Look closely at her.
She crosses a street, juggling her briefcase and her sack of groceries. Or she walks down a dirt road, balancing a basket on her head. Or she hurries toward her locked car, pulling a small child along with her. Or she trudges home from the fields, the baby strapped to her back.
Suddenly there are footsteps behind her. Heavy, rapid. A man's footsteps. She knows this immediately, just as she knows that she must not look around. She quickens her pace in time to the quickening of her pulse. She is afraid. He could be a rapist. He could be a soldier, a harasser, a robber, a killer. He could be none of these. He could be a man in a hurry. He could be a man merely walking at his normal pace. But she fears him. She fears him because he is a man. She has reason to fear.
She does not feel the same way – on city street or dirt road, in parking lot or field – if she hears a woman's footsteps behind her.
It is the footsteps of a man she fears. This moment she shares with every human being who is female.
This is the democratization of fear.
***
Look closely at him.
He glares out from reviewing stands, where the passing troops salute him. He strides in skintight black leather across the stage, then sets his guitar on fire. He straps a hundred pounds of weaponry to his body, larger than life on the film screen. He peers down from huge glorious-leader posters, and confers with himself at summit meetings. He drives the fastest cars and wears the most opaque sunglasses. He lunges into the prize-fight ring to the sound of cheers.Whatever he dons becomes a uniform. He is a living weapon. Whatever he does at first appalls, then becomes faddish. We are told that women lust to have him We are told that men lust to be him.
We have, all of us, invoked him for centuries. Now he has become Everyman.
This is the democratization of violence.
from: Robin Morgan
She crosses a street, juggling her briefcase and her sack of groceries. Or she walks down a dirt road, balancing a basket on her head. Or she hurries toward her locked car, pulling a small child along with her. Or she trudges home from the fields, the baby strapped to her back.
Suddenly there are footsteps behind her. Heavy, rapid. A man's footsteps. She knows this immediately, just as she knows that she must not look around. She quickens her pace in time to the quickening of her pulse. She is afraid. He could be a rapist. He could be a soldier, a harasser, a robber, a killer. He could be none of these. He could be a man in a hurry. He could be a man merely walking at his normal pace. But she fears him. She fears him because he is a man. She has reason to fear.
She does not feel the same way – on city street or dirt road, in parking lot or field – if she hears a woman's footsteps behind her.
It is the footsteps of a man she fears. This moment she shares with every human being who is female.
This is the democratization of fear.
***
Look closely at him.
He glares out from reviewing stands, where the passing troops salute him. He strides in skintight black leather across the stage, then sets his guitar on fire. He straps a hundred pounds of weaponry to his body, larger than life on the film screen. He peers down from huge glorious-leader posters, and confers with himself at summit meetings. He drives the fastest cars and wears the most opaque sunglasses. He lunges into the prize-fight ring to the sound of cheers.Whatever he dons becomes a uniform. He is a living weapon. Whatever he does at first appalls, then becomes faddish. We are told that women lust to have him We are told that men lust to be him.
We have, all of us, invoked him for centuries. Now he has become Everyman.
This is the democratization of violence.
from: Robin Morgan
1 Kommentar:
Liebe große Vorsitzende,
ich bin beeindruckt. Unter dem Schlagwort der Demokratisierung leuchtest Du den Alltag treffsicher mit seinen gar nicht so hübschen Seiten aus. Touché
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