identify. unlearn. destroy. evolve. repeat.
Brittanee Drexel’s nightmare was far from a cultural aberration. There are thousands and thousands and thousands of images and GIFs and videos—posted, re-blogged, and shared every minute of every day—eroticizing the concept of women in deep distress. Barbarous devices and restraints abound and there’s no limit to the myriad methods by which pain and degradation are inflicted upon these helpless victims.
Alongside commitment is awareness. We must accept the realities of what we’re up against and do the work to stay as safe as possible within the confines of such realities. This is not victim-blaming, e.g. “Why was she in that neighborhood or wearing her headphones?” Predators are predators. It’s not you, your outfit, what you drank, how you danced, or the route home you took. The predator is the only one to blame. Always.
Thus, a major part of awareness = learning more about predators.
I can see that you’re fifteen years old/No I don’t want your I.D.
You look so restless/And you’re so far from home
But it’s no hanging matter/It’s no capital crime
At its core, I believe self defense = survival. There are no secrets or magic formulas; “self defense” makes no promises. More often than not, pre-planned “moves” don’t work. If anyone tells you otherwise, practice real self defense and get away from them as quickly as possible!
Calle was friends with my older sister, Carla, and would sometimes crash at our apartment. Carla was a pain in the ass, know-it-all big sister to me but otherwise, she was and still is pretty quiet and chill. She was student at Calle’s informal females-only (strictly enforced, I must add) self-defense class and her mellow demeanor vibed well with her teacher. They’d share books and talk about the state of the world. I’d try to eavesdrop and learn, but Calle had that sixth sense and always knew when I was around. In fact, that’s kinda what happened the first time we met.
I had just come home from school. My Mom, as always, was working. There was no sign of Carla but her bedroom door was open…so, being a typical little brother, I peeked in.
***
CUT TO
ALPHONSE’S POV as he peers into the bedroom with the SOUND of police sirens echoing loudly down the block. He gets a profile view of a sweaty Calle in a very odd position, moving her hands and arms in very unusual ways.
Feet pigeon-toed. Elbows tight to the body. Limber wrists making twists and thrusts. Her body toned and symmetrical.
CUT TO
The hallway outside Carla’s door where Alphonse takes a good up-and-down look at Calle.
CALLE
(V/O)
Puh-leeeese don’t be pornifying me, white boy.
Alphonse’s face is a mask of shock and fear as we…
CUT TO
ALPHONSE’S POV as Calle finishes up with a flurry of three fast, sharp punches.
CALLE
(cont’d, without looking at him)
You must be Alphonse.
ALPHONSE
You can call me Allie.
CALLE
(turns to face Alphonse)
So tell me, Alphonse, what thoughts were careening across your cranium when you were creeping on me just now?
ALPHONSE
I-I-I just didn’t expect anyone to be here… and you were doing some weird moves and are all sweaty so I—
Calle raises her right index finger to silence him, shakes her head, and walks back into Carla’s room to look in the mirror. She turns to Alphonse and with the same right index finger motions for him to join her. It’s not a request.
Alphonse nervously enters the room and stands next to Calle. With the same right index finger, she points to the mirror.
CALLE
What do you see?
ALPHONSE
Um, us?
CALLE
Is anyone in that reflection worthy of your contempt?
Alphonse goes to answer but Calle’s facial expression silences him before he can utter a sound.
CALLE
(cont’d)
Is anyone in that reflection worthy of your disrespect? Is there anyone in that reflection who you perceive as lesser than you?
ALPHONSE
No, of course not, I—
CALLE
Your male gaze told me another story, Alphonse. The way you gazed at me was not respectful. You perceived me as an object. (beat) Are women and girls mere objects to you?
ALPHONSE
No, of course not, I—
CALLE
Like most males, your behavior does not match your words. Your behavior informs me that your mind has been corrupted and you have an abundance of work to do to even start deprogramming yourself.
ALPHONSE
I always want to improve, but what does that even mean?
CALLE
You already know exactly what it means. I’ll give you one week to figure it out and get back to me. Seven days.
With that, Calle’s right index finger now points Alphonse towards the door. He sheepishly follows orders. Just as he steps out of Carla’s room, he turns back to face Calle.
ALPHONSE
So, what was that you were doing, if you don’t mind me asking?
CALLE
(moving closer to the bedroom entrance)
A little idea. (beat) It’s a Wing Chun form called Sil Lum Tao which loosely translates to “a little idea” in Chinese. (beat) It’s a style invented by a woman (beat), Alphonse.
ALPHONSE
That’s an unusual name for a kung fu form.
CALLE
On the contrary, sometimes that’s all it takes.
ALPHONSE
Excuse me?
CALLE
A little idea. Sometimes, Alphonse, all it takes is (beat) a little idea. I expect you to find me in a week with some answers.
Just as she finishes enunciating the second syllable of the word “answers,” Calle smiles and shuts the bedroom door on Alphonse’s dazed and confused face.
He stands still for a second or two and then breaks into a smile. Life changed.
FADE OUT
It’s easy to imagine many readers shaking their heads and almost pitying me for overanalyzing, having no sense of humor, and taking the fun out of everything. But I’ve worked too hard and learned too much and have too far to go to accept being dismissed as a mere party pooper.
Instead, I put the challenge to you. I urge you to take a closer—much closer—look at what passes for culture on Planet Patriarchy and to consider these words from Andrea Dworkin: “Male supremacy is fused into the language, so that every sentence both heralds and affirms it.”
