Rape reality
Men, not women, need to be taught lessons
Rape is an act of violence,
aggression, and power in which a
woman is forced to have sex through
verbal coercion, threats, physical
restraint and/or violence.
Allow me to enter the world of
reality, the sick truth on rape.
One in four college women have
either been raped or suffered an
attempted rape. Eighty-four percent
of the women who were raped knew
their assailants, and 57 percent of the
rapes occurred on a date.
If you feel that I am bombarding
you with statistics, just hang in there,
this is only the beginning.
One in 12 male students surveyed
had committed acts that met the
legal definition of rape. Every
minute in the U.S., there arc 1.3
forcible rapes of adult women; 78
women are forcibly raped each hour.
Every day, 1,871 women are
forcibly raped (FBI, 1991).
In one study of datc/acquaintance
rape, 56 percent of the women had
been raped by a date, 30 percent by
a friend and 11 percent by a boy
friend.
Of all violent crimes, sexual
assault is the least likely to be
reported (FBI).
Only 10 percent of rapes are ever
reported to the police (FBI).
Thirty-three percent of males
surveyed said they would COMMIT
rape if they definitely could escape
detection.
We must begin to understand why
rape is so widespread. Take a close
look at our ideals on power, gender
and sex.
Women arc taught to avoid rape,
whether it’s by having mace spray,
screaming fire, using car keys or
carrying a handgun.
I find defense motives quite
ironic, teaching women to defend
themselves against rape is not the
solution. It’s the men who need the
lesson.
Bob Ray
“teaching women to
defend themselves
against rape is not the
solution. It's the men
who need the lesson. ”
The only person who ever told me
not to force myself on a women was
my mother. Hats off to her.
Not my grade school, not my
junior high and definitely not my
high school.
Women shouldn’t have to be
taught to defend themselves, and
they shouldn’t be afraid every time
they walk down a street after the sun
goes down.
Instead, our society should be
teaching males to have some respect
for women, to take “No” for an
answer and accept a woman’s
decision without blinking an eye.
Being turned down when you ask
for sex is not a rejection of you
personally. Women who say “No” to
sex are not rejecting the person; they
are expressing their desire not to
participate in a single act. A male’s
desires may seem uncontainablc, but
listen guys, actions are well within
your control.
If you are a male and if you have
raped, you are the lowest possible
criminal in our society.
I’m sure that every rapist would
be pleased to hear that his mother or
sister had been raped.
Take a minute, imagine your
sister, excited to leave home and
come to college. She’s walking back
from the library en route to her
dorm. Unexpectedly, a man appears
and approaches. He pushes your
sister to the ground. She is crying,
and is unable to front a defense, for
she is smaller and he is violently
repulsive. Then it’s over — for him.
For her, the trauma is just beginning.
The next time you feel like
violating a woman and ripping her
pride and soul from her, think of
your mother or sister.
Rape cannot be tolerated in this
society, it is the sickest, most
egotistical and most violent act
around.
Those who are convicted should
be sentenced to years of torture. The
victim endures a personal hell that
will exist somewhere inside for the
rest of her life.
My anger for men who rape or
sexually abuse women is deep. I am
going to do everything in my power
to help the UNL Women’s Center on
the issue of rape. If any male reading
this feels the same way, please
contact the Women’s Center in the
Nebraska Union.
We must educate boys, young
men and older men on this epidemic.
Males cannot get away with rape —
it’s a crime, and the malefactor
should be thrown behind bars
(maybe there, they’ll get an under
standing of how it feels).
I can’t express how important it is
for women to report the crime.
Please, no matter what the situation,
if you are physically degraded, call
the police immediately so society
can put the bastard away.
Ray Is a senior broadcasting major and
a Dally Nebraskan colnmaist
Don Juan
Reflections on whoredom, romance, love
Notes on Being a Whore:
To some people, sex is a grim
subject, fraught with peril. Not to
me. I have a thing about sex.
Not that I’ve ever been a whore,
but I’d have liked to have been. A
friend of mine, something of a
professional, makes it look like a
noble occupation.
I’m not talking about prostitution,
mind you, just regular whoredom:
sexual partners strung between
destinations like telephone wires —
and oneself, bouncing along those
wires, a happy, unconscious impulse.
Sounds like fun.
But I begin to realize there are
limits to being a whore. These are
exactly demarcated by something
you might call “fidelity” or simply
“commitment.”
Not “honor,” certainly. Who ever
thought whoredom dis-honorable?
Some clumsy moralist, maybe. But
sticking with one person over a long
lifetime: now there’s an eccentric
idea — at least it has seemed so to
me.
It only now begins to appear as a
positive thing and not the mere
absence of freedom I’d always
imagined it to be.
Is it possible to marry and not
mummify?
On Romance:
I never loved any woman so
tenderly as when she was far away or
loved another man.
Something about distance,
whether real or emotional, grants a
greater latitude to feeling, more
endurance to love.
Women already married, women
too young to touch, women — for
one reason or another — forever
closed to me are the best, most
desirable women in the world.
And the best among them are the
ones literally “too good” for me,
women whose sensibilities and tastes
are too refined for this coarse,
profane man. I love ‘em.
Mark Baldridge
“I'm no twinkie
romantic: I idealize
women, but maybe not
the way you think. ”
In admitting this, of course, I
admit to moral turpitude. You see
before you a failure of the great
domestication program of the
American Male, ugly stepchild of
the sexual counter-revolution.
I’m no twinkie romantic: I
idealize women, but maybe not the
way you think.
Making the most of my disability,
I write exciting and idiosyncratic
love letters. And every few months I
call up all the women I love who still
like to talk to me. That’s quite a few,
actually; I talk a good game.
That is, I’m a student of the art of
love-talk, an almost entirely forgot
ten craft. .
(The key, it seems to me, is to
avoid falling into repetitive phrases:
“Don’t be cruel. You dance divinely.
Gee, your hair smells terrific.”
You’ve got to keep on your toes
is all; associate a little. Be inventive
and funny—“Your elbows are
lovely in this neon glow, my dear”
—a sense of humor is the best
aphrodisiac you can buy without a
prescription.
But I didn’t come here to give
lessons—we were talking about
my, you know, problem.)
Love:
I’m not beautiful enough to turn
heads. I’m short, balding and as
furry as an unpecled Eskimo; jokes
about guys with hair on their backs
make me mad.
I have it in me to play the
lothario, but I look like Dr. Jekyll.
On the plus side, I can be
charming as hell when I’m upwind
and have a little juice in me.
I’m relaxed and spontaneous in
bed, and I know how to take turns.
And I’m a pretty liberated guy —
for a white boy. I obviously don’t
feel terribly embarrassed talking like
this in public (is this mike on?) and
I’m a sympathetic and intelligent
listener.
So what’s not to love?
I myself love a great variety of
different kinds of people, women
among them. No particular type —
loud or quiet, athletic or indolent,
blonde or brunette — has ever
snagged my entire attention.
1 do have to admit to a bottomless
taste for great physical beauty and
engaging conversation, but I’ve been
able to forgo even those for love.
What matters most in love, as in
life, is imagination. Those who lack
imagination should travel to make up
for it.
Beyond that it’s the differences
between people that arc the most
interesting; their differences from
oneself and from others one has loved
makes individual lovers stand out.
Now, someone will write in and
say how they don’t care how I live
my life, what my feelings are, who I
love — I should just keep all that to
myself.
To that person I say, please,
please, just never read my column
again.
I write about myself. What else is
there?
Baldridge Is a sealor Eagllsh major aad
a Dally Nebraska! col am list.
Mom bugged about
modem manipulation
There have been times when
I’ve said that home computers are
overrated, that most household
tasks can be done as simply with
a phone, pencil and paper, a
pocket calculator and a simple
ledger.
But I have to admit that I’ve
just been told about a home
computer being used in a way that
is impressive and unique.
The story was told to me by
Marcia, a divorced woman who
lives in rural Tennessee with her
11-year-old son.
I mention her divorce because
it is essential to the story, as you
will see.
Marcia’s ex-husband is an
engineer, a very smart guy, who is
very proficient with computers.
So one recent day, he came up
with the idea of buying his son a
home computer. That way his boy
could get a leg up on the wonders
of the technical age that will be
part of his world.
And it also would allow him
and his son to go on-line with
their modems and type fathcr
and-son chats whenever they felt
like it.
Of course, they could do the
same thing with a telephone, but a
computer has a greater mystique.
Although Marcia has little
regard for her ex — they split up
less than two years after getting
hitched — she thought the
computer would be a good thing
for her son.
So after being assured that the
boy would not be exposed to
some of the creeps who prowl the
Internet, she OK’d the plan and
her ex came over and set up their
son’s new machine.
And sure enough, just as
planned, father and son were soon
exchanging e-mail or getting
together for live on-line keyboard
chats.
Now, isn’t that a pleasant
story? Even a little heartwarm
ing?
What’s that you say? It’s kind
of mundane? No big deal. Others
have done the same thing.
You’re right. There is more to
the story. There had better be or
I’ll have a lot of blank space
below.
One day, the son came home
after visiting his dad’s place. He
casually mentioned: “Momma,
guess what? I heard your voice
through my daddy’s computer.”
Marcia said: “What are you
talking about?”
And as she tells it: “He told me
there was a speaker and that
somehow he could use his
computer and my son’s computer
to spy on me.
“Well, I didn’t know a dam
thing about computers. But I’m
no fool, and I’m a fast learner. So
I did some research.
“And it can be done and he
was doing it. When he set up our
son’s computer, he pul in the
equipment and programs to do it.
From his computer, he can dial
and take control of my son’s
computer. Then my son’s
computer picks up sounds in my
house and transmits them back to
his computer, where they come
out of his computer.
“When he set up our son’s
machine, he brought manuals and
left them here. So I looked at
them. And I found his notations in
the margin for how to set this
kind of stuff up.
“See, he’s brilliant in some
ways but he’s an idiot in others.
And leaving those manuals
around shows what kind of idiot
he can be.
Mike Royko
“One day, the son
came home after
visiting his dad's
place. He casually
mentioned: ‘Momma,
guess what? I heard
your voice through my
daddy's computer.'"
“So I packed the whole
computer, everything, and took it
to a computer place and they
found everything. They took out
everything that made the spying
possible.
“Since then, I found out that
there is a divorced men’s group
on the Internet, and they give
each other advice about how, if a
man is in a custody battle for
children, this is a way to get the
goods on your wife.
“They give information on
what equipment to buy and how
to set it up. See, he wants custody
of our son, and that’s how he
found out about this stuff.
“Of course, he denied it and
demanded that the computer be
put back in my house. But I
wouldn’t do it until I had legal
safeguards that he wouldn’t try
something like that. And I still
have the eavesdropping stuff and
manuals as evidence if I ever
need it.
“Actually, it’s a form of
stalking. What’s the difference
between eavesdropping like that
or looking in my window? Yes,
he’s always stalked me, and so he
found another way to do it.
“The reason I’m telling you
this is that computers can be
wonderful things. But people
should be aware that they can be
dangerous, too. In a situation
where a divorce is acrimonious,
they can be an effective form of
eavesdropping.”
When Marcia told me all of
this, I admit to having been a bit
skeptical.
But then I called one of the
experts at Elek-Tek, which has
the sharpest personnel of all the
big computer stores.
“Yes, it is definitely possible,”
he said. “It’s potentially a very
scary thing. If she has a voice
data modem on the computer,
what happens is it has a duplex
speaker phone on it. By accessing
her computer and activating the
modem and speaker phone,
anything in microphone range can
be picked up and the person on
the end can hear it.
“And there is technology that
you can buy to activate the other
person’s modem and speaker
phone. It’s expensive but it’s easy
to get.”
So today’s advice: If you are
divorced and are going to play
kissy-face with a new flame,
maybe you better not only pull
the shades but go pull the power
plug on your kid’s computer. Big
Daddy might be listening.
(C) 1996 Tribute Media Services
t V ♦ t
