic value. I hardly had my life figured out but now everything is fucked up for sure this time. He gets to go on and live a life free of panic attacks and suicidal thoughts. He gets to feel comfortable around his family. He gets to feel like someone believes him. I am made to feel like a fucking manic wreck which is exactly what I've come to be. I did not ask for this. I did not ask to bay at the moon with my soul shattering at my feet as if the sky could fix my sorrow. I did not ask to watch my nails bleed as I puncture the dirt with my fragile fingers searching for my normality. Liquor slides down my throat so smooth I could almost taste my freedom but it's sad when liquor is the only time I'm free. Only I'm not. I am a prisoner to his face. His spiked hair slicked up. I'd love to spit in his face only I'd never have the courage. A man broke me which is something I never wanted to say again. Only this time I think no man will ever have the chance to do so again. You see when he entered me that night my whole perspective changed. I no longer long for the sun to be against a diamond that compliments my finger. I no longer wonder what the kicks of my child will feel like in my womb. At this rate there is no point of me having a womb. I am no longer a woman. I am a statistic. Every 98 seconds a soul is shattered beyond belief. Only six out of a thousand of these monsters will sink behind the bars they so belong in. My heart screams for the me I was before my vagina repulsed me. My heart longs for the time I loved freely. My life is a movie. It's a horror film and I am the star. I am a monster fighting a monster. One out of every six women has been the victim of an attempted or a completed fucking rape. That is one too many. We are taught to “cover up” or “stop asking for it” when in reality if my nipple was a friend to the breeze no man should ever touch me without my consent. So many rapes go unreported because we are viewed as sluts who beg for a dick to be launched inside us against our will. A mini skirt is cause for a touch or a feel. When in reality, if I strip down to nothing with every intent of sleeping with a man, the minute I say no that is exactly what I mean. The night of my rape I said no a million times but those no's where silenced by the sound of my cries. When did he stop? When he was finished. When he was pleasured. Not once did he stop and think that what he was doing was the most vile thing any human could possibly do to another. My life is over. And I won't rest until the system evens the score.
The Darkest SunrisePublished 6 years ago in VivaOn Being Female
I've been playing with this article for a little while now. I write, I rewrite and even when I'm not actively trying to put pen to paper, my mind is consumed with everything I wish I could say on this topic. The truth is, no words will ever be enough to encompass what I want to portray and no amount of time spent pondering on this situation will heal my wounds. Sometimes, it appears, the only option is to simply just to dive in - subside your worries and deepest set fears, and just write.
Why Her?
It was 11:34 PM. I was in my bed and almost asleep. I had told my boyfriend good night when she texted. "Hey! I was just thinking about you :) How are you doing?"