Since my last post, I felt like I should send out this event coming up here in Lubbock, TX.
On Wednesday, January 19, at 6:00 p.m. at St. John's United Methodist Church, 1501 University Avenue, Lubbock, TX. Dr. Susanne Scholz, professor of Old Testament at Southern Methodist University Perkins School of Theology in Dallas, will address the question: How do you read and talk about rape in the Hebrew Bible when it is so common that statistically most church congregants have first or second hand knowledge of rape? To them these are terror texts that offer little support to contemporary people. This lecture invites you to become acquainted with a feminist sociology of biblical hermeneutics. Biblical narratives and poems will illustrate that the Old Testament can indeed be read as a "sacred witness" of rape and serve as an ethical and theological foundation for the Christian faith.
For ten years, Dr. Scholz taught in a liberal arts college setting and also taught at the Chinese University of Hong Kong in fall 2007. She received both her Ph.D and M.Phil from Union Theological Seminary in New York, as well as having received the M.Div (equivalent) from the University of Heidelberg in Germany.
Her scholarly interests are in Hebrew Bible, biblical studies, feminism/women/gender, culture, and religion, as well as interfaith dialog. She is a member of the Society of Biblical Literature (SBL), American Academy of Religion (AAR), European Society of Women in Theological Research (ESWTR), and the Catholic Biblical Association (CBA).
Among her publications are "Sacred Witness: Rape in the Hebrew Bible" (Fortress, 2010), "Introducing the Women's Hebrew Bible” (T&T Clark, 2007,) "Rape Plots: A Feminist Cultural Study of Genesis 34" (Lang, 2000), "Biblical Studies Alternatively: An Introductory Reader" (Prentice Hall, 2003), and "Zwischenräume: Deutsche feministische Theologinnen im Ausland" (LIT, 2000).
For more information, visit http://www.womenshebrewbible.com/teachings.html and http://www.smu.edu/Perkins/FacultyAcademics/DirectoryList/Scholz.aspx
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
Stop using rape as political banter!
After watching and listening to the most recent round of #mooreandme tweets about Naomi Wolf’s radio interview on the BBC and her December 15, 2010 Huffington Post article as well as reading Andrea Grimes blog post, “Who Will Rape Me? it has triggered something inside me that I’ve kept to myself for a long time.
I cannot begin to understand first hand experience of rape and living to talk about it nor will I claim to know how I would “handle” my life if I were to “survive” being raped. But what I do know is that because of my friend Jane (not really her name) I am on the side of the victim, survivor, advocate, activist that listens, really listens, to women before passing deconstructive, academic speak to how any rape/sexual assault should or should not be discussed in the media. This is why I feel compelled to write this blog and tell Jane’s story as I remember it.
As I listened to the women calling into the radio show wanting so desperately to be heard and reading similar tweets with the same emotion, I kept hearing and seeing my friend Jane from 24 years ago. At times it wasn’t Jane’s voice so much so as it was her actions and my memory of them during the months that followed her rape. I also wondered how she would respond to hearing other women’s stories and would she agree that the “sex by surprise” criticism by Naomi Wolf was using rape as political banter? I’m not sure I’ll ever get the chance to ask my friend Jane.
I will say now that this story may trigger some people to be uncomfortable and would encourage you to stop now if you feel this story may hit too close to home.
Jane’s story:
I was a senior in high school when I first came to understand what it is to be an outside spectator to a young woman’s bruised and battered body at the hands of another. A body that was used and tossed aside, left for dead. It was also the first time I would become more educated with the words sexual assault and rape.
Jane was a classmate of mine that I knew since junior high. We had lost touch here and there throughout our high school days but for the most part we shared our lives when we could and as luck would have it we were in the same class that year it happened. The violent sexual assault happened, as we were seniors, full of hope of how our lives would be changing once we graduated in May. Little did we know how quickly our lives could change, hers much more extreme than mine, but none the less we were changed before we were ready.
Jane was on a dark stretch of road we all drove often, in between suburban neighborhoods, stranded needing help. As she began her walk to the nearest gas station or house she said yes to a person (an acquaintance that happened by) that offered her a ride home. Jane didn’t make it to the gas station or home. She regained consciousness in the dirt, alone, with little to no clothing, frantically remembering what had just happened. Some how she found the strength to walk, bleeding, broken and clinging to anything that would hide her naked body, to a house where she found protection.
It took awhile before I knew of these details as I just wrote them. Bits and pieces came from the few friends, in our inner circle, Jane told her story to over the next few months. Between us all we came to hear what Jane had gone through trying to fight for her life, using any part of her body as protection, on that road, in the dirt, discarded like trash.
I didn’t see her for many weeks while she was “recovering”. By the time I was able to speak to Jane, time had passed so much so that I didn’t want to bring it up unless she wanted to talk about it, which was not often. When she did return to class she had many cuts and bruises still visible, her hand was crushed and in traction, and she seemed to walk with her eyes tilted downward. I still remember how I almost broke down in tears when she walked in the room. Taking a deep breath and waiting for her eyes to meet mine, all I felt I could do was hug her. It was an awkward hug because I didn’t know how to maneuver around her bandaged arms, hands and wrists. Even though she had put on a good front, misery with a smile, I also thought I would break her if I hugged her as she seemed so fragile. I also didn’t want to make her uncomfortable with all the stares she was getting already so I must have started talking about something else so to break the emotion up to think about something else and anyone else.
For the next few weeks I would see her gradually healing on the outside. The wounds where she had fought so hard against her attacker were closing and leaving scars. The massive contraption that was keeping her fingers stable would stay on her arm for many months. As time passed the contraption became a part of her and I didn’t see it as evidence to a crime but as a reminder to keep moving forward through her pain. As time went by, she gradually became the graceful, warm, and friendly Jane I had known. But still, that was on the outside. I would never come to know the Jane she was on the inside.
I lost touch with Jane as graduation came and went. Come to think of it, I never saw her again until our 20th year reunion. As soon as I saw her I found myself flashing back to that classroom and most of all the smile she had on her face when I saw her last, it was the same as the one she met me with 20 years later. I knew then and there that she would stay in my memory forever as someone that walked through fire and lived.
I never told her how I felt then or now. Of how I felt like a fraud and a failure for not being able to help her like I thought she might have needed. Even as I type now I feel the guilt coming back that I didn’t do enough to tell her how angry I was that she had this as part of her life. But I also know that it’s not about me, it’s definitely not about me. It’s about women finding their own way to walk through life after they have been touched by pain caused at the hand of someone else.
So, what do I take away from what has happened over the past few weeks in the twitterverse, television, and radio BBC with regard to people using the word rape, rape culture, “rape apologist”, “sex by surprise”, “cut-and-dry”, “survivor”, “victim”? The answer is, I use these triggered moments to remember my friend Jane and honor her by telling others that they are not alone. I believe there is a story in all of us, some split us apart and some bring us together. It’s time to bring the stories together so that we remember why we are telling them in the first place, to make change for all!
I cannot begin to understand first hand experience of rape and living to talk about it nor will I claim to know how I would “handle” my life if I were to “survive” being raped. But what I do know is that because of my friend Jane (not really her name) I am on the side of the victim, survivor, advocate, activist that listens, really listens, to women before passing deconstructive, academic speak to how any rape/sexual assault should or should not be discussed in the media. This is why I feel compelled to write this blog and tell Jane’s story as I remember it.
As I listened to the women calling into the radio show wanting so desperately to be heard and reading similar tweets with the same emotion, I kept hearing and seeing my friend Jane from 24 years ago. At times it wasn’t Jane’s voice so much so as it was her actions and my memory of them during the months that followed her rape. I also wondered how she would respond to hearing other women’s stories and would she agree that the “sex by surprise” criticism by Naomi Wolf was using rape as political banter? I’m not sure I’ll ever get the chance to ask my friend Jane.
I will say now that this story may trigger some people to be uncomfortable and would encourage you to stop now if you feel this story may hit too close to home.
Jane’s story:
I was a senior in high school when I first came to understand what it is to be an outside spectator to a young woman’s bruised and battered body at the hands of another. A body that was used and tossed aside, left for dead. It was also the first time I would become more educated with the words sexual assault and rape.
Jane was a classmate of mine that I knew since junior high. We had lost touch here and there throughout our high school days but for the most part we shared our lives when we could and as luck would have it we were in the same class that year it happened. The violent sexual assault happened, as we were seniors, full of hope of how our lives would be changing once we graduated in May. Little did we know how quickly our lives could change, hers much more extreme than mine, but none the less we were changed before we were ready.
Jane was on a dark stretch of road we all drove often, in between suburban neighborhoods, stranded needing help. As she began her walk to the nearest gas station or house she said yes to a person (an acquaintance that happened by) that offered her a ride home. Jane didn’t make it to the gas station or home. She regained consciousness in the dirt, alone, with little to no clothing, frantically remembering what had just happened. Some how she found the strength to walk, bleeding, broken and clinging to anything that would hide her naked body, to a house where she found protection.
It took awhile before I knew of these details as I just wrote them. Bits and pieces came from the few friends, in our inner circle, Jane told her story to over the next few months. Between us all we came to hear what Jane had gone through trying to fight for her life, using any part of her body as protection, on that road, in the dirt, discarded like trash.
I didn’t see her for many weeks while she was “recovering”. By the time I was able to speak to Jane, time had passed so much so that I didn’t want to bring it up unless she wanted to talk about it, which was not often. When she did return to class she had many cuts and bruises still visible, her hand was crushed and in traction, and she seemed to walk with her eyes tilted downward. I still remember how I almost broke down in tears when she walked in the room. Taking a deep breath and waiting for her eyes to meet mine, all I felt I could do was hug her. It was an awkward hug because I didn’t know how to maneuver around her bandaged arms, hands and wrists. Even though she had put on a good front, misery with a smile, I also thought I would break her if I hugged her as she seemed so fragile. I also didn’t want to make her uncomfortable with all the stares she was getting already so I must have started talking about something else so to break the emotion up to think about something else and anyone else.
For the next few weeks I would see her gradually healing on the outside. The wounds where she had fought so hard against her attacker were closing and leaving scars. The massive contraption that was keeping her fingers stable would stay on her arm for many months. As time passed the contraption became a part of her and I didn’t see it as evidence to a crime but as a reminder to keep moving forward through her pain. As time went by, she gradually became the graceful, warm, and friendly Jane I had known. But still, that was on the outside. I would never come to know the Jane she was on the inside.
I lost touch with Jane as graduation came and went. Come to think of it, I never saw her again until our 20th year reunion. As soon as I saw her I found myself flashing back to that classroom and most of all the smile she had on her face when I saw her last, it was the same as the one she met me with 20 years later. I knew then and there that she would stay in my memory forever as someone that walked through fire and lived.
I never told her how I felt then or now. Of how I felt like a fraud and a failure for not being able to help her like I thought she might have needed. Even as I type now I feel the guilt coming back that I didn’t do enough to tell her how angry I was that she had this as part of her life. But I also know that it’s not about me, it’s definitely not about me. It’s about women finding their own way to walk through life after they have been touched by pain caused at the hand of someone else.
So, what do I take away from what has happened over the past few weeks in the twitterverse, television, and radio BBC with regard to people using the word rape, rape culture, “rape apologist”, “sex by surprise”, “cut-and-dry”, “survivor”, “victim”? The answer is, I use these triggered moments to remember my friend Jane and honor her by telling others that they are not alone. I believe there is a story in all of us, some split us apart and some bring us together. It’s time to bring the stories together so that we remember why we are telling them in the first place, to make change for all!
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