"20 Minutes of Action"

 Portrait of an All American Rapist

This week shined a light of how our judicial system is skewed when it comes to white, economically advantaged young men who commit rape. The case of Brock Turner, a Stanford swimmer, jarred us with the reality of how celebrity looks, a winning smile, and a Stanford education can earn you a get out of jail free card. He was convicted of raping a an intoxicated 23 year old woman. Two graduate students happened upon the sexual assault in progress and apprehended him when he attempted a cowardly escape. In a sentence which can only leave one speechless, he received six months in prison with only three months if he behaves himself. Judge Aaron Persky handed down the sentence saying, "a long sentence would have a severe impact on him." Wake up judge, jail has a severe impact on everyone sentenced.

According to Judge Aaron Persky, if I am unconscious or do something stupid and voluntarily lose control of my sensorium, white men of privilege are entitled to rape me. After all, boys will be boys-it happens at frat parties everywhere. The message here is I automatically consent to being brutalized for not being a good girl. I wonder if Judge Persky, a self-proclaimed defender of violated women, even knows the extent of trauma rape victims endure. Did the fact that Judge Persky also went Stanford bias his decision?

The slap on the wrist sentencing of a 20 year old blond, blue-eyed American swimmer from Stanford illustrates what women have known for centuries:  rape is in the eye of the beholder. There is always a plausible excuse to rape a woman. And, even if there isn’t, most women deserve it when the engage in slut-like behavior. A clear message has been sent that men should not be punished for predatory sexual behavior when the victim is making herself 'available'. His father said it well when he wrote to the judge proclaiming such his phenomenal athletic son should not be punished for “20 minutes of action”. He went on to say his son "has never been violent to anyone" including the night of the witnessed attack. Unbelievably, the senior Mr. Turner felt his son could pay his karmic debt for necrophiliac-like horsing around with his obtunded prey by warning fellow college students of the dangers of promiscuity and drinking. He was referring to his son's victim here. The apple, evidently, does not fall far from the tree. Now we know where his son got his respect for incapacitated women. 

The rapist, Brock Turner, has never expressed remorse for his actions. His defense was he was drunk and the sex was consensual. The witnesses at his trial testified his victim was unconscious and could not have given consent. As a child of wealth, Mr. Turner believes he is above the law as does his father. Neither have insight on the makings of a predator. He really is a good kid who made a minor mistake-getting caught. For God’s sake this is a 20 year old blond, blue-eyed all-star athlete from Stanford. This will teach Mr. Turner to be more careful the next time.

The trues heroes of this story are the victim and the grad students who intervened by catching Mr. Turner as he fled the scene. This victim showed tremendous courage coming forward when most when most women would have felt overwhelmed by the odds this rarified trophy cake eater would ever see justice. Until you’ve been there, it is impossible to describe the humiliation of having your degradation paraded in court and in the media.

The grad students who interceded by capturing the assailant also deserve tremendous praise for their valorous actions. They had the emotional wits to stop the attack, ensuring Mr. Turner would face the consequences for his predation. Unlike Mr. Turner and his father, these young men were taught to respect and value women. They deserve a medal for rescuing the victim, intercepting the perpetrator, and bravely testifying in court. The actions of these two grad students has given me hope that a generation of men who delight in violent video games depicting women as folly for their pent up aggression can rise above the prevailing misogynist attitudes being spoon fed to boys and men.

Mr. Turner's Aryan looks and steely denial will not serve him well in prison. My guess is his fellow minority inmates won't be impressed with his collegiate prowess nor his cries of being the real victim. They may, however, enjoy his warnings about the dangers of sexual promiscuity and intoxication. 

A movement is under way to recall Judge Aaron Persky. To sign a petition for his recall, go to:

http://cjp.ca.gov/res/docs/appendix/complaintform%20fillable.pdf

My Date with Zeus

Most mythology buffs know Zeus would frequently come down from Mt. Olympus searching for luscious women to ravage. He was a horny god with a penchant for earthly females. I always wondered why he would choose a lowly human woman when he had a bevy of gorgeous goddesses. Like the movie, 'Too Beautiful for You', I suspect Zeus got bored with his high maintenance goddesses and preferred the company of simple, beautiful mortal maidens.

This past year I became acquainted with a Zeus who lives in San Francisco. He is a debonair, prominent, respected, and wealthy demagogue attorney whom I met online. Demagogues are not like us mere mortals-my Zeus occupies the high rise floor of a skyscraper office in the Embarcadero and lives a block away in another palatial apartment.Though I am no stranger to those with wealth, I had never dated a demagogue so illustrious, thus, the nickname Zeus.

Wealth, power, fame, beauty, and even intelligence does not necessarily impress me. Being a simple earthly maiden, I am more attracted with what lies within more than the accoutrements that come with genius, prestige, and power. But this Zeus had a certain charm, humor,and a touch of pathos going for him. More than anything, I was fascinated that he would fly down from Mt. Olympus to partake of white bread when he has his choice of nibbling on the best San Fran French pastry anytime he's bored.

My first date with Zeus was somewhat bizarre. We met at the hotel he was staying at in my city. Anxiety washed over me driving to my first potential hotel liaison. Although we'd communicated enough through email and phone conversations to ease my initial reservations about doing this, I couldn't shake the feeling that it made me feel like a hooker. No matter how liberated I feel as a woman, cultural conditioning sometimes dictates that my desires are subject to harsher scrutiny and aspersions. Being a sexual woman does not afford me the same approval men receive for their 'conquests'. This sometimes produces ambivalence in me for enjoying my sexuality and having the same sexual rights as men. Men share that ambivalence,too. Though they say they want a woman to be sexual, they are the first to condemn women as a slut and whore when they are.

Our meeting began in the hotel bar. Zeus does not drink but I had a glass of wine. He appeared in human form with his rather drab athletic wear. Considering his background as the king of San Francisco law, I would have expected something more god-like. Politely he asked if I'd like to go up to his room and I did so willingly. We talked for hours. Zeus confided to me he was dying of pancreatic cancer. Being an indomitable lawyer of high regard, he was waging a war against his final opponent. At some point well after midnight I became not just tired but totally exhausted emotionally and physically. All this added up to ambivalence of how to respond erotically to a dying man. This set off a scenario of a irresistible force hitting an unmovable object. A tense standoff ensued which had me thinking this was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. As I hastened to leave, I shot Zeus a look of abject confusion. Surprisingly, he dropped his armor and visibly softened his stance. He lightly grabbed me by the arm and asked me not to leave. I did not comply. Again, he pulled my arm and, in an contrite voice, asked me not to go. I stayed.

After the fiasco of being emotionally paralyzed, Zeus was able to assuage my emotional numbness, cut through my exhaustion, and settle me down. What ensued could only be described as Cirque du Soleil sex. For a dying man, he had plenty of libidinous energy. Who knew the power and allure of sex could bring Lazarus back to life. I'm talking about me here. The fated Zeus resurrected my ability to overcome my apprehension, teaching me that life isn't always diminished by the process of dying. Sometimes life does save the best for last.

Zeus has visited me a couple of times since our first encounter. Each time he reveals a bit more of himself, giving me insight into his 'human' behavior. His Aquarian nature lends himself to be like the Fool in Tarot: he follows a path only he can see. Almost defying description, he is a study in contrasts. His god-like attorney swagger does not intimidate me. Underneath, he is a fragile human just like the rest of us.