to draw (paper)

(Source: fanzinebulbasaur, via teenagemysteries)


Some of us have a very personal view of the world. We say that what happens to us in our lives as women happens to us as individuals. We even say that any violence we have experienced in our lives as women —for instance, rape or assault by a husband, lover, or stranger—happened between two individuals. Some of us even apologize for the aggressor—we feel sorry for him; we say that he is personally disturbed, or that he was provoked in a particular way, at a particular time, by a particular woman.

Men tell us that they too are “oppressed.” They tell us that they are often in their individual lives victimized by women— by mothers, wives, and “girlfriends. ” They tell us that women provoke acts of violence through our carnality, or malice, or avarice, or vanity, or stupidity. They tell us that their violence originates in us and that we are responsible for it. They tell us that their lives are full of pain, and that we are its source. They tell us that as mothers we injure them irreparably, as wives we castrate them, as lovers we steal from them semen, youth, and manhood—and never, never, as mothers, wives, or lovers do we ever give them enough.

And what are we to think? Because if we begin to piece together all of the instances of violence—the rapes, the assaults, the cripplings, the killings, the mass slaughters; if we read their novels, poems, political and philosophical tracts and see that they think of us today, what the Inquisitors thought of us yesterday; if we realize that historically gynocide is not some mistake, some accidental excess, some dreadful fluke, but is instead the logical consequence of what they believe to be our god-given or biological natures; then we must finally understand that under patriarchy gynocide is the ongoing reality of life lived by women. And then we must look to each other—for the courage to bear it and for the courage to change it.


Our Blood, by Andrea Dworkin

(via exgynocraticgrrl)