“Women were often punished within the domestic domain, and instruments of torture were sometimes imported by authorities into the household. In seventeenth-century Britain, women whose husbands identified them as quarrelsome and unaccepting of male dominance were punished by means of a gossip’s bridle, or “branks,” a headpiece with a chain attached and an iron bit that was introduced into the woman’s mouth. Although the branking of women was often linked to a public parade, this contraption was sometimes hooked to a wall of the house, where the punished woman remained until her husband decided to release her.”

Woman is:

—-kicking strongly in your mother’s womb, upon which she is told, “It must be a boy, if it’s so active!”

—-being tagged with a pink beaded bracelet thirty seconds after you are born, and wrapped in pink blankets five minutes thereafter.

—-being confined to the Doll Corner in nursery school when you are really fascinated by Tinker Toys.

—-wanting to wear overalls instead of “frocks.”

—-learning to detest the words “dainty” and “cute. “

—-being labeled a tomboy when all you wanted to do was climb that tree to look out and see a distance.

—-learning to sit with your legs crossed, even when your feet can’t touch the floor yet.

—-hating boys—because they’re allowed to do things you want to do but are forbidden to—and being told hating boys is a phase.

—-learning that something you do is “naughty,” but when your brother does the same thing, it’s “spunky.”

—-wondering why your father gets mad now and then, but your mother mostly sighs a lot.

—-seeing grownups chuckle when you say you want to be an engineer or doctor when you grow up—and learning to say you want to be a mommy or a nurse, instead.

—-wanting to shave your legs at twelve and being agonized because your mother won’t let you.

—-being agonized at fourteen because you finally have shaved your legs, and your flesh is on fire.

—-being told nothing whatsoever about menstruation, so that you think you are bleeding to death with your first period, or:

—-being told all about it in advance by kids at school who titter and make it clear the whole thing is dirty, or:

—-being prepared for it by your mother, who carefully reiterates that it isn’t dirty, all the while talking just above a whisper, and referring to it as the “curse,” “being sick,” or “falling off the roof.”

—-feeling proud of and disgusted by your own body, for the first, but not last, time.

—-dreading summertime because more of your body with its imperfections will be seen—and judged.

—-liking math or history a lot and getting hints that boys are turned off by smart girls.

—-getting hints that other girls are turned off by smart girls.

—-finally getting turned off by smart girls, unconsciously dropping back, lousing up your marks, and being liked by the other kids at last.

—-having an intense crush on another girl or on a woman teacher and learning that that’s unspeakable.

Excerpt, "Barbarous Rituals," in Sisterhood is Powerful. (via yellowboxturtle)

Or realizing that “spunky” comes from “spunk”, a colloquialism for semen.

So when little girls are called “spunky”—and it’s a term used specifically for more “masculine” girls or tomboys—think of what they’re saying.

(via appropriately-inappropriate)

(Source: )

“[M]en come to me or to other feminists and say: “What you’re saying about men isn’t true. It isn’t true of me. I don’t feel that way. I’m opposed to all of this.” And I say: don’t tell me. Tell the pornographers. Tell the pimps. Tell the warmakers. Tell the rape apologists and the rape celebrationists and the pro-rape ideologues. Tell the novelists who think that rape is wonderful. Tell Larry Flynt. Tell Hugh Hefner. There’s no point in telling me. I’m only a woman. There’s nothing I can do about it. These men presume to speak for you. They are in the public arena saying that they represent you. If they don’t, then you had better let them know.

Then there is the private world of misogyny: what you know about each other; what you say in private life; the exploitation that you see in the private sphere; the relationships called love, based on exploitation. It’s not enough to find some traveling feminist on the road and go up to her and say: “Gee, I hate it.” Say it to your friends who are doing it. And there are streets out there on which you can say these things loud and dear, so as to affect the actual institutions that maintain these abuses. You don’t like pornography? I wish I could believe it’s true. I will believe it when I see you on the streets. I will believe it when I see an organized political opposition. I will believe it when pimps go out of business because there are no more male consumers. You want to organize men. You don’t have to search for issues. The issues are part of the fabric of your everyday lives.”
do-not-touch-my-food:

Cherry Limeade Cupcakes

Almost everything that needs to be said about pornography can be said about Linda Marchiano, because everything people think about it, they think about her. As recounted in her book Ordeal, Linda Marchiano was coerced by abduction, systematic beatings, surveillance, and torture into the persona of “Linda Lovelace,” the centerpiece of the pornographic film Deep Throat. During her two and a half years of captivity, she was never out of the sight of the pimp Charles Traynor. When she tried to leave, he threatened her life and the lives of her family. He guarded her with weapons. She had to ask permission to go to the bathroom, where he watched her through a hole in the wall. He prostituted her; johns who beat her got her for free. He slept on top of her at night. He listened to her telephone calls on an extension. When he recaptured her after escape attempts, he tortured her horribly. He forced her to marry him and, with a gun, to have sex with a dog. These are the conditions under which Deep Throat, a paean to women’s sexual freedom, was made. In it “Linda Lovelace” finds sexual ecstasy in fellatio because her clitoris is in her throat.

Had the slave training of Linda Lovelace been presented in pornography instead of in Ordeal, it would have been a sex act. As a sex act, the fact that it happened would have been believed. But even if all the force had been shown, the fact that she was forced would still not have been believed, not even then. Men believe what turns them on. What else can one think about the fact that no one had ever seen a woman deep-throat like that - an act whose verisimilitude approaches absolute zero, especially compared with the violence of pimps, which is known - yet it was believed. When a woman becomes the pornographer’s “speech”, her violation is sex and is therefore the truth. When a woman speaks for herself, her violation becomes an atrocity and is therefore a lie. So Deep Throat is protected speech and Ordeal is sued for libel.

“I have never met someone who was suicidal who did not give a great deal of thought to how their actions would impact their loved ones. Wanting to stop hurting is not the same as wanting to hurt the people who love you, nor is it selfish. Additionally, there is nothing cowardly about living with a great deal of pain for an extended period of time and wanting it to end. It actually makes perfect sense. If it’s cowardly to not want to be in constant, overwhelming pain anymore, then label me a coward because depression hurts like nothing else you can imagine.”

evolvingmatter:

thehumblearticulatefeminist:

I think the worst thing about the misguided liberal sex positive feminists is that they managed to convince themselves as well a large amount of people that being sex critical and anti prostitution/porn is victim blaming (and lolz shaming women for having sex of course) of those exploited by the institutions.

There’s such an unhealthy, dogged fixation on so called individual choice and personal empowerment that they’re willing to ignore the masses and masses of evidence indicating exploitation and long term abuse and cultural toxicity.

What’s worse is these people will also not hesitate to bring up abstract, wishy washy imaginary and idealistic worlds of equality to yak about nonexistent potential (healing intimacy bahahahahaha)

Even if those worlds could exist you can’t deny that it’s still about the commodification of a body and entitlement to sexual fulfillment without the full, enthusiastic consent of the other person. That sure as hell isn’t an egalitarian society lmao

There is nothing “humble” about talking over sex workers and stomping on sex workers rights because you want to theorise about our lives and campaign to make our lives more dangerous under the guise of being “anti-prostitution”.

I don’t enjoy my work. But people like you are a far bigger threat to my safety than any vaguely common client, because you’re far more interested in theorising about our work and shouting over actual sex workers voices than you are about our actual safety.

I wasn’t even talking about the experiences of survivors. But since that’s your take, I’ll play ball.

Please do some research before you criticize the Nordic model in favor of decriminalization. It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that moving workers indoors will make it better. It’s also easy to believe that there is a substantial amount of “consenting adult” women in there when the testimonies of countless many, with empirical evidence, will show otherwise

Places (BerlinGermany) that have legalized prostitution and the situation has taken a turn for the worse.

Frankly, I don’t care if you as an individual can make your peace with it. I don’t even care if you can find me a thousand women who enjoy it. Your individual choices are not what feminism is about. 

Because the majority can’t and need out. It’s not “work" for them.

I don’t blame people who have to do what it takes to survive in a society like this. And I certainly don’t blame people who have been trafficked into it via seasoning. But I do criticize people who would treat an inherently violent, oppressive and exploitative institution as inevitable, a necessary evil, and even a potential place of progress and empowerment.

Because that is the real “threat" to survivors.

Inserting the ‘cissexism’ meme into feminism also robs women born female of language they need. Suddenly, WBF can’t discuss male violence or rape. They are robbed of the medical language necessary to talk about their reproductive and sexual health (which is especially tragic during a time when this language is integral to fighting back against regressive conservative attacks on female reproductive autonomy). They are robbed of the language necessary to describe their experiences growing up under patriarchy and the male gaze (see #sharedgirlhood on Twitter). They are denied the right to establish their own boundaries based on common experiences as an oppressed class.

Not to mention the fact that my Tumblr dash is full of responses to asks where young lesbians are frightened and self-doubting because they keep being accused of cissexism for not being willing to accept penis into their sex life. I’ve only been posting here a week and I’ve already received several of these messages myself. How can anyone deny that what these lesbians are being subjected to is homophobia and abuse?

mindergenfield, a trans woman speaking about the idea of cissexism on Tumblr (via vulvanity)

Yes especially to the loss of medical, reproductive language.

hellapunx:

*cuddles up close to you* *puts my mouth by your ear* I NEED CONSTANT REASSURANCE THAT YOU STILL ENJOY ME AND FIND OUR RELATIONSHIP APPEALING

ras-al-ghul-is-dead:

A silent protest in Love Park, downtown Philadelphia orchestrated by performance artists protesting the murder of Michael Brown in Ferguson. The onslaught of passerby’s  wanting to take photos with the statue exemplifies the disconnect in American society.  Simply frame out the dead body, and it doesn’t exist.  

Here are some observations by one of the artists involved in the event:

I don’t know who any of these folks are.

They were tourists I presume.

But I heard most of what everything they said. A few lines in particular stood out. There’s one guy not featured in the photos. His friends were trying to get him to join the picture but he couldn’t take his eyes off the body.

"Something about this doesn’t feel right. I’m going to sit this one out, guys." "Com’on man… he’s already dead."

(Laughs.)

There were a billion little quips I heard today. Some broke my heart. Some restored my faith in humanity. There was an older white couple who wanted to take a picture under the statue.

The older gentleman: “Why do they have to always have to shove their politics down our throats.” Older woman: “They’re black kids, honey. They don’t have anything better to do.”

One woman even stepped over the body to get her picture. But as luck would have it the wind blew the caution tape and it got tangle around her foot. She had to stop and take the tape off. She still took her photo.

There was a guy who yelled at us… “We need more dead like them. Yay for the white man!”

"One young guy just cried and then gave me a hug and said ‘thank you. It’s nice to know SOMEBODY sees me.’