My daughter was raped a couple of weeks before christmas.
Then new years eve in Kóln happened.
Then the furious debates.
A lot of men wanted to make it about refugees, immigrants and islam. A lot of women wanted to make it about feminism, the male gaze and the way we treat women as property.
As a reaction to the events in Kóln and the following very intense debates the newspaper that I write for (Dagbladet Information) chose to give voice to a lot of women who had experienced rape. Giving them a chance to reclaim their own story, trying to tear down the taboos. It´s been quite overwhelming- the amount of stories they have received as well as reading and thereby understanding the extend of this psychological civil war taking place among us, right in front of us, in the silence.
As a result of what happened to my daughter something happened to my husband.
He didn´t know. He just didn´t know.
He didn´t know how much it effects you as a woman to have to constantly over-analyze every situation in order to make a risk analysis.
He didn´t know how these “innocent” “compliments” forces you to flirt and make people like you (to get out of the situation), how much “making people like you” becomes a defence mechanism. He didn´t know how often it happens… because I don´t even tell him anymore. I accept it.
My husband has changed.
So have I.
So have my daughter.
We have been talking about this for a very long time now.
All the women of the forest came. We sat and drank tea for hours, hours, we spoke, oh, we spoke. Then she went to live with my mother in the motherland for a little while. Embraced. Taken care of.
She read the stories in the newspaper. She followed the debate. She began to speak herself. She said I should speak about it too. No stigma. No shame.
I am not the things that happened to me.
I am me.
I´ve been very involved in this public national danish debate about… women, stories, gender. I´ve done a lot of interviews, written a lot of columns. I´m exhausted. I don´t want this blogpost to be much longer. I just wanted to let you know that something has changed in a fundamental way. Life. Changed.
I have come to realize the relation between how we treat women and how we treat earth.
I have come to realize the white male privilege. The patriarchy. I mean… I understood it before, on an intellectual level but then one man raped her body and another raped her soul, this is no longer happy go lucky. This is war.
I have three sons. I have a husband.
The response can and must not be general- but there´s something we need to talk about. All of us. Especially out here in the off grid communities, at the alternative homesteads ect because the fact of the matter is, and I know this by experience, that we tend to reproduce the society that we come from in our internal relations and communities.
Gender roles are very specific on homesteads like ours (and I don´t mind that, as long as it is conscious, deliberate and agreed upon). It´s just: we need to be very fucking aware about these things, excuse my french.
Because it happened in the 60ies and during all kinds of revolutions throughout history: if we do not have the courage and the strength to manifest what we believe in in our daily existence, every day life and intimate relations, if what we believe in only exists as mottos in the abstract… we are cowards.
It´s that simple.
No revolution will take place until we revolutionise the way we relate HERE. NOW.
What happened to her happened in a community that speaks of responsibility, trust and solidarity, in a community that wants to change the world. It happened among our kind of people. OUR kind of people.
I sincerely hope you will read this article.