So there's a new law being discussed in Sweden.
This new law says that not only "no" does mean "no" but that an actual "yes", actual conscious consent has to be given for sex to not be rape.
That means: Silence isn't consent, unconsciousness isn't consent, a "yes" under the influence of drugs isn't consent (and yes, that includes being drunk), a "yes" given because you were threatened if you said no is not consent and so on.
Now this law still has it's flaws: It still doesn't cover power inbalances being the reason for a spoken "yes", it is still is word against word when it comes to proving wether or not someone gave consent, but it is propably the best law victims of sexual violence can get to defend themselves and their bodily autonomy.
The reason I am writing a blog post about it is definitely not that I would have a problem with it - if anything, I am shocked again how something that should be common sense is still something Scandinavia has so much ahead of the rest of the world. Blimey, that should be the law everywhere.
No, the thing I am actually shocked of is how the press is delivering those news and how people react to them.
In German newspapers, the title often was something along the line of "in Sweden only yes means yes - ideally in a written contract". We all know that a lot of people rarely read anything more than the headline, so this is all they get from it: I now need a written contract that I may fuck this person. Thus, these news are already dangerously close to being fake news.
Now the reaction of the people doesn't exactly shock me, I have lived in this world long enough to know that people can be absolute assholes. It's just the same boring, exhausting reactions we always get as soon as we discuss sexual rights, and personally, I am really tired of discussing them over and over again with people who do not want to discuss seriously.
"Best to have a notary in the bedroom at all times"
"It takes away the spontaneity that makes sex so good"
"Sure, maybe you should ask when it's a one night stand but in a relationship or even marriage you wouldn't say no ever so why ask?"
and so on. Those are not even the most disgusting ones I read so far.
Now how am we supposed to believe that rape culture is not a thing when new consent laws like the Swedish one are treated like this? When people believe that simply asking "Are you down for sexy times?" is, well, too much to ask for? When people still think others owe them their bodies for whatever reason?
But overall, I am glad that the rape statistics in Sweden will go up. Not because there will be more rape cases, but more cases where the rapists actually will get prosecuted. Thanks, Sweden. Really hope the rest of the world will live up to you at some point.
Showing posts with label sexual violence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexual violence. Show all posts
20.12.17
4.12.16
Fourteen years
TW SEXUAL VIOLENCE
This is a text that is not easy to write down, but simultaneously too important to not do it. It is personal, very personal. That is why I have to write it down, both because it explains a lot about me as a person and because, more importantly, it is something that concerns so many people everywhere.
When I was 7 years old, I was sexually abused. I'll spare you the details and graphic descriptions. The things important about it are that a) it happened in the first place, b) it was not someone I knew, and c) I was lucky enough to survive. I also had the luck to be raised by a mother that made me feel safe enough with her that I told her rightaway, and we went to report it to the police the next day.
And then, a long time, nothing happened, and eventually, the case got closed.
I learned to live with what had happened to me. I never kept it a secret, but I didn't tell it without a reason either. I told it to everyone I dated a bit longer, and to close friends, because I always felt like that might be important to understand me better as a person, to understand why I was quite pessimistic when it came to police and reporting crimes, to understand why I had problems mentally and so on. With every time I told my story again, it became easier. I am now at a point where I can tell it without crying, just like the fact that it is. I also came to terms with that man not being caught. I had to.
Fourteen years later, when I was away in Exeter for my internship abroad, I got a call from the police in my home town, and first I thought I was in trouble - the most criminal thing I might have done in my life would be underage drinking by the way.
The officer told me an eight-years-old girl had been sexually abused, and apparently the cases were so similar that they dug out mine again. I was asked to tell my story once again and answer a few questions, and while the police officer handled me with great care on the phone and while another child had to experience what I experienced for this to happen, I was weirdly happy. After all this time, I had an actual chance to get justice.
I went to testify and answer the questions they had. While after fourteen years I had forgotten details, or remembered them wrong, I still was able to find better words for things and apparently that helped. A few months later, I got a call again.
They got him. For days, I couldn't stop grinning like an idiot. They got him. Yet, I was sceptical until I read in the newspaper that he testified to be my abuser as well. And they got him.
And now I got a letter informing me about my rights as a victim. The letter included his name. I know his name. To be honest, I don't really know why this is so important to me, but it is, even if I can't really explain it. Maybe because it makes it more real. It's hard to believe that this is not a dream, having your case solved after such a long time.
My family and friends keep asking me if I was okay. They think all of this might reopen old wounds. Weirdly, it doesn't. At least nothing more than a scratch. Mostly, I am happy and relieved. Of course, there's no way to undo what has been done to me and that poor other girl. But at least, he won't be able to hurt anyone else. And that's all I could ask for.
This is my story, and it's important to me to write it down for the world to see. First of all because silence doesn't help anyone. Secondly, because I hope that it might give hope to others who experience sexual abuse. Hope that they may get justice, and hope that they can heal.
People often claim that children who experienced sexual violence will never be able to live a normal life with that horrible memory. Now of course I can't speak for everyone, but for me, that's wrong.
I do live a normal life - and a good one. I have a job that I love, a wonderful family, my amazing boyfriend, awesome friends, and I am happy. Sure, I will never be able to forget what happened, but I rarely think about it. Not even once a week. Almost never. I have so many other things to think about. I live a good life. He did not destroy it. And that might be the best thing about all of this.
This is a text that is not easy to write down, but simultaneously too important to not do it. It is personal, very personal. That is why I have to write it down, both because it explains a lot about me as a person and because, more importantly, it is something that concerns so many people everywhere.
When I was 7 years old, I was sexually abused. I'll spare you the details and graphic descriptions. The things important about it are that a) it happened in the first place, b) it was not someone I knew, and c) I was lucky enough to survive. I also had the luck to be raised by a mother that made me feel safe enough with her that I told her rightaway, and we went to report it to the police the next day.
And then, a long time, nothing happened, and eventually, the case got closed.
I learned to live with what had happened to me. I never kept it a secret, but I didn't tell it without a reason either. I told it to everyone I dated a bit longer, and to close friends, because I always felt like that might be important to understand me better as a person, to understand why I was quite pessimistic when it came to police and reporting crimes, to understand why I had problems mentally and so on. With every time I told my story again, it became easier. I am now at a point where I can tell it without crying, just like the fact that it is. I also came to terms with that man not being caught. I had to.
Fourteen years later, when I was away in Exeter for my internship abroad, I got a call from the police in my home town, and first I thought I was in trouble - the most criminal thing I might have done in my life would be underage drinking by the way.
The officer told me an eight-years-old girl had been sexually abused, and apparently the cases were so similar that they dug out mine again. I was asked to tell my story once again and answer a few questions, and while the police officer handled me with great care on the phone and while another child had to experience what I experienced for this to happen, I was weirdly happy. After all this time, I had an actual chance to get justice.
I went to testify and answer the questions they had. While after fourteen years I had forgotten details, or remembered them wrong, I still was able to find better words for things and apparently that helped. A few months later, I got a call again.
They got him. For days, I couldn't stop grinning like an idiot. They got him. Yet, I was sceptical until I read in the newspaper that he testified to be my abuser as well. And they got him.
And now I got a letter informing me about my rights as a victim. The letter included his name. I know his name. To be honest, I don't really know why this is so important to me, but it is, even if I can't really explain it. Maybe because it makes it more real. It's hard to believe that this is not a dream, having your case solved after such a long time.
My family and friends keep asking me if I was okay. They think all of this might reopen old wounds. Weirdly, it doesn't. At least nothing more than a scratch. Mostly, I am happy and relieved. Of course, there's no way to undo what has been done to me and that poor other girl. But at least, he won't be able to hurt anyone else. And that's all I could ask for.
This is my story, and it's important to me to write it down for the world to see. First of all because silence doesn't help anyone. Secondly, because I hope that it might give hope to others who experience sexual abuse. Hope that they may get justice, and hope that they can heal.
People often claim that children who experienced sexual violence will never be able to live a normal life with that horrible memory. Now of course I can't speak for everyone, but for me, that's wrong.
I do live a normal life - and a good one. I have a job that I love, a wonderful family, my amazing boyfriend, awesome friends, and I am happy. Sure, I will never be able to forget what happened, but I rarely think about it. Not even once a week. Almost never. I have so many other things to think about. I live a good life. He did not destroy it. And that might be the best thing about all of this.
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