Quilts and Queers

I need feminism

because I shouldn’t have to justify supporting equal rights. 

goldenheartedrose:

So since draggle–Ella is getting asks and borderline hate, including one specific one that painted me as a bad autistic because I don’t coddle self proclaimed “allies “, I thought I would take a moment to address what people think of me.

First of all, let me say that I think the reason other people are pointing fingers at me in other people’s inboxes is because I’ve turned anon off.  Believe it or not, I didn’t do that because of autism-related hatred I received.  Well, not directly, anyhow.  It was fandom-related, and after receiving several threats on anon, I knew the best thing was that if someone was harassing me, I’d at least like to know who they are to some extent.  If they can do it on anon, they must be brave enough to do so under their own name (pseudonymn or not).

I am not a perfect person.  I do not have the mental energy to always eloquently respond to some of the absolute atrocious statements that are made in the autism tag.  I am harsh.  I know that.  I can come across as rude or yelling.  Guess what? This is how I come across in meatspace, too! I’m often told to “stop yelling” when I wasn’t intending to yell (and it seems that only NT/allistic people perceive me that way; the autistic people in my life tend to not think I’m all that loud or blunt).  

I cannot sit back and see erroneous statements in the autism tag and not say something.  Do I address all of them? No, of course not.  But I do address the ones that I can, and sometimes, I’m not very nice about it.  I don’t think that’s a fault, because I feel no reason to coddle or protect your feelings when you’re denying my humanity or the humanity of people like me.  You’re denying the rights of people like me — the right to privacy, the right to a proper education, the right to not be bullied or abused, the right to be seen as fully human.  

I’m sorry if you don’t like it.  Your snark and complaints of me hurting your feelings because you didn’t like what I had to say doesn’t mean I’m going to stop.

My hope one day? Is that the actuallyautistic tag isn’t needed as much, or at the very least, the autism tag is used by mostly autistics with a few allistics who talk about their autistic family members and friends without infantilizing them, without talking about them as though they’re burdens, without comparing autism to cancer, and also without using them as inspiration porn (aka, “zomg! Soooo inspirational! An autistic person did SOMETHING!”).  Talk about them as though they are people because they ARE.  Verbal communication or not, ability to bathe independently or not, autistic people deserve to be treated with respect.  JUST like you do.

I want a better world for me, and for my kids.  Is that so much to ask?

BEAUTIFUL. Bolded for the parts I relate to. 

Invalid critiques of feminism:

BUT WHAT ABOUT TEH MENS. 

Women belong in the kitchen. 

Anything that defies reality and facts, including I don’t see gender/ we live in a world without sexism. 

Valid critiques of feminism: 

Tends to be focused on white, able-bodied, cisgender, middle class women and have a serious intersection problem that needs to be fixed. 

I am a natural person too.

zenx49:

snatching-fedoras:

So can you cis people just not use “natural (wo)man” to describe being cis? Trans* people and POC of pre/non-colonial gender are also natural.

Here’s a recap of terms that, when used in place of “cis”, reinforce cissexism and transmisogyny:
Biological

Normal

Regular

Natal

Natural 

Genetic

I’m not sure I agree perfectly. (Though normal and regular definitely don’t shine well.)

I get this unwelcoming feeling every time I see someone trans speaking about cis-gender people as a whole, or the things they’ve put up with. I don’t even like using the word because it feels like I’m calling someone a n-word or a slur for Lation@s. Trans have been using cis in their rant speeches in a very derogatory sense and calling it social justice. We basically look as bad as any of them who chose to be discriminatory or derogatory towards other trans people.

Because of that, I don’t even bother calling people cis because I feel it’s degrading. (Thank trans justice groups for the term cis-scum.) I’d rather just say Male and/or Female. It’s not that hard and it’s less alienating. I’m pretty sure Males and Females could appreciate that.

“You cis people.” Word it differently, “You white people”, “You black people”, “You tanned people”, “You Biological people”, “You Normal people”, “You Regular People”, “You Natal people”, “You Natural people”, “You Genetic people”, do you see what you’ve created? Just another reflection of hatred of anyone different than you, wrapped up in a shorter, three-letter word. Congratulations, your personal social justice conquests have done nothing more than make transgendered individuals appear to be nothing more than a benign, hateful component of society.

Honestly?

I don’t give a shit if they feel insulted. Cisgender is not actually a slur. It has not historically been used to oppress people (and for the record, the Die Cis Scum movement? Not actually oppressive to cis folks). And straight people disliked being called heterosexual when the word was first made up. No one likes a label, because then it means that other people with labels might actually be human. 

And much as I don’t hate everyone cis, I’m angry. I’m so angry. I’m angry that the transgender day of remembrance has to exist. Not that it does exist, because I believe we should honor the people who are trans* and who have died in hate crimes, but because it has to stop. 

And we’ve tried peace. We’ve tried negotiating and talking and trying to pass a hate crimes bill (thanks HRC for backing us up on that one, by the way, real helpful to get trans* folks thrown out of that) and we’ve tried educating the public. We yell, we protest but people go, 

That’s so weird! 

They’re so weird!

Ew, they’re gender variant!

And on, and on, and on. And I’m tired of all of the bullshit. So I might say die cis scum (or grue scum, hat tip Andythenerd for that one), because I’m tired and angry. But I’m not telling all cis people to go die in a hole, I’m telling all of the people who would kill me, who might rape me or one of my siblings, I’m telling all of those guys to go die in a hole. 

And really? I’m not going to go out and kill them. I’m not going to somehow magically take over the media to portray all cis people as terrible, to make jokes out of their struggle and be extraordinarily disrespectful about what they go through as human beings. I’m not going to take over the health care system, to specifically ban procedures from their insurance that would dramatically improve the quality of their life. 

I’m gonna yell at them, if they’re really being assholes, and I think they can take a little yelling. 

I’m not going to pander to their delicate feelings, I’m not going to stand idly by and try to come up a label that is somehow more accepting to them when I inherited these labels and had absolutely no choice in the matter for how I’m viewed or seen. I don’t give a shit about their feelings, I just want them to stop killing and raping trans* people, and if they’re not going to do that because I want the people who are killing and raping people like me to go die in a hole, the world is a more fucked up place than I imagine. 

(Source: hollowpikeman)

I debated whether or not to share this story. (tw SA, harassment)

unwinona:

And then I debated whether or not to put it on Tumblr…but I decided it was important.  Because in my own way, I can (unfortunately) point out exactly what is wrong with men when they don’t realize how hard it is to be a woman.  How we do not have equal opportunities and freedoms in everyday life.  How most men, even good caring men, have no clue what we go through on a daily basis just trying to live our lives.

So here goes.

I often ride the Metro when I commute from North Hollywood to Long Beach in order to save money.  I bring a book, pointedly wear a ring on my ring finger to imply I’m married (I’m not) and keep to myself.  

Without fail, I am aggressively approached by men on at least half of these commutes.  The most common approach is to walk up to where I am sitting with body language that practically screams LEAVE ME ALONE and sit down next to me or as close to me as possible, when the train is not crowded and there are many empty rows.  Sometimes an overly friendly arm is draped over the railing behind me, or they attempt to lean in close to talk to me as if we are old friends.  Without fail, the man or boy in question will lean to close and ask me

What are you reading?

Is that a good book?

What’s that book about?

This serves the double purpose of getting my attention and trapping me in a conversation.  If I stop reading the book I enjoy to talk to you, random stranger, you hit on me or just stay way too close to me.  If I tell you to leave me alone, you get mad at me.  Because I somehow, as a woman, owe you conversation.

Tonight when I boarded the train in Long Beach at 10:30pm, it started up right away.  I was not on the train more than three minutes before three boys who looked eighteen sat in the row behind me and leaned over the seats into my personal space, close enough to breathe on me.  The one with his arm draped over onto the back of my seat asked me—surprise— “what are you reading?”  I went through my usual routine.  I told them loudly and firmly that I wanted to be left alone to read my book.  They got angry.  I was told “Why are you going to be like that?  I just wanted to talk!”  His friends start laughing at me and they don’t move, telling me come on! and why are you gonna be like that? until I tell them to leave me the fuck alone, stand up, and move to the front of the car near the three other people on the train, a couple and a business man in a suit.  They spend the next two stops shouting at me from the back of the car, alternating between trying to sound flirtatious and making fun of me, shouting “I bet she’s reading Stephanie Meyer!  I bet she’s reading Twilight or some shit!  You reading Twilight or some shit?”

They exit the train at the next stop, and I’m relieved.  The train is going out of service at the next station, so we all exit to board a new train to Los Angeles.  As we board, the business man steps aside to let me go through the door first and asks me if those guys were bothering me.  I say yes, that it happens all the time, and he tells he’ll beat them up for me if they come back.  He is a nice person who talks to me like I’m a human being instead of a walking pair of tits, and I make a mental note:  This is how a real man talks to a woman on a train.

The business man and the couple exit our new Blue Line train an exit or so later, and I think my night is ending on a good note.  A seemingly normal man enters the train with his bicycle.  At this point I am three rows from the front of the car, another man was sitting near the back of the car, and the rest of the car is empty.  Bicycle Man walks halfway down the row, and settles into the seat directly opposite me.  Perfect, I think.  Twice in one night.

It’s not the first time I’ve been bothered multiple times.  As such, I’m still amped from the teenagers on the first train.  So when this man leans across the aisle into my personal space and asks me, yes, what are you reading, I assertively but calmly tell him to please leave me alone, I am reading.  The man stands up, moving to the front and muttering angrily over his shoulder that it isn’t his fault I’m pretty.

Yes.  Exactly that.  I am the bad person in this situation because somehow this is all my fault.  I started this by being attractive.  I am making a mental note to bitch about this to my friends later.  I go so far as to write it down so I know I’m remembering it properly.  

It is at this exact moment I realize Bicycle Man is not taking it well.  The seemingly annoying but normal man a moment before is now talking to himself, becoming agitated.  In my years of being bothered by total strangers, I have learned how to hold a book and seem to be reading while taking in everything around me.  He is glaring at me, and says out loud in an angry baby talk voice “PLEASELEAVEMEALONEI’MREADING.  PLEASE LEAVE ME ALOOOONE.”

Then he’s up out of his seat and things go from bad to worse.  He begins pacing back and forth in front of his bike, alternating between screaming something about his mother being dead and calling me a slut, a hoe, a bitch.  I am frozen in place.  There is one other person in the car, and I’m not sure if trying to change seats will draw more attention to me or less. I trust my instincts and show no fear, doing my best to appear to be calmly reading my book, never once looking up to acknowledge the abuse he’s hurling at me.  There are four stops left until we reach the main downtown station where there are lights and security officers.  Those four stops are virtually abandoned, and I have no guarantee that leaving to wait for another train won’t motivate him to leave the train as well, leaving us potentially alone at a metro station platform just outside of Compton.  I’m frozen in place, trying to plan what I’m going to do if he decides to take all this rage directly to me.  I’m ready to kick him, scream, make enough noise that he panics and flees.  

At this point he’s punching the walls and doors of the train, screaming at me.  He stares me full in the face and screams

SUCK MY DICK, BITCH

YOU BITCH

YOU STUPID BITCH

YOU GODDAMN HO

IF I HAD A GUN I’D SHOOT YOU

I WOULD FUCKING KILL YOU BITCH

This went on for two stops.  No one came to see what was happening.  The man in the last row was as frozen as I was.  I’m not angry he didn’t come to my defense.  He was smaller, older, and frailer-looking than I was.  Again, I was worried if I got up, I would be turning my back on him to walk down the aisle.  In the state he was in, I had no guarantee it wouldn’t get physical, and I had more physical strength with my back to the window and feet in kicking position where I was.  If he had chosen to assault me, I would only be making it easier for him by standing up and putting myself directly in his path.  On and on, over and over, he screamed at me, screamed at his dead mother, screamed at me again.

The moment we reached the downtown station, I was out the door and down the stairs.  I still had to catch a connecting train to North Hollywood, and made sure there was no sign of Bicycle Man before I entered the car.  That’s when I finally starting shaking, and almost threw up.  By the time I exited the Red Line and reached my car I could barely breathe and my heart was pounding out of my chest.  Even now, in my own home, my hands are still shaking and for some reason the stress has made my back muscles feel cold and numb.  From all the tension, I can only assume.  I can’t eat anything, I still feel like I’m going to vomit, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t cried so much, so hard I still have the headache.

So when people (men) want to talk about “legitimate” forms of assault, tell girls they should be nice to strangers and give men the benefit of a doubt, tell them to consider it a compliment, tell them to ignore the bad behavior of men, I want them to be forced to feel, for even one minute, what it feels like to have so much verbal hatred and physical intimidation thrown at them for nothing more than being female and not wanting to share.  

I just wanted to read my book.

It’s not my fault I’m pretty.

And this, ladies and gentleman, is why I feel like a jerk face when I compliment a woman on her coat. Or her shoes. I like shoes. And coats. 

But I also like women, and part of that is respecting them. Their space, their wants, their needs. Their safety. 

Women don’t owe me shit. They don’t owe me conversation, a smile. At most, they owe me respecting my personal space, and they want the same courtesy.