I Am the Warden (and You Have Been Raped)

by Leslye Joy Allen

 

Copyright © Leslye Joy Allen.  All Rights Reserved.

!!!!!!!!!!WARNING!!!!!!!!!!: THIS BLOG CONTAINS GRAPHIC ADULT LANGUAGE AND GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF SEXUAL VIOLENCE AND SOME PROFANITY.

This is for anyone who wonders about what women who have been raped deal with.

The first thing any college woman is taught in those early orientations is to never allow a man to know exactly where she lives until she gets to know him really well.  This one can be tough, particularly when a young woman has had a really nice evening with a guy.  She doesn’t think about rape.  But, she better.  I still remember the night my late friend Lynn called me on the phone in a panic.

“What’s wrong Lynn? Where the hell are you?” I asked.

“Girl, I had to fight this man off. He said he could cook. He wanted to make me dinner at his home. I didn’t think anything about it since a co-worker introduced us.  Everything was fine until I got up to leave and he told me ‘You aren’t going anywhere.’ I had to hit him with a paper weight to get out the door.”

I remember that night. Lynn was so upset that she got on I-285, and circled the entire city because she literally forgot how to get home.  She’s gone now, but I still think about it.

Then there was the friend that went to a party and woke up on a bed with her clothing on backwards. Scared to death for her, I made her go to the hospital.  Well, they found  semen with active sperm in her vagina.  She never told anyone but me.  She told me to “keep my damned mouth shut.” I’ve never betrayed the confidence of a friend in my life, but it annoys me to the point of not sleeping some time. “I just want to forget this,” she said.

I wish I could tell you that this doesn’t happen often, except it does. Every man reading this either knows some guy or guys that have run trains on drunk women or some of you reading this have done it yourselves. Some of you keep each other’s secrets; you shrug it off when a woman complains about some guy that follows her or won’t leave her alone. He’s just being a man, right?

My lifelong friend and brother G told me once that he didn’t like a particular guy we both knew.  When I asked him why he didn’t like him, he said, “I think he got __________drunk one night and took advantage of her. I can’t prove it, but I know he did it. I hate that m*therf*cker!”  Now let’s be clear, most women that are raped are raped by men they know and most rapes are not particularly physically violent.  Most rapes happen in a flash with a much stronger and heavier man easily forcing himself on a stunned woman who may or may not be able to fight off her attacker or get away.

To all those men (and the women that protect them) who worry so much about what some poor man accused of rape is going through even when his alleged victims are credible, I have this to say.  I’m not going to chapter and verse anyone about why women take so long to come forward. You already know why.  Yet, the following scenario is for all those men who conveniently politicize the whole issue of rape; those men who not only defend their political allies who are accused of rape, but also those who gleefully jump on the bandwagon to support rape victims when the alleged rapist is on the opposite side of the political spectrum. Here’s what I’d like for you to imagine happening to you, since empathy on your part, seems to be in short supply:

Let’s say you find yourself in jail; and for the sake of argument, let’s say you are innocent of the criminal charges that have put you in that holding cell for a few days or in that prison for some years. Now, let’s pretend that some hardened prisoner whose nickname is “Beast,” is known for being a bit of a bully and he suddenly decides to “make you his bitch.”  And please don’t even bother to claim that you’re not a Gay man and you would not let this happen.  Let me stop you right there.  Sex in prisons has nothing to do with anyone’s sexual orientation; no one of any sexual orientation wants or deserves to be raped. These rapes are not aggressive sexuality; these rapes are sexualized aggression and violence, acts of power and control over a victim, because after all, “making you his bitch” is technically saying that he’s turning you into “a woman.”  The language itself says a lot about how women are devalued in the first place. Suddenly Beast grabs you; you yell for the guards, but no one comes.

Beast has you pent down, with his knee pressing on your back and his massive hands over your mouth.  He tells you, “You know you want it.”  He rams his penis into your rectum without wearing a condom and without any form of lubrication.  The force of him hurts, but you can’t move until he’s decided he’s finished.  Beast tells you that he knows you enjoyed it.  He also tells you he will “kill your ass” if you say anything. You swear to yourself that you will tell the guards, that is, if you can muster the courage to let anyone know that you, a grown man, has allowed this to happen to you.

Finally, you get the courage to tell one of the guards that you think likes you and might hear you out. You eventually demand to speak to the warden. When you finally get to the warden’s office, I’m sitting there. That’s right, me, the person writing this blog.

When you tell me you’ve been raped, I ask for proof.  There isn’t a rape kit.  So you’re forced to pull down your pants and bend over so that I can take a look at the tears and bruises on your behind.

I look at you and say, “I’m sorry about this, but anything could have done this to your behind. You could have fallen on something.  Are you sure you’re not just making this up to get out of some of your duties or to get even with Beast about something?  Beast has been in here nearly ten years; and he was a lot of trouble at first, but he became a model prisoner. He’s up for parole in about a year.  I would hate to ruin his life over something frivolous.”  I am the warden and I have your life and well-being in my hands—and I know it.

So, I tell you that I will look into the matter. Without any further conversation I send you right back to your cell. You want special protection, but I inform you that doing so would make it seem like we had already tried and convicted your alleged rapist. I literally send you right back to Beast. After you leave, I tell the guards not to worry about any further investigation because this is a prison, and Beast was probably just another horny and sexually frustracted convict.  “This shit happens all the time.”  I have no sympathy for you at all. I have work to do, a prison to run. You and your allegations are just another inconvenience…I’m going to stop and leave this right here.

Copyright © Leslye Joy Allen.  All Rights Reserved.

This blog was written by Leslye Joy Allen and is protected by U. S. Copyright Law and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Any partial or total reference to this or any blog authored by Leslye Joy Allen, or any total or partial excerpt of this or any blog by Leslye Joy Allen must contain a direct reference to this hyperlink: https://leslyejoyallen.com with Leslye Joy Allen clearly stated as the author. All Rights Reserved.

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Out of the Fog: A Christmas and New Year’s Wish

Photo of Bank of America Building by
© Leslye Joy Allen

By Leslye Joy Allen

Copyright © 2017 by Leslye Joy Allen

While driving in the early morning hours in my beloved city of Atlanta, I saw the usual signs of city growth:  traffic that can make a Nun cuss, shiny new buildings, massive construction everywhere, people bustling off to work, school and the airport, and homeless people huddled under bridges.

When I witnessed the top of the super large Bank of America Building on Peachtree Street, its steeple-shaped illuminated top seemed to hang in the air in our unusually heavy fog.  If I did not know anything about this building or if I was a kid with a vivid imagination, the sight of that lighted steeple would have given me the best fantasies of flying saucers and aliens.

As I took that quick snapshot of the top of the Bank of America Building it made me think of the Star in the East.  Even when I looked at the top of this building and recognized it in the distance, I knew that what I saw was only one component of the building.  Maybe it was the brightest component, certainly the top of it.  But it wasn’t hanging in the air by itself.  So here is something to think about:

Puerto Rico, Dominica and St. Johns, Virgin Islands still have no electricity. There will be no Christmas lights and there probably will be no lights on New Years’ Eve.  These tan and brown and black human beings have been without power for over 14 weeks at this writing.  And just like the homeless in downtown Atlanta, many folks stay on these islands to protect what little possessions that they have left after hurricanes.  They take cold showers when they can, and eat food prepared from makeshift kitchens.  You may not give a damn about any of this because it doesn’t directly affect you, but it actually does. You may not care about all of these people of color, but you will because they are necessary in ways you may never have imagined.  Remember, no one gave a damn about a homeless brown couple–with the wife being very pregnant–in Bethlehem over two thousand years ago, either.

For much of the past year, many of us have whined and moaned about the current state of affairs in Washington, D. C.  We have often exhausted ourselves with tales of political misconduct and malfeasance and sexual impropriety.  We have listened to racist, sexist, homophobic, and misogynist rhetoric.  And at times, I have to say, I wondered when (or if) anyone was going to get tired of feasting on all of it.

It’s not that these evil things don’t exist; they do!  Yet, in our well-meaning attempts to publicize many of these problems, we often perpetuate our own lack of resolve to change any of it simply by believing that ranting about it on social media does anything more than help us blow off some steam. We often forget that much of this nation is built off and on the backs of people who now lay on the streets in cities all over the nation and throughout Latin America and the Caribbean.  In 2018, let’s plan to get out and stay out of the fog long enought to recognize the rest of the building; and that the top cannot and never has stood without the support from all those floors and a steady foundation.

That’s it for the year folks. If you didn’t understand this post, I’m sorry, but that’s it. I’m tired, happy, at times anxious, exhilarated by our capacity to triumph, glad about the women who no longer ask permission to be great or to do the work they were born to do. I know we can change anything we want to change.  But we can’t do any of it in a fog.  Peace.

This blog was written by Leslye Joy Allen and is protected by U. S. Copyright Law and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Any partial or total reference to this or any blog authored by Leslye Joy Allen, or any total or partial excerpt of this or any blog by Leslye Joy Allen must contain a direct reference to this hyperlink: https://leslyejoyallen.com with Leslye Joy Allen clearly stated as the author. All Rights Reserved.