Vile and Oblivious Politicians Support State Violence Against Children
At least three recent stories in Caribbean media have highlighted the systemic rape of boys and girls in state care and the horror houses known as children’s homes. Getting raped while literally under the care and protection of the state is a reprehensible violation and denial of bodily autonomy. Fleeing sexual abuse is what gets many girls in juvenile correctional facilities locked up in the first place. The abuse survivors are criminalized and re-victimized. Far from seeking to prevent sexual assault, reports from Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago and Guyana suggest that such violations are widespread. Support services for sexual assault survivors are non-existent. Continue reading
Laughing at boys who are raped
The Jamaica Observer recently subjected readers to the most crass and reprehensible of cartoons which pokes fun at the rape of boys in institutionalized care. Yes, they invited readers to laugh at the fact that boys were being raped. A UN study of nine Caribbean countries found that 32% of boys described their first sexual experience as forced or somewhat forced. Men and boys in institutionalized settings such as prisons face high rates of sexual assault. These violations are often met with laughter or are seen as adequate punishment for the transgressions that land men in prison. Never mind that prisons are filled with young, poor men with little formal education. Continue reading
The decision to disclose one’s status as a victim or survivor of sexual assault is to make oneself extremely vulnerable. When a friend asked, “Are you sure you didn’t just do something you regret?” I did not react to her emotionally. Instead I heard myself validating my feelings by offering an explanation of why I felt something terrible had happened. Later, after our phone call ended, it slowly started to hit me. Her words gave voice to my fears and the hesitation that ultimately lead to the decision not to report the incident to the police. I feared sitting in a police station across from a police officer who would force me to repeat the details of that horrible night. He or she would write my statement down, put it in a file and start asking questions like my ob/gyn and (former?) friend. Having someone judge me and asking me questions that would indicate some level of blame kept me afraid to talk to anyone with the exception of trusted family and friends.
In the days, weeks and months following my assault, I constantly thought of the many ways I could have avoided the incident. As a former rape crisis counselor, I was aware that I was guilty and continue to be guilty of victim blaming. While I would never blame someone else that is sexually assaulted, it became different when I was the victim. I rarely recall the perpetrator, thinking of him in this context is to try and remember a shadowy figure that I don’t really know. Instead, I think of my own actions leading up to the point where a dark curtain is pulled across my memory. I consider the moment a friend offered me a ride home from the networking event we attended, the decision to grab dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, and going to my friend’s holiday party. I remember sitting at the restaurant and thinking I should just go home as it started to drizzle outside.
In some of my weekly therapy sessions where I recounted the series of events, and analyzed the many things I could have done differently that night, my therapist would ask, “What is the point of doing that? What are you hoping to accomplish?” In those moments, I would pause. I am aware that this line of thinking does not contribute to my overall healing. Every time that I blame myself for what happened, I am forcing myself into a prison. In that prison, I cannot exist and live my life as I once did. Sure, I have changed since the incident. But I do not want to be in that prison that teaches women that we ask for it based on what we wear, because we go out, or any other nonsensical reason that holds the victim/survivor accountable for someone else’s wrongdoing.
The writer (“Kaya”) works in international affairs and is originally from an island in the West Indies. She enjoys the outdoors, spending time with friends and reading and writing in coffee shops around town.
Travel across the islands and territories of the Caribbean and its diaspora and sample some of the best feminist blogging out there.
What have Caribbean feminist women and men written about in 2013? Love, fashion, motherhood, being mixed-race, surviving child sexual abuse, healing from sexual assault, racist anti-Haitian citizenship policies in the Dominican Republic and so much more… Have a look!
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Elmer, 22 year old Belizean youth that comes from a humble yet hard working family. Today it is important for me to share my story with you.
So, when a man sets his girlfriend on fire, rapes his niece, or gouges out his ex-wife genitals, it is not simply because he cannot control his emotions or resolve conflict well. There are deeply embedded ideas about who owns and who is to be owned, who is in control and who is to be controlled, what makes a ‘real man’, and a woman’s rightful role to shape these encounters. To ignore this is to miss the mark.
Patrice Daniel is back again with more fyah! This time she writes about why the Caribbean is getting it wrong on violence against women. (Barbados)
“Can you live with knowing that you will never have answers about what happened? Is that something you can manage?”
So like my feminism, my politics of adornment are a critical part of how my race, class, gender and sexuality intersect. My feminism is about having the personal freedom to choose how I represent myself. My ability to express myself on my own terms is my attempt to return ‘the gaze,’ to push back, to style myself for myself. As I seek to own and affirmatively claim my identity, my body, my creativity… and ultimately my ‘self’, I feel incredibly powerful and beautiful and free.
Feminism, Fashion and the Politics of Adornment by Amina Doherty. (Nigeria/Antigua & Barbuda)
It’s possible to let your energy, love and time be wasted by those who are not clear what they want for you or those who are trapped in their own games. Such lost investment will only distract you from giving all to what you can most achieve in your path, your heart and your life’s work. Focus on those who most matter and know well why they do.
But it is also true that Caribbean women are not at equal risk of being made to strip, squat, bend over, finger-raped and humiliated at regional border points. We have seen little critical examination of the class and gender dimensions of this case. We might well ask whether there is an unspoken investment in gendered respectability in our rush to celebrate Shanique Myrie as a Caribbean Rosa Parks. As a not insignificant aside, consider the difference between the dominant idea of Rosa Parks we are familiar with, as the diminutive mother of the Civil Rights movement, and the Rosa Parks who was a highly active member of the NAACP and attended meetings of the Communist Party. And fewer of us have heard of Claudette Colvin, told to give up her seat on a bus nine months before Rosa Parks. We should pause to consider whether the fact that Colvin was an unmarried pregnant teenager has anything to do with her story not being widely told.
Alissa Trotz’s Inescapable Entanglements: Notes on Caribbean Feminist Engagement delivered at the 20th anniversary conference of the Institute for Gender and Development Studies. (Guyana)
In her pain, she was not allowed to belong anywhere. How could she belong when the halves of her were at war? When she was attacked by both sides? It is one thing to be condemned to a particular side because of your skin colour, but it is an entirely different thing to be a refugee in your own country because you do not truly belong to any side.
Sarah Bharrat of Guyana writes about what she calls “The Dougla Defect“, being mixed race in a racially polarised society. (Guyana)
“You said I remind you of the best parts of home. Like a lot of guys, you want to be nurtured but can’t nurture anyone because you barely know how.”
Writing about love from Creative Commess (Trinidad & Tobago)
“Growing up in Barbados, getting pregnant was the worst thing you could do. Not just as a teenager, but anytime before you had secured your place as a DoctorLawyerBankmanager. I’m serious. The Worst Thing.”
Similar to the Dominican Republic, the Bahamas also deports Haitian migrants regularly and grants very few work permits and rarely (if ever) asylum status, while depending upon the everyday labour of Haitian undocumented migrants. The Bahamas — somewhat like the DR’s new ruling — also denies rights to the children of migrants, the difference being that children of migrants do have access to birth citizenship rights, which they have to apply for at 18. However, this process can take years, especially if one does not have access to legal assistance.
Happy New Year!
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See also “Top 10 Must-read Caribbean Feminist Blog posts“, “Caribbean Digital Feminist Activism in a Post-Feminist Age“, “Social Media Strategies for Caribbean Activists“, and “We’re excited about Online Caribbean Feminist Media.”