The title of this post is dedicated to my grandpa. Because he loves the movie “No Country for Old Men”, probably because he is one. And also because he gave me the opportunity to become the crazy academic feminist I am today. And also because hopefully, he’ll never read this. 😀

As we walked around a tenement house from the 1800’s, I couldn’t help but think what it would have been like if my family lived in a space that small. Oh and I was also trying not to pass out from their lack of AC, but I was mostly thinking about my family. For a large part of my life, I grew up in my grandparent’s home. They have 5 children and me. And a dog or two, depending on the time period. So I’ve always had this big family vibe going on. But we also had a pretty decent sized house on Long Island.

I returned to the island this weekend to attend a barbecue my uncle was hosting. This included my other uncle as well as their wives, my cousins, and some family friends. Most of the people there have known me since I was born. Not only did they have to accept the fact that they were old as they watched me walk in now 20something years old, but they also had to listen to me talk, because I had 3 beers and the verbal diarrhea just wouldn’t stop flowing.

I was a quiet child (mostly because I was watching people and questioning their sanity in my head) so to come back 20 years later and see me as not only a college educated woman but also a feminist (dun, dun, dun) could be quite a scary experience. My family is pretty progressive for a number of reasons so no one like threw me out or made me make sandwiches or anything of the sort. But in my head, I was making a list of things NOT to say to your family when you are coming out to them …… as a feminist.

1. Socialism : Especially if someone in your family is the CEO of a Fortune 500. As we all know C.R.E.A.M. and you don’t wanna be taken out of the will.
2. Foucault : Because you barely know how to pronounce his name right, let alone summarize him for the general public to understand.
3. The identity marker game : Getting drunk and rambling about how 50% of your family had it easier because of their penis may make people uncomfortable.
4. The word systemic : Just because.
5.  Picking up your little cousins toys and rambling on about the dollhouse promoting heteronormative gender roles : Plus you had one growing up and you came out fine.
6. Lesbian revolution fantasies : Because they might mistake you coming out as a feminist as so much more.
7. Your pothead roommate: I don’t know how that slipped into the conversation.

Discussing your developing political views with anyone can be intimidating, especially when you feel like you barely know what you are talking about yourself. Would I encourage revealing your crazy radical feminist side to your family? Yes, because they watched you grow up and already knew you were destined to be a lune.

This week held an interesting combination of experiences for me. I have had a lot going on personally and financially so it has been hard to focus on the program exclusively. But, these experiences have heightened some aspects of this week’s topics in an interesting way. Last week we visited my workplace, the National Domestic Workers Alliance and I was really moved by the connection Julia made with Barbara, one of our organizers and a domestic worker, over her nanny who still works for their family twenty or so years later. Last week was also my nanny’s birthday, and it was really special to make contact with her again when we don’t get to talk much. We spent a lot of time talking about the ways that people with certain types of privilege, based on race, gender, socioeconomic status, education or what-have-you should align themselves alongside those with less privilege in order to bring about change. As a straight white woman I felt fingers pointing at me, and I agree that I should do my best to throw my support behind others with less privilege, or to use a politically charged word, the less-fortunate. Among these discussions I felt as though I were expected to join the Mink Brigade and hit the streets, but what if I can’t afford that mink coat? During these discussions priviledge is used in such black and white terms that while room for intersecting identities, there is less room for discussions about Money. That capital is intentional. I am not talking about the money in your pocket, but the families that make up the Moneyed Class. Honestly, of all of the types of privilege that I’ve been given I think that my education is the most powerful. The name Duke inspires real respect in most people. The fact that my mom went to Cotillion and taught me how to interact with moneyed people also helps. (Yes, I’ll admit that this is a benefit given to me by race. I’ll also point out that my only friend who went to Cotillion in school was black.)

One stop on our whirlwind tour was at the Tenement Museum and something that really surprised me is that we did not really stop to have a discussion about where our families were from and how they had gotten here. Some of us may not know, but I do know that my great-grandmother came through Ellis Island in its early years and very likely ended up in a small, dark apartment with her married sister, a lot like the one we visited. A few days later I had a conversation with someone in which I brought up the fact that my family has a cabin in the mountains, and she gave me a look. This is a look I know well, particularly when talking about the cabin. The “I didn’t realize you were Moneyed” look. Funnily enough, the tenement bedroom reflected the size of our “Master” bedroom, with my room being even smaller. If America would fall into another great depression the Bartleson-Marr family be well prepared by the laundry facilities available in the cabin, a wire basket filled with stubs of bars of soap and an old washboard. All of this seems to be working up to one point, namely, “Stop looking at me and own your own power!” Don’t try to take mine away but denigrating it as inherited privilege. My family and I have worked really hard for it and it depreciates more quickly than you can imagine with lack of use. Looks like yours discourage me from joining in the movement.

I didn’t know that sexual assault actually happened. I didn’t know it occurred with someone you love or someone that you have met before.  I thought a rapist was some stranger—the boogieman—in a dark parking lot with a ski mask on that only happened every once and awhile.

So many battles of sexual assault are hidden in our country, and the statistics are tough to embrace.  One in three Native American women suffers sexual abuse. One in five women in the military is sexually assaulted while in the military.  One in five women is the victim of rape or attempted rape on college campuses.

This week, I worked on a summary of Legal Momentum’s National Judicial Education Program two-day program, Understanding Sexual Violence, at the Tulalip Tribal Court.  In the Tulalip Tribe of Washington, among other Native American reservations, of the small 15 percentage of rapes reported, there is a tremendous protection of rape offenders. In the rare instances that perpetrators are held accountable, the highest sentence that they can receive is limited to one year in the Tribal Court, yet oftentimes there is no conviction at all.  Even after the Vice Chairwoman of the Tulalip Tribes, Deborah Parker, revealed her harrowing experience of sexual assault as a victim of molestation, the House of Representatives still wants to remove the Native American Protections in the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA).  Who is against violence against women anyways??

At Lincoln Center last week, I saw The Invisible War, a documentary on military women and the hidden battle of sexual assault that they faced in the military.  These women who fight for our country have been subjected to sexual assault and rape, yet nobody is doing anything about it.  Nobody is fighting for them.  The military is a severely flawed infrastructure so much so that military women are more likely to be raped by a fellow solider than killed by enemy fire.  Since all cases are dealt from within the military, the perpetrators rarely make it to court, viewing rape as an ‘occupational hazard.’  The military oftentimes even turns on the victims, blaming them for adultery, for example, as if the rape was consensual sex.  The nature of a rapist is that they are repeat offenders. Since they are not punished, the rapists learn how to rape better and know that they won’t be caught.  Even more disgraceful, these serial rapists are now moving up in comman.  For example, one survivor’s perpetrator won the Military Professional of the Year Award during her rape investigation—oh what a twisted reality we live in.  During The Invisible War, I couldn’t help but think of my female friends in ROTC at Duke.  Will they be subjected to sexual assault?

Tulalip and the military, although seemingly different, are very similar in their silence that encompasses sexual assault, similar too to colleges and universities. In university ‘court systems,’ the perpetrators are not often held accountable.  Although the most severe punishment is expulsion, a perpetrator rarely receives this punishment–and my home university of Duke is no different. To my knowledge no one has ever been expelled as a result of a student conduct hearing related to sexual misconduct.  Students have been expelled for plagiarism. Is plagiarism more serious than sexual assault? Perpetrators too often get a slap on the wrist for their crimes, a ‘boys will be boys’ if you will.

At Duke, a newly reformed statute of limitations states that a victim must report within one year of the sexual assault or rape if the student wishes for a conduct hearing.  When victims are dealing with PTSD, depression, school, anxiety, and healing, the added pressure to report only benefits the rapist.  Since most rapists are repeat offenders, what is the motivation to stop raping? When does this vicious victim-blaming cycle end?

Rape is not unique to college campuses, the military, or Native American reservations.  The reality is that perpetrators and survivors are everywhere.

There is hope, though.  The creation of the documentary The Invisible War, Legal Momentum’s work with the Tulalip Tribal Court, along with all the work of Duke Student Government, Develle Dish, and Duke’s Women’s Center demonstrate that there are people that care. There are people that seek justice for these atrocities.  The reality is that we are not made to be silent.

I only hope we can break the silence.