This is a special contribution from an awesome young feminist by the name of Otter Irene. They posted this on Facebook, and was lovely enough to allow us to repost it here on NBNB. Please enjoy!
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A Message to the Manarchists (Mactivists) I’ve known.
Forward to anyone you wish!
Preface: The war on those with a female body mind spirit or assignment is still raging wherever patriarchy is aloud to occur and in this westernized culture dominated by those with NUCLEAR FAMILY AGENDA RIDING THEIR DICKS and A STATE THAT BENEFITS FROM FEMALE SUBMISSION OR ASSIMILATION INTO WHITE STRAIGHT MALE PATRIARCHY it is apparent by the common themes of sexual violence and submissive over sexed roles that women of all ages play in pop culture that even on the very surface we are coerced into a life of deprecation any which way we turn. On the underbelly of the beast we find more obvious examples of this female holocaust perpetuated by U.S Culture such as the usage of rape as a war tactic, enforced sterilization of womin of color, epidemic birth defects experienced by those in the wake of environmental racism. Thinking of those examples its pretty disturbing how even in radical communities patriarchy and male domination is occurring in epidemic proportions. As you will see in this poem, the crusty straight activist males in chicago have done quiet a number in perpetuating violence within supposedly safe spaces upon female identified folks who are trying as hard as they can to liberate and empower themselves as well as one another.
I really don’t see how this can keep on occurring the way that it does. How do they not see what is going on to us? I feel that perhaps, the answer is simply that their unemotional ties to the activism that they do prevents them from experiencing empathy towards us. Factoring in the problem of their selfish obsession for unnecessary violence, beer, and “toughness” these traits have blinded them from shedding their inculturated “maleness”.
This poem deals with my personal history with sexual violence as to educate the men about how female assigned folks in their community have been affected in a more striking to the point, inheriently feminists way as it is connecting the personal with political.
If i tagged you you might be a manarchist or its because i think you’ll like what i have to say, regardless i hope you enjoy!
here i go….
Sometimes I think about it while im in a vacuum kiss with my lover.
Their eyes pealing into mine, i’ll fasten my lids shut cuz im embarressed and scared, right them and there
That I remember
The memories haunt me in hollars at my body, when you’re hot breath comes to close to my face with a smirk attatched
and when i pas that courtyard, that street
with the mention of blueberries, heroin, air matresses or the name
Lucas, andy-there were 2, and Milo
These are
Rapists
Abusers and
Molestors
Its strange how quick my heart started running away while that viral list was made
and how im scared to put some names down
Because other people in chicago wouldn’t give a fuck or might just ignore me
so im forced to be silent becuse sometimes thats better then being challenged
Its strange that none of me has died yet there i a hardend shell of apathy that surrounds my emotions and keeps them there nd no matter how hard they keep knocking to be set free
it just wont shatter
Its just hilarious! How an hour before i was sliced open unwillingly
imobile. hyperventilating
Andy’ roomate and I were talking about the ELF and Primitivism
In the morning I woke with a wiskey headache
in the morning we all drank beer on the roof
in the morning I had forgotten the night before
and rode my bike home
my cunt was sore
its no surprise
when my brothers best friend took away trust in those with a penis with a bottle of schnapps and my freshly broken hearts willingness to be comforted by glasses of sighs accompndied by men…
I found myself FORCED to kiss someone I DIDN’T WANT
Felt fingers where i BEGGED them not to be.. Loudly
Where buring crusted white toungs should have never gone
then i was called a liar by my entire family
And all my friends still shared smouldering joints and friendly laughs with them
And Lucas came over to my house almost everday where i already wasn’t safe
Can you imagine? They wondered why i shook myself with anxiety for two years and felt used and useless while lying in bed awake- each night never feeling calm enough to sleep untill i ranway
and started to scream at the top of my chimney lungs at this world that forces knives to bare skin
“Oh” I say. ” I just got raped, thats why I’m sleep walking an accusing people of pedophilia.”
I say this with a blank cold stare
Because i can’t feel anything anymore sometimes but its better that way cuz then
I feel no remorse
and that way
My thoughts are just of distant disgust and sharp edges and blunt objects and words and phrases
I feel better now
I feel so much better
I’m not scared anymore, that’s the difference.
It feels good not being hit on anymore because im being called a boy instead, because i look so goddamn angry.
It feels good listening to riot grrrl and taking off my shirt with other feminists and talking about how we’ve been affected
And when my little sister is learning an Ani DeFranco song on accoustic guitar, i know the minds of wimin are a healin
So maybe we’ll all start collations against rape
and maybe we’ll start throwing our cleanched hands and those who threw themselves at us
and maybe we’ll all start to love each other and feel solidarity as a real thing, not some myth.
I know that many of you feel this
I have my identity inked on my fingers so i never forget who i am
So everyone who cares to look at my joints sees a hand made word:
“Feminist”
And i know you have your own way of keeping track of yourself and never letting yourself slip.
But here in this world of squats and screaming and broken glass and long words filled with so much meaning…
The black flag might as well be drapped over the corpse of justice.
There are those who simply wont change
When one lets the mind wander you seem to wonder why the hell guys who beat up Nazis in there free time hand a cold one to rapists at parties with survivors.
Men who write about the prison indutrial complex create real world shakles with their
” Your too quick to call people out for patriarchy. Round our throats
I feel the shackles of lifelessness lock their iron rings of acceptence chaining me to the normalcy of society.
In the name of the circle “A” you so proudly display, how DARE you call yourselves revolutionary.
Your wishy washy starry eyed approach to acountability is a fucking joke
do you understand what its like to feel broke?
Like a toy doll with all her clothes torn off and forgotten
Thrown into the dumpster- somthing rotten.
And you know that is the haven for the most “radical” shit you actually do.
Fuck you.
Where does your head even live?
You see coming to this world was meant to be for healing, for growning, to create a clean river bed over flowing with ideas, action and defense.
Yet i feel like my bandages keeping being ripped off
and my branches are being sliced down
And that river keeps being damned up by you and your artifical ideas. Pollutants
Lets be honest, lots of oyu are just hipsters with cool hobbies
Who don’t account for the fact that
You straight rich white boys from the suburbs could drop this at ANY time.
The majority of the rest of the world wasn’t handed a silver spoon
So when you tell me that I’ll get over myself in a couple of years i’d like you to be there to show me that your oppression has stopped its ever present croon.
And that none of my friend hand recently been raped by YOUR friends.
And that everything we have ever wanted has happend.
You brought a rapist to an anarchist picnic at the graves of emma goldmann, lucy parsons, and Volterine De Claire.
Descrating our passed sisters lives while you traumatizingly sang solidarity forever and rebel girl with those who perpetuate fear in our everyday lives.
And hes why everyone keeps walking away from you with heads shaking in disgust.
I don’t care if i don’t win, i’ll fight till my arms are bloody stumps and my mind has all but broken and im beaten to death with not a breath left.
Cuz your arrogance is my enemy
And your sick smile is my hatred
And next time it happens
you better remember my love for knives
its a threat mother fucker
This is something you have to realize,
not all of us believe your toxic seedy lies.
You certain someones with certain cool clothes and certain pastimes and certain dreads with certain smells and smiles and certain ways of getting people to sleep with you and certain instrument you play and certain diets and backgrounds that give you away.
And certain ways of relating to other people.
Doing certain good things but a whole lot of bad.
You are the certain manarchists of which i speak.
This poems gunna travel all over the place and i’ll name names cuz your anger doesn’t make me weak.
I will speak
I will speak
i will fight
and i will speak!
Tags: activism, anarcha, anarchist, BOOYAH, Chicago, feminism, feminist, oppression, patriarchy, rape, riot girl, sex, violence
Liz Lemon, in all of her lovable liberal second wave feminism, attempted to rename it Anna Howard Shaw Day on a Valentine’s special of 30 Rock. Too bad it’ll never catch on. In part because it’s terribly difficult to commercialize a dowdy white lady with a penchant for hideous hats, but mostly because Shaw’s involvement in the temperance movement would interfere with single people’s ability to numb their loneliness with booze-y drinks.
