Donald Trump's shocking boasts about grabbing women "by the pussy" inspired a million women to share their own experiences of sexual assault on Twitter with the hashtag #notokay. Blogger Amy Abrahams was one of them. Here is her message to Trump, fellow victims and her teenage self.
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<p class="Body">In the wake of Donald Trump's tape scandal and the ongoing global horror at
how the Republican candidate could ever have been considered worthy
to preside over the United States in the first place, one
particular voice critical of Trump's obscenities caught me
off-guard.
<p class="Body">In a response to Trump's boasts about grabbing
women "by the pussy" and his perpetuation of rape culture, writer
Kelly Oxford Tweeted:
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<p class="Body">"Women: tweet me your first assaults. They aren't
just stats. I'll go first.
<p class="Body">Old man on city bus grabs my "pussy" and smiles at
me, I'm 12."
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<p class="Body">Some 14 hours later, millions of women had shared
their own experiences of sexual assault. I saw the stories
retweeting on my timeline and felt sick and sad and angry that so
many women had experienced such hideous things, but viewed the
streams of violations and violence with a small patch of distance.
And then it hit me - this has happened to me too. But until now,
I'd never considered it assault. I'd always believed, just a little
bit, it had been my fault.
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<p class="Body">I was 15 years old, in a London nightclub.
Underage, looking underage too, with goth eyeliner, 90s platform
boots, and a radiating naivety. I thought I was cool, yet was full
of teenage self-loathing - a trail of scars on my arm to prove it.
A man approaches me, he's at least 20 years old, if not 25 or more.
We chat and dance, I am drunk, and then he kisses me. I allow this.
But suddenly, right there on the dance floor, he puts his hands
down into my knickers and touches me.
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<p class="Body">Even through the fog of that night's alcohol, and
the fog of time that's passed since then, I remember sharply that I
did not like this, that I felt uncomfortable, but that I did not
know how to react. Then he takes me to an area tucked away, pushes
me to the ground, and gets on top of me. I panic, wriggle free,
find my friend and run out of the room, out of the club and down
the street. I don't look back, I worry he will be angry.
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<p class="Body">For so long, women have been misled into taking the
blame and shame onto ourselves. We presume we have done wrong. From
men touching our bottoms in the street to not leaving us alone
while we're waiting at bus stops, we all experience everyday
micro-aggressions that make us feel frightened, but which also make
us numb to the severity of what is going on.
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<p class="Body">I thought that experience in the nightclub was my
fault for a long time. I thought I had invited and ALLOWED it. I
rail against sexism and misogyny and abuse against women, but only
a few years ago did it click that this experience was Not My Fault.
Only later still did I realise the problem was HIS. And only today
- 20 years later - do I look objectively at it enough and see that
being touched without consent and being pushed to the ground is an
assault. It is not OK.
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<p class="Body">Scrolling through Kelly Oxford's timeline, the
realisation hit me hard. Because if it wasn't 'assault', what had I
thought it was? A miscommunication? A man who got a little
hot-headed and carried away? Just 'one of those things'? No. To
give it a name is to face it head on. I don't have lasting pain
from the incident, but to say what it really was finally clarifies
the experience for me. I had not invited it. And I didn't deserve
it. It was assault.
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<p class="Body">Nearly six years ago, I wrote a short play that
took this experience as its springboard because I knew I had
something to say about it. The play is full of dated references to
Facebook and Bieber and Twilight, but at its core, the
issue is just as relevant. Teenage girls increasingly disbelieve
their right to respect, sexual pleasure and intimacy. Trolling,
abuse, sexual violence against women is an everyday occurrence.
Because I wrote this play a long time ago, it does nothing but sit
on my computer, so I'm sharing it on my blog here. It's there if you want to read it or use
it.
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<p class="Body">If you're a teenage girl, see if it resonates. See
if things have changed. Maybe it's patronising and girls today can
tell me their experiences are far from similar. It's barely ten
minutes long. It won't change the world. It's just some dialogue.
But it's there for you, if you want it.
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<p class="Body">I am so lucky that all my long-term relationships
have been with kind and respectful men. I feel grateful for their
support and help in my life. But I know full well how we are often
led to believe that we should just put up with shit, that we
deserve what they give us, not what we want for ourselves.
About a year ago, I was in the audience of a talk by the brilliant
writer and activist Eve Ensler. She was asked how we can help young
boys understand better how to treat girls. She said it wasn't just
a matter of learning about consent, it was a matter of learning
about intimacy.
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<p class="Body">This stayed with me - we must continue to educate
about the importance of appreciating the other person's comfort and
pleasure, of knowing the joy and importance of closeness, of
learning what it really means to value another human being and
respect their boundaries. We must be able to say what we want - and
not take on shame for our bodies for just existing, or for how
other people react to them. That is not our problem. It's their
problem. I just can't believe it took me so long to realise this
about something in my own life, too.
<p class="Body">Got something to say? Let Amy know on Twitter @Amy_Abrahams
<p class="Body">To read Amy's play and check out more blog posts,
visit her website at amyabrahams.com/blog/
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