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Artwork by Ana Sofia Castano
@ANXSART
Artwork by Charles Lesenko-Oliveros
@PHOTO.CELO
Artwork by Anisia Alexe
@ANI.WAS.HERE
How Tinder’s Anonymity Facilitates
JOSEPHINE ROSS Staff Writer
Author’s Note: This article discusses consent and sexual abuse which may be triggering to some.
Tinder is perhaps the most notorious of the various dating apps available. Its iconic “swipe right or left” format has become a cornerstone of internet dating, and its influence on hookup culture is immeasurable. I’ve had an account since age sixteen, when my friends and I felt grown up enough to create Tinder profiles, match, talk, and occasionally go on dates with men much older than us. I was impressionable and naïve; I liked being told I was mature for my age. The men I would go on dates with would buy me cigarettes and treat me as the older version of myself I so desperately wanted to be, while also infantilizing and demeaning me. It wasn’t until much later that I realized I was being manipulated. At sixteen, I thought I was mature enough to handle it. At nineteen, I realized that I wasn’t mature enough and still am not. As Tinder is an incredibly useful tool for abusers, it can put women in incredibly dangerous situations.
A few weeks ago, I went on a date. He was older, wealthy, and a science major. He invited me to his place. I wouldn’t normally go to someone’s house on the first date, and my gut told me not to, but he invited me over under the innocent pretense of wanting me to teach him to paint. So I went, against my better instincts, sending my location to my best friend, telling her I would check-in with her an hour into the date, a futile attempt to protect myself.
The anonymity that accompanies Tinder makes it a perfect tool for men intending to harm women without consequence. That’s not to say that all men who have Tinder intend to do so; It’s a small– but significant– minority. If a man harms a woman in his friend group who’s a friend of a friend, or who frequents the same places as him, word will get out and his reputation will be ruined. Or, more accurately, his reputation will be adjusted to reflect his actions. Instead, a man may choose to harm a woman he meets on Tinder, with whom he has no mutual friends, no mutual followers, no ties whatsoever– He can do what he pleases with her, whether it’s physical or sexual violence, pressuring her to do something, or having her fulfill his needs and refusing to do the same. The victim will be left powerless in the face of the abuser, and his reputation will remain unscathed.
He gave me a glass of rosé, so sweet it was almost syrup, and the memory of it makes me feel sick. He tried to teach me a song on the piano. It’s scary how well he pulled off his role as a kind and harmless boy. I got the tune on the piano after a few tries and when he hugged me, I felt my body stiffen. It’s scarier that I saw right through his act but still couldn’t save myself. I have often found myself unable to protect myself from the person behind the act. By then, it’s almost always too late. Too many drinks have been consumed and I’ve lost my inhibitions. Or too much money has been spent on dinner and now there’s expectations stapled to the bill. Or he’s driven me home and gas is expensive, he went out of his way and he wants something in return for his troubles. Nothing is ever free.
He kissed me. I didn’t resist, I didn’t comply either. I was quiet and let him undress me, though every fiber of my being told me to take my things and run. Run out the door and down the stairs of his apartment, run down the street, keep running until I reached the bus stop and crumbled onto the curb. I could have been panting at the bus stop at one in the morning instead of crying on the street at two. Instead, he fucked me while I lay there and took it. Silent and still. I lay there and took it as I have done so many times before. I lay there and took it because I couldn’t force out a protest. Because I feared what would happen if I said no. Because of the anger that follows a “no”. Because I’ve said no before and it didn’t change anything. Because the amount of energy it would take to say no, and perhaps be forced to justify my decision, is far greater than the amount of energy it would take to just lay there and take it. I didn’t account for the amount of emotional energy I would waste trying to process this night, but at least no one would be around to see me exert that energy. Instead, I hoped that if I lay very, very still and very, very quiet, he would stop. He struck my body three times, not stopping when I flinched. It’s one thing to experiment with a partner, or a friend, or even someone you casually hooked up with but had a conversation with beforehand. It is another thing entirely to do that to someone you met four hours ago and have never discussed sexual boundaries with. My mind scrambled, trying to arrange the words “please don’t do that”, trying to force them out, but I found my vocal cords stuck together with the rosé in my throat.
I sound so terribly passive, and I feel ashamed to call myself a feminist and then act the way I do. But there’s some part of me that has been conditioned to prioritize a man’s pleasure over my well-being, and I don’t know how to escape it. It’s a continual conditioning, and most of my experiences only reinforce the belief. On the outside,
Sexual Violence: A Personal Account
I preach liberation and the condemnation of abusers. Behind closed doors, the social conditioning takes over and I can’t move. Fifteen minutes later, I dressed and walked to the door. When he told me he had fun, I said “me too”. What was I supposed to stay after that?
I never heard from him again. I didn’t want to, but the realization hit, as it often has, that he didn’t find me pretty, or smart, or interesting. To him, I was an empty object of sexual pleasure, a one-time use, disposable. If he had texted me to make plans again, perhaps I could have convinced myself that maybe he did like me, maybe I was valid in more than ways than just a purely sexual one. It’s difficult to not internalize his perception of myself as an object of sexual pleasure. It’s difficult to view myself as more than that after I’ve been treated as such by most of the men in my life.
I still can’t bring myself to label this as anything but a bad experience that I could have avoided had I found my voice in time. Like every time, I’ve convinced myself it was all my fault. Stupid, stupid girl. Going to stanger’s apartment, what did you expect? Unable to force out a no, a one syllable word, you deserved it. As I so often do, I convinced myself that this was my punishment for something terribly wrong I had done, though I didn’t know what.
I didn’t want to tell anyone the first few days afterwards. It was embarrassing. He had marked me with hickeys, and it was embarrassing to be scarred like that. Not only to be marked with purple splotches down my throat, but with another name in my list of sexual partners that shouldn’t be there, and another rock in my stomach. Friends began to ask questions. I hinted at an unpleasant situation but left it at that. It’s so difficult to tell this story when I feel like I’m not talking about myself, but about a girl I don’t know, existing far from myself. The person I think I am would never let something like this happen. She’s not that passive and naïve, she doesn’t prioritize a man’s comfort over her own. It’s embarrassing to adopt the act of a sexually liberated woman only to be reminded that you’re not the one benefiting from this act. To feel empowered as a twenty-first century woman living through fifth-wave feminism, only to be reminded of who really holds the power.
Initially, this article was supposed to be a light column about the experience of online dating, the funny anecdotes, the unlikely matches, the good dates, and the far more frequent bad ones. This article was supposed to be fun in the same way that dating is supposed to be fun, often falling short of this expectation. After this experience, I decided that I couldn’t deceive myself and others into making this a light article. Online dating can be dangerous, especially for women, because a woman’s existence inherently places her in a position of endless risk for abuse and assault. It’s something that needs to be said, and repeated, and screamed until the message sticks. I’m tired of screaming, so I’ll write instead. I’ll write the words I wish I could have said to the men who fucked me while I lay still and silent, or who continued despite my telling them that I was in pain, or who took advantage of my vulnerability while I was drunk and on the cusp of unconsciousness on someone’s bathroom floor. I’ll write the words I wish I could telepathically communicate to any person who’s been placed in a situation of abuse. I’d tell them that it’s not their fault, that they’re not alone, that this experience doesn’t define them, and that they are not an object of sexual pleasure, though I know it often feels that way. I’ll write the words I want to say to those who have never been implicated in an abusive situation, or to those who have been able to turn a blind eye towards the endless risks that women face on a daily basis. Let this be your reminder and your introduction to the endless instances of assault that women are at risk of while they are simply existing.
Resources:
Centre pour les victimes d’agression sexuelle Montréal: https://www.cvasm.org/en/index
Ending Violence Association of Canada - centres, crisis lines & support lines: https://endingviolencecanada. org/sexual-assault-centres-crisis-lines-and-support-services/
Imagination: The Missing Puzzle Piece in the Fight for Environmental Justice
KIANA LALAVI Staff Writer
We are all united against a common threat to life on earth, the climate disaster. However, where our opinions tend to diverge is on the extent of this threat and the possible solutions.
I used to believe that although humongous a monster, the climate emergency, could be fixed, repaired easily, if only our governments took effective action and our industries converted to green energy. However, instead of feeling empowered by this belief, I was in despair. I felt powerless in the face of it all, unable to force the government to take the radical and fast changes we need to survive. Thus, I gave up on resisting because if everything was going to shit either way, I thought that I might as well make the best of the “good years” we have left. I know that some of you share these beliefs, but trust me, there is hope. And this article will present you that hope and an alternative reality.
As Patricia Romano, a Dawson humanities professor and the Co-Founder of the Creative Collective for Change, says, climate change is not an easy fix issue, “it is the issue at the core of every societal wrong and it challenges power structures” worldwide in an unprecedented, profound way. Indeed, the answer to climate change is much more radical than the mainstream media makes it out to be. Climate change isn’t just about a shift in energy resources. It is an end to war, to exploitation, and to human and corporate greed. “Fixing” climate change would mean changing all our practices and structures, putting an end to the centralization of power, of elites, of globalization, and undertaking a major redistribution of wealth. And although this sounds scarier than the first problem/solution, this presents us with a more hopeful path. It means that society may be reborn. It means that we may leave behind this sedentary existence of powerlessness, stress, and anxiety, and move towards a world where we are all equally important regardless of our ethnicity, gender, and social class, a world where our happiness and well-being is more important than our productivity and usefulness. It also means that we, the people, have the power to turn things around, that we don’t have to wait on the government to act. We will build this world from the ground up, whether they want it or not.
Sadly, this second vision is less
popular and preached for.
Overall, the movement is going in the right direction and has some of the key components of any successful non-violent movement, such as challenging and disrupting power, forcing politicians and top CEOs to act. Nonetheless, as a whole, the movement is lacking some more open-mindedness and imagination. Rarely do we try to understand the other, facilitate dialogue. In Canada this is very clear with our treatment and demonization of Alberta. It is indeed true that oil extraction and pipelines are dangerous and pollutive, yet they currently are the main economic tool for Albertans to survive and provide for themselves and their families. There are solutions out there, viable green energy markets to make up for the lost jobs in the region, but to even begin discussing and adopting these measures, we must first understand each other’s beliefs and everyday realities. Above all, we need to dare to dream, to craft an inspiring vision that goes beyond our existing social norms.
Through the previous three, four decades, “we’ve lost the vision of what an ecological world would look like.” When most of us think of a green world or a green city, we think glass buildings, clear, smogless skies, electric trains, some trees, thrifting
and coffees in mugs instead of plastic cups. Yet how is that reality visionary? It remains entrapped in the claws of capitalism. Our new world would still mean buying, buying, and buying even more. Our new world would still mean conforming to a society that relies on exploiting its population to function. It would still mean anxiety, depression, low-energy, and it would still mean imported goods, from India, China, and Mexico, where our kin would remain violently oppressed and exploited.
As Sheila Watt Cloutier, an Indigenous advocate and Nobel peace prize nominee expresses, our only way forward is “to lead from a position of strength, not victimhood” and to reimagine the world, “inspire others as constant pillars of strength.” Although it’s difficult, let’s leap forward. Let’s dream and imagine together a vision that will capture the hearts of elders, established professional adults, and youth alike. One that young, tired, and sometimes depressed teenagers and young adults such as we can believe, can sacrifice in the name of, sacrifice our momentary pleasures, our potential future careers, and our lives for. For a dream that will come true. p p
As Seen in the Hallways: Pass the Torch Edition
PIPA JONES Editor-in-Chief
As the semester comes to an end and the finality of an era approaches, I had a little chat with The Plant’s next Editor-in-Chief, Isabella Blu Ptito-Echeverria. After working with them closely over the last year, and finally getting to meet her vivacious personality in-person just last week, I can confirm that passing on this legacy to them was a great choice.
First of all, who are you? Where do you come from? Where are you going?
I’m Isabella Blu and I have no clue how I should answer this question. Where do I come from? Well, I regret not having contributed anything to my high school experience beyond getting high undetected—my background is one of unfulfilled potential, which I’m trying to correct as a member of the Plant.
My biggest dream is to own my own publishing house —a record label for writers. I love recognising the potential and talent in others and bridging those special people together. I hope that’ll be where I’m going.
Geez, what a poetic way to put it. Overall, how would you say your experience with the Plant been? Any favourite moments? Memorable instances?
I’ve absolutely loved working with the Plant team. Doing our meetings over Zoom did make the experience less personable, but having our Plant room back [Blu is refering to us finally getting a Club Space after two years of wandering in metaphysical Zoom space—long story, back to the interview] and meeting everyone I’d been working with all year in person was quite the trip. Other than that, my favorite moment has to have been when I published my first article—Can you get high and get high grades?—in this year’s October issue. Seeing my words beside my name on actual paper hits any writer like crystal meth. Popping your print cherry is euphoric and unforgettable.
Impeccable word choice there. See readers, this is why I’m excited to see how they run the Plant. Speaking of, what are you looking forward to as the new Editor-in-Chief? What is the first thing you’re planning on doing as EIC?
I really want The Plant to be a space where writing can be shared in a non-academic context. A lot of students hate writing for projects or assignments because they hate being censored or limited by boring topics. Likewise, many student writers develop the habit of writing in the voice of a scholar or ‘objective’ journalist, which can suck the life out of an article. As a writer you should be leveraging and developing your own voice—there is no shame in writing as the young adult that you are. I want future issues of the Plant to reflect that writing, despite having academic roots, can be exciting, raw, and edgy.
First thing I plan on doing is getting some more advertising in place to call for submissions. So many Dawson go-ers don’t even realize that we have a student newspaper, and that needs to change. If that goes well, we will have a wider pool of submissions, and consequently better content in our paper. Ideal submissions are captivating and carefree; submit something your high school principal would expel you over, or that your parents would disown you for conceiving. A couple posters catered towards the closeted writers at our school could go a long way.
Any big changes planned? I won’t take offence, I promise.
I want to add an events section in our newspaper for two reasons; one, so that students hosting events (concerts, flea markets, charity events, etc.) can advertise to their peers, and two, so
Photo VIA ISABELLA BLU
that readers have a reason other than wanting entertainment to pick up the Plant.
This could be an expansion of our new Connections section which was meant to be the Craiglist of Dawson.
Oh I love the sound of that. Catering to Dawsonites is truly what we do best. Final question, are you afraid? Are you terrified?
Fuck no. I’m pumped! I want to see where the Plant will go under my leadership. I’m excited to see if I can motivate people to write something raw, and to see if I can have an impact on how students view reading and writing. At the very least, if I fuck everything up, I’ll get to put “editor in chief of school newspaper” on my CV.
