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No Consent = Sexual Abuse. Trigger Warning: This zine, as the title suggests, is completely packed with information that may affect some people. Stories, sometimes quite graphic, are within these pages and may trigger discomfort. Please look after yourself when reading this zine and if necessary look over it with friends or a support network. Disclaimer: The views and stories published in this zine are of the writers. These people who have submitted stories have been very brave and overcome a great deal of hurt and memories in order to write them. Please treat those who have used their real names with respect and dignity.
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About Sexual Abuse: Statistics : 4 Definitions : 6-7 Rape culture and respectful language : 7 The current project : 9 Stories and illustrations from community members : 9-39 Organisations to contact when in need : 40 Thankyou : 41
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About Sexual Abuse: Statistics Sexual abuse is a prevalent issue in Australia. One in five women have experienced sexual violence at some stage in their lives since the age of 15 and one in three women have experienced physical violence at some stage in their lives since the age of 15. Most sexual assault victims are female (approx. 82 per cent) and most sexual assaults occur at home. Women are three times more likely to be raped by someone they know than a stranger, and nine times more likely to be raped in their home. Of all recorded sexual assaults in Australia approximately 65 per cent occurred in private dwellings and 78 per cent of female victims of sexual assault knew the offender. It is important everybody in the community understands these statistics and the effects of sexual abuse, as 68 per cent of victims sought the support of a friend or colleague; 41 per cent sought the support of family; and 39 per cent sought the support of a professional or religious person. You may be the person someone reaches out to. Within the justice system, half of the investigations into sexual assault are not finalised after 180 days. For investigations that were finalised after 180 days, just over half of them resulted in the offender being proceeded against. Statistics taken from ABS Personal Safety Survey 2005 (the final survey to encorporate the whole nation, after 2005 they gathered results based on each state). Information also gathered from: http://www.aph.gov.au/About_ Parliament/Parliamentary_Departments/Parliamentary_Library/Publications_ Archive/archive/ViolenceAgainstWomen
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The Definition of Rape Oxford Dictionary The crime, typically committed by a man, of forcing another person to have sexual intercourse with the offender against their will.
The Definition of rape and sexual abuse/assault: expressed by support services 1800 RESPECT Sexual assault is any sexual or sexualised act that makes a person feel uncomfortable, intimidated or frightened. It is behaviour that a person has not invited or chosen. Sexual assault is a betrayal of trust and a denial of the right each person has to say what happens to her or his body. Sexual assault is an abuse of entitlement and power. Sexual assault is unwanted sexual behaviour or acts that use intimidation, coercion or force to exercise power or deny someone’s right to choose. Sexual assault and abuse can be one-off events, or part of a pattern of violence. It has a range of effects, including physical, emotional and psychological effects.
DV Connect Sexual assault is an act of power and control. It is NOT about intimacy, it is NOT a shared experience and it has NOTHING TO DO with love or affection. Sexual Assault is any unwanted or forced sexual act or behaviour without your informed consent. Without informed consent is a critical consideration and occurs when the person being victimised is rendered incapable of giving that consent due to:* The influence of drugs or alcohol – drink spiking or just enjoying one too many drinks * Having been rendered unconscious due to a violent act towards them * Is suffering fear paralysis due to the shock of the assault * Being too fearful to resist the assault for fear of further harm or being killed or is fearful of future harassment or derogatory remarks being made to family, colleagues or being placed on Facebook or other social media * Being outnumbered by the number of perpetrators * Suffering from a disability which does not allow the person to understand the sexual behaviour being exhibited towards them * Being a child – whose developmental cognitive capacity does not allow them to understand the sexual behaviour being exhibited towards them * Sexual Assault includes unsolicited attention, harassment or suggestions of a sexual nature.
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The Definition of rape : socially Rape is often painted as a male jumping out of a bush in the middle of the night and having sex with an underdressed girl in the park. This is misguided. One of the reasons why so many women discount their experiences is because they feel what happened to them can’t be as bad as being attacked at random in a public space. The subtle mind manipulation of sexual abuse and rape needs to be discussed in our social circles. The fact that this can happen in your home by someone you know needs to be reiterated. Even if you initially give consent then don’t want to continue and say stop, then they must stop. At anytime if you are not comfortable or willing, they must stop. No one has the right to make you feel uncomfortable, touch or penetrate your body without your consent. We need to stop and think about this for a little longer.
Rape culture and respectful language Rape culture and derogative language is often expressed in circles where women are the minority, for example within punk music and skateboarding. This stems from the gender inequality instilled in our society. As Melissa McEwan says on progressive blog Shakesville, “rapists are not merely men with heightened libidos; they are men who seek to possess and control, and sex is the weapon they wield.” Sexual abuse is exploitative and a prey on weaknesses. This cycle of power and dominance needs to end. Considering this behaviour and mentality has been occurring for so long, perpetrators of sexual abuse rarely, if ever, feel they have done anything wrong. Furthermore, we hear things being said and actions taking place in our communities and barely flinch because it has become somewhat of a norm. This does not mean it is right. We must be careful with the words we speak, particularly slang such as “that test was fucked” or “he hit on her”, and be accountable for other people’s actions, not being afraid to pull them up on something that is inappropriate. I’ve lost count at how many times I’ve had a male be suggestive to me or showed some sort of dominance over me while skating or playing music. One of the most used phrases, intended to be a compliment is “you’re one of the boys.” While this has become so common and many girls love hearing this as it means they are finally worthy of inclusion into men’s circles, this phrase is highly disrespectful of women. Females should demand respect in their own rights. Women do not have to be a boy to be cool and easygoing. Tell yourself from today onwards you will watch out for disrespectful language and gender inequality surrounding you and take a stand. Though the reaction you receive may be defensive and rude, it’s the little steps that amount to change.
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The current project This zine focuses on sexual abuse within music and skateboarding communities. Why? The reason is, sexual abuse, domestic violence and rape is a gendered issue, as made clear through statistics, and is also rooted in gender inequality. Within music and skateboarding communities, women are unfortunately still the minority. One of the reasons for this is women may not feel safe within these spaces of male dominance, let alone supported or encouraged to participate. This situation requires community action. This zine aims to provoke conversation within these communities through realisation that many people you know are experiencing uncomfortable and distressing situations on a day-to-day basis. As well as this, it will bring awareness of rape culture and signs of disrespect. Unfortunately, it becomes even harder to report or expose the perpetrator’s wrongdoing within these close knit communities as the victim may once again be exposed to hurt, either socially, personally or physically as people take sides. This could especially happen if the perpetrator has a high profile or friends who would back them without questioning, no matter the accusations. Friends and community members need to develop open support networks. As 68 per cent of victims turn to friends first, there is a high chance someone you know will be affected and they will need your support. As seen in the statistics section, the court and police system does not have a high rate of success in bringing justice to perpetrators. Furthermore, the current justice system only punishes the perpetrator but doesn’t look at the effects on the community or ways of breaking the cycle and rehabilitation. Public opinion and shame are also ways of social control. While this zine doesn’t aim to inflict pain on any perpetrator alluded to within the stories published, it may reach those people and encourage them to at least stop and think about their actions and the pain they have inflicted on others.
Stories and illustrations from community members The stories on the following pages will bring awareness to the communities we are part of. The issue of sexual abuse and rape are prevalent. You will know a lot of these people. You will have frequented a lot of the places illustrated here; where these people were abused. To accompany each story, an artist has illustrated the scene in which the event occurred. This aims to further the discussion that sexual abuse can occur in the eyes of the public, eg. at a show, or even within your own home.
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Experienced by Alex Campbel Isobel Do you remember when the sky was brand new? And people tried to explain What the rain was like falling onto your skin Do you remember standing on that edge? you took both of my hands and we jumped into two litres of cheap vodka our first wild night of many you were locked in the bathroom momentarily but I got there first and ended THAT tragedy before it had begun and someone’s little brother followed you around ALL night Just a horny fourteen year old but you were sixteen and he weighed forty more kilos than you and the SAME night, the SAME night sometime after the first litre had been drunk sometime before the second in that dizzying stage you took a break into a bedroom and onto the carpet somewhere to rest your thumping addled skull and he came in, no not him, the other one your friend
HE came in and lay beside you and tried and you turned but he tried again and we know how this ends But you were friends and only last week hadn’t you said he had nice eyes? All the better to see you with We saw you two at lunch after class and it wasn’t like anything REALLY happened Just a little fumbling, a little caress here and there but enough to leave you with a hot sick feeling the next day no not the hangover something else But it wasn’t a big deal, IT just wasn’t and in the end you were convinced and years later when IT happened again and then AGAIN You told yourself it wasn’t actually THAT THING the THING that people talk about in hushed voices the THING that happened to your sister the THING feminists yell about on the street the THING that men sometimes go to jail for no, it was never actually THAT but do you remember when we just babies Someone sat you down took both of your hands and explained something to you something about something being YOURS and only yours to do with what you wished but it was yours only yours to do with what you wished
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Experienced by Anonymous. When I first got into the hardcore music scene I was naive. I wanted to fit in with these people that I didn’t even know, I didn’t know if they were bad people or good people. I didn’t even know anything about them. I was at one show in September 2013 where as I was leaving to get picked up by a disapproving mother, one boy (let’s call him J) approached me saying “hey you’re really cute”. I knew who he was, he was “”””internet famous””””, and the whole night I had spent looking in his general direction where he had a large group of male friends. Again, I’d like to acknowledge how naive and immature I was at this point, I was only just turning 15. Two days later he messaged me on Facebook and we struck up a conversation and I felt myself finally feeling accepted. He invited me over to his house- something my parents would never agree to. So I came up with a plan to say I was going to my friends house and I caught a train across the city (2 hour round trip) to his house, where he cooked frozen pizza. At this stage, I was thinking to myself, “what am I doing all the way in a small town? What if something happens? Why am I here?,” to which I justified it in my mind that I couldn’t leave and go home otherwise I would probably be in trouble for the rest of my life. This night was the first of four that I stayed at his house over a month or so. Every time, he tried to take my pants off, every time, I said no. I could feel him getting sick of me, but I was too dumb to realise he just was interested in me to use me, not for an actual relationship. On the fourth night, I said no again. We went to sleep next to eachother and I suddenly found myself waking up with him on top of me. He covered my mouth and said that if I yelled he would make it hurt.
He undressed me, tied my arms to the bed, and started to force himself on me until he noticed I was crying. Then he stopped. He told me to leave. It was 2am and I ran down the street crying, got to the bus stop where I arrived and realised it didn›t come until 6am. I stayed awake there and caught it home. I realised how dumb it was of me to think someone like him, a mature 17 year old would want a naive 15 year old. I later found out he was “dating” about seven other girls. Because of this I now have severe trust issues, anxiety, he gave me depression and every night I think about it before I go to sleep. It haunts me. I have a boyfriend now, have had for a year and a half. He’s the most kind and loving person I’ve ever met and he’s willing to do anything for me and listens to what I have to say. I found him after I left the hardcore scenewhere it was a constant struggle of trying to fit in, doing anything to try an fit in. I found him in a pit of despair and he completely turned my life around. I no longer take any medication and I’ve taught myself how to trust and love again because of him. In saying this, a day does not go by where I do not think of what happened to me, how I was taken advantage of, and how it could have turned a lot worse.
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Experienced by Anonymous. We’d been at a skate premiere, and I was quite drunk. I just wanted to have fun. We headed back to this house. We were hanging out and I realised I had lost my phone. I was asking a lot of people stressing about where it was but everyone was drunk and didn’t really care about it. I went up to this guy and was talking to him about his brother who I had a falling out with a couple of weeks ago. I wanted him to tell his brother that I didn’t want to fight anymore, it was stupid. He said he would pass the message on and also help me find my phone. I thought he was a nice guy. We went looking in all the rooms and ended up searching this bedroom. He closed the door behind us. I looked under the bed and that’s when he approached me. He started aggressively kissing me and biting my lip. I was like “what the fuck are you doing?”, pushing him of me. He kept saying, “let me fuck you, let me fuck you.” He got on top of me. I was in shock. I hate myself for not doing more. He completely ripped my jeans off. I’m there in a drunk state completely taken advantage off. I was in shock. A couple of people tried to walk in and he would just kick the door closed. I’ve tried to put all of this out of my mind. I remember it hurting. I was scared and frozen. I don’t remember him saying anything to me once he’d finished. I remember putting my clothes back on and legging it out the door crying. I felt dirty and disgusting and wanted to kill myself. I was a mess. I felt like I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I was seeing someone at the time and I ended up staying with her and her family and they saved my life. I didn’t have any support from my family. My mum was overseas. She and her family saved my life. Having a loving family environment for once in my life. I saw him at a skatepark a week later and he acted like nothing happened. This is so painful to talk about. I felt safe. They were all my friends. It made me quit skating soon after.
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Experienced by Anonymous. The night passed, morning came and he dropped me back home before going to work. We agreed to meet up again soon. He called the next day and said he would come out to mine and we should hang out again. I said sure. It was pretty lonely out in the mountains and it would be good to have some company. He turned up with a bottle of wine. I got him I went for a skate in town to see some old buddies about an hour away and ran into one a couple of glasses and he said he had some that told me of an older skate buddy who was sleeping tablets for me as he remembered I said I was having trouble sleeping. It was trying to get in contact with me. They’d met each other on a mutual job. I wasn’t that keen dark outside but Luke said not to worry about to meet up, I don’t know why but I just wasn’t. turning the light on as the wines were poured we could just drink and talk. Drink up he said. I Also when you suffer from depression you don’t really go out of your way to meet people had one glass of wine, some time passed and I got really out of it, excused myself and said I often. was going to bed. A week or so had passed and I checked He came into my room and I remember he my Facebook and sure enough there was was naked and smiling. He said I needed to a message from the old skate buddy Luke. learn how to suck a cock. I had no strength to I was kind of excited because back when fight him off and even if I did I was 48kg then we were 14/ 15/ 16 we skated all weekend, and he was a gym unit. I mean huge. He raped every weekend together. Well pretty much. my face and then me… the raping of my face The message was suggesting meeting and catching up. It had been about 15 years since has been a real weird and hard one to get over. I passed out once he forced himself into I last saw him. I agreed to meet him and he my mouth. suggested meeting me at my place to pick It was around October of 2013. I was living in the mountains isolated from my friends and family. I’d just recovered from depression a few months earlier from going bankrupt and I was out there trying to find my happy place. I was to learn to take care of myself again. I was pretty content. How quickly things can turn.
me up and take me out. I said I just wanted a quiet one. The next night he picked me up in his black Mercedes. All the rocks from the dirt road would of been harsh on that car, not a smart choice. After a hug and a quick catch up he wanted to take me to his for dinner. He lived out at Ipswich but I don’t know where as we were talking the whole way and I was just excited to be catching up. That night I remember telling him that when we got with each other when we were 15 it was to get at an ex and I remember his whole demeanor changing. Should have kept that to myself. I had no intentions to sleep with him as we were just mates and I don’t believe I ever gave that impression.
In the morning I thought maybe I’d dreamt the whole thing, I felt really groggy. I went out to the balcony where we had that wine and I saw a tablet. I was sure I was drugged. He was nowhere to be seen. I remember him telling me when we drank that he’d been to jail but got out. He wouldn’t tell me what for. He also told me he had plenty of guns. I was scared and alone. The landlord lived on the property so I went up to see her and when I told her the story and that I wanted to go to the police she said she didn’t need a reputation and that she didn’t need the cops coming around. She offered no sympathy. That’s how it is. No sympathy, I got my first hug and my first ‘I’m sorry that happened to you’ last week…it’s been 2 years, people treat you like a leper.
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The tablet I found was a love heart with a split in the middle. I had a pap smear appointment that day which was good because I was so worried and my jaw was in shambles. I couldn’t eat and I could hardly drink. I found out I had contracted Chlamydia. When the doctor called him to tell him it stopped his abusive messages. I sent him only one message about how black his heart was. You see after all that happened in the same week I also lost my job, was evicted and had my car stolen, oh yeah and I also ended up in mental health suicidal and lived there for 2 months. Police were brought into the hospital to talk to me but the doctors all warned that it would greatly affect my recovery. I agreed then and I still believe I made the right choice for then. There is no way I could have enjoyed being looked at and questioned and re-questioned all while sitting across from him. No. So I just live with it. It will always impact me and I’ll never be the same, but everyday
I choose to stay alive is one more win for me and one more loss for him. These days I seek a lot of community support and it’s good. Sometimes people you don’t know are more sensitive toward you about the subject then people close to you who know. The reality is though I still feel some shame and is probably why I haven’t really shared my story too much. All the stress and trauma I was put through also led me to have bipolar effective disorder also. This is just another thing I have to manage with meditation, exercise, healthy eating, regular sleep and medication. My life has changed so much but I’m still just me. This could happen to anyone in my eyes now. I no longer have the mind frame of ‘it wouldn’t happen to me’. I now think instead ‘I hope this doesn’t happen…but if it does I will have the strength to tackle it’ and for that I’m grateful.
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Experienced by Anonymous. (USA) Eight Years of Abuse, A Lifetime of Self-Hate I don’t remember it all, but it has affected every moment of my life since then. I was sexually abused for 8 years, starting age 4 through age 12. The really strange part is, it was my cousin who was only 1 year older than me performing the abuse. I believe for him to know and say the things he did at that age, he must have witnessed someone else being abused. It began with him repeatedly asking me if I wanted to “have sex.” No, no, no, no, no. I said it every time he asked, but he kept asking, and he was my cousin and friend and I didn’t want to lose that. So finally I said yes.
I remember the first time. We didn’t know how to have sex, we were children. So we laid on the floor in the bathroom at my grandparents’ cabin with our privates touching. I felt guilty and scared of getting caught. Every single time I saw him from then on, which was maybe twice a year, the pressure would begin again, with him whispering every time we were alone, asking if I would have sex with him. I always said no until I was sick of being asked, and then relented eventually. I began masturbating at home and at school, not understanding that it was inappropriate behavior. I believe I was about 5 when that started. After I came I was always overcome with guilt and self-hatred.
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I remember being 8 years old on a trip to Ireland, which I was incredibly excited about. Of course my cousin was there too. Of course we had to share a bed, because we were innocent children, what could come of it? My brother and our other cousin were in the same room in different beds, sleeping. I was so scared they would wake up, but my cousin wanted sex. So as always, I did it. The next morning I was terrified, not understanding how pregnancy worked and worried that I could get pregnant even though I had not yet had a period. I remember asking my dad if girls could get pregnant before they had their period. He told me no, and I was so relieved. I remember being ten years old and asking my cousin if he thought I was pretty. He said I was ok. Over time, we began to somewhat figure out how sex worked, and I reached an age where I began to be able to be aroused by it and he reached an age where he could get an erection. He never came inside me and I never came at all. But finally, at age 12, there was one time when I was the one who set up the scenario. I had reached puberty and began to want the sessions. We were in the garage at my grandparents’ cabin by ourselves. Comparing leg muscles. He was rubbing my leg. I closed the blinds and locked the doors and hinted, “why shouldn’t cousins be able to cuddle?” He began rubbing my breasts and my clitoris. I was twitching in ecstasy. Afterwards, I did something that I have been ashamed of ever since. I stood up, and as I left the room I said, “that shouldn’t have happened.” I went into my grandparents’ bedroom and laid there. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t tell anyone what had happened until the next day. I told my mom and aunt (my cousin’s mom) that I had “fallen asleep” and when I woke up he was touching me. My grandparents took back
their birthday gift to my cousin. My cousin underwent therapy. He has 3 children now. I haven’t seen him since. I am afraid of him. I’m afraid he will tell on my lie. I’m afraid he will poison me or try to kill me if I ever see him again, for ruining his reputation in the family. I am afraid I will never have the courage to tell the truth about my lie. I am now 31 years old. I play guitar in punk bands. I skateboard. I jog. I have a fulltime job. For most of my life, I have gotten a horrible guilty feeling after masturbation that I couldn’t explain. I masturbate to fantasies of my own degradation. In the fantasies I am a child being raped, and I am also the rapist. I worry that I am insane. It’s almost as if I took a part of him with me after it was all over. I feel that I take too much emotional abuse from people, that I can’t say no. That I can’t leave relationships that are bad for me. I am currently dating a man who started off the relationship saying I wasn’t girly enough for him and wasn’t his type. I wonder if I don’t dress girly or flirt because I am afraid of what will happen if I do turn someone on. But I don’t know. I have completely changed myself for him. I now try to wear dresses and act cute, even though it’s not me. Therapy never helped.It brought out the bad feelings and never the positivity I was looking for. I wonder every single day of my life who I would have been if this hadn’t happened, and what I could have achieved. If I would be confident. If I wouldn’t fantasize about suicide. If I wouldn’t hate myself so much. If I wouldn’t feel so disconnected from my reflection in the mirror. If I would be able to become aroused by anything other than disgusting rape fantasies.
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Experienced by Anonymous. Every single time I drive past the apartment, I get a sick feeling in my stomach. My palms sweat, and a whirlwind of thoughts begin to bare down on me. Could I have stopped what happened there? Was it my fault? Should I have known better? I was fourteen. I had just been to the cinema with my best friend, we were headed across the bridge to grab a bite. ‘Hey, aren’t you Jo’s sister?’, his voice cut through our teenage excitement. My friend turned around ‘yeah, Lacey’. She was frustrated at having been referred to again as her sisters’ younger counterpart. We both struggled with this cornered identity throughout high school. Still, we politely engaged in his small talk. ‘I work at the cinema. I saw you walk in, but I was working so thought I would save the chat for another time. What are you girls up to now? I’ve just finished work’. This kind of sly, sidled auto-invitation from a mid-twenties male was not uncommon in the area I grew up in. It was always likely that the people you met, also knew everyone else in your various circles of friends, through numerous veins of connection. For a large coastal region, it had a very ‘small town’ feel. ‘We’re going to get a burger’, Lace replied, ‘have you eaten?’ I was mad with her for this seemingly light-hearted connotation, and highly uncomfortable with this guy from the begging, partly because he was a stranger, and partly because he had not acknowledged me at all during this exchange. I felt somehow averted from his presence, and despised the idea of watching him load a burger into his slimy, crusty mouth. Luke, as I later learned was his name, was every bit as gross as I had thought. He was much older than I had anticipated – around twenty eight – and it only took him ten minutes of semi-polite conversation to invite us back to his house for a joint. He had apparently worked at the cinema in my local shopping mall for at least the last five years of his life, and had ‘spotted me around the place’ a few times before. He obviously felt like this was grounds for a solid ‘friendship’. He was smug, sly… self-congratulatory. But he was also insecure, dishonest in his actions. I could feel
his inner turmoil seeping out of the pores of his skin. My instincts said ‘no’. As it turns out, Lace had a different opinion of Luke. She had met him once before through her older sister. Jo and Luke had been at school together – in different grades & friendship circles - and worked together at the cinema. Lace seemed to think that Luke was a pretty nice guy and would also kindly share any drugs or alcohol he had. This impression was formulated after she had heard about previous times her sister had bumped into him out at clubs or parties. He had shared his load with Jo then, and in those days of our youth, we saw that as a kind-hearted thing to do. So, we followed Luke home along the river, like a couple of un-interested little sisters, and easily took up his offer of a joint when it came. His apartment was on the river… It gave a false sense of safety for me, as I had grown up playing in the shallows of the estuary as a kid, and had walked this road a hundred times before. Walking into the dim, two bedroom pad, I started to feel a slight un-ease. We didn’t know this guy much at all… I certainly had never met him before, and his apartment smelled thoroughly strange, like an even mixture of Lynx deodorant and cleaning chemicals. Luke pulled out two joints, and lit them both in his mouth, keeping one for himself and passing the other to me. Despite my un-ease, we’d been smoking pot for a year at least then, and we felt, in our adolescence, like we could handle anything his batch would throw at us… Either we were wrong, or the marijuana was not, in fact, plain marijuana. Moments after taking a hit, I was reeling. My brain felt foggy. This was unlike any other reaction I could remember having from a joint or a bong. I couldn’t tell whether I was enjoying the situation or not. Lace mentioned the pool that was in the front yard of his apartment block, and this sparked my interest. I needed fresh air, and the cool water on my face would do me good. We ran down to the pool, and I stripped off my skirt, leaving my t-shirt and underwear on, and dived into the cool blue water.
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Water has always been a grounding thing for me. Any grief or worries I have, are washed away from me as soon as I surrender to the water. I was still feeling the full effects of the drug, but I felt calmer. A little more in-control. While we swam, Luke sat on a pool lounge, watching us and smiling like an uncle on child-care duties. After Lace and I had done with our dip, Luke suggested the river. He would like to take a swim too, but the chlorine hurt his skin. We crossed the road, and entered the river. As we splashed about, starting to come to terms with the high, a police car drove past. Both Lace and Luke were naked, and ducked under the water to avoid a penalty. The police car glided past, the officer driving taking one look at me, a lone swimmer, and continuing along. Luke decided it was best to head back up to the apartment I took another hit as the second joint came around. It didn’t take long for me to fall totally over the edge. I couldn’t formulate proper sentences, I wanted to curl up in a ball, and I couldn’t figure out how to get this message across to my friend, who also looked like she was having some sort of confusing experience. We sat side-by-side, sunk into this strangers’ brown fake-suede lounge, clutching our hands together between our legs. I tried to hold my focus on the view of the flowing river outside. The sun was just setting, and like the light, all feelings of safety were fading quickly. Several times, I stood and excused myself to his bathroom. Stumbling from side-to-side down the dark hall-way, I tried to convince myself that I was just having a bad first-reaction to his weed. It would all calm down soon; I wasn’t going to throw up. I did throw up, maybe twice or three times, and so did Lace. We had only been there maybe an hour, but we were ready to leave. In my last visit to the bathroom, I had told myself to breathe deeply. I was so frightened. Despite the gyrating walls and the specks of colour flying through my vision, I built up the courage to open the front door and tackle the steep staircase… but when I looked at the concrete ground at the base of three flights of steps, my courage faded. I could barely
stand. And soon, behind me, came a pleading voice… ‘Why in such a rush? Haven’t you smoked before? Shit, how old are you guys?’. I felt embarrassed and confused. I replied that I was fourteen. It was all I could manage to say, before I felt myself being slowly walked back over to the couch and pushed down next to Lace. ‘How about you guys have a lay down in my bed?’ I heard him coax. His voice sounded like it was at the end of a tunnel. I felt a well of anxiety heap up in my throat, but we obliged, seeking any kind of solace away from the lounge and its vertical mechanisms. Laying down on the black satin duvet, I felt a rush of blood to my head as my legs were manually tucked under the covers by cold, unwelcome hands. I was like a rag-doll. The light was switched off, and Lace and I were left alone for what seemed like only a minute or two. In this brief moment, we managed to pull the covers up over our heads, and Lace whispered something like ‘Let’s leave’. I nodded my head… I wanted so badly to leave! I couldn’t think of anything more that I could ever want in life, if only this whole experience could just be finished. I wished I had trusted my instincts. In that moment, with Lace by my side, I felt that I could figure out a way to get down those steps, no matter how much harm was done to me…but just as this thought entered my mind, the blanket was thrown back off of our heads, and he was climbing into the bed. I felt very unsure of how to deal with what was happening. I was a virgin still, and had never been in a sexual situation before. I didn’t want to be in one. Not now, and not ever. I was disgusted and horrified that a fully grown man had just entered the bed next to me. His leg hairs grazed my skin and I shivered palpably. ‘Is there a problem? You are in my bed, you know’. He said this almost politely. With a large smile on his face and a small shrug of his shoulders. I felt trapped. I was in the middle of the bed, between Lace & this man who I was frightened to death of. I was looking around the un-lit room, trying to grasp any spatial perception of any possible exit points. Luke was between me and the bedroom door. His
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motives were growing ever-obvious. I decided it was time to make a move. I whipped off the blankets and climbed over his stomach, trying to touch as little of his body as possible. I ran toward the door. I put my hand to the door knob, and then I thought of Lace. In my haste to leave, I had totally shut out the idea that she was still in the bed. She had been my best friend since we were young, and I didn’t have it in me to leave without her. I thought about yelling out to her, but in my hesitation both Lace and Luke came out of the bedroom door. Luke approached me, firmly telling me to take a seat on the couch. He was aggravated, annoyed, but soothing me. He led me to the couch, and I was again slumped onto the mass of cushion. I breathed deeply, one huge, long breath, and began to sob. We were utterly helpless.
that you’ve been a naughty girl. That’s our little secret,’ he assured me. When I turned sixteen, I got a job working at the counter of a fish and chip shop on the beach. It was managed by two sisters, one twenty four, the other just turned thirty. One afternoon, I had started my shift and was tying my apron around my waist, when the younger of the two, Sarah, walked up the steps with a man in tow. ‘This is my new boyfriend, Luke’. I looked up, and locked eyes with the same man who had drugged and defiled me two years earlier. I was shocked. I was unable to speak, and in the uncomfortable silence, he smiled at me like a new friend and put his hand out to shake mine. *names changed for anonymity
In the confusion, Lace had moved back to the bedroom. I don’t know why she did, but if her body was feeling anything like mine at the time, then she would have collapsed onto the ground soon if she didn’t. I was alone with Luke. He sat on the table opposite me, staring at my face. He put his knee’s on the outside of mine and his palm stroked my leg. ‘Don’t be sad. I really liked watching you swim before. Your body is like a lady, not like a girl. Your hips, those big breasts’. I had no idea what to say. ‘Sorry’, I stuttered… what I wanted to say was ‘Sorry, I’m not interested in you. I’m scared’. What he interpreted, however, seemed to be ‘Sorry, I’ve never done this before’. He told me that I should lay down on the floor. I sobbed some more, and obliged, sliding off the edge of the couch like melted ice-cream. He was not asking me, he was telling me. He removed my skirt, pulling at the tie and casually sliding his hand between my skin and my underwear. Afterwards, I felt dirty. I had cried and cried as he lowered his erect penis into my mouth, hovering over me like I was a toilet bowl. He had not penetrated me vaginally, but he had forced me to accept his oral sexual ‘favours’, and had asked for the same in return. He had told me that he was a teacher, and I his pupil. When it was done, he told me to keep the experience to myself… ‘I won’t tell anyone N C=S A
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Experienced by Julia Bak I’m not a stranger to sexual harassment and/or assault and/or abuse. I won’t go into specific circumstances, but I get it. I’ve been there. I was and am and will be healing from these events for a long time. One thing that was important for me to realise is that experiencing sexual abuse isn’t a box to tick. It’s not like, ‘ok, this is something that’s happened, and now It’s done with and I can move on and be alright.’ I realised this when I was 18 and assaulted in Perth CBD on a main street. I realised that, despite having had experienced past sexual abuse, I could be hurt again. Experiences of sexual abuse aren’t finite. How crushing is that? When I was 19 I was at a Rolo Tomassi gig for the first time. Pre-queer I had a huge “straight-girl” crush on Eva Spence and thought she was the fucking coolest person imaginable. As per usual the support band was some dude-centric band and I wasn’t interested at all because to be honest I can’t stand most male-fronted hardcore music. But we’d paid X amount to be in that space so the people I was with decided to check them out, and I shuffled along behind because I didn’t want to be that nerd chain smoking cigarettes and browsing their phone-with-no-data on their own for a whole set. The front man was this big dude in his underwear screaming whatever into a mic while grinding up against the stand. I thought it was a bit cool. I’m a big fan of people subverting norms. I like being surprised, but not long into the set he decided to hop off the stage and start grinding against people (girls). I felt nauseated and uncomfortable as it must’ve been pervasive. He walked towards me next. A lot of trauma survivors and mates of trauma survivors know how dissociation is a common defence mechanism in the face of triggering circumstances. I had a grown man grinding up against the front of me, face an inch from mine, tongue out, hands reaching out to me, calling me names whenever I started withdrawing. Of course I started dissociating. People were laughing (actual friends of mine laughed). People thought it was hilarious that this dude twice the size of me was making me shrink even smaller. It took me a while to realise that I’d stopped breathing and that I’d started having an intense emotional reaction to what was happening. I’d started sobbing and I felt simultaneous absent anger and present sadness. A friend of mine followed me out of the room and held me and reaffirmed how fucking cruel and not-ok what had just happened was. I appreciate/d that. It’s weird because this particular Perth hardcore bar is attached to a nightclub and sometimes the doors separating them open and, lo and behold, there’s no fucking difference between the dudes in either space. Both club dudes and hardcore dudes don’t respect women. Except hardcore dudes are bitter assholes because ‘their’ precious anti-mainstream movement is being watered down what with all these girls posing as avid hardcore listeners. ha ha La Dispute isn’t a real band. Name one Fugazi album that isn’t Red Medicine. I.V. is everyone’s favourite. Hardcore dudes have been taught to hate women just as much as all other dudes. What happened to me at this one gig is nowhere near the worst of what happens to women in these spaces. I’m just glad it’s being talked about.
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Experienced by Kate Woodhouse Breaking the Culture of Silence in Music Communities I’d like to start by honouring and respecting all women, and all survivors that have been affected by sexual abuse, sexual violence and everyday sexism. I am, to identify as young female solo performer, as well as survivor of childhood traumas brought on by a society that is so often silenced. I honour the solidarity between us that allows us to move beyond being “survivors”. We live not only for survival, but to yearn for change and justice. And I yearn to help spread the awareness of sexual violence in our communities. I am honoured to take part of this inspiring Zine: No Consent= Sexual Abuse. As I am a female solo performer, this title alone gives you a sense of vulnerability in itself. So often we see this vulnerability towards women particularly in the punk scene be abused and taken for granted. Does this sound familiar? In order to address the culture of silence built around everyday sexism and everyday sexual violence against women- we MUST deconstruct, destabilize this culture and question why this happens, in order to understand our everyday experiences. I want to bring to you an incident where I was sexually harassed at a venue I played- what seems like a life time ago, but it is in fact not historical at all. In fact, my story is still relevant and so prevalent throughout our music communities that we call “our scene” and throughout the whole of history and society. November last year, I was asked to play a show at a new club/ venue in the valley that had just opened up and started booking shows there. As a female performer devoting my time (for free) to play at this venue, I can honestly say I was absolutely appalled and disgusted by the way I was treated at this so called bar ‘Johnny Brown’s’. I felt queezy to my stomach even before playing the show. I guess intuition had kicked in before the night began. Upon arrival I was approached by a man who drunkenly stumbled up to me and stood a little too close just to tell me “I had a great ass and nice tits” and made an obscene gesture with his hands
to signify touching me in an inappropriate way. This man continued to stand quite close to me for a few minutes while I tried to move away from him; not only is this creepy and an invasion of my personal space, but it is harassment. I later found out that this was the club OWNER. The night became quite rowdy, and the club owner kept meeting his stare with mine and repeatedly made absolutely disgusting comments to me; whilst at the same time my fellow female friends and I were continually harassed by numerous drunk men who crowded the venue. This type of sexist, intimidating, obscene behaviour is not to be tolerated and should not be welcome anywhere. If you are a relatively new bar, you should be doing everything you can to prove your integrity and to have some pride towards the business you are promoting. We as women performers are not here to be a service to you and to be treated as a fucking musical juke box that you can just continually twist and turn the knobs, and push buttons to receive a little tune that satisfies your needs. We are not here to be shouted at as we play and to be told “You’ve got great titz love”. I personally will not ever go back to this place, as I was made to feel uncomfortable, objectified and unsafe from the moment I arrived. Since this incident last year, it was interesting and heart-warming to see the community’s response. My review posted on the Johnny Brown’s page featured on ‘YELP’ was deleted twice, and eventually stayed there for the world to see. Whilst there were people who showed their social conscience and responsibility to boycott such a place, and spread awareness, there were certain others who did not respond so nicely towards me and treated this objectification as a funny joke. We see this happen so often in most communities where perpetrators try to minimise the silence by creating excuses to keep us contained in little boxes where we must obey, and are taught not to talk about our hurt, and to not talk about our experiences. Well, fuck that. Fuck that right off.
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It is overwhelming to know that when female performers try to challenge this misogynistic culture, it will come up against the defence that it’s just drunk guys, just the way industry works... However, this cannot be written off or down-played as just “crowd banter” or a “wild
night” - when the club owner himself was the main perpetrator, one can only assume this is something that has happened before / will happen again. I want so badly to see women who have been bound down, bound up again! We cannot and will not be silenced.
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Experienced by Alexandra Winters. [The following story was written in the European autumn of 2012. I have not revisited this until now, with only small edits made, correcting spelling and grammar. Any additions will be noted as such. Alexandra Winters. 25 July, 2015.] I have never consciously aligned my opinion of gender politics with the feminist viewpoint, but I still believe there is a struggle to be had as a female exercising the right to be a person and not a gender in our contemporary experience. I recognise my privilege. I present as white (my mother is adopted so my heritage is unknown), I am Australian and live in a society not controlled by overbearing laws as sanctioned by faith or government. I have been given the opportunity to make the best of a private education, that my parents worked multiple jobs to provide me with. I have been able to work my way up into a socio-economic position that has allowed me to travel the world. Even reading this back to myself I notice I have omitted my gender from the equation - it not being advantageous to proving my position as privileged. I travel alone on most occasions. I prefer it this way and I am lucky enough for this to be my prerogative. I steer away from the typical tourist experiences and prefer to throw myself into situations where I might befriend a local or witness the realness of a place or a people. On two occasions now I have found myself in tricky and unfortunate situations. Once in New York and once in Cassis in the south of France. Had these been my only two interactions with boys who I befriended on my travels, I would be a rather jaded and insular traveler, perhaps even a jaded and insular female dissuaded to travel. But these negative experiences have been put into perspective by friendships I am confident will last a lifetime, with boys that never presumed I wanted to be anything other than a visitor pleased by a local’s willingness to show me around their hometown. But the two unfortunate encounters I am referring to are proof that constructs and preconceived ideas about girls who travel alone still exist.
I have traveled hard and know that some places, especially cities, are difficult to navigate and genuine experiences are sometimes impossible to find as visitor. I am not naive nor ignorant to the fact that misconstrued ideas might come from my company, one-on-one, with a boy I’ve just met. But just because I am open to your offer to explore a new place with you does not mean I want to fuck. Therefore I am conscious that I don’t entertain or encourage this idea. More recently I have taken to actually saying this sentence out loud – “I’m not down to fuck” - not always well received depending on what country I am in, but a risk I don’t mind taking anymore. Despite all my efforts to be one step ahead of each scenario, and a good judge of character (most of the time), I have had to use my body or submit to my body being used, in order to bargain my way out of hostage situation. [You might be asking the same question as me at this point. Why put myself in situations where this could be a potential scenario? BECAUSE LIFE. I am not, not going to do something because of my gender. In fact, that to me sounds like more of a reason to do it. Challenge it til you change the status quo. What’s the saying – history is made by those who show up? Well the more girls that are visibly changing their status, the more ground that is made. And don’t be fooled. There is still something to push against. From how much I get paid in my role as compared to the male’s in my team, to why my name’s mud when I speak about my experience of sexual assult – yet the male in the scenario is unaltered by the experience. I share this story as therapy for myself and to create a safe space for other people who identify as female or have experienced sexual assult themselves. I am hopeful that a male may take the initiative to read this text also as that would be an ideal audience member for this story. I hope that it is useful to you in some way, as I hope sharing it will be useful for me. Added by Alexandra Winters. 25 July, 2015.] Without going into too much detail as I’d rather not relive my compromising pay-offs for
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my freedom, I will share the necessary aspects of these events that have taken place that have caused me to come to the conclusion that women still have it bad. I befriended an American boy on my second day in New York. I came to town early as I wasn’t particularly fond of Miami, so was staying in a hostel until my other accommodation in the Lower East Side became available. Using the computer next to one another in the hostel lobby, he and I got talking about why we were in town. I was printing off my résumé to for an under the counter job I had been offered the night previously. I had a deadline to meet and ten New York city blocks to cover on foot - which was not going to happen before the restaurant closed. I took him up on his offer to drive me to the restaurant to make it in time. I was grateful for his help and he offered to drive me around Manhattan a bit afterwards so I could see the sights. We got on fine, bonding over our disdain for the Black Keys new album El Camino as their previous album Brothers blared out of his car’s sound system. He grew up in New York, his dad owned a store in Manhattan near the original Gray’s Papaya when he was a kid. He has since been living in Israel with his extended family. He was apparently staying at the hostel while visiting his friends and his uncle in New Jersey, whose car it was. He took me to the original Max Brenner. I like chocolate. We cut the hour wait by pretending we booked a table and getting angry at the maître d’ as if she had forgotten to take down our booking when we rang. I played the part, being a disappointed, Brenner deprived, Australian having only one day in New York and a hellish 20 hour flight back home to catch in a couple of hours. We were seated fifteen minutes later. He explained that Brenner was from Israel like him, as he ordered my chocolate overdose in Hebrew to the Israeli waiters. The place was totally lame, a total tourist trap, but I liked the novelty of the Willy Wonka-esque design of the restaurant with pipes criss-crossing its interior, pumping chocolate to taps behind the bar, that were used for filling hot chocolate mugs, fondu pots and topping ice cream sundaes. For all the movies and books I had consumed
about the place, at this point I did not know my way around the city. Alarm only washed over me when I crossed the George Washington Bridge to New Jersey. When I asked why we were leaving Manhattan he said he was taking me to his favourite bar. And just like that I was in a different state entirely. Despite my demands that I had to get back to meet a friend, he said he just had to duck home to his uncles to pick up his passport. I not wanting to come across as suspicious, acted cool and unphased. However by this point I started to form a plan... the only phone number I had was Paddy’s. He was in New York at the moment too. I had his number on screen and typed a message ready to send incase things got real. Not that it would have helped much. Cutting a dirty story short, he made it clear to me that the only way I was getting back to the hostel in one piece was if I did what he wanted. And that was anal. Protesting at first, saying that this is not what we had planned, that I had my period, that this was not fair, that this was abuse, that this was … ultimately a waste of my breath and strength. I was too alone and far from anything familiar to see any other way out. The message I had written on my phone was pointless and the moment had long passed when I could make a phone call for help. It was silent, it was painful, I was tense and my breathing was panicked, I resisted any rhythm, but it didn’t matter. I was an object at this point. And it was done. He drove me back to the hostel with silence drowning out the music from the car stereo. I didn’t think that was possible. I stared at the famous skyline, but it was out of focus. He chain smoked. He got out when we reached the hostel. I hung back and he reached the door first, turning to announce he forgot the code. Now it made sense ... He wasn’t staying at the hostel at all. I told him I needed to piss and ran up to my dorm. He tried to keep up on the stair well, but I ran up those stairs so fast and I lost him in the corridors. It was about 2 A.M and I hit the girls showers. I washed and washed and cried and cried. Welcome to New
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York I thought, but I quickly let that thought die when I refused this situation to taint my lifelong dream of seeing the city I had fanticised about my whole life. I calmed down and checking the halls crept back to my dorm room. It was an all female dorm I shared with 13 other girls. Not my idea of travelling at all. I climbed to the top bunk in the back corner. Relieved I had made it back relatively unscathed and that I was meeting up with friends the next day. Knowing the dorm was full I panicked when I heard the door forced open. I rolled over and covered my face. It was him… going from bed to bed, calling my name. People began to wake up and told him to fuck off before he made it to me. I clocked a second consecutive sleepless night after my 36 hour greyhound ride from Miami to New York express. [I checked out in the morning and regret not warning the staff about their guest. I don’t like wondering about that. Because I didn’t say anything, does that mean he might have done the same to someone else? I didn’t tell anyone about this experience until after the next story. Added by Alexandra Winters. 25 July, 2015] My second encounter I rather hadn’t happened, was only three days ago and the bruises on my hip bones, arms, nipples and chest are only starting to discolour and fade. I stare at them as I sit on a beach in Cassis, a small beach town on the Mediterranean. I’ve decided it’s my second favourite place in France, after Paris, despite what happened. Whilst watching the old men play boules, I got talking to local boater, Alexander. He invited me for an aperitif on his boat docked in the marina around 7 P.M. I met him and we drank on his boat for a while, getting on fine, what could be said with the language barrier getting in the way of a good story sometimes. We then set sail, the sky was pink, and he let me steer the traditional French style fishing boat. We anchored under the cliffs of Cap Canaille, it is the tallest sea cliff in France. I had climbed it and dangled my feet off it that morning. It was impressive from sea also. Smoking a joint and witnessing one of the most amazing sunsets, his friends started rocking up in their boats. We tied all the boats
together, making quite the party. We jumped from boat to boat and sat on coils of ropes. Afterwards we all piled into the little dingys and headed back to the marina leaving the bigger boats anchored at sea. Apparently, it was a more covert entrance so that we didn’t get picked up by the Marine Police. When we got back to shore I told him I was going to go back to my hotel. It was about a 15 minute walk. I really needed to go to the bathroom though. Hours of drinking and no bathrooms on any of the tiny boats meant that I really, really needed to go. I had already spent a couple of days in town and knew there was no public restrooms, mean restaurant owners who chased you out of their restrooms if you weren’t a customer and nowhere to pop a squat. He said I could use his bathroom as he lived a short walk from the Marina. He pointed to his apartment. It was a street behind the main tourist area. I agreed, with no ability left to hold on. I had no reason to think this would end badly. When using his toilet he forced his way in. He pushed in the door that I had locked behind me. He began biting me and I struggled against him. Backing off when I fought back with punches and using all my weight to push him up against the wall. He stopped. Laughing at the whole scenario, he apologised and started a casual conversation again… I was confused. I tried to be a bit casual instead of just running out the door, not wanting to come across ungrateful for the authentic Cassis experience I had just had. I sussed out his apartment whilst keeping up a conversation. The mantra in my mind at this point was, don’t be rude, just get away. Every breath in “Don’t be rude”. Every breath out “Just get away”. I had spotted that the keys to the front door were in the lock. I thought: Who knows how long it will take me to figure out the trick to the door, there is always a trick. Could I do it before he would get physical with me again? Could I do it in time before he realised?
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I then noticed the shit tonne of weed growing on his veranda and the guns on his book case. Almost as if he saw my eyes widen at the sight of them he picked one up showing me it was loaded by spinning the barrel and cocking it. He then began lining up objects around his apartment and pretending to shoot. The tv, a picture on the wall, his animal onsie on the couch and then me. I had a gun pointed at the middle of my forehead and it was loaded. He put the gun down noticing my fear and took this as an opportunity to console me before forcing himself on me again. Grabbing my crotch, biting my nipples so hard through my shirt, I thought he’d bite them off. All the while I was pushing him away demanding he stop. He continued, squeezing my arms, grabbing my wrists as my fists tried to fight him. He got weird saying he was a baby and needed my milk, demanding to role play! I yelled for him to stop and thought we were just friends. Still trying to reason with the guy, I used simple sentences I hoped he could understand. He didn’t relent and I finally didn’t care about politeness anymore, so I
Why had I felt like I had to be polite, playing down the sexual attack. Why did I feel obliged to show manners to this creep? Was it my fault that these things had happened to me, not just once but twice now. In order to try and make sense of it and reconcile my own standards with what has happened I decided to write this. It has only been because of these shit circumstances that I have re-evaluated the actual position of women in society and I hope that these stories will encourage less passivity by women should this occur to them personally and less acceptance of these actions against women in general. Had I been quicker to call a guy on his expectations of hanging out with a girl whom he just met, I might have prevented these situations from happening to me. You don’t have to be polite.
made for the front door, unlocked it and legged it. I did it so quickly I was impressed with myself. I had to pass back under his veranda to leave the complex. I couldn’t look back. What if he had his gun aimed at me again. He yelled “here is something to remember me by” and threw an adult size nappy down to the driveway I was quickly making my way out of. The guy just snapped. He was a complete freak. The next day I found myself avoiding the marina and taking the back streets to the beach. I wanted to spend all day lounging on the pebbled shore of the Mediterranean and swim in its blue, blue waters. I didn’t think the night before would upset me so much, but as I sat there trying to appreciate the beauty of this world and come to terms that even though I was Australian I was never going to tan, I couldn’t help but keep finding myself grimacing at his boat still anchored off shore and being very conscious that this meant he was on shore. Somewhere.
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Experienced by Anonymous. Saying yes is not always absolute consent I often sit and wonder how many people have been in the same position I had found myself a few times in my past. Be it completely sober or inebriated, it doesn’t change a thing. Pressured and intimidated into saying yes without it being obvious, making me think that this was my decision, when it was really theirs. Innocent flirting that I thought would go nowhere, quickly turning into much more. At first I’m flattered- he hardly knows me so I must look okay if he’s interested. He wants a lot more than I think I’m willing to give right now. Too fast. Slow down. I don’t think I’m ready for this. I only just met him, why is he trying to put his hands under my clothes? He doesn’t even really know anything about me except that I came to this show and I live in this town. This feels wrong, there are so many people around. I can’t relax, I hate PDAs. His friends are making sexist comments about you ‘scoring’. I’m trying to block it all out. He’s cute and from our scattered conversations during the night, seems to share interests with me? I’m focusing on that and it’s helping. I’m enjoying kissing him, and I can deal with the wandering hands. The drinks have made me relaxed and less anxious about what other people might be saying about us. The night is coming to an end- the venue is closing and it’s time to figure out if I have enough money for a taxi, or if I’ll need to wait for the late night bus. I am happy to end things here and find my way home or to my friends. But he wants more. I want to spend more time with him, I want to be wanted, so I leave with him and his friends. There are a couple other girls who tag along as well, this reassures me, makes me feel safe. He immediately makes an excuse for us to be alone. This excites me. I am relaxed and am enjoying the attention, being wanted feels good. Though now that we are alone, I start to worry. I don’t know how far I want to go. It’s obvious what he wants, I think maybe he even expects it? But how can I say no without offending him? How can I say no and know I’ll be safe? When did he get so much bigger than me? What is he going to say if I back out now? My heart is fluttering and I’m obviously anxious, but he mistakes it for excitement and continues his fast track to what he wants. But is it just what he wants? I’m acting as though I’m into itkissing him back and letting him take my clothes off. It’s not as though he’s forcing himself on me. I’m definitely playing my part, even if it is put on. He’s pretty drunk so I don’t think he’ll last very long. I can get through this. It’ll all be over soon...
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Experienced by Tessa Fox The story I write about today impacted me so much that it led me to rethink numerous other situations I had been in from the age of 15. This event really made me stand up, after a while of being so brutally knocked down, and realise that I have encountered so many similar situations where a male has exercised power, control, manipulation and emotional abuse over me in order to achieve an outcome that they so desire. This event hurt so much that it finally made me realise that my stories are worthy also. This event made me determined to seek justice via an alternative route, this zine, and also empower other people through enabling their voice and their stories to be heard. I can no longer remain quiet when people use language that isn’t inclusive of all genders, particularly in places such as skate parks and music venues, where women, for example, already feel overwhelmed and are part of the minority. Skateboarding isn’t just for ‘the boys’ and not only guys can play in hardcore bands. It should be encouraged that these acts of catharsis be expressed by all genders. It had been only a week after I had returned to Australia after being overseas for three months. Life felt fresh, I was enjoying being back in my community and home and I was once again motivated to be productive and back in the real world. I was in the city centre handing out CV’s when I ran into three friends, one of whom doesn’t reside in the same city as me. I hadn’t seen him for a while so I was keen on catching up. I said I would finish my task at hand and suggested we go skate my local park afterwards. He ended up getting in the car with me and I drove back to the suburb I live in. I got changed and we bought a chill, afternoon beer from the bottle shop and we went down to the park for a skate. I was really amped on skating, I didn’t get to do too much of it while I was away. He on the other hand claimed he wasn’t really in the mood; I don’t think he really liked skating this particular park. He sat most of the time as I continued to skate. When I sensed that he was pretty over it I said we could leave. He had asked what I was doing that night and I said I had a substantial amount of work and life sorting to do. I’m pretty sure I was starting back at university the following day. He continued to say that I should have just one more beer and told me that he had some really good marijuana that I had to try. I was pretty reluctant as I knew I wouldn’t be productive that evening if I indulged. I agreed to the beer and to hanging out for a little longer, considering we don’t often see each other. I wish I had written this the day after it happened so all the details would be perfectly clear, though my mind didn’t function and I just wanted to forget at the time. He ended up rolling a joint in the privacy of my room. He said intermittently how good it was to see me before leaning over and kissing me. I wasn’t into it. I didn’t want to get caught up in relationships, fleeting or permanent, as I felt so centred and on track at this stage. Not only that, I just wasn’t into this person. We had hung out on these sorts of terms once before and it had burnt any possible feelings I could have. I pushed him back and said ‘we shouldn’t do this.’ He seemed to ignore me and smoked his joint. He kissed me again, quite forcibly. Definitely not a kiss that passed on any care. I told him again that I had a lot of work to do and I really needed to get it done. He wouldn’t accept what I was saying nor would he acknowledge N C=S A
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it. Every time I pushed him back he would lean up against the wall looking horribly self confident and smug. I guess I could have walked out of the room, but it was my room and my house. Why couldn’t he have got the picture? I didn’t want to make a scene in front of my housemates. He started touching my legs. Running his hands up them and in a swift move had taken my shirt off. I felt exposed and insecure. I said ‘let’s not do this.’ He continued to kiss me and shove his tongue down my throat. He had taken his clothes off. He looked far too comfortable. Far too confident. He wasn’t warm. He wasn’t sensitive. He wanted one thing. I pushed my hands against his chest one more time. He seemed like I was inconveniencing him, sort of mad. He forced himself inside of me. I gave up. I became a lump of skin and bones. I had no fight left. I thought the only way to get through it was to let it keep going until he had enough. It hurt a bit because I hadn’t had sex for a number of months. I reached over to my drawer and presented a condom to him. I said ‘if this is happening you can at least use this.’ He didn’t put it on. He was so rough and so aggressive. It seemed like his strength had doubled. I felt like a piece of meat the way he continued to pound my body. He would bite my breasts and slap me so hard. I have no idea in the world how he could think that was a turn on. Power. Domination. Control. Each time he slapped me I became more rigid. I’m pretty certain my housemate was in the room next door. I wanted to die. I was so embarrassed. He was slapping me so hard I’m sure the whole house could hear. I wanted to sob. He looked at me and said ‘do you like that?’ I was too scared to talk. I just looked at him, expressionless. My mandala sheet was pulled down from the wall in my room. An extra token of destruction. He continued to say things in the most horrible tone. He demanded I come for him. As he slapped me he would tell me to come. Needless to say I didn’t. Like any of this was one bit enjoyable. He finally finished what he set out to do. He pulled out and came all over me. A targeted act that felt full of disrespect. I scrambled for clothes. He lay there, completely exposed saying ‘that was nice wasn’t it?’ I thought he was deranged. Surely he knew what he had just done. Surely he knew from both my verbal and body language I didn’t want that, didn’t enjoy it and it wasn’t consensual. I got dressed and said, once again, I had work to do. He said I should smoke a joint with him. I said no. Much more firmly now. I was angry. That afternoon/ evening had been too much. I asked how he was getting back to where he was staying. He said he wasn’t sure. I said there were buses and trains really close by. He just sat there, not budging. I wanted him out. I wanted him gone. I said I would drive him to the nearest bus station. He asked if he could roll a joint first. I wanted to scream. How could this prick continue to defy me? He wouldn’t accept anything I said. I sat down while he rolled his joint. As soon as he was done I got up and said let’s go. We finally got to my car and I drove him off my property, off my street, out of my suburb. To this day I can’t believe I had to do that in order to get rid of him. On the drive home he called me numerous times. He sent me a message saying he had left him wallet at my house. I was breaking. It wasn’t over. I ignored the calls and the message until later when I messaged him and said I
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would leave it in my letterbox for him to get. He had taken my dignity. He had stripped me and penetrated me. I hated my body. I hated my room. I took all the sheets off my bed and washed them immediately. I lit incense everywhere and smudged each corner of my room. I put my mandala back up and had the longest shower. I scrubbed my body and washed my clothes. I felt so dirty. So so dirty. I felt like it was my fault. I felt horrible and disorientated the next day. I also had the extra stress of wondering how safe he was and if he pulled out in time. I had arranged to have coffee with a friend and she sensed something was wrong. I had to say something. I told her briefly what had happened. I was a mess but trying to hold myself together to get on with what I had planned for the week. She asked if I had the morning after pill. I said ‘he didn’t come in me. I can’t go to the pharmacy.’ ‘You have to! Do you trust this guy?’ ‘Not at all.’ ‘Then you absolutely have to go. ‘ He contacted me the next day, and for most days after that until he flew home, asking to get dinner with me. I replied the first time, possibly out of fear, and said I was busy. He still didn’t think what he had done was wrong. He didn’t come and pick up his wallet until the second last day of being in town. He arranged it at a time I was home. I was so cold to him. Barely spoke. Though it didn’t seem to get through to him still. If someone asks you to leave. You leave. If someone pushes you away. They want you away from them. It isn’t a fun game to play. Even if you have a history with the person, that doesn’t automatically mean that it is a given it will happen again or there is indefinite consent. I was left to deal with getting an expensive morning after pill by myself, even though I said to use a condom. I hate that I felt embarrassed about noise while being raped. I hate the sense of guilt and lack of strength I felt. I felt so numb. I didn’t want to let anyone into my space ever again. Without talking to my friend I wouldn’t have accepted the fact that I had been raped. I didn’t think my story counted. I didn’t want to go to the police. I’m not going to be a part of a justice system that only punishes the perpetrator but doesn’t look at the effects on the community. Though I was also scared of talking to anyone else about it. I didn’t want it becoming Chinese Whispers. I didn’t want to feel any more exposed. I felt scared. That person could hurt you, either socially, personally or physically. He already had so he could do it again. I also was worried people wouldn’t believe me, particularly if I said who it had been and he continued to act like he did nothing wrong. He has a relatively high profile in skateboarding. He has sponsors and has photos run in magazines and on websites all the time. I felt trapped. I’m glad strength has now been mustered from an extensive abuse of power. The dialogue has started, definitions will be redefined, solidarity will comfort. N C=S A
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Organisations to contact when in need While these contacts can be found on the internet, not everyone, everywhere has access to such a resource. Having these on printed paper can help you or someone you know. If you have a friend that comes to you and is brave enough to open up about their experiences the greatest actions you can take include: Trust them, believe them, take them seriously, support them and look out for them in the following weeks. Don’t play down their experience and don’t compare to other stories. Listen. This is most important. National
Queensland
1800 RESPECT: 24/7 phone line - 1800 737 732
Brisbane Rape & Incest Survivor Support service
https://www.1800respect.org.au/
Freecall: 1800 737 732
Specifically for men:
Ph: (07) 3391 0004
http://www.livingwell.org.au/
www.brissc.org.au
Tasmania
DV Connect – Sexual Assault Helpline
Laurel House Launceston
1800 010 120
Ph: (03) 6334 2740
South Australia
Ph after hours: (03) 0409 800 394
Yarrow Place Rape & Sexual Assault Service
www.laurelhouse.org.au
Freecall: 1800 817 421
ACT
Ph: (08) 8226 8777
Canberra Rape Crisis Centre Crisis Line: (02) 6247 2525
After hours and emergency: (08) 8226 8787 www.yarrowplace.sa.gov.au
Ph: (02) 6247 8071
Victoria
Fax: (02) 6247 2536
Sexual Assault Crisis Line
Email: crcc@rapecrisis.org.au
Freecall Crisis Line: 1800 806 292
www.crcc.org.au
Administration: (03) 9344 2725 / (03) 9344 2744
NSW
Fax: (03) 9344 2726
NSW Rape Crisis Centre (02) 9819 6565 or 1800 424 017 (outside Sydney)
Email: ahcasa@thewomens.org.au www.sacl.com.au Western Australia
www.nswrapecrisis.com.au
Sexual Assault Resource Centre (SARC)
Northern Territory
Crisis 24 hour: (08) 9340 1828
Sexual Assault Referral Services (SARC) Alice Springs: (08) 8955 4500 Darwin: (08) 8922 6472 Katherine: (08) 8973 8524 Tennant Creek: (08) 8962 410 http://www.health.nt.gov.au/sexual_assault_ services/
Country areas (free call): 1800 199 888 Ph: (08) 9340 1820 Fax: (08) 9381 5426 http://www.health.nt.gov.au/sexual_assault_ services/
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Thankyou Produced by Tessa Fox tessafox.com info@tessafox.com Designed by Steele Evans factorysociety.tumblr.com Cover by Alexandra Winters alexandrawinters.com Back cover by Georgie Bewes Illustrations and Artwork by
Alexandra Winters (page 5 & 32)
Clare Towler (page 8)
crowndownbootyup.tumblr.com Ellise Bourne (page 10 & 23) mekosuchus.tumblr.com Thomas Bartsch (page 13) caveseance.tumblr.com Jessica Sen Brough (page 14)
This publication was launched on the 7th of November 2015 at Turnstyle Community Hub in West End, Brisbane, Australia. The launch also showcased live music, with diversity in genders, Australian female skateboarding videos, a public workshop on boundaries, voice, danger and consent and a speaker from the Brisbane Rape and Incest Survivors Support Centre. All profits raised from this project are donated to 1800 RESPECT.
grainwavves.tumblr.com Alexandra Brough (page 17 & 18) Stef Roselli (page 34) gloomy-guts.tumblr.com
For more info or to stay in touch visit: consentrequired.wordpress.com facebook.com/consentrequired
Tom Magee (page 25) tomagee.tumblr.com Jason McQuirns (page 27) instagram.com/jaymcquirns Sianne van Abkoude (page 39) sianne.com.au Printing Sponsor Visible Ink Fortitude Valley visibleink.org
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