Thursday, 9 December 2010


Well... early Thursday morning, by now.

I was going to make this one a long post about how much Enterprise sucked at the whole "chicks in space" thing but then I ended up being delayed on the train for the fifth. fucking. time this week and would rather use my pent-up vitriolic rage to talk about the Assange case.

For those of you who have been living under a fucking rock for the last few days, WikiLeaks' founder Julian Assange has been accused of rape. Now since Julian is famous and arguably does good things for society, he is obviously innocent, just like famous rapist and filmmaker Roman Polanski. (Did I say "rapist"? Oops. I meant alleged rapist. Because he's a rapist. Allegedly.)

As usual, countless blogs, the Daily Fail and--of all people!--Naomi Wolf have managed to pledge their allegiance to wholesale victim-blaming douchebaggery. Equally, other and better bloggers have covered this story way better than I ever could.

I can't speak for whether Assange is guilty or not, but I am quite bothered by a media that suddenly seems to have taken its definition of consent from Edward Pasteck, so here's my thoughts on the subject. If you go to a cafe and order a cup of tea, and instead the waiter comes over, pours boiling water over your face and then shoves a teabag up your nose, nobody's going to tell you you got what you ordered. Nobody's going to automatically assume you're lying, or tell you you deserved it because of what you were wearing, or that you "entered into a contract" when you walked into that cafe and therefore don't get a say in what happens to you.

Incidentally, I am quite bothered by the fact that 100% of my ranty feminist posts so far have dealt in some way with rape apologists. I would say "I hope this isn't becoming a trend", but who am I fucking kidding? It already has.

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