Sex often replaces love

Friday, February 12, 1999

Sex often replaces love

HARASSMENT: Getting harassed, not respected, unfair part of life
for women, girls

It’s yet again that time of year when the insidious cherub cupid
ascends upon us with a barrage of his infamous arrows. You see, the
rosy-cheeked cupid is not as guileless as he seems, and as Feb. 14
slinks upon me, I wonder if it’s true love sweetly infiltrating the
air or merely a thick fog of lonely lust. Moreover, I am stricken
with the notion that while devotion and romance dissipate, loveless
sex is permeating society, and we are treating each other
accordingly.

Harassment is nothing new to me. The first time I was hit on, I
was 12 years old. I was naive and on the brink of puberty.
Unbeknownst to me, it was the mere infancy of an onslaught of
pick-up lines, slurs, gropes, whistles, grunts, howls and
honks.

The list is interminable: I’m on vacation in New Orleans and a
man grabs my rear as I’m walking down the street with my mother and
9-year-old brother.

I’m withdrawing money from the ATM so my brother and I can get
lunch. Several men are harassing me. I ignore them, and they
scream, "We’re talking to you, you fucking bitch."

I’m walking down the street with my boyfriend and a man says,
"Nice ass," at which point his whole group of cronies starts to
move in on us.

I’m walking back from Bradley last week and amidst myriad hoots
and hollers a construction worker grunts "Baby, why you in school?
Looking like that, you don’t need no education."

At first, this continual harassment led me to do what any
red-blooded American woman would do – blame herself. Is it me? Is
it my clothes? Is it something specific to my character that evokes
harassment? The answer to all of the above is a resonating "no."
There is a far simpler explanation.

Even as we approach the millennium and shout the praises of all
our progress, the reality is that we’re still living in a society
that continually objectifies and devalues women.

Take a look at ads for instance. An attractive woman in a micro
miniskirt stops at the side of the road to pick up a male
hitchhiker. The man happens to be eating a Carl’s Jr. Big Star
hamburger. A male voice says, "If you find something juicier and
tastier than a Carl’s Jr. Big Star, go for it." The camera zooms in
on her legs, the man gets in the car, and they speed off into the
sunset. Primary problem: it compares a woman to a piece of
meat.

She is dehumanized to the point of being no more than an object
of lust, a nameless body with which to fulfill desires. Much like a
burger’s sole purpose is consumption and satiation of hunger, the
woman’s sole purpose is to feed the man’s sexual appetite. It’s
more than a metaphor; it’s a manifestation of the mentality that
when it comes to sexual advances women "like it," "want it" or are
"asking for it."

Now envision the following Camel ad: a gray haired 60-year-old
man has his withered, liver-spotted arm wrapped around the two-inch
waist of a busty 20-something blonde. The caption reads "Have a
Trophy Smoke." This ads a whole new dimension to the Carl’s Jr. ad.
Not only are women comparable to hamburgers, they’re also arm
ornaments for men old enough to be their grandfathers.

This vividly illustrates another male fantasy: no matter how
archaic, how unattractive, how buffoonish the man, he can attain
any women he chooses. After all, women have no say in the matter.
Furthermore, pieces of meat can’t speak.

Now let’s examine music videos. Take rap for instance; every
woman is a bitch or a ho. Either way, she’s a sexually ready
object, usually scantily clad and gyrating in the background.

In one particular Snoop Dog video, a group is playing beach
volleyball. A man comes up behind her, pulls off her bikini top,
and gropes her breasts. She playfully runs after him as he
laughs.

In another video a woman ignores the advances of various sleazy
men at a party. The men then all get together and douse her with
beer.

Now lest people say I am picking on rap, observe some
alternative videos. In the Offspring’s "Pretty Fly for a White
Guy," scantily clad women prance around throughout the video
chanting "Give it to me, baby."

In Sugar Ray’s "Every Morning," two women in Catholic school
uniforms parade about with bustiers hanging out in a manner highly
reminiscent of Aerosmith’s "Crazy" video, in which Alicia
Silverstone and Liv Tyler are Catholic school girls by day and
strippers/lesbian lovers who like men to watch, by night. This
epitomizes the good girl outside, bad girl inside dichotomy that
media and testosterone thrive upon, a.k.a. "even when she says no,
she really means yes."

I find this appalling for two reasons. First, I was a Catholic
school girl for 15 years of my life. It was disgusting when
40-year-old perverts hit on me when I was 13. Granted, I looked
older, but there was no way I looked that old.

Secondly, Catholic school girls are by definition under age. Any
relationship with one implies entanglement with a minor and the
potential for statutory rape. Nonetheless, the image of the young,
underage seductress is a popular one. Observe movies such as "The
Crush" and "Wild Things" in which great men fall because of
Lolitas.

I have in part answered the question of why harassment exists,
but why does it continue?

One reason is that women often tolerate it. Instead of being
forthright, they beat around the bush, giggle and sugarcoat the
rancid reality. It took me a long time to master the art of
bluntness, and even now I am sometimes hesitant to practice it.

And why am I hesitant? Due to a tendency to blame the woman. If
you respond to advances, you’re a slut. If you tell the bastard
off, you’re a bitch. God forbid you’re wearing a skirt or any skin
is showing when the incident occurs, because then you’re asking for
it.

It’s the same phenomenon we see occurring with date rape. Why
did she go up to his room if she didn’t want to have sex?

All too often we toss accountability aside instead of holding
perpetrators responsible for their actions. In the process, we
blame the victim. A perfect example of this is the "boys will be
boys" mentality. This cliche compares grown men to children who
have no notion of right or wrong. Yet grown men must act
respectably if they are to function in society. Nevertheless, we
are often content to attribute wrongdoings to hormones and be done
with the matter.

Furthermore, the irony is that often other women are doing the
blaming instead of forming a united front. In the process we
ostracize one another in a vicious cycle of blame and
abashment.

So this weekend, keep your hands to yourself unless instructed
to do otherwise. Instead of joining in the mad rush to find a
Valentine, cool those hormones and show a little respect. It’s
easy: contemplate first and copulate second. Perhaps then you would
save Cupid the trouble of trading in his mythical bow and arrow for
the much more effective tranquilizer gun.

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