Ummm. Did you follow the responses to this post? Also, statistics on women's abuse and harassment across nations? I hope this list isn't for some kind of senseless militant feminism. I thought we were way past bra burning and congregating to have constructive responses to VAW.
Why is this posted to this list anyway? On 17-Sep-2013, at 9:31 PM, "A. Mani" <[email protected]> wrote: > India is a terrible sub-human place because of traditional values and > lack of sex education. The social, economic and political system > obviously represses people. The writer fails to see that religion has > an essential evil role in all this. > ________________________________ > > http://www.cnn.com/2013/08/20/world/american-student-india-sexual-harassment-irpt > > By Rose Chasm > > When people ask me about my experience studying abroad in India, I > always face the same dilemma. How does one convey the contradiction > that over the past few months has torn my life apart, and convey it in > a single succinct sentence? > > “India was wonderful," I go with, "but extremely dangerous for women.” > Part of me dreads the follow-up questions, and part of me hopes for > more. I'm torn between believing in the efficacy of truth, and being > wary of how much truth people want. > > Because, how do I describe my three months in theUniversity of Chicago > Indian civilizations program when it was half dream, half nightmare? > Which half do I give? > > Do I tell them about our first night in the city of Pune, when we > danced in the Ganesha festival, and leave it at that? Or do I go on > and tell them how the festival actually stopped when the American > women started dancing, so that we looked around to see a circle of men > filming our every move? > > Do I tell them about bargaining at the bazaar for beautiful saris > costing a few dollars a piece, and not mention the men who stood > watching us, who would push by us, clawing at our breasts and groins? > > When people compliment me on my Indian sandals, do I talk about the > man who stalked me for forty-five minutes after I purchased them, > until I yelled in his face in a busy crowd? > > Do I describe the lovely hotel in Goa when my strongest memory of it > was lying hunched in a fetal position, holding a pair of scissors with > the door bolted shut, while the staff member of the hotel who had > tried to rape my roommate called me over and over, and breathing into > the phone? > > How, I ask, was I supposed to tell these stories at a Christmas party? > But how could I talk about anything else when the image of the smiling > man who masturbated at me on a bus was more real to me than my > friends, my family, or our Christmas tree? All those nice people were > asking the questions that demanded answers for which they just weren't > prepared. > > When I went to India, nearly a year ago, I thought I was prepared. I > had been to India before; I was a South Asian Studies major; I spoke > some Hindi. I knew that as a white woman I would be seen as a > promiscuous being and a sexual prize. I was prepared to follow the > University ofChicago’s advice to women, to dress conservatively, to > not smile in the streets. And I was prepared for the curiosity my red > hair, fair skin and blue eyes would arouse. > > But I wasn't prepared. > > There was no way to prepare for the eyes, the eyes that every day > stared with such entitlement at my body, with no change of expression > whether I met their gaze or not. Walking to the fruit seller's or the > tailer's I got stares so sharp that they sliced away bits of me piece > by piece. I was prepared for my actions to be taken as sex signals; I > was not prepared to understand that there were no sex signals, only > women's bodies to be taken, or hidden away. > > I covered up, but I did not hide. And so I was taken, by eye after > eye, picture after picture. Who knows how many photos there are of me > in India, or on the internet: photos of me walking, cursing, flipping > people off. Who knows how many strangers have used my image as > pornography, and those of my friends. I deleted my fair share, but it > was a drop in the ocean-- I had no chance of taking back everything > they took. > > For three months I lived this way, in a traveller's heaven and a > woman's hell. I was stalked, groped, masturbated at; and yet I had > adventures beyond my imagination. I hoped that my nightmare would end > at the tarmac, but that was just the beginning. Back home Christmas > red seemed faded after vermillion, and food tasted spiceless and > bland. Friends, and family, and classes, and therapy, and everything > at all was so much less real than the pain, the rage that was coursing > through my blood, screaming so loud it deafened me to all other > sounds. And after months of elation at living in freedom, months of > running from the memories breathing down my neck, I woke up on April > Fool's Day and found I wanted to be dead. > > The student counselors diagnosed me with a personality disorder and > prescribed me pills I wouldn't take. After a public breakdown I ended > up in a psych ward for two days held against my will, and was released > on the condition that I took a "mental leave of absence" from school > and went to live with my mother. I thought I had lost my mind; I > didn't connect any of it to India-- I had moved on. But then a > therapist diagnosed me with PTSD and I realized I hadn't moved a > single inch. I had frozen in time. And I’d fallen. And I’d shattered. > > But I wasn't the only one, the only woman from my trip to be diagnosed > with PTSD, to be forced into a psych ward, to wake up wanting to be > dead. And I am not the only woman who is on a mental leave of absence > from the University ofChicago for reasons of sexual assault and is > unable to take classes. > > Understanding my pain has helped me own it, if not relieve it. PTSD > strikes me as a euphemism, because a syndrome implies a cure. What, > may I ask, is the cure for seeing reality, of feeling for three months > what its like for one's humanity to be taken away? But I thank God for > my experiences in India, and for my disillusionment. Truth is a gift, > a burden, and a responsibility. And I mean to share it. > > This is the story you don't want to hear when you ask me about India. > But this is the story you need. > > http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-1023053 > _______________________________________ > > There's a response to the piece by an another American girl who was > part of the same student group, which presents a somewhat different > picture: > http://travelingwhilefemale.blogspot.in/2013/08/a-response-to-rosechasms-cnn-ireport.html > > And this response is by a young Indian woman: > http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-1023884 > > _______________________________________________ > > PS. I haven't seen the last two links. > > > > Best > > A. Mani > > > > A. Mani > CU, ASL, AMS, CLC, CMS > http://www.logicamani.in > _______________________________________________ > > WFS-India mailing list > [email protected] > > Message archives: http://www.mail-archive.com/[email protected]/ > > Unsubscribe: To unsubscribe, please login to your account at > http://www.wfs-india.org/ and unsubscribe to the WFS-India list from your > account settings. > > -- WFS-India - http://www.wfs-india.org _______________________________________________ WFS-India mailing list [email protected] Message archives: http://www.mail-archive.com/[email protected]/ Unsubscribe: To unsubscribe, please login to your account at http://www.wfs-india.org/ and unsubscribe to the WFS-India list from your account settings. -- WFS-India - http://www.wfs-india.org
