Es ist Zeit, dass Rape Jokes keinen Applaus und keine Plattform mehr bekommen wie: „Zieh dich aus du süße Maus und lässt du mich nicht ran, dann…“ 11. November 2018, Freiburger Kleinkunstpreis.
Im November 2019 bei einem Comedy Slam in der MensaBar steht das hier auf der Bühne:
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Comedy Slam in Freiburg: Eine Tinder Geschichte, sie weit über 50, er Student, die einzige im Umkreis, irgendetwas mit Viagra, die Pointe der Geschichte: Nach 2 Stunden Penetration ist sie dann auch mal aufgewacht. Man nennt das Vergewaltigung und auch wenn das ein Witz sein soll, dann ist es ein Rape Joke. Manche Leute konnten lachen. Der "Künstler" bekam Applaus. Mir war schlecht. Warum geht so etwas noch auf Bühnen? Und wie lange noch? I AM SO SICK OF IT #askingforafriend #iamnotovaryacting #stoprapejokes #stoprapeculture @vulvinchen @antiflirting
Rape Jokes sind Teil der Rape Culture „also eine Kultur, welche die Gesellschaft so strukturiert, dass sie Vergewaltigungen und sexualisierte Gewalt ermöglicht, toleriert und verharmlost (…)“ („Perlen Deutscher Rape Culture“, Nils Pickert, 20.01.2016)
Es macht mich wütend, dass wir 2019 noch starke Stimmen wie Chanel Miller brauchen um auf diese Rape Culture aufmerksam zu machen:
„How old are you? How much do you weigh? What did you eat that day? Well what did you have for dinner? Who made dinner? Did you drink with dinner? No, not even water? When did you drink? How much did you drink? What container did you drink out of? Who gave you the drink? How much do you usually drink? Who dropped you off at this party? At what time? But where exactly? What were you wearing? Why were you going to this party? What’ d you do when you got there? Are you sure you did that? But what time did you do that? What does this text mean? Who were you texting? When did you urinate? Where did you urinate? With whom did you urinate outside? Was your phone on silent when your sister called? Do you remember silencing it? Really because on page 53 I’d like to point out that you said it was set to ring. Did you drink in college? You said you were a party animal? How many times did you black out? Did you party at frats? Are you serious with your boyfriend? Are you sexually active with him? When did you start dating? Would you ever cheat? Do you have a history of cheating? What do you mean when you said you wanted to reward him? Do you remember what time you woke up? Were you wearing your cardigan? What color was your cardigan? Do you remember any more from that night? No? Okay, well, we’ll let Brock fill it in.
I was pummeled with narrowed, pointed questions that dissected my personal life, love life, past life, family life, inane questions, accumulating trivial details to try and find an excuse for this guy who had me half naked before even bothering to ask for my name. After a physical assault, I was assaulted with questions designed to attack me, to say see, her facts don’t line up, she’s out of her mind, she’s practically an alcoholic, she probably wanted to hook up, he’s like an athlete right, they were both drunk, whatever, the hospital stuff she remembers is after the fact, why take it into account, Brock has a lot at stake so he’s having a really hard time right now.
And then it came time for him to testify and I learned what it meant to be revictimized. I want to remind you, the night after it happened he said he never planned to take me back to his dorm. He said he didn’t know why we were behind a dumpster. He got up to leave because he wasn’t feeling well when he was suddenly chased and attacked. Then he learned I could not remember.“ („Here Is The Powerful Letter The Stanford Victim Read Aloud To Her Attacker“, BuzzFeed, Katie J.M. Baker, 03.06.2016)
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"Brocks Namen werde ich verwenden, aber im Grunde könnte er auch Brad oder Brody oder Benson lauten, er tut nichts zur Sache. Es geht hier nicht um eine individuelle Bedeutung, sondern um ihre Gesamtheit, um all die Personen, die ein kaputtes System aufrechterhalten. (…) Während ich ihre Namen größtenteils ungenannt lasse, nenne ich nun endlich meinen eigenen Namen. Ich heiße Chanel. Ich bin ein Opfer. Ich habe kein Problem mit diesem Wort, lediglich mit der Vorstellung es sei alles was ich bin. Allerdings bin ich nicht Brock Turners Opfer. Von ihm bin ich gar nichts. Ich gehöre ihm nicht. (…) Ich schreibe die Betroffene, aber ob ihr Mann seid, Transgender, euch weder als männlich oder weiblich betrachtet, oder wie auch immer ihr euch identifiziert und in dieser Welt existieren möchtet, wenn euer Leben von sexueller Gewalt berührt wurde, dann möchte ich euch beschützen. Und ich hoffe jenen, die mich Tag für Tag aus der Dunkelheit gehoben haben, hiermit Danke sagen zu könnnen." ❤ ("Ich habe einen Namen", Chanel Miller, S.8-9.) @chanelmillerknowmyname @marga_owski @ullsteinbuchverlage #knowmyname #chanelmiller #ichhabeeinennamen
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"Eloquent. Eindringlich. Herzzerreißend. Tiefgehend. Mutig. Überzeugend. Eine neue Heldin. (…) Ich glaube, wenn ich das vor Jahren gelesen hätte, hätte ich mich nicht so schuldig gefühlt, sondern ermächtigt, bestätigt, und ganz einfach mehr wert als Mensch." ❤ (Chanel Miller, "Ich habe einen Namen", S. 334) Während ich diese Zeilen lese weine ich in meinen veganen Döner und vergesse Raum und Zeit um mich herum. Ich laufe durch die Stadt, denke "Du und du und du auch? Wie viele Menschen sind von sexualisierter Gewalt betroffen? Wie viele sind wir?" Und während ich das denke, sehe ich eine junge Frau an der Uni. Ich kenne ihre Geschichte, die erste Geschichte die mir erzählt wurde. Eine der Geschichten, die ich noch immer in mir trage. Du bist nicht alleine! ❤ Ich setze mich hin. Es ist kalt. Menschen laufen vorbei. "Ich möchte euch allen eure Geschichten zurückgeben.", denke ich. We all have a voice. We can't stay silent. Things will change. #knowmyname #ichhabeeinennamen #dubistnichtalleine #schweigenbrechen #chanelmiller #betheswede @chanelmillerknowmyname @ullsteinbuchverlage
(TRIGGER warning: sexual violence) This is a mail to an institution in Denmark. They did not reply me since August)
„Hej, My name is Jorinde. I came to Brenderup in 2013 as a part of the work camp where we constructed the ground of the yard with stones. At the time I was 18 and had spent some months at home due to a chronic muscle disease. I love Denmark and being able to talk Danish and get into contact with Danes was great.
N., a Canadian guy, was part of the workcamp group. I don’t know exactly how old he was, but close to 30 I guess.
He was fun, outgoing and seemed to be a nice guy. I liked his humor.
When the stone construction was too heavy for my muscles the two of us started making those flower boxes of wood. The first weird thing happened, when N. pointed to a porn picture in the small room where all the tools were and said: „This could be your sister.“ I remember other men around us laughed about that joke.
He liked to sleep outside and once I joined him with my camping mat. We talked quite a lot, nothing happened and I trusted him. The second night outside he massaged my back, which is one of the most triggering things for me right now… but at the time it helped with my muscle pain.
Then he kissed me. It felt nice at the time. I still trusted him and nothing more happened.
One day we went for a walk in the forest, he tried to get away from the path, holding my hand. When we reached a place far away from any path he asked me to give him a blowjob. I told him that I had never done this before, but he insisted.
He grabbed my head and hold it, while coming deep inside me, although I was chocking several times. Writing this is triggering, but I hope you understand that experiencing this as a 18 year old who has never had sex was traumatizing. Afterwards he tried to touch me more, but did hurt me and I managed to make him stop.
He did not threaten me, but this was not consent. This was asking for a blow job as if he was asking me if I could give him a glas of water, or a piece of pizza. I felt bad afterwards. I couldn’t sleep anymore. The pain in my muscles was stronger than before. I felt restless, tried to get into touch with all the others on the camp and from the højskole.
I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t define what exactly it was. I was too young and too inexperienced to put this in a bigger picture and call it abuse.
Honestly thinking back I can’t remember everything clearly, except some very detailed flashbacks. I know for sure that there were two more times where I had to give him a blowjob.
I know there were two times when he wanted to have sex with me withouht having a condom. I know there was one time were he got in an empty room with me in the hojskole and I left him in the bed all naked.
I can also remember that I met some Danish couchsurfers one weekend in Odensee, because I wanted to get away from Brenderup and we randomly met in the city center. He grabbed my waist and whispered how much he missed me and later told me it was my fault that his pant broke, because he had a boner in that very moment.
Being grabbed by the waist remained a trigger for me no matter what intention the person has. So many things were so weird.
At the end of the workcamp he planned to visit me at home and meet my family. We were not really dating, we never said „I love you“ as far as I can remember. There was one moment where I said „You don’t even know me.“ and I knew that I definitively didn´t wanted him to come to my place.
I was smart enough at the time to organize him a new work camp somewhere in the Netherlands. I didn’t wanted him to be at the goodbye party.
When he finally left that evening (the last day… the party had just started) I crawled in my bed and didn’t wanted to talk to anyone.
When I took a shower around 11pm or so, there was one Danish girl and two guys in the cabin next to me talking in Danish about how she would give them both a blowjob for a pack of cigarettes.
Imagine what this means, when you have just experienced doing this without your free will, without any consent.
After the workcamp I never talked about it to anyone. One year later I got tested for STIs and the doctor asked if I had fun in the holidays. No. Not really.
I am telling you this, because I found my voice and I have nothing to loose.
And I am telling you this, because I stayed alone with my story for almost 6 years now and started talking about it 6 months ago.
What I expect of an institution like you is to create awareness about consent right from the beginning.
I KNEW something was wrong at the time. I felt it in my belly, I was stressed out and tried to solve things on my own.
I know how strong the feeling of shame is, that’s why there needs to be a person who you can go to and talk to without being judged.
When a good friend of mine recently shared her højskole experience with me I was really triggered. I have not been to Denmark in 6 years now.
I had flashbacks last summer and I know that this experience has influenced all relationships I had afterwards. When you once loose your boundaries it is really hard to get them back and to actually feel what is good for you.
Please talk about this story in your team and try to find a solution how to start a conversation about consent with the students. No matter what happened to them, their stories and experiences are valid.
Let me know if you have any questions! (just please don’t question my story, I will not defend any of my actions at the time)