I’ve been watching the social media fallout surrounding the trial of Brock Turner, the swimming champion from Stanford who received a six-month sentence for sexually assaulting an unconscious woman in January of 2015. As with any other case that deals with violence against women, the reactions have been equal parts depressing and encouraging. Depressing because even now, the narrative persists that young white men convicted of rape are being unfairly denied their potential bright futures. Encouraging because every time this happens, it feels like we get a little closer to exposing the framework of rape minimization and acceptance that supports incidents like these. This case has made it clearer than ever that we as a society condone rape by privileging men’s feelings over victims’ trauma — and more people than ever have objected.

Most of the discussion has centered around two letters. The first is the impact statement written by the victim herself, which she read out loud in court on June 2 and which was subsequently published by Buzzfeed on June 3. The other is letter written by Turner’s father asking for leniency in his sentencing; Stanford law professor Michele Dauber brought this one to public notice when she tweeted a portion of it. The former letter is as gutting as the latter is tone-deaf. The woman that Turner attacked speaks of what it felt like to wake up in the hospital with pine needles and debris inside her vagina. Meanwhile, Turner’s father laments that his son no longer enjoys pretzels, and argues he has been forced to pay too high a price for “20 minutes of action.”

To read Turner’s father’s letter is to feel an immediate rush of pure fury. It’s tempting to just go full snark on it, because there is lot here to snark here: from Turner Senior’s lyrical description of Brock’s lost love for steak to his obstinate refusal to actually name his son’s crime, the letter reads like a bad parody of how someone might talk about a rapist. It’s much harder to read the letter earnestly; it feels almost impossible to comprehend that this man truly believes his son is the one deserving of pity. It’s more comfortable to mock — but we can’t just mock. We have to look at — really look at, unsparingly and in detail — all the ways in which Turner’s father’s letter exemplifies how rape culture works.

This case has made it clearer than ever that we as a society condone rape by privileging men’s feelings over victims’ trauma.
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Rape culture is the idea that sexual assault does not happen in a vacuum, but rather occurs because we are socialized in a way that normalizes and even celebrates sexual victimization of women. In my experience, most men have a twofold reaction to that definition: first they’ll ask how it can be true that rape is normalized if rape is also understood to be one of the worst crimes a person can commit, and second they’ll swear that they, personally, would never. When they say these things they will absolutely believe that they’re speaking the truth. And then a case like Brock Turner’s will come along and present some very uncomfortable challenges to those ideas.

Everyone can agree that rape is objectively wrong, but problems crop up when we try to parse exactly what rape is and under what circumstances it occurs. I’m willing to bet that more than a few men read the victim’s letter and had a pang of recognition — not of her experiences, but his. Because most men have done at least some of what Turner did. They’ve gone to parties with the intention of hooking up with someone; they’ve zeroed in on the vulnerable girls, the drunk girls, the girls who seem like they’d be easy to take home; they’ve assumed that silence or a lack of clear refusal is the same as consent. And when these men read the account of what Brock Turner did, even if they recognize it as awful, there’s a louder voice in their heads saying something like this could have been written about me.

And the brutal truth is, they’re right. A lot of men, a lot of self-professed good men, have done something like what Brock Turner did: maybe not after a frat party, maybe not on the ground behind a dumpster, maybe not with a girl so intoxicated that she was losing consciousness, but maybe not so far off. Perhaps in their case the girl was drunk, yes, but not so very much more drunk than they were, and she seemed to like it and the next morning they went out for breakfast. Perhaps the girl said yes to kissing and touching and even though she froze up when he tried to penetrate her she never actually said no. Perhaps he thought that every yes starts out as a no because someone told him so, or because every movie or TV show he’d seen showed a women having to be cajoled and worn down befor she agreed to sex. Whatever the circumstances, Brock Turner’s story forced them to look at their actions in a new light and what they saw didn’t jive with how they felt about themselves.

And it’s so much easier to say neither of us are rapists than it is to say both of us are rapists.

Rape culture is the idea that sexual assault does not happen in a vacuum.
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Most rapists aren’t monsters who lurk behind bushes and in dark alleyways waiting for unsuspecting women to walk by. In fact, statistics show that a woman is far more likely to be assaulted by someone she knows than by a stranger. Most rapists are men we know and like: our neighbors and our colleagues and sometimes even our friends. Men who might admit that things got a little bit out of hand, or that they didn’t mean to go that far but they got caught up in the heat of the moment. Men like my friend’s boyfriend, who once referred to beer as liquid panty remover only to declare minutes later that rapists deserve to be castrated. Men who think that consent is a one-time binary, yes or no, and not an ongoing process of checking in with their partners.

Men we think of as nice guys.

Men who look just like everybody else.

And the worst part is, this feels like a best case scenario. In fact, there’s a small part of me that is still somewhat shocked that a white man from a well-connected family was convicted at all.

But please, tell me again about how our society takes rape very seriously.

Brock Turner’s father might be right that he does not have a violent past. It might, in fact, be accurate to say that up until the events of January 17th, 2015, Brock Turner had led an exemplary life. It’s possible that at the time Turner did not consider what he was doing to be sexual assault. But it was. The fact that he’s not a violent monster doesn’t mean he isn’t a rapist. He’s a rapist because he committed a rape. If these nice men who kind of sort of identify with what he did committed rapes, they’re rapists too.

And this is what we need to talk about over and over: the fact that nice boys from nice families commit rape. The fact that assault can happen even when the rapist does not “feel like” he is committing rape, because someone told him that attacks like the one Brock Turner committed are just normal romance. The fact that Brock Turner’s feelings seem to have greatly trumped those of the woman he assaulted.

We need to talk about how so many reactions to stories like these center the mens’ feelings.

And then we need to talk about how we can drown out those voices with the voices of survivors.

I’m not trying to take the blame off of these directors and actors, but to even wrap our brains around how could this possibly be? Just look around us.

Anyone who has seen the 1972 film Last Tango in Paris can recall one particularly disturbing scene involving a brutal sexual assault and a stick of butter. In a recent interview, Bernardo Bertolucci, the film’s director, admitted that the infamous scene was not entirely simulated; he deliberately kept information about the scene’s content from his leading lady (the 19-year-old Maria Schneider). He claimed that the decision to catch Schneider by surprise with the unscripted moment was a deliberate move to get the best possible results from Schneider, and that he wanted her to react “as a girl” and not “as an actress.”

“I didn’t want Maria to act her humiliation, her rage,” he said. “I wanted Maria to feel, not to act, the rage and humiliation. Then she hated me for her whole life.” Of the experience, Schneider (now deceased) admitted that it made her feel “a little raped” and that, as a young and naïve actress, she hadn’t known that the director cannot force a performer to do something that is not in the agreed-upon text.

The backlash to Bertolucci’s behavior — in the wake of a 2013 interview with his admissions recently resurfacing — has been swift and intense. However, as with most controversies involving sexual violence and powerful men in the entertainment industry (Woody Allen, anyone?), dissenters have come out of the woodwork to cite the cinematic value of Bertolucci’s work, as if that somehow excuses it. This response, and the fact that Bertolucci was able to treat Schneider in such a horrific way with little to no negative impact on his career, illustrates a deeply disturbing trend in the film world.

Directors are able to treat human beings (particularly actresses) like garbage as long as their work is perceived as “brilliant.” If the film is critically well-received, then the abuse, violence, and psychological torment that made it possible is unimportant. The lesson that this teaches is not only distressing, but dangerous; it convinces directors that they are untouchable, and that their artistic vision trumps the safety and wellbeing of other human beings.

Last Tango in Paris may have been the most recent movie to dominate the news cycle on this front, but it is hardly the first time an iconic film involved horrific acts at the hand of a megalomaniac director. There are myriad examples of this behavior from highly respected directors over the years. And these are not exactly men randomly plucked off the street; these are names that every cinema buff or Film 101 student has heard. Stanley Kubrick famously tormented Shelley Duvall on the set of The Shining, forcing her to do a record number of retakes on a single scene, and admittedly creating an environment so manipulative and hostile that her hair began falling out in clumps from stress. Of course, women are not the only ones who suffered in the making of his films. Among other instances, Kubrick almost caused irreparable damage to Malcolm McDowell’s eyes during the filming of A Clockwork Orange.

And while I would never do anything to minimize the mistreatment men have faced at the hands of directors, it’s important to note that for actresses, mistreatment often takes on an added gendered and sexual component.

Alfred Hitchcock, for instance, absolutely tormented Tippi Hedren, the star of The Birds, throwing live birds at her constantly — to the point that she would have anxiety attacks at the sight of them. His harassment of her was also sexually coercive; he threatened to end her career if she did not sleep with him. Still, Hitchcock remains one of the most revered directors of all time.

Imagine, too, a woman in any other profession telling the story of her boss strangling her until she loses consciousness, all to make sure that her work would be up to his standards. Now, imagine that not only does this not register to her as a problem, but no one else objects either. Are you shocked? Ready to call the police? This is exactly what Quentin Tarantino did to Diane Kruger on the set of Inglourious Basterds.

Why would anyone frame this as acceptable behavior? Shenandoah University’s professor of women’s studies, Dr. Amy Sarch, provides some perspective on this phenomenon of permissiveness:

These gender norms are used as points of comparison: bullyish, tough, and violent are seen ‘male’ traits, and compliant, sweet, and complacent are ‘female.’ So why are women not believed or taken seriously when they come forward? Because we tend to judge any actions that fall outside of these norms as ‘not normal’ or dismiss them because they don’t follow the script that is embedded in our heads.”

I should point out here that rape culture hurts men as well as women; when any gender is confined to a box of predetermined traits, any deviation is met with scorn. That is just as unfair to men who are told that they cannot be vulnerable or “soft” or “weak,” which may contribute to men who are mistreated by directors feeling like they are unable to speak up for themselves. This cautious attitude about speaking out enables abuse to be spun into quirky anecdotes about the “eccentricity of genius.” We cannot continue to normalize this. As Dr. Sarch eloquently puts it: “Violence against another human being is never a norm, period.”

Actors are not expected to have their bones actually broken during fight scenes, or to actually die on-screen — that would be a snuff film. Why, then, do directors take it upon themselves to inflict very real and lasting damage on their actors for the sake of a perfect take, rather than trusting the actors to do their jobs? Directorial choices like these illustrate a deep narcissism, a sense that no one else is equipped to carry out their vision, and a belief that any wounds (physical or otherwise) that the actors suffer at their hands are justified in the name of Art.

But actors are not tools of the trade, they’re human beings. It should not have been Bertolucci’s call to force genuine rage and humiliation on Schneider. He should have trusted her as an actress to find that truth on her own terms and convey it, or he should not have hired her in the first place. Acting, particularly in such sexually and emotionally intense films, is a highly intimate and vulnerable process, and it requires a tremendous amount of trust. For a director to violate that trust — especially so intentionally and with full awareness that he was violating the consent of a young actress — is, frankly, reprehensible. It is also counterproductive to quality work. No actor will do their best if they are consistently walking on eggshells, knowing that their personal boundaries could be violated at any second for the sake of their employer’s ego.

I am not merely here to point out this problem, but to provide some idea of how we, as consumers, can work against the issues in place. As individuals we may feel powerless, but as the old adage of snowflakes in an avalanche suggests, individual action combines into systemic change when enough people unite and participate.

“Consumers need to speak up and boycott movies by abusive directors,” says Dr. Sarch. “Writers need to write about it so that others sit back and go, ‘wow, right, hey . . . This is horrific.’ We need to ban the term ‘boys will be boys’ from our collective vocabulary — unless we reappropriate the meaning to reflect boys who treat others with deep respect and refuse to falter if someone calls them names for expressing themselves.”

We need to create a climate where no one is afraid to speak up, where cruelty is inexcusable, and where art is the product of love and healthy collaboration.

At the end of my last update, I lamented my painful initiation into the life of dating as a “normal” person. After some successful dates with Dan, a man I had initially met on OKCupid and with whom I had been texting daily for over a month, I thought we were well on our way toward achieving my ultimate goal of finding a committed, monogamous partner. Unfortunately, we were far from being on the same page.

Dan had basically dumped me to see another woman he claimed to like better, so when he texted me at the end of the last update to complain about her — after knowing her for less than a week (and me for over a month!) — I felt a weird performance anxiety over my potential response to him. There were so many things that my mind was trying to process: Should I reply? Why is he telling me this? Is he really so immature that he’d make a blanket statement about the class view of all doctors? (#NotAllDoctors)

One of the most challenging aspects of dating for me is deciding how to apply the common phrase “Nobody’s perfect.” Unfortunately for me (and perhaps fortunately for you, readers?), this weakness of mine was put to the test before I even had gotten my first match! I struggled with finding the elusive perfect balance between knowing that everyone has flaws that inevitably lead to them messing up from time to time, and acknowledging that forgiving those mess-ups can open the door to accepting unacceptable and/or incompatible behavior from a potential partner. This seems like a balance that can only be discovered through . . . welp . . . experience.

I officially have a love-hate relationship with the phrase “Practice makes perfect.”

Before this series, I found comfort in that perfectly reasonable saying; I’d say it to myself as a reminder to be patient when trying out something new. But when I had to apply it to my dating life, it became a platitude I bitterly muttered to myself as fuel to (reluctantly) keep going.

Despite my strong urge to go to my default reaction of ignoring Dan’s text and never speaking to him again, I decided to take a different route. After all, this #ItsTotallyMe experiment is about doing things differently in the dating realm, to see if a change in my behavior could solve my dating woes. So I took a deep breath and responded. I didn’t want to veer too far off my usual style of texts, so I typed a short, noncommittal, “ha!” and quickly pressed send, before I changed my mind about not mentally declaring him dead to me from that moment on.

It’s official. “Do it for #ItsTotallyMe!” is totally my version of “Do it for the Vine!”

Unfortunately, that three-character text didn’t carry the subtext I hoped. Dan couldn’t read between the lines, though maybe that’s because the text was only one line. To my disbelief, he continued to text me like nothing happened between us. “Dammit. Of course texting would fail me,” I thought to myself.

I tried to resume my day with business as usual, but Dan seemed to be in full conversation mode. My annoyance grew after each new text from him arrived, and over the course of a few hours, I found myself in a vicious cycle. I’d hear my phone’s familiar text notification, get excited because I thought I’d received a message from a friend I actually like, and then feel my heart drop from disappointment as I saw his name on my phone screen.

Eventually, I felt a wave of indignation rise inside me as I looked. Who does this guy think he is? Why does he think I’ll be perfectly okay with being his second choice? But insecurities crept up as I saw this rejection, which I started to read as not being “good enough” for him, as part of a larger pattern. I thought we had a few successful dates, and we kept in constant contact in between. In spite of this, he kept actively looking for new people to date. Is this another sign that men will always see me as less of a catch and therefore never first choice? I felt my inferiority complex kicking in as tears welled up in my eyes.

This is where I usually disappear from the person’s life. There’s no question that he’s just not that into me. So I did something uncharacteristic. I thought about a friend of mine (aside from Katie) with whom I often exchanged dating horror stories. She never hesitated to tell men (read: boys) what she really thought of their behavior toward her. So I decided to take a page from her book. I took a deep breath, let my fingers fly across my phone’s keyboard, and pressed send before I could change my mind. (Take that prone-to-overthinking brain!).

“I have to admit that I am surprised to be hearing from you. When I last heard from you, I was hurt that you thought it was okay to cancel a date with me last minute for someone you didn’t know as well as me. You obviously have a right to see whomever you want, but it was frankly disrespectful to wait until the day of to cancel (after I reached out) and then reappear without addressing that. And it’s not okay.”

I got a reply almost immediately and jumped when I heard my phone vibrate. “I clearly don’t have the nerves for this,” I thought as I gingerly picked up my phone and peeked at the text notification with only one eye open.

“Yeah, you’re right,” was Dan’s lackluster reply. But I didn’t care! I was too busy celebrating this milestone.

OMG! I stood up for myself!

OMG! I shared how I feel!

OMG! I practiced healthy vulnerability!

Before this, I had never been able to tell a guy I’ve been dating that he did something messed up without being gaslighted. I would always end up regretting saying something because the guy would respond to me standing up for myself by creating a confusing, derailing argument. Until now. The streak has been broken! Saying what I truly think and feel doesn’t have to end horribly! Who woulda thunk?

Even if things don’t work out with Dan, I could end right here and declare that #ItsTotallyMe is a success in helping me gain more confidence and learn more about what I want in a partner. I realized that I want to be with a person I can speak my mind to without feeling afraid that the person will lash out.

But don’t worry, I’m not ending right here. I must admit I wanted to keep seeing how things develop with Dan, despite his dick move. And besides, my first meeting with my matchmaker Emma was coming up — maybe I could *gasp* end up dating more than one person at a time?!

Stay tuned!

“Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays . . . ”

This might be the truest line from any song written for this time of year — a line that fills some with warm waves of nostalgia and others with cold shivers of dread. Those on Team Dread aren’t necessarily from families that treat(ed) them badly. Many are simply exhausted at the thought of having to travel YET AGAIN this year, as they have been required to do every year since they left home. The emotional consequences of not going — perish the thought! — can last throughout the year and into future holidays.

And so we trudge home, through airports and/or holiday traffic with kids and gifts. Why? Because we’re the one(s) who left.

Left.

The word loomed over me for years.

It didn’t matter that I’d left to go to college or that I’d stayed in the new city for a job. It didn’t matter that I was only two hours away from my hometown or that there was a reliable, affordable train connecting it to my new home in Chicago. What mattered was that I LEFT. This inescapable fact meant that it was my responsibility forever and ever (amen!) to make the trek back to Indiana. It was exhausting long before the first time my mom disowned me right before the Christmas of 2011.

The cost of having to return was inconsequential to my parents. Taking off work from hourly jobs without paid vacation or sick days meant that the trip home wasn’t just the $25 or so in gas and tolls or even the time I spent driving exhausted when I shouldn’t have. To go home for a couple days at Christmas could easily cost me $500–1,000, depending on the day of the week Christmas fell and which jobs I was working at the time. But, no matter. I LEFT — therefore, I must return.

‘Left.’ The word loomed over me for years.
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And when I showed up, I better be in a festive mood, goddamnit! Four 60-hour weeks in a row in a retail job listening to Mariah Carey’s holiday album on repeat (OMG it’s only like 42 minutes long) before driving five hours home at half speed in a blizzard resulting in my not being able to stomach Christmas carols? SUCK IT UP! No understanding, no mercy. So much for the sentiment behind those carols, I thought to myself.

The imperative to return home for Christmas was made additionally exhausting, stressful, and expensive because it’s only a month after Thanksgiving. It wouldn’t be until after I graduated college that I was allowed to take advantage of our annual Thanksgiving location: 40 minutes from my new home at my favorite aunt’s house. During college, I was expected to drive home on the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving (by far the worst traffic of any day of the year) so that I could ride with my parents two hours back in the direction FROM WHENCE I HAD COME LESS THAN 12 HOURS EARLIER to my aunt’s. Why? I needed to wake up at my parents’ house Friday morning for the annual Christmas decorating bonanza.

Couldn’t we have done the decorating a different day? Or perhaps I could have met my parents at Thanksgiving and then just driven to their house when we all left Thursday evening? Not a chance. It wasn’t worth the anxiety spike that would begin as early as Halloween when I would try and broach the subject of compromise.

I would continue to perform holidays as required to keep the peace for 15 years.

Since 2011’s disowning, when I was told not to feel I had to come home for Christmas, my relationship with holidays has changed — sometimes abruptly, sometimes gradually. I’ve become friends with and heard from folks who have their own stories of being the one who left and the one expected to return, no matter the circumstances. Sharing these experiences has given me a healthier perspective on familial expectations and responsibilities.

I’ve arrived at a place where I now regularly make the case for not going home for the holidays.

Even those without strained relationships have a weight to their words when they talk about “going home” this time of year. I think it begins right there with that phrase.

If I have lived somewhere else longer than I lived in my hometown, why must I call it “home?” The first time I said I had to “go home” when I was already at my parents’ house, bystanders would have thought I’d socked my mom in the stomach and declared I was leaving forever. I hadn’t done it intentionally; usually I was more deliberate with my words and actions in her house so as to make it through without a blow-up of any kind. It would take a few more years before I unapologetically called the city in which I had lived for more than a decade “home” in her presence.

While my mom may be atypical due to a likely undiagnosed mental illness, I have heard similar stories over the years — and not just about parents.

Extended family members participate in the guilt trips as well, and theirs can come with consequences beyond just making you feel bad for not showing up. If we aren’t there at the required moment, we can lose our relationships with them over time — not maliciously, but as a result of our not being physically present at the appointed time(s).

If I have lived somewhere else longer than I lived in my hometown, why must I call it ‘home?’
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Aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. often don’t make an effort to maintain connections — even with the current ease and prevalence of social media. And some of our older relatives understandably never bothered to sign up for Facebook and don’t have the hang of texting. As such, we’re told that our relationships with them, their significant others, and their children — not to mention our place in our families — is largely contingent on our physical presence.

But while this may have made sense 20 or 30 years ago, it’s absurd now. Expensive long-distance phone calls are a thing of the past, easily replaced now with free FaceTime chats. And airline tickets are generally far more affordable during non-holiday periods than during the hectic holiday season. So why engage in the Come Home Or Else holiday theater?

The idea of getting EVERYONE together at the designated day and time is rooted in a way of life that is extremely rare. We allow nostalgia and guilt-tripping to convince us that there is a right day and time to be with family. More and more I ask myself: Who cares when we see each other as long as we see each other? And wouldn’t the loving approach be to set aside a time when those who are coming together don’t experience hardship to make that time happen?

I’m not saying not to go home or to cut off those family members who can do little more than send a card, but I’m not here for the traditional practice of guilting those of us who have left. That guilt is unnecessary in a day and age where travel works in more than one direction — and is likely easier for the older members of the family who don’t have jobs without paid time off or children in tow.

Perhaps if those people fueling the guilt trips cannot engage with you throughout the year — cannot support your life and your choices and your happiness — they’re not all that important. Maybe our holidays should be spent with those who make room for us in their lives whether it’s convenient or not and no matter the distance between us.

This year I will be with my chosen family, rather than the one that raised me. True, it’s not the first season I’ve spent away from my hometown, but it finally feels like this is happening on my terms. I’m not joining up with others who have nowhere to go in a group effort to not feel alone; I have made an affirmative choice to spend time with my loved ones here.

I’m looking forward to this holiday more than any other in my adulthood that I can remember. I have found community with people who value me — and I can’t imagine anywhere I’d rather be.

Around 1:30 p.m. on Thanksgiving Day this year, I was crying in a blessedly secluded corner of New York’s bustling Port Authority. I’d missed my bus north by about five minutes and was inconsolable. Because I hadn’t gotten up a few minutes earlier, I’d missed my chance to eat with my family. I felt especially terrible because my grandmother was due for intense surgery in a few days, and nobody was sure what the outcome might be.

Sniffling, I called my girlfriend and arranged to meet her out on Long Beach for her family’s festivities. Although she’d had some difficulties over the past year with a few family members because of various aspects of her gender transition, by and large, you couldn’t ask for a more accepting family. Apparently, when you celebrate the holidays at a middle-aged lesbian couple’s house, queerphobia and invasive questions in general are kept to a minimum . . . and nobody talks about politics.

In fact, I’ve only met one family more accepting of transition — and that’s my own.

At last year’s holiday gatherings, even though I’d only been out to them for a month and change, I could count the number of times I was accidentally misgendered on one hand; my aunt, whose first words to me were “This will take some getting used to,” began correcting herself without prompting after just a few hours together. I was sad not to see them again this year, but happy to have found another accepting clan.

Acceptance isn’t something that often comes naturally from the families of those who are transgender. Scrolling through Facebook the day before, I scanned countless posts from friends who were nervous about (or resigned to) the familial horror show they were about to endure. Others talked about being cut off by their family members the night before Thanksgiving. “Holidays are the time I miss having family the most,” wrote one of my nonbinary friends.

Lest any cisgender readers think I merely have exceptionally depressing Facebook friends — well, maybe. But according to the most recent data available from the National Center for Transgender Equality, about one in five trans-identified people experience rejection from their families because of their gender identity. One in 10 suffer violence at the hands of family members after coming out. A quoted respondent said that after coming out, their parents “told me to leave and not come back. I spent the next six months homeless.”

Transgender people of color experience higher rejection rates than the average; 37% of Middle Eastern trans folks and 38% of Native Americans reported familial rejection. My heart breaks for all the Native protestors at Standing Rock, but especially the trans people who risked their lives in the face of frigid fire hoses and tear gas without even the love of their families to keep them warm.

Things are getting better; these numbers are significantly down from the NCTE’s previous survey, and 60% of trans people polled said they were supported. But when our families do reject us, they do it violently — and if nobody’s around to catch us when we’re pushed out, the fall can be deadly.

As we drove back to Brooklyn on that Thanksgiving, my girlfriend dozing in a food coma beside me in the back seat, my mind drifted to these kinds of numbers and how much luckier I am than so many of my siblings — my “chosen family.” I may be among those whose relationships ended as a result of my gender, but my biological family remains intact, and my ex and I are close friends. I thought back to this summer, when I attended my cousin’s wedding in Manhattan without fear of being cornered by some drunken uncle and berated for wearing a pink dress. How many ways could my life be endlessly worse than it is now?

For this reason, I reflected, I don’t often feel comfortable discussing my family with others in the trans community — especially my sisters, who are most likely to experience familial rejection. I’m touched that some of my closest friends count me as part of their chosen family, but every time that phrase is mentioned, I feel tremendous guilt that I’ve somehow held onto my mother, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and sundry cousins.

Well. I hung onto the ones on my mother’s side, anyway. After my father died almost five years ago, his side of the family fell out of touch with my mother and me, and nobody’s made much of an effort to get in contact with me since I started wearing skirts in public. I think four out of five of them voted for Trump anyway — but as much as I’d like to dismiss them out of hand as a bunch of out-of-touch white cisgender conservatives who don’t know what a cool chick I am these days, I still miss them. I know I won’t be welcome at my aunts’ houses anymore, so I won’t get a chance to play soccer again with my cousin, the athlete. I won’t have dinner at Grandma’s and hear her play lounge-lizard tunes on the piano after dessert. I can’t go back to the house in the country where I grew up.

But still, I kept more of my family than I could have hoped. Nobody hit me, nobody interrogated me every time they saw me, nobody adamantly refused to use my pronouns unless I acted or dressed a certain way. And so I find myself a privileged member of a group defined by its lack of privilege: a girl who cherishes her mother while her sisters long for their parents to talk to them like they’re people.

We have our chosen families — but how do you mend the hole your blood relatives make when they abandon you?

I’ve found myself trying to alleviate this (admittedly irrational) guilt by introducing my mother into my friends’ lives. When we talk on the phone, she goes out of her way to call me her daughter and tells me how angry she is that my friends “lost their mama bears.” She’s been dipping her toes into the waters of voice coaching, and I’m hopeful that she can help my community in a tangible sense, but I also just want the people I love to feel like they have a mother again. The winter holidays are about family and sharing, so why shouldn’t I share my family? As Hanukkah, Christmas, and other gift-giving holidays approach, can I gift-wrap my bloodline to share it with those I love?

Maybe these feelings are misplaced, and perhaps I should be focusing my energy elsewhere. I don’t know. All I’m certain of is that I’m one of the luckiest girls in the world, just because my biological family loves me — and that knowledge is enough to make me cry all over again.

Maybe you were just calling to let me know I accidentally wore the shoes from the spa back to my room. If so, I apologize, and the rest of this doesn’t apply to you.

In the event that you somehow caught a glimpse of me and were trying to save me from embarrassment, I’m not embarrassed.

I know all the reasons you think I’m embarrassed.

I’m supposed to be embarrassed because I’ve done something dangerous.

A woman’s naked body is deemed a danger. If someone finds it attractive, people fear it could be violated. And they fear that if that happened, that would be the body’s fault. As if striking up a conversation and deciding if you’d both like to have sex were not a viable option.

People fear that if someone were to find it unattractive, displaying it would be wrong, because a woman showing her body is supposed to be just so. As if my private time were a strip show.

I’m supposed to be embarrassed because being sexy is being bad.

I’m supposed to be embarrassed because I’m aware that my genitals respond to pressure, though I’m allowed to say my tongue responds to food and my throat responds to water.

People are afraid of a woman in touch with her body because a woman in touch with her body is in touch with her needs, and a woman in touch with her needs doesn’t put up with people who act like they don’t matter. Which means she doesn’t put up with the world.

I’m not just talking about masturbation anymore.

The only thing scarier than a woman in touch with her needs is a man in touch with a woman’s needs. He’s disturbing the whole order of things. He’s ceding the throne — and betraying the other men it seats, the ones who thought he had their back.

A friend of mine once told me he’d never tell his friends he’d gone down on women, because that would make him seem submissive.

In the same conversation, he asked if I liked when a guy came on my body. When I said “meh,” he actually seemed offended.

People are offended by a woman who feels her own pleasure without offering it to someone else, who enjoys her own body rather than just enjoying it vicariously through someone else. Even if it’s as innocent as leaning into the jets of a private hot tub.

I was 5 when I first masturbated in a hot tub. I didn’t knew what masturbation was; I told my friends the jets massaged your private parts. I didn’t know what an orgasm was; I told my friends it starts tickling too much and then you stop.

Was that 5-year-old dirty? Was she tempting? Was she slutty?

Because I’m no different from her now.

Like her, I’m just experiencing my body, not as a sight but as a source of sensation.

When you move from sight to sensation, hierarchies disappear. A woman can enjoy being inside her body no matter how “beautiful” or “ugly” it is, and that’s scary. If women aren’t deemed dangerous for being beautiful, they’re deemed dangerous for being “ugly” and feeling good anyway.

A naked man is not dangerous unless a woman’s looking at him. In fact, the only thing more embarrassing than a naked woman is a woman’s glance at a naked man. A man, being looked at, cedes his throne.

By entering this jacuzzi, I’m climbing onto that throne without permission. I’m refusing to deny the reality that I have a body. I’m refusing to ignore my needs or feelings. I’m proclaiming that the tingles in my spine and the heat between my legs deserve attention with no more and no less attention than a man’s.

I realize that phone call was probably about my shoes or something else irrelevant to this. But the momentary panic it induced is relevant. Because I feel it — that fear of being caught inside my body.

I know I’m not supposed to be in here. I’m supposed to be on the outside looking in, looking with the same eyes as whoever might’ve spotted me.

And for a second, when that phone rang, I thought the jig was up. I thought, “shit, now they know I know. They know I know I’m a person. They know I know they’ve been lying.”

And for that second, I was embarrassed.

But then I remembered that 5-year-old, and the tickling jets. She was innocent, and so am I.

By Liza Monroy

I had just broken up with a live-in boyfriend when I arrived back at our still-shared apartment one night to find he had trashed it: submerged my computers in the bathtub, shredded my clothes, smashed my guitar, and sunk of some of the only pictures I had of my parents’ wedding and of my late father in the toilet. We had been together for three years and he’d never shown any signs of doing anything so destructive, but what surprised me most was that some formerly mutual friends leapt to his defense.

What did she do to deserve it? they wanted to know. He had answers: I’d cheated on him (I hadn’t) and broke his heart; my side of the story was not to be trusted. Though I had concrete proof of what he’d done — threatening voicemails about my belongings “soon to be on fire,” destroyed possessions, police reports, and, ultimately, a restraining order — some who knew us both believed what he did was justified because I “brought it on.”

By being a woman, I guess.

In her 2014 Harper’s essay “Cassandra Among the Creeps,” Rebecca Solnit writes of Cassandra, the mythological Greek prophet cursed by Apollo to never have her (accurate) prophecies believed after she refuses his efforts to seduce her.

“Credibility is such a foundational power in [the gender] wars and because women are so often accused of being categorically lacking in that department,” Solnit writes. Look at how many women spoke up about Bill Cosby without being believed. Or how often the public sides with famous athletes facing rape allegations. Or the campus rape epidemic that, most recently, Emma Sulkowicz and Aspen Matis have drawn attention to with their respective performance piece and memoir.

And now there’s Trump.

Though “Cassandra Among The Creeps” is four years old, its relevance has just increased by tenfold, as that many women and counting came forward with allegations of sexual harassment and assault committed by Trump, only to have the veracity of their claims questioned by the public and even some members of the media.

I experienced a different aspect of the Cassandra phenomenon: the narrative that his actions were excusable because I must have done something to “deserve it.”

“Still, even now,” Solnit writes, “when a woman says something uncomfortable about male misconduct, she is routinely portrayed as delusional, a malicious conspirator, a pathological liar . . . ” It’s the very definition of gas-lighting; as Solnit puts it, “ . . . this old framework of feminine mendacity and murky-mindedness is still routinely trotted out, and we should learn to recognize it for what it is.”

My own Cassandra story began after months of the relationship’s unraveling, following scads of arguments about his financial irresponsibility and alcohol abuse. He promised to change, and got a part-time job to prove it; he was finally paying me back for the years I footed the bills. To top off his turnaround, he told me he’d organized and booked a long-weekend trip to the Florida Keys for my 30th birthday. I offered to help pay for it, but he declined, insisting I could simply buy him dinner while we were there.

Things were getting better. Our relationship was evolving into the partnership of equals I’d always hoped it would.

Then, the night before we were supposed to leave, as I walked toward our bedroom to pack my suitcase, I saw him searching for last-minute discount fares. He’d never booked plane tickets — or anything. I’d made enough excuses for him. I left for the long weekend alone, telling him I wanted him gone by the time I came back.

When I returned, he was not only still there, but refused to move out; he couldn’t afford the rent on his own. (I’d once thought I was so progressive for being the main “breadwinner” in the relationship.)

And then, a few weeks later, I returned home to find he’d gotten drunk and destroyed almost everything I owned.

“I don’t want the next thing he destroys to be you,” the judge said as he issued the order of protection the next day. “I don’t think he would be physically violent,” I said. “This is physical violence,” the judge said.

It got me thinking about women who come forward about having been assaulted or harassed and lack physical evidence — how hard is it to be believed then. In my case, there was plenty of proof. Still, when I tried to explain what happened to one of our formerly mutual friends when I ran into her, she cut me off. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” she said and walked away. Even women are complicit in the Cassandra phenomenon. Why would another woman want to justify my ex’s destruction of my property?

When I saw him on the street two years after the incident, I hid. He’d moved back to the area. Would I have to see him at the café where I worked? The grocery store? The bar where I met friends for happy hour? As I now know is typical in these situations, I felt fear and shame. Why should I be ashamed when, if anyone should feel ashamed, it’s him? I was ashamed of my shame. Next time, I resolved, I would confront him. I didn’t need to turn away, and I would not be ashamed.

What I also didn’t see then was how I’d “Cassandra’d” myself. I was still making excuses for my ex: He didn’t attack my body, it was “just stuff,” it wasn’t really that bad. I certainly didn’t want to get hysterical about it. It was easier to try to forget about it even when he still owed me half of a promised settlement for damages. I can only imagine experiencing, as Solnit describes, the “unpleasant consequences” for the “humiliating ordeal” that is reporting sexual harassment.

All of which is why we should pay even more attention as the allegations of sexual misconduct against Trump pile up. The credibility conversation is happening again along with them. As of this writing, 12 women have come forward. Does it become harder to discredit them? Could there be so many attention-seeking liars eager to frame a decent man, or at least a man being considered as suitable for our nation’s highest office? But the numbers-game mentality is problematic, too — Solnit points to an instance when, in sexual-harassment prevention training, an older male stated, “Why would we start an investigation based on only one woman’s report?”

The Cassandra phenomenon is deeply troubling, as it works both ways: If too many women come forward against famous men like Trump and Cosby, they’re portrayed as lying bloodsuckers, trying to get money or fame. If too few do, they’re regarded as unreliable.

Meanwhile Trump’s denials of the misconduct are packaged in language that only reiterates their likelihood, or at least reifies his character: “Believe me, she would not be my first choice, that I can tell you.” And of another woman: “Look at her! I don’t think so.” I just imagine him perusing a pile of cantaloupes at a grocery store: feeling and squeezing his way through in search of the finest.

One would hope that the myth of women’s unreliability emerging into the spotlight because of this bizarre circus sideshow of a presidential candidate, a Jungian archetype of patriarchy’s shadow, would be what it takes to finally destroy it, but there is clearly more to be done. Even with so many Cassandras taking a stand against one creep on the national stage, news about Trump as a potential rapist is already falling behind yet more stories about Hillary Clinton’s emails. “So many lies,” Trump said. Sound familiar?

“To tell a story and have it and the teller recognized and respected is still one of the best methods we have of overcoming trauma,” Solnit writes. Only by telling our stories — especially stories about the discrediting and silencing of those stories — can we hope to close the gender gap between who gets heard and who is silenced.

By Stephanie Watson

Anne Frank’s diary, published after its author died in a German concentration camp at age 15, is for many people the defining document of the Holocaust. The diary, originally titled Het Achterhuis, is a national treasure to Jewish women and girls throughout the world, and many Holocaust survivors and historians, such as Primo Levi, have said that it serves as a solid representation of the millions of Jews and other oppressed people who suffered at the hands of the Nazi party. But not everyone realizes that the book published under the title The Diary Of A Young Girl is an abridged, reworked, and redacted version of the diary Anne actually wrote. For me, that knowledge was almost enough to make me boycott the book.

I had managed to avoid reading Anne’s diary for most of my life, but not too long ago I decided to give it a go in audiobook form. The narrator, Helena Bonham Carter, started with the forward of the Penguin edition. She set the scene, described the book’s importance, discussed the war — and then explained that the book had been heavily edited:

“To begin with, the book had to be kept short so that it would fit in with a series put out by the Dutch publisher. In addition, several passages dealing with Anne’s sexuality were omitted; at the time of the diary’s initial publication, in 1947, it was not customary to write openly about sex, and certainly not in books for young adults. Out of respect for the dead, Otto Frank also omitted a number of unflattering passages about his wife and the other residents of the Secret Annex.”

That’s when I turned it off.

There’s something very unsettling about the idea of editing someone’s personal and autobiographical journal. After all, it’s supposed to be a portal into the past: Anne’s experience in the annex, exactly what happened exactly as it happened. To omit important facts and attitudes from its pages just seemed wrong. So I couldn’t continue listening to it, particularly after learning that many omitted sections were on gender-specific topics like sexuality and a young woman’s relationship to her mother.

As it turns out, there are actually three versions of Anne’s diary. Version A is the original journal, the actual words she wrote while in hiding. Version B is Anne’s rewrite in novel form, after she heard on the radio that Minister Bolkestein — the minister for Education, Art and Science during World War II — had requested that all diaries during the German occupation were to be kept and studied for years to come. But version C is the one that most schools handed out in English class, and Anne had no control over that version at all.

‘The Diary Of A Young Girl’ is an abridged, reworked, and redacted version of the diary Anne actually wrote.
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After her father was given the remains of both versions by Miep Gies and Bep Voskuijl, who hid the Franks, he and the publishing house edited them into a version that combined the original diary and the rewritten version, with some additional redactions. I considered this blend offensive to Anne’s privacy — since in the diary itself she stated that she didn’t want anyone to read her unfiltered thoughts. Moreover, it omits things that she surely would have wanted kept in version B, since she put them there in the first place.

According to the forward of Penguin’s Definitive Edition (the audiobook I began listening to), several paragraphs on Anne’s personal attitudes and experiences were edited or completely removed from version C. Anne’s opinions on her parents were edited to seem less harsh — for instance, this version removes the line “Father’s fondness for talking about farting and going to the lavatory is disgusting.”

Anne’s thoughts and observations about her body were also cut in version C. Take a look at this section in which she talks about her vagina: “Until I was 11 or 12, I didn’t realize there was a second set of labia on the inside [of the vagina], though you couldn’t see them. What’s even funnier is that I thought urine came out of the clitoris.”

The edited version is scoured of references to Anne’s adolescent sexuality. “I told him [Peter] all about girls, without hesitating to discuss the most intimate matters,” Anne wrote in the diary, about her potential boyfriend in the annex. “I found it rather amusing that he thought the opening in a woman’s body was simply left out of illustrations. He couldn’t imagine it was actually located between a woman’s legs. The evening ended with a mutual kiss, near the mouth . . . “ The edited version also removes Anne’s references to her period: “PS. I forgot to mention the important news that I’m probably going to get my period soon. I can tell because I keep finding a whitish smear in my panties.”

I already worried that heavy editing of Anne’s diary was disrespectful to her memory. But seeing the content of the changes, it seemed that the edits were also an act of misogyny. The redacted sections dealt with love, sex, and body changes, all topics that women were discouraged from talking about in the 1940s and are still discouraged from talking about today. If Anne had been a boy, would the publication house have deleted sections on discovering his body? On his thoughts about a girl? Would his thoughts about his parents be written off as just a “boy being a boy”?

This is what made me uncomfortable enough to boycott the book.

Anne’s father, Otto Frank, was on board for some of the edits, and according to Otto himself, he made these changes with Anne’s own desires in mind: “Of course Anne didn’t want certain things to be published. I have evidence of it . . . Anne’s diary is for me a testament. I must work in her sense. So I decided how to do it through thinking how Anne would have done it. Probably she would have completed it as I did for a publisher.”

But if she wouldn’t have wanted those entries published, then why did she include them in version B at all? Version B was her own re-working, after all, so everything in that version is what she wanted people to see. What evidence did Anne’s father have that she would want her work sanitized?

With these questions in mind, I asked several writers and readers about their opinion on the editing of Anne Frank’s diary. Did the changes and redactions dilute its value? Did they justify simply not reading the book at all?

Some people I talked to agreed with me: “The idea of censoring Anne Frank goes completely against that important principle of telling the truth through the eyes of direct witnesses,” said Erin Stewart, a journalist. “Especially since I think some of the more powerful aspects of her diary (at least for me) are the minutiae, the fact that even trapped in this dank, cramped, precarious place, she had normal feelings about her relationships and life generally. She was still herself. There’s something really moving about the endurance of identity in those times and something terribly heartbreaking about diluting that.”

But the Jewish writers and readers I spoke to emphasized the significance of the diary, in whatever form it’s available. “As a Jewish reader who has read this book since childhood, I don’t agree with not reading it at all because it’s been edited,” said Alana Saltz, a Jewish writer and avid reader. “I do understand your frustration, and I think it’s unfortunate that the book was censored that way. However, you can’t dispute the power and historical impact it’s had in bringing awareness to the Holocaust, and so even if it’s not ideal and should be challenged in the future and questioned now, not reading it seems too extreme.”

After talking to Alana, I started to realize that the bigger picture was more important than any editing shadiness. The edits may be sexist, but fighting anti-Semitism — including by facing and examining what happened during the Holocaust — is more important.

But it doesn’t have to be a choice between accepting the bowdlerized diary and ignoring it altogether. I discovered that there is apparently an unabridged version of the diary that has not been altered the way other versions have, published under the name The Critical Edition. This edition offers side-by-side looks at the three versions, so readers can understand what’s been changed. In my opinion, this is the version that should be available in schools. This would allow us to critique the edits, and acknowledge the misogyny that fueled them, without boycotting the book.

While the edits are offensive, we can’t let that hold us back from learning more about what Anne, and millions of other Jewish people, went through during those painful years. If like myself, you’ve been putting off reading the book, I urge you to join me in giving it a chance. And if you’ve already read it, maybe pick up the Critical Edition and take another look.

During wrestling’s boom period in the ’80s and‘90s — there remains controversy as to what decade boasted the most devotion — millions of fans tuned in each week to watch their favorite superstars chokeslam and piledrive their sworn enemies, all clad in spandex and swagger.

It was a bizarre and beautiful world.

The WWE and WCW were ratings juggernauts boasting performers like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and “Hollywood” Hulk Hogan. Wrestlers didn’t shirk from the spotlight; they demanded it. Amid this arguably odd pomp and prestige, female wrestlers were slated into a troubling — if classic — trifecta of misogyny, presented as shrews, sex objects, or victims.

While there were standout athletes like Alundra Blaze and Bull Nakano, and later performers like Molly Holly and Lita Raw — who showcased obvious acrobatic talent in the ring — their characters had little autonomy over their own actions and were largely there to react to the men on the show. Over the past few years, however, the major wrestling federations have made strides to present their female performers in a more progressive light, showcasing their swagger and showmanship.

One of the most promising and radical federations to put women at the forefront of their product is the Robert Rodriguez-produced supernatural wrestling telenovela Lucha Underground — an episodic, 60-minute wrestling program that blends in-ring action with elements of police procedurals and sci-fi, all while paying homage to the traditional lucha libre style. If that seems like a lot to take in, try explaining the plot of Westworld and see if you feel any less ridiculous.

Since Lucha Underground’s premiere on the El Rey network — launched by Rodriguez in 2014 — it has revolutionized the world of professional wrestling. The show is one part B-movie horror, one part Fight Club, and one very juicy part Days of Our Lives. Lucha Underground is truly groundbreaking, and not just for the wrestling realm; it’s actively reimagining what a television genre can be.

Rather than being shot like a sporting event, Lucha Underground cuts between neo-noir film vignettes and in-ring action, all driven by a linear plot predicated on its own mythology. And at the crux of that mythology is the strength, tenacity, and front-and-center presence of women, including the characters of Catrina, the immortal personification of death, and Captain Vasquez, her no-nonsense police chief sister.

These characters, alongside a handful of other female performers including international sensation Sexy Star, are driving influences on the show. And while Lucha Underground occasionally falls into old wrestling tropes — scorned girlfriends and merciless sex pots rear their heads — it remains one of the few shows on American TV with a constant representation of strong, independent, Latina women.

In short? On Lucha Underground, women are treated as equals. They frequently take up arms against their male counterparts, have their own plot-lines, and are given a chance to showcase their brawn and physical prowess.

Recently I had the chance to sit down with Lucha Underground star Ivelisse Velez. Velez is a former Lucha Underground trios champion — the show’s equivalent of the tag team titles — and a two-time champion of the Shine wrestling promotion (which boasts “the finest female wrestlers in the world”). She had a brief stint in WWE’s NXT and has performed in rings across the globe.

On Lucha Undergound, Velez is presented with a relentlessly outspoken demeanour; she’s quick to point out her goals and ambitions, is always looking to steal the show, and is ready to scrap with anyone who stands in her way. During our conversation, it was clear that Velez’s wrestling gimmick isn’t an act, but rather her natural personality turned up a few notches. To an 11 perhaps.

Here’s what Ivelisse had to say to The Establishment.

Graham Isador: You grew up “on the top of a mountain” in Puerto Rico. Can you tell me a bit about your upbringing and background? What was your childhood like?

Ivelisse Velez: It was very hard for me to be literally away from civilization. I am a very active, ambitious individual, so being in this type of environment had a big impact on me. But I left my home once I graduated from high school — despite my mother’s wishes — and embarked on this journey to follow the life I imagined looking out into the horizon of the Caribbean. This severed my relationship with my mother for some time — it was so hard — but I needed to follow my dreams.

Graham: You’ve said that you became interested in wrestling through your brother. Is he what actually drew you to the sport?

Ivelisse: I was always playing sports. I tried a lot of different things, from running and basketball to volleyball — I’ve always been an athlete. My brother was always a superfan of wrestling, along with my uncles. This passion for it rubbed off on me, and the fact that I was an athlete made me view it differently. I said to myself: I could do this. Why not? And against all odds — literally all — I made the decision to go for it.

Graham: You’ve said that you began your wrestling career at 15. Can you tell us how you started training — what were those first bouts in the ring like?

Ivelisse: The training was exciting and a bit scary at first all together. But I loved learning then and I still love learning now. My first experiences in actual locker rooms working were honestly quite uncomfortable. I would just go in, do my job, and leave. I felt very out of place. I never let anyone mess with me, though. I am sure many misunderstood my demeanor, but that wasn’t my concern. My concern was to do my job and not get in anyone’s way. I was very innocent, serious, and focused, and lacked a good amount of social skills due to the fact that I had lived such a secluded life.

Graham: During the time period when you began wrestling, the roles for females were more limited. The majority of women who were on WWE TV had two-dimensional characters, at best — the focus was more on their appearances as opposed to their athletic ability. Did that make breaking into the business more difficult for you?

Ivelisse: It sure did. Especially because of the fact that that particular aspect of this profession has never really been a priority to me. It sure was frustrating, but I held my ground. And because I refused to allow myself to be molded into that stereotype in and out of the ring, I was released (from the WWE), unfortunately. Politics have never been a strong suit of mine. I cherish honesty and integrity in my work. Too many people get away with a lot when placed in position of power, and that phenomenon occurs a lot in the game of politics. They always say: Play the game. But I’m not here to play games. I’m here to work, make an impact, and make a difference.

Graham: The current role of women in mainstream wrestling is fundamentally shifting. What do you think about the change, and what do you attribute this to?

Ivelisse: I think it’s awesome. It makes me happy to see change. It is not as fast as I’d like, but as long as there is progress, we are on the right track. My contribution is through my work. Strive for quality in your work. Be true to yourself, believe in yourself, and stand up for yourself — strive to be the best that you can be.

Graham: Do you think representation is important in wrestling? What do you think representation does for female fans watching the show, especially younger fans?

Ivelisse: Presentation is everything to me. The whole world is watching. I want to make a difference and show the world to have the courage to follow your heart and fight for what you believe in. Because representation means so much to me, it is very difficult for me to relinquish that control to bookers, writers, etc.

Graham: One of the reasons I love watching Lucha Underground is because of the character development. Your storyline started out as a controlling girlfriend, but over the course of the last two seasons we’ve watched you grow into a dominant and independent performer. How have you felt about your character’s growth?

Ivelisse: Honestly, I am not entirely ecstatic about portraying a “girlfriend role” — it’s definitely something I look forward to staying away from, but I made as much of it as I could. I don’t quite feel that my character has been able to do so solidly yet, but I’m sure it will soon. I do indeed look forward to that.

Graham: Lucha Underground has also dealt with some complex and painful plot lines. One of the things that I was surprised about was portraying Sexy Star as a survivor of domestic abuse. How did you feel about that narrative?

Ivelisse: I am not entirely 100% sure on how personally true that may be about Sexy Star herself, but I’ve endured numerous encounters of domestic abuse. I never speak of it, but it definitely has an immense impact — not just on your physical health, but emotionally and mentally.

Graham: You’re often facing off against the male talent. This is a big difference between Lucha Underground and other wrestling promotions. I know you began training with male wrestlers, but how does it feel to fight them?

Ivelisse: Is it gratifying that the women are portrayed as equal fighters? I think its great! It makes LU standout from other products. Although, I feel it should be done with reality in mind — as well as when the matches are put together — but that’s just me. I am a “protect the art form” type of performer. On that note, I feel there should be — at least — a more attainable title for smaller fighters, like a Speed Title or something. Smaller fighters are the perpetual underdogs to the bigger fighters and that limits the complexity and diversity of our work from a performer’s standpoint/perspective.

Graham: Are you ever worried that the male-on-female fighting might be difficult to watch?

Ivelisse: I know to this day it is difficult for some and thrilling for others to watch. But I love it, if it’s done right! But again, I feel it should always be put together with a good balance of make-believe and reality. That’s my opinion.

Graham: What would you like to see more of in women’s wrestling? What is your ultimate goal as a performer?

Ivelisse: I would like to see more women focusing on the actual art form of wrestling, which is psychology. The entire point of what we do is to make people believe what they are watching is actually real. Everything about it. That’s what pro wrestling is. Or at least started out to be . . . you can be athletic and still keep that in mind!

My ultimate goal is to continue to contribute to women’s wrestling in a positive light and to inspire girls, boys, women, men, etc., and to be passionate about their interests and dreams! It doesn’t matter where you start or come from, with enough hard work and relentless courage, you can take yourself wherever you want to go! It will be one lonely road . . . but it will all be worth it when you reach your dreams. And after that, create some more dreams to reach and so on. That is the ultimate goal.

“Nobody should have to risk their health in order to keep their job! A YES vote for Prop 60 is a vote to protect California adult film workers from disease, Porn producers refuse to provide a safe workplace for their performers. As a result, thousands of workers have been exposed to serious and life-threatening diseases. It is time to hold the pornographers accountable for worker safety and health in California’s adult film industry.”

By Mary Newman

Janice Griffith is a sex worker. She’s sipping tea in a Chinese restaurant in San Francisco’s Mission District. She’s peering out from behind large black-framed glasses, and waiting for an order of spring rolls. She’s talking politics.

Griffith, 21, says she began her career as a performer in adult films as soon as she turned 18. Now she hopes to make the transition from fresh-new-face to established porn star, but she believes a state ballot measure in the Nov. 8 election could be a major obstacle to those dreams if it becomes law.

Proposition 60, the Condoms in Pornographic Films initiative, would increase enforcement of state occupational health rules mandating the use of condoms on adult film sites. But while the measure is supported by the AIDS Healthcare Foundation, and the American Medical Association, it’s drawn virtually no support from the performers, underscoring how difficult it is to regulate workplace safety in an industry that operates at the fringes of mainstream entertainment.

Ostensibly, it could be difficult to understand why adult performers would be against Proposition 60, as it would require producers, directors, and production studios to pay the cost of testing for HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases; the proposition claims the thrust of its creation is for the safety of the performers.

The state voter guide argument penned by Cynthia Davis, M.P.H., Board Chair of the AIDS Healthcare Foundation, Gary A. Richwald, M.D., M.P.H., former director of Los Angeles County Sexually Transmitted Disease Program, and Derrick Burts, an HIV-positive former adult film worker is as follows:

The ballot also “imposes liability on producers for violations, on certain distributors, on performers if they have a financial interest in the film involved, and on talent agents who knowingly refer performers to noncomplying producers.”

The AIDS Healthcare Foundation (AHF), a Los Angeles-based nonprofit, is the sole financial backer of the proposition. According to the California Secretary of State, AHF has contributed $4.5 million to help the proposition pass in November, arguing that adult film performers can pose a greater threat to California citizens if they are contracting HIV while filming.

Supporters of Prop 60 claim new regulations are needed because the rules in place now are widely ignored, but the California Division of Occupational Safety and Health (Cal-OSHA) — the state agency that enforces workplace safety and health — can already go after adult filmmakers who allow blood-borne pathogens to spread by not requiring protection. Proposition 60 would allow anyone the right to sue a producer if condoms aren’t visible in adult movies showing explicit scenes of penetration, potentially surfacing a morass of complicated litigation.

The Yes on Prop 60 campaign is also concerned that producers are pressuring young performers into filming without condoms because that’s what the audience prefers to watch. But Kink.com spokesperson Mike Stabile argues that performers should have the choice to use a condom or not, and that choice shouldn’t be dictated by the audience or by Cal-OSHA.

“It would be disingenuous to say that there is not some sort of market that informs us, but it’s not the driving force,” Stabile explains. “If it were just about this issue, the industry would have folded a long time ago.”

In Los Angeles, where adult film production had served as a major industry since the ’70s (the halcyon days of the ’90s found the San Fernando Valley making more than $4 billion in porn revenue), concern about the spread of infectious disease led to the passage of Measure B in 2012. Similar to Proposition 60, it requires performers to wear condoms in sexually explicit productions.

Critics say it was easy for producers to evade the LA rules, simply by moving production centers elsewhere. Prior to Measure B there were 480 permits issued to adult film sets in Los Angeles in 2012; that number dropped to 26 in 2015.

Three performers are featured on the Yes on Prop 60 campaign website sharing stories of contracting HIV while filming on set, although opponents question whether that’s really how they contracted the virus.

“I am not trying to discredit their situation,” Senator Mark Leno said in response to their claims that HIV was contracted while filming. “But there was never any proof present at the Cal-OSHA hearings last spring.” Dozens of film performers and producers attended the hearings to argue that no one is allowed to film unless they have cleared test results.

Polls show a majority of voters favor the measure, despite the outcry of the performers, however. In early September, a poll found that 55% were in support of Proposition 60. It also illustrated a large gender gap with 64% of women in favor, compared with 44% of men.

Porn, estimated to be a $9 billion-a-year industry in California, needs to be investing more in worker safety, says Rick Taylor, the lead campaign consultant for the Yes on Prop 60 campaign. Certainly, he added, the industry can afford to pay for basic health protections like blood tests for STDs.

“No one can argue that the industry shouldn’t be paying for the testing,” Taylor said during a telephone interview. “Tell me another job in America that you pay for your own testing.” He believes the financial burden of STD and HIV testing should fall on the producers, since they make more money than individual performers.

But to Griffith, testing is just a cost of doing business; it’s also a $3,000-a-year tax write-off. She also insists that the other actors she performs with also get tested — and she has requested certain performers repeat the testing a few days before each production she is in.

Her biggest concern is not her own safety or her fellow performers’ as self-vigilance surrounding testing has always been and remains high; rather she is fighting against what she considers to be degrading stereotypes and ill-informed moralizing by industry outsiders.

“Prop. 60 just feels like a vendetta against the porn industry,” she said, adding that she and her peers are taking unpaid days off to work against the ballot measure and attend hearings.

Some performers worry that Proposition 60 will make them less safe, both professionally and privately. “Janice Griffith” is a stage name the actress uses to protect her real identity. She and many other performers have taken to social media to voice fears of increased harassment if Proposition 60 passes, because the measure would require film producers to submit documents listing where and when filming takes place, and list everyone who will be performing.

Harassment and stalking is already an issue for performers, but many worry that enforcing this kind of documentation would give both anti-porn groups and obsessed fans the ability to find out their legal names, where they are filming, and in some cases, where they live.

One reason she can find work in the Bay Area, Griffith said, is that studios are fleeing the mandatory-condom rules in Los Angeles. If the state ballot measure passes, Griffith predicts more of the action will shift to Nevada and Florida.

The Infectious Disease Society of America and HIV Medicine Association conducted a study examining the efficacy of condoms for protection against herpes and HIV; the study concluded that using condoms reduces the per-act risk of transmission by 80%.

While these numbers feel like compelling fodder to get behind Prop. 60, Griffith explains that condoms aren’t as effective at stopping the spread of STDs as simply being tested, despite ample evidence to the contrary from outside the entertainment industry. Her main concern is contracting STI’s — like herpes orally — through other points of contact while filming.

“Condoms work when you’re having sex at home with your partner,” Griffith said. “But we are filming anywhere from four to eight hours so they usually break in that time. They can also form small micro abrasions within our vaginal wall, which actually makes it easier to contract HIV.”

No medical study has been done about sexual intercourse specific to adult films to support Griffith’s claim, but her peer Casey Calvert made similar claims to The Huffington Post in 2014:

“After fucking for 45 minutes to an hour without a condom, my insides are sore. With a condom, they are rubbed raw. The extra friction from the condom causes micro tears in the walls of my vagina and anus. Besides the fact that they just plain hurt, they take time to heal. There is no way I could work as often as I do if every scene required a condom. The micro tears also leave me more vulnerable to STDs when the condom does fail, again completely defeating the purpose.”

While we spoke, Griffith rifled through a sheaf of carefully written notes fanned out on the table beside her, often quoting language directly from the proposition. She admitted to the “no condom” pressures young women receive from producers, but isn’t convinced Prop 60 will improve that dynamic.

“It’s not that we’re against regulation,” she added. “But I’ve read the proposition, and it’s clear that they did not consult anyone who is performing in the industry today.”

Griffith follows the testing standards suggested by the Adult Performer Advocacy Committee, which offers testing resources and advice to porn actors. Chanel Preston, president of the APAC, has been working to create alternative approaches to regulating safety in the industry, including more specific Cal-OSHA rules, which she said would keep performers safe without preventing their ability to earn a living.

“The regulations that are being applied to our industry currently are regulations that were written in like the ’90s for hospitals,” Preston said. “So they are choosing to just apply those to our industry. There are no OSHA regulations for the adult industry.”

Preston’s main concern is that language in the current Cal-OSHA regulations is too broad. She thinks it would be more effective to regulate regular testing and increase education to young performers.

But there has already been some effort to crack down against producers who don’t play by the current rules. This past May, the California Division of Occupational Safety and Health cited the San Francisco adult film studio Kink with 13 violations, resulting in $146,600 in penalties.

According to the U.S. Department of Labor, three of those violations were related to condom use, each costing $25,000. The remaining 10 violations were more general worker safety violations, including a table saw that did not have the proper safety guard. Kink tried to appeal the decision, but the citations were upheld by an administrative law judge.

In an email, Preston said the only way to completely eliminate disease risk in porn would be to avoid showing explicit scenes of intercourse. “Obviously that would not work . . . There will always be a small risk, but the industry works very hard to eliminate that risk,” she said.

Blame Game

The Yes on Prop 60 campaign puts the burden of complying on producers and directors, not performers, but sometimes the distinction isn’t clear. When a major studio produces a film there is a large crew of people, making it easier to identify each individual role. However, many performers have taken to the internet to earn more income, producing their own custom videos for a clip site, or live-streaming webcam shows.

“Due to all the free porn on the internet, it has really changed the way we structure our incomes,” Sara Jay, a Miami-based performer who frequently performs in California, said during a phone interview. “The big studios are the only ones able to afford to be compliant, but all of the smaller producers will be forced out of work.”

Under this proposition, anyone with a financial stake in a film is liable to be sued if Cal-OSHA determines a condom was not used during filming. Since many performers also produce their own films they would have to pay for legal representation if the complaint turns into a lawsuit. Jay also worries that the industry will be pushed underground if Proposition 60 passes, making pornography more dangerous.

Taylor, on behalf of the Yes on Prop 60 campaign, expressed frustration with such claims. He said stricter regulation would help sharpen the lines of responsibility, and close many of the current enforcement loopholes.

“The reality is, if you’re a producer and you’re making money off of a film, and it breaks the law, guess what? You’re going to get sued, and that’s the way it oughta be.”

He said the underlying argument of the anti-60 forces is simple: “‘We should be able to break the law.’ That’s really what they’re saying,” he said.

Mainstream opposition, however, seems to be bipartisan. Both the California Democratic and Republican parties have taken positions against the measure. Democratic state Senator Mark Leno of San Francisco described the initiative as ill-conceived and poorly drafted.

“I don’t think that it will offer any benefit to the people of California,” Leno said, noting that his allies include community-based organizations with a long record of fighting AIDS and HIV, such as the San Francisco AIDS Foundation and Los Angeles LGBT Center.

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Griffith polished off her spring rolls, gathered her notes, and called a ride-share. She wanted to continue the interview at her apartment, which she shares with a roommate.

She hopes to be an advocate for girls entering the industry at 18 like she did, often tweeting advice, research about sexual health and safety, and disputing claims that she isn’t an intelligent woman in control of her body.

Her roommate had installed a variety of lighting installations around the apartment, including a pink flamingo comprised of Christmas lights. Lady Gaga’s warbling new country-ballad — Million Reasons — provided a soundtrack while Griffith scrolled through Twitter, which she is using to doggedly promote the cause; her profile photo reads “Harassment is not a California Value; NO ON 60.” She hopes of turning her 223,000 followers to her way of thinking.

She said porn was a career choice she went into with full knowledge of the risks. Considering what the clientele demands to see, Proposition 60 would force her to find a new way to make a living. If it passes most of the industry will likely move out of California completely, a move Griffith isn’t willing to make.

“If someone is consenting, who are you to judge?” she said. “Prop 60 will take away our consent.”

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Lead Image: Modified from Flickr / Roberlan Borges