On the UN and the Tower of Babel

This except from Carl Sagan came up in my newsfeed today:

“But surely there is a message in the heavens that the finiteness not just of life but of whole worlds, in fact of whole galaxies, is a bit antithetical to the conventional theological views in the West, although not in the East. And this then suggests a broader conclusion. And that is the idea of an immortal Creator.  

By definition, as Ann Druyan has pointed out, an immortal Creator is a cruel god, because He, never having to face the fear of death, creates innumerable creatures who do. Why should He do that? If He’s omniscient, He could be kinder and create immortals, secure from the danger of death. He sets about creating a universe in which at least many parts of it, and perhaps the universe as a whole, dies. And in many myths, the one possibility the gods are most anxious about is that humans will discover some secret of immortality or even, as in the myth of the Tower of Babel, for example, attempt to stride the high heavens. There is a clear imperative in Western religion that humans must remain small and mortal creatures. Why? It’s a little bit like the rich imposing poverty on the poor and then asking to be loved because of it.”

It, of course, prompted me to point out that part of the point of the Christian gospel is that God came to Earth, faced death, and in doing so took upon him the sins of the mortals, reconciling them to God, creating a direct path of communication to God, and eliminating the need for a Tower of Babel. It is one of the central tenants that separate Christianity from Islam. Christians believe Jesus is God; Muslims believe he was sent by God but is not God. Christians believe Christ died on the cross for our sins; Muslims believe he was taken to heaven before he died. We both believe in the singularity or oneness of God, and we both agree that God has no partners, but what that actually means between Christians and Muslims (and Christians and Jews) is where we differ. (Which makes me wonder with Islam became a "Western" religion to Sagan?)

I actually attended an amazing talk titled "Justice for Jesus" that was put on in association with Islam Awareness Week. The speaker, a Muslim scholar from a nearby city, came to talk about the need of Muslims to show greater respect to Christianity and Christians, and to be as outraged at the defamation of Christ as they are about the defamation of Mohammad, though in both instances the expression of outrage should not be done through violent means but through words and what he called "civilised" engagement on the issue.

All of this, though, reminded me of a picture a friend once shared comparing the UN building and the Tower of Babel.  I tried to find the image on google, but apparently my location makes it much more likely for me to find images comparing the Tower of Babel to the EU Parliament.  Now, anyone who has seen the UN and the European Parliament buildings will tell you they look nothing alike. For those who haven't seen them, though, decide for yourself: 

European Parliament Building

UN Building

I guess they have the line of flags in common.  So, that's something.  And they have glass and steel, so that's something else.  Outside of that, though, they're pretty much not the same. 

Yet, if you visit all the sites on the internet that claim the UN or European Union are sinful attempts by man to re-establish the Tower of Babel and destroy God's relationship with us - a feat I have, unfortunately, just undertaken (well, not all, thank God - quite literally praying that right now) - you would think they must be exactly the same.  Because these are the types of images you get:

It's apparently based on this depiction of the Tower of Babel:

But I can see how if your Tower of Babel looks like this it's easy to make a UN Building (why can't I find that bloody image and how many more crazy people do I have to read before I find it??):

On these sites, the story of the Tower of Babel is portrayed as being about world domination, and how the EU and UN have provided all these very clear signs about how they are waiting for the anti-Christ.  I particularly love the series of sites which in one fell swoop claim that the EU gave special powers to its High Representative for Foreign and Common Security with resolution 666 confirming that he is the anti-Christ but also noting that the EU Parliament is waiting for the anti-Christ because no one occupies seat number 666. So if they don't use the number 666, it's because they are waiting for the Anti-Christ, but if they do use it, it's because they are the anti-Christ. And I'm sure the empty seat - if the seat even exists, and it's not like one of those things where hotels skip the 13th floor and it doesn't exist - has nothing to do with a bunch of Parliamentarians who were raised in Christian-culture countries not wanting to be associated with 666. Instead, it must clearly be that they are leaving the seat open so the anti-Christ can come back.

There's also this picture of Condoleeza Rice speaking at the UN around its 60th anniversary:

One of the sites claims that the placement of the flags to hide the logo shows a love for the anti-Christ.  So apparently if the picture had been taken at another angle, then the UN wouldn't be the anti-Christ?

Another claims that the point of the Tower of Babel story is this: "In fact, God created the separate nations, and the Bible warns that He shall "judge the nations." Anyone, therefore, who seeks a unified New World Order is in defiance of God."

Pretty sure that's not what the Bible was saying. 

The Biblical story of the Tower of Babel is actually really short and comes immediately after the flood and the listing of Noah's sons in the Bible. This is the NIV version of it:

Now the whole world had one language and a common speech. ² As people moved eastward,^[a] they found a plain in Shinar^[b] and settled there. 

³ They said to each other, “Come, let’s make bricks and bake them thoroughly.” They used brick instead of stone, and tar for mortar. ⁴ Then they said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves; otherwise we will be scattered over the face of the whole earth.” 

⁵ But the Lord came down to see the city and the tower the people were building. ⁶ The Lord said, “If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. ⁷ Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other.” 

⁸ So the Lord scattered them from there over all the earth, and they stopped building the city. ⁹ That is why it was called Babel^[c]—because there the Lord confused the language of the whole world. From there the Lord scattered them over the face of the whole earth.

So you're probably wondering what was so wrong about building a tower "that reaches the heavens."  Perhaps Sagan was right?  This is evidence of an unmerciful God who punishes people for wanting to be like him?

No.  God was not punishing people for speaking the same language as one another, and I don't think He was punishing them for wanting to reach the heavens or for wanting to work together. 

I think the key in this story is this: "so that we may make a name for ourselves."  In that moment, the sons and grandchildren of Noah were not just attempting to build a tower but they were attempting to usurp the place of God as the one of worship. They weren't seeking the immortality of God; they were seeking the worship that belongs only to Him - "to make a name for ourselves." 

In that sense, the Tower of Babel is not unlike the golden calf that comes later in the Bible, in Exodus 32.  In that story, the people of Israel got bored while Moses was away and wanted a God like the other nations around them worshipped -- some statue that they could bow to. So Aaron, Moses' brother, gathered up all the gold and created a golden calf, which the Israelis worshipped. Ironically, they did this while Moses was receiving the Ten Commandments and the Covenant from God. The "preamble" and the first two Commandments are of course, "I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.  You shall have no other Gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an image in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below. you shall not bow down to them or worship them . . .."

The Tower of Babel is not about people trying to be immortal; it's about people trying to usurp the place of God as one who deserves worship.  And why do we not deserve being worshipped?  Because we haven't really done anything to deserve it, have we?  I mean, God gets worshipped because he created light and darkness, the heavens, the earth, the water, the land, fruits and vegetables, animals, and all of mankind, whom he loves.  Noah's kids?  they wanted to build a building.  Not exactly on the same playing field.  God is omniscient and omnipotent. I lost my bus pass after a week and on a daily basis I'm I lose my keys or my phone about 500 times.  And I cannot even earn the right to be worshipped.  I cannot do the things that God does.  I may receive internal immortality through God's grace, but I cannot actually create immortality.  God does.  

In case anyone is still entertaining thoughts of the UN and it's relationship to the Tower of Babel, they don't speak one language (otherwise, there'd be no need for translation services). The UN works to protect endangered languages and respect for lingual rights, and they actually also work for religious rights. You aren't expected to worship the UN, and most people would find it weird if you did.  All the UN actually does is get people to work together for less war.  So unless you think God is pro-war -- which is against pretty much everything Jesus taught -- then there isn't anything anti-Christ-ish about the UN.  The EU, ont he other hand... (just kidding)

35 Things I'm Thankful For - Final 5 Countdown!

Okay, I've been sick so I didn't get to do my final 5.  At times, the computer screen has given me a headache; at other times I've just felt too foggy to write anything clear (as my PhD is currently proving); and at other times, I was so far behind my actual work because of being sick that I couldn't justify the time out to blog.  Now, all those things are still true, but I've been inspired this morning to finish this post (it helps that I had 4/5 of this written before).

Now, I'm probably the only person in the world who divides 35 into 4 parts, but I did. You check out parts 1, 2, and 3 by clicking on the relevant number.  This one is a bit sappy at times. They say bad writing often comes from too many emotions.  This is definitely true here.  I would apologize, but I like being human enough that sometimes my emotions make my writing just gawd-awful.

5.  Being an American.* If you'd asked me 12 years ago if I was thankful for this, I probably would've said no.  I would've told you all about how the US is imperialistic in its treatment of other areas, and how the concept of us being the "most free nation on Earth" is a lie told to us by the elites in an attempt to suppress resistance to economic tyranny.  Let's be honest, I still kind of feel that way at times. Americans sometimes think we have a lock on the issue of freedom, like if it isn't practiced the way we practice it than it doesn't count. But they are confusing freedom with economic liberalism. Freedom is so much more than that. It should be about the ability one has to actually operate on a meritocracy and to improve and better their life.  Yet, in the US, 49% of children born into poverty will spend at least half their childhoods in poverty, and "are more likely to be poor between ages 25 and 30, drop out of high school, have a teen nonmarital birth, and have patchy employment records than those not poor at birth." Income inequality in the US reached a record high in 2009, which threatens the stability of our economy, and the likelihood of those lower on the socioeconomic rungs from climbing the ladder to higher socioeconomic standards. Intergenerational economic mobility is believed to be pretty much flat since 1990 (p.15 of the link), and the riches 1% received 121% of the income gains during this economic recovery. To me, this means we are not a free society.  Freedom involves more than just the ability to speak one's mind; it involves the ability to develop and then use one's talents for one's benefits and for the benefit of the greater society.  But our educational funding system is massively defective and the increasing reliance on corporate-provided education is likely only exacerbating this, so that there is little opportunity to develop one's talents, much less use them to their fullest benefit. Our "economic freedom" is therefore limited; it is limited to operating with a supply-demand economy and then primarily within the social rung into which we were born.

In that sense, we are not the free-est society.  But, that said, I do appreciate our stance on free speech and free religion.  Perhaps I'm one of the few human rights activists who believes the US's position, which allows the KKK to march through a town of Holocaust survivors, is a good thing - though I'm definitely not the only human rights activist to think that (yes, my conservative friends, it was a progressive, ACLU employed, George Soros-loving liberal human rights activist who defended the KKK's right to free speech; he was also a refugee from Nazi Germany). I think the US's standards for separation of church and state are appropriate and set the right tone, even if that tone is sometimes usurped by crazy people.

More importantly, I've come to appreciate the other freedoms we enjoy in the US.  Like the freedom of knowing that we aren't going to turn into a dictatorial state. I know that some of my conservative friends like to think that Barack Obama is a socialist, a fascist and a dictator, but the reality is that we've had over 200 years of peaceful democratic transitions in our society.  That's a pretty long track record that we need to work to protect, but it's not one that is actually in any threat today. Even amongst the rightest of the right, we have little of the type of discourse that makes me worry about the democratic foundations of our country. There are occasions when I worry about an actual internal armed conflict or civil war, but dictatorial regime? No.

This has become particularly relevant to me this year as I've watched friends get arrested in Azerbaijan and others have been refused the right to leave their country.  That's right - they can't leave, not because another state won't take them but because their own government won't let them go.  Today alone, facebook told me of two friends facing this reality. One was leaving his home country to attend an international conference, ironically on freedom of speech, when immigration officials told him he wasn't allowed to fly. He was on a government black list because of his pro-democracy activism.  After negotiations, it appears he's on his way, but I do worry about his ability to return later. Another friend is already outside his home country but had to renew his exit visa.  That's right - some countries still have exit visas, meaning you can only leave with government permission. Even if you're outside of your home country, you can't travel to another unless your exit visa is valid.  He needed to renew his exit visa to attend an international competition later this month. He's been trying for a month or two to get this renewal and today he was finally told he was denied.  Yes, he was denied.  So even though he's already outside of his home country, he's not allowed to go anywhere else until he returns home, and then he has to hope someone will give him an exit visa.

When a friend of a friend was killed this week, I had a serious conversation about the level of danger my friend faced upon her return home. I've had friends who were beaten by police and whose family members were torn from them and thrown in jail. I have friends who have been kicked out of Israel because they want to work on human rights issues in Palestine. Friends who can't work for their government because of their connection to an American woman (that would be me).  Friends who regularly scrub their facebook pages clean of potentially "controversial" posts about their government, or about economics, or freedom or politics. I've known people who couldn't return to their home countries because of the religion they chose, the sexuality they concealed, or the courses they wanted to pursue. And this year, I did a human rights training for people who spent years in jail because of their belief in democracy.  This is the reality of living in a dictatorship.  (And while Israel is technically a democracy, it is unaccountable to the Palestinian people it rules over, so I place it, for the purpose of this discussion and limited to the case of its treatment of people who live and work in Palestine, in this category).

I realize that given my career choice I am more likely to have friends deemed "enemies of the state" in dictatorial, authoritarian regimes. Human rights activists face this kind of threat everywhere. But every time this reality comes up, I realize how lucky I was to be born in the USA (and not in the Bruce Springsteen lyrics kind of way). I am grateful for those who have fought long before I was born to ensure I have the freedom I do.  I see the ideals of the US's founding fathers and mothers(!) in the faces of my friends who seek justice and human rights in their own countries. I am reminded that those who fought in the Revolutionary War risked everything - literally everything - to create a democratic institution that was answerable to the people.  Some now want to claim what they opposed was taxation, but those individuals for that the thing they opposed was actually taxation without representation.  It is the democratic experience that they wanted, fought for, and eventually won. It was the shackles of tyranny, the right of a dictator far removed and unanswerable to those whose lives he made miserable, that they were throwing off.  That is the same fight my friends fight now.  It inspires me, but it also makes me immensely grateful that this is a fight I didn't actually have to wage on a daily basis in my home country.

It is not only in the USA where one finds this kind of freedom, but I wasn't born anywhere else. My sense of self, my understanding of identify and freedom and democracy are all intrinsically linked to my childhood and to the sense of patriotism instilled in my family.  This patriotism does not require absolute adherence and belief in the goodness of the USA, but it does not require a resilient determination to make the US as free as it can be.

For that, I am very grateful.

*I use that as the demonym for someone from the USA. I recognize the colonial heritage associated with the concept of the "United States of America" as being something distinct from European owned territories within the Americas, but unfortunately non of my friends from the Americas have been able to come up with an English language demonym for someone from the USA. This does not mean that the USA is the only part of the Americas and I intentionally use USA rather than "America" to refer to the country I am from, but the demonym "American" is used as someone from the USA, not the greater inclusive "Americas." 

4.  Animals and their unending love. My family have had and continue to have a lot of animals.  Mercedes, Duchess, Buddy, Toby, Sunshine the Bird, Dan the Turtle, numerous hamsters, Bexley, Shallah, Foxie, MacKenzie, Bonkers, LeiLei, Velvet, and Houdini have showered me with affection and love.  Well, Dan didn't, but he's a turtle (who was named for Dan Quayle - what were we thinking??). In turn, they've taught me to show love, to have patience, and to set down the computer because they won't stop head-butting me until I do.

3.  My extended family.  Like probably most families, there's a range of political beliefs in my extended family. There's a significant number of people in my extended family who disagree with my political opinions and can't relate to my constant need to be overseas.  They love me anyhow.  The ones who agree excitedly take time out of their schedules whenever we meet to talk about my newest adventure or non-adventurous accomplishments and to encourage me in my newest plans and next steps.  The ones who disagree, do it with love and respect and still encourage me to live my life with joy and pride.  I'm blessed to have this large community who help me better understand myself every day.

Two of my uncles, one of my aunts, and several of my cousins have been particularly supportive, so I want to say a special thanks to them (they know who they are). Their love, encouragement and support have led me to do more in my life than I would have imagined.

2.  My immediate family. I've written about my siblings before, so this will be a truncated love letter.  I had 5 spots left on this list today and could have easily spent one number on each immediate family member -- mom, dad, brother, sister, sister(-in-law*) -- though that would've left my awesome nephew out and he definitely shouldn't be left out.  Plus, I would have felt like I was ranking them, and that would be awful.  Realistically, they are a unit, so treating them as one is appropriate.

My family is pretty freaking amazing in that they're each these unique little balls of goodness that run around the world making it better. If I'm a "puppy dogs and rainbows" kind of girl, I'm surrounded by family members who are kittens and sunshine. One sister is off helping to prevent a war and the other is trying to make democracy work the way it is supposed to. My brother is one of the kindest, most generous and giving individuals I know. He's also a pretty bad ass attorney. He makes videos for my sister and I of our nephew doing all the cute things that make the first years of any baby's life precious. His kindness and sweetness exists in spite of the fact that he has prosecuted some of the absolute worst kinds of human behavior. Child molesters, rapists, domestic abusers - that used to be his daily life.  I'm so glad it's not anymore (or at least I hear about it a lot less now).  But he did it because he believes in justice and peace.  Pretty lofty ideals for a (relatively) humble man.

And my nephew! Seriously the cutest child in the world.  I would post his picture here but I think he has a right to privacy and his father and I already abuse that enough on facebook.  (Abuse is not the appropriate word; disregard, perhaps?)  I have often wondered if I could actually be a good parent.  It involves a lot of sacrifice and I can be a pretty selfish person. Then my nephew came along.

I don't get to see him enough, and we don't skype as much as we should, but watching him grow up and taking pride in the little accomplishments, like the first time he said "da da" (on Father's Day!) or the first time I saw him run or throw a ball... he fills my life with such joy and wonder that I have come to realize I could actually do this thing called parenthood.  I would actually even like it.  Well, assuming my kids are half as cool as he is. 

I also have two other nephews and a niece, thanks to my sister(-in-law). They're amazing, kind and generous.  We like different things in the world (as we should; the oldest is about 20 years younger than me), but I appreciate how much seeing the world through their eyes changes the meaning of life.  They're awesome kids and I'm lucky I got to inherent them.

My parents are a huge force in the lives my siblings and I have chosen. At a time when government was criticized and its servants demeaned - so pretty much from Reagan until now in the US - my parents chose civil service. It was not out of some desire to be lazy - my father used to work 16 hours a day sometimes - but because they saw something good and noble about serving others. My mother was a teacher and after cancer wrecked her body and her job choices (pre-HIPPA, cancer could be a good reason not to give someone a job), she chose to serve through local government while working as a real estate agent. She fought for ideals and quality service; generations of children in my hometown owe her a debt of gratitude. More recently, my dad was elected as a city official. He did it because, like my mom, he believes that common sense, education, and hard work are each part of the process for securing a better life, and if you have those skills you should use them to the benefit of others.

Having a political and public family is hard at times. People are often stupid and disrespectful, and you have to listen and continue to smile despite them saying and writing things that you know are lies. My sister(-in-law) was pregnant when running for office. On the online high-profile endorsement from the local newspaper, supporters of her opponent suggested my nephew would have to be raised by a nanny. Apparently, by running for office, my sister was doing a disservice to society because she would be abandoning her child, and the child would end up a sullen teenager hell-bent on destroying the city and society and probably all that is good and sacred in the world. Now, why my nephew would need a nanny when his father could watch him is beyond me - and my brother was (thankfully, rightfully, justly) outraged by the suggestion that my nephew would be "abandoned" simply because his mom worked. I was outraged that someone thought it still appropriate to chastise a working mother, let alone my amazing sister. I wanted to hit people; to write ranty messages all over that comment section; to start a campaign about women in the public sphere. And, oh yeah, to hit someone.  My family didn't let me.  Mostly because they know that this is part of what it means to serve the public.  I hate it at times, but I'm also grateful for their love and devotion not just to themselves or to me but to the world and to the people around them.

They also happen to fill my life with joy and love. The support I get from them has often made the difference in my ability to stick through a tough situation. I wouldn't be able to do my job, or live my life as fully as I do, if it were not for their help. They're always ready to help me work through a problem, listen to me vent, or lend me money when I'm worried about coming up short. In short, they are amazing and my life wouldn't be nearly what it is now if they weren't in it.

I generally just call my sister-in-law my sister, but sometimes that could lead to some gross confusion (like my brother and sister having a baby together). And since most of the people who read this blog have also known my family for a really long time, I want to be clear that neither of my parents had an affair that produced a child we never acknowledged until I was an adult. So where it's necessary for these reasons to specify sister-in-law, you get the "in-law" in parenthesis.

1.  Jesus.  Jesus makes me a better person. I have some pretty Machiavellian tendencies if left unrestrained. Jesus restrains them. My relationship with God, choosing to be a Christian, and seeking after what is good and just is the basis of my work.  I wanted to type that it informs all I do, but that would be a lie.  I try to have it inform all I do. I fail, though.  I'm human.  It's why I'm glad that God is God and I am not. Some people question me as to whether it's really about God.  It is.  I know when I want to do something and when I'm hearing God's voice tell me not to.  I know when I ignore that voice and when I follow it.  I know when it is me trying to convince myself that God is okay with something, and when it's actually God saying something.  I've tried to convince myself a lot.  I'm happiest, though, when I'm not trying to convince myself. When I just listen for and follow God's will in my life. He gives me strength, peace and resilience and I am deeply grateful that I learned to trust him when I was still relatively young.

35 Things I'm Thankful For - Part 3.

This is part 3 of my series on the 35 things I'm thankful for.  Part 1 is here, and part 2 is here.

15.  My mentors. I know I'm spoiled in my life generally, and I'm extra spoiled in my PhD. Some students in the world can't find a single mentor besides their supervisor; I entered my PhD with six in the corridor upstairs from my office. Over time, my mentors have changed in nature and number. I was devastated when I got the news that Kevin Boyle had passed (that link is to my favorite obituary for him). I was not only losing a mentor, but a friend, and his loss still motivates and saddens me today. Shortly thereafter, two others went to part-time status and then some went on maternity leave. One took on extra administrative responsibilities. My ability to jump into their office whenever I needed a pep talk or career advice has, at times, been limited. Even as their availability changed, their impact did not. I also found new mentors, people who create space in their professional lives for me. Each new mentor eventually becomes a friend - and sometimes my friends become mentors. Their generosity of spirit allows me to develop and to pass on the lessons they give me.  Sometimes I feel I should be further in my development and without a need for mentors anymore; but then I realize that even if I was able to live without them, I wouldn't want to. The give-and-take of a good discussion over my PhD inspires me to go deeper. The constant reminder that I'm entitled to say "no" is sometimes both a necessity and a godsend. They have seen me at my worst as an academic and a writer, and yet they always encourage me to be my best. I am, forever, indebted to their care and attention.

14.  My legs. I broke one last year and it still hurts, particularly when it's cold or when I'm sick (like now, when I'm both cold and sick).  But they work. The broken one healed; the non-broken one compensated in the meantime.  They propel me. They let me feel the sensation of running and bicycling, and walking with friends through a muddy path. Legs are pretty great and I don't think we give them enough credit. Or perhaps that was just me.

13. Post-it notes. I also love whoever invented them (though I understand that it was neither Romy nor Michelle). They're so pretty and they make my life seem so much more organized.

12. Earplugs. For a while, I couldn't find earbuds that worked with my ears, but a pound store (like a dollar store, but in British pounds) near my home had these awesome ones with little jelly ends that fit snuggly inside my years. Now I can listen to Frightened Rabbit and Taylor Swift one right after the other and no one judges me. Well, until now. And while I like being exposed to new music, I'm so glad I don't need to listen to the favorite songs of every random guy on the underground.

11. Crayons.  I particularly like Crayola's box of 64 (though I'm devastated to learn, via wikipedia, that some of my favorite colours were retired!). I can't find the 64 box here in the UK so I keep myself busy with a box of 8. Crayons are brilliant (with almost all the definitions of that word applying). When I'm stumped on my PhD or in need of a break, I find colouring or drawing gives me the mental break necessary to engage with my PhD again from a fresh start. It's also one of those fun words where the more you look at it, the more certain you are it can't be a real word. But it is.

What my crayon box looks like.
Image from Crayola.

10. Martin Luther King, Jr., J.F.K., R.F.K., Sandra Day O'Connor, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and Susan B. Anthony. Jane Austin, J.D. Salinger, Harper Lee, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Khalil Gilbran. Pablo Neruda. Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, and Bruce Springsteen. Maya Angelou and Gloria Steinem. They inspire me and challenge me. At times in my life when I've felt I had few friends, they were my friends. When I feel disconnected from life, they connect me again. They also make me sound smart when I'm at a party. Or at least they did back when I liked being pretentious.

9.  New Year's Eve. I have an awesome group of friends I spend most New Year's Eve with. This year, though, one is on a Navy warship, one is playing doctor (well, being a doctor), one is living in another country, and then there's me and my PhD-related income levels that make travel home during the holidays unlikely at best. We've had to postpone NYE this year, but it's coming up. This one day of the year reminds me of the love I am the recipient of the rest of the time; it also lets me make resolutions I'll quickly break, and gives me a sense of newness that motivates small changes in my life.

8.  Wine. I can live without wine. I have been to Muslim states where it's unavailable or prohibitively expensive, so I know I can do it. And I've applied to go to Muslim states again in the near-ish future, so I may have to do it. But I just think life is better with wine than without.

7.  Time. I wish we had more of it, but the concept of it and the uses of it are pretty nice.

6.  My girlfriends. I'm sure that with all the love I've been foisting on my guy friends, they've probably felt neglected on my blog. And girls already get a bad rep as friends. When we're young, women are taught by society that gossiping is a way to make friends. This leads to an age-old lie often told that women make bad friends. We're not as accepting as men. We're not as trustworthy or laid back or fun or interesting. All we talk about are boys and each other and hair and make up. I hate when I hear that same old trope about how girls are the worst, and you can never trust a girl friend, and they'll stab you in the back, and blah blah blah.  Have I been stabbed in the back by supposed friends? Absolutely. Both times I've been cheated on, a friend was involved. Nothing like feeling absolutely sucker punched in the gut when you discover not one but two people you trusted had betrayed you. But that's two women out of the hundreds I have been close friends with.

While my junior high and high school circles of friends changed almost as quickly as the seasons and brought drama and back-stabbing, and gossip and fights, my grown-up girl friends have filled my life with love, poetry, artwork, prayers, hugs, long emails when I'm far from home, extended phone calls, cocktails and wine, conversations about the meaning of life, career advice, proof-reading skills, nights out, nights in, and a shared love of romantic comedies we completely recognize are not true to life. They have held my hair when I'm sick, made me soup when I had a broken leg, hugged me when I cried over a broken heart, helped me pack for my grandmother's funeral, lent me hundreds of books, and given me pep talks before every board meeting or interview I've had. They laugh at my ridiculously embarrassing stories - getting my suitcase caught in the turnstiles at a tube station; tripping and falling into the lap of a stranger; or the time I tried to stay warm at a football game and ended up cutting off the circulation in my legs (long story; high school; that's all you get) - and ultimately they get me to laugh, too. They are my cheerleaders and my confidants.

I have an ever-growing set of presents that remind me of these faithful, wonderful, and loving girl friends. Their flowers, teddy bears, fun dresses, jewelry, books, handbags, and music allow me to stay connected when facebook, the internet, and the phone just don't seem to work as well as we expect. They bless my life with happiness. If I had to endure a few years of gossip and drama, or a few moments of heartbreaking betrayal to find the gems that decorate my life, then the payoff was well worth the cost.

35 Things I'm Thankful For - Part 2

Here's part 2 of my 4-part series on 35 things I'm thankful for, in honour of my 35th birthday. (Part 1 is here.)

24.  Facebook. No one in my family knows how to make an international phone call except my sister and one uncle. Literally, no one else.  A certain parent of mine gets confused because there are too many numbers. It doesn't matter how many times I say "you can just input those numbers," they don't believe me. My parents don't even answer the phone when I call because my number shows up in their cell phones as a US number with an area code of 447.  My parents have apparently been convinced -- for five years! -- that my number is that of a telemarketer.  There is no 447 area code in the US.  There's a 440, which is by their house so they would answer it anyhow, and 441 is Bermuda (442 and 443 are apparently also US codes). But no 447. This hasn't deterred them from ignoring my calls for multiple years.

And when I say my number starts +44, none of my US friends know what the + means.  Okay, "none" might be an exaggeration; but "most" wouldn't be.

Facebook lets me connect with my family and friends in a way I just couldn't when I was living overseas in the pre-fb days (yes, my students, I remember life before facebook).  I've reconnected with old friends, stayed in touch with new ones, and even have about 12 facebook friends I've never met.  I wish they'd stop messing with their privacy settings, and I really, really wish the messages didn't now show when someone has read the message.  But, on the whole, I'm grateful for facebook and facebook-like technologies.

Oh, and it's a really good way to waste some time when I need a mental break.

23. Butternut squash. You can use it in so many recipes! And it's soooo good.  My other thankful-for foods: avocados; asparagus; artichokes; chocolate; and ice cold water. Okay, water's not really a food but I love the non-taste of ice cold water.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Cucurbita_moschata_Butternut.png

22. Chai tea lattes from Starbucks. Seriously. When I feel lost, or upset, or just far from home, sitting and sipping this drink - with alterations suggested to me by a barista I once dated - makes me happy.

21.  My friend R, who once told me that if I couldn't name the restaurant a guy had taken me to on a first date, I wasn't in love. That advice - and strangely a dozen other little things he said to me in the brief period when our friendship involved actual face-to-face contact - stays with me. He's an under-appreciated man.

20.  This video.

And this one.

And the woman who shared them for me to find on my facebook feed.

I think the human experience is amazing. We subdivide and sub-subdivide and are always trying to define ourselves based on meaningless factors like age, race, gender, language, accent, disability, in some bizarre attempt to find those who are most like us, to define ourselves and others as acceptable or unacceptable.  Yet, the human experience transcends these issues. It's the moment when you've embarrassed yourself so completely that looking at someone makes you cringe; and knowing that later in life you'll probably laugh at yourself (and sometimes that later in life happens within the hour when you run home to your housemate). It's the first time you see someone who takes your breath away. It's the first time you had to break someone's heart. It's the song that makes you cry when you're not even fully sure of the words. It's the first time you've failed and weren't sure how you were going to get back up. Then getting back up. It's your first funeral; the weird sensation of seeing someone you knew, whose last conversation you remember, just laying there, made up by someone else's hands. It is the knowledge a loved one will die. It's holding the hand of your grandmother as she forgets who you are and her eyes glaze over and she starts talking about the dance you supposedly went to last weekend when you were both 18. It's hoping that someday your grandchild will hold your hand when you do the same.

This video shows us how our human experience is more common than we want to recognize. If we just let ourselves experience what we should - our commonality - we'd find a lot more friends and far fewer strangers.

Oh - and the woman who shared these?  Pretty. Fricking. Awesome.  I've known her since we were children.

19.  My own human experience. I remember doing a speech in first year undergrad and looking into the eyes of the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life - still today - and actually catching my breath and thinking "wait, oh no - what was I was saying?"  I don't know if anyone noticed that moment. I recovered relatively quickly and it wasn't reflected on my evaluations, but that moment... seared into my brain. So are these: My first kiss was with Eddie B. when I was about 5 years old. We didn't know what we were doing; we just followed what we saw on television. I used to cheer with Heather and Krissy when the local boys played football until we got tired of standing on the sidelines and decided to play with them. One time, they picked me up and carried me backwards so my team lost. That seemed massively unfair but today it just makes me laugh. Sitting next to Vince in Mr. Ingersoll's history class. The moment I knew I was taking Brian to senior year homecoming; he didn't know it yet, but I had made up my mind. Calling a girl the b-word after a parade, while we were still wearing our flag corps outfits. She smacked me and before I could respond my friend Mo grabbed me and carried me away. My first kiss with each of the two men I've loved. Taking my first Japanese bath, and walking out to a room full of people clapping for me. Teaching myself how to drive stick shift on an island in Malaysia. Sitting at a table in Copenhagen surrounded by people speaking to each other in any one of a six languages, coming from a dozen countries, and thinking "this is what home feels like." My JD and LLM graduations. Standing on the northern most point of Cyprus. Drinking beers - and tequila shots, and fruity cocktails - at Panini's with a series of great friends. The first conversation I had with AV. Making homemade pasta in Jo's kitchen. Carrying my grandmother's casket. Without meaning to, my cousins, my sister and I all wore red heels, and I remember the sensation as mine sunk into the ground, feeling the casket's weight change with each movement any of us made. Hugging my sister before she left for Iraq. And then again when she left for the Mediterranean. Walking into Aya Sofia.

18.  Language and our capcity to use it. I am in awe of my friends, with their multiple languages and dozens of accents. I love that when we talk, and really connect, sometimes I forget that they have an accent. Or that I do. But I also enjoy the moments when our accents make us laugh, when an entire room will turn to me and expect me to translate for my flatmate -- who speaks English as her native language.

17. Balloons. They currently decorate both our ceiling and our floor and they make my house a more colourful experience.

16. Gerbera daisies.

http://frimminjimbits.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/gerbera-daisies.html

And forget-me-nots.

http://jv-foodie.typepad.com/foodie/2009/04/forgetmenots.html

35 Things I'm Thankful For - Part 1

I turned 35 this weekend.  In honour of that exciting day, I'll be doing a series of posts that will eventually result in my sharing 35 things I'm thankful for.  I started these several days before my birthday, but I was spoiled by amazing friends and as a result, I didn't finish typing them in.  So it's a little late, but they are coming in the next few days.

35.  My stuffed blue bear that Eddie M. gave me for my 8th birthday.  When I was young, I changed his name to match the name of whichever guy I had a crush on.  At some point, though, I felt that was giving the bear a complex, so around 10, I named him Blue Bear, and he has been with me ever since.  He's traveled around the world and even though he's spent too much of the last year packed away, Blue Bear is one of my most treasured possessions and a nice reminder that I'm never really far from home.

34.  The two men in my life that I've loved. When I think of the others I've tried to make it wok with, I realize how special these men were in my life. I feel lucky that they are who I've spent my time loving. I'm grateful for the lessons these relationships have given me.

33.  My mistakes. Sometimes, I've judged people too harshly at first, but through mutual recognition of our strengths and weaknesses, we've established great friendships. Sometimes, my mistakes have included over-extending myself and not protecting my own time and space. This has taught me how to do that now (well, sort of).  These mistakes though, have often resulted in great memories and have often provided me with a greater appreciation of my own strengths and weaknesses. I have become resilient through them.

32.  That I'm not a corporate lawyer anymore.  Well, mostly not a corporate lawyer anymore.  I have friends who love it and I deeply respect them, but corporate law was never for me. It's not why I went to law school; it's not who I am at the heart of it; and ultimately, it made me miserable even after I left it.  Human rights is what I was meant to do.  When I think of what else I could be doing with my life - things that would pay better, or give me an easier life in closer proximity to my family - I realize that I would probably be miserable doing anything other than what I am. I realize this might sound like corporate law was a "mistake," but it wasn't. It was a period of time I needed to go through, and it taught me a lot of valuable skills. I'm just glad I didn't need to do it for very long before I really found myself again. This is being true to myself, and if I had never done corporate law, I might never have realized that and always wondered about the path I didn't take.

31.   The men in my life I've never hooked up with. I've already written a full letter to them, but I'll add an addendum here. Since it's the 200th anniversary of Pride and Prejudice today, I have heard a lot about how Mr. Darcy isn't real. Until this year, I've thought this true as well and lamented it with all the other women Jane Austin influenced.  But, I've come to realize that (a) I probably wouldn't actually want to marry William Darcy because he's a bit of a twat at points (even though in the end his good elements come clearly through) and (b) if you want a good Mr. Darcy substitute without the initial snobbery, pride and vanity, you can apparently find them in Central Asia! This year, I've been spoiled by men in this region. It's caused a great deal of feminist introspection by one of my flatmates and me and we've come to realize how much we appreciate that these guys who, in so many ways, embody the patriarchal societies in which they've been raised (sorry guys but it's kind of true).  Yet, their regular displays of chivalry are really appreciated in our house.  The other day, we spent at least a half-hour discussing how this could be and came to the conclusion that it's because when they are kind to us in "traditional ways," it's never out of condescension or pride, but out of respect and love. They'll carry our bags for us not because they think we're helpless and unable to do it, but because they like serving and respecting us in this manner.  They insist on walking me home not because they're actually worried about my getting robbed or assaulted (as I've pointed out numerous times, I've lived in my village for about 4 years without every coming to harm), but because they like serving and respecting us in this way.  They are true sweet gentlemen, who are quiet and humble.  And no - I'm not dating them; I'm just really impressed with these men and am lucky to have them in my life. So this is my advertisement for Central Asia. Women, if you want to meet a modern Mr. Darcy, go find a human rights activist from this area of the world. They're pretty freaking awesome.

30. My friend Julie, who first convinced me to go overseas.  Every day, I thank God for her and her influence. I love my life and can't believe I get to live it, but I also know that if I hadn't met Julie, I might not be where I am today. She is, truly, a gift from God.

29.  My teachers. Throughout my life, I've been blessed by great teachers. They have included or been my parents, my family, my friends, my colleagues, my cheerleaders, and my biggest supporters. They have challenged me and changed me, and they taught me how to do well what I love to do now.

28.  My hometown. While I mean Cleveland generally, I also mean my actual suburb specifically.  It was diverse and interesting and somehow still like a small town. The town has amazing people who taught me to look past differences and to serve both humbly and greatly.  And while my high school class had more than 350, we had relatively few problems of bullying and a real camaraderie that still lasts today. My classmates and neighbours still impress me daily with their commitment to service and to making the world a better, brighter place to live.

27. Great Lakes Brewery.  There's nothing like a GLB to make me feel like I'm at home.  If only they delivered to the UK.

26.  My time in Japan. I hate telling people now where I lived in Japan, getting their shocked and sympathetic looks when I say "Fukushima." I hate how they hesitate before asking me "So, um, when did you live there?" as if they're afraid I'm about to contaminate them with all my radioactivity.  I hate the way they clearly want to pry but they don't want to seem like they're prying.  That said, I loved my time there.  I loved the way the people in that town always reached out to help one another, and me. I loved the craziness of my daily life there, the way my students ran up to talk to me, the way some of my teachers tried to avoid talking to me, and how simply going to the post office or grocery store became an exercise in cross-cultural communication. Japan gave me a greater appreciation for the daily strength and challenges of those who are illiterate in any society, and it gave me a greater sense of who I am and what I'm capable of. Plus, it's still a fun party trick to bust out a little Japanese after a beer or two.

25. My passports. They're like little portable reminders of the cool places I've been.  And how awesome is it that a little set of papers can give you access to so many cultures, ideas, people, and unimaginable experiences?  Postcards are nice and picture books are interesting, but my passports... they let me engage with so much. 

My most embarrassing law school story

Disclaimer: If you're a sensitive type, prone to fainting at words like "sex", you might want to go somewhere else for now.  Also, individuals who haven't seen me since I was 12-16 might be scarred by what you are about to read.  And people under 18 shouldn't read.

This blog used to be titled 'Occasional Musings / Occasionally Amusing' but that was too long.  And lately, it's been more-than-occasional musings, and very little that's been amusing. I almost thought about changing the title to "Rape and other things that annoy me" but I think that would really limit my future posts.

So, today, in response to the demand from my friend, Pam, I will tell you my most embarrassing story from law school.  I alluded to it yesterday. And while it's on rape, it's not ranting about the subject (unlike today's earlier piece).

To date, I'm still quite proud of the fact that during law school - which is a postgraduate degree in the US - I was the President of the Christian Legal Society and a member of the Law Review, but still managed to get my name on a plaque at the local law school bar.

Unfortunately, I also developed a really bad Starbucks habit during law school. I had a slight addiction to their chai tea lattes, which unfortunately made me a little jittery and prone to saying inappropriate things.

In my second year, I took evidence alongside about 70 other people.  Most of my 2L class was there, with a small smattering of 3Ls. I sat in a cluster of close friends. Down the row from me was the only ordained minister in our class, two seats over was my co-President of the Christian Legal Society, next to me, and in the rows surrounding me were all good friends that regularly made law school more enjoyable.  Now, I won't ever discuss my current / recent love life, but this story happened about a decade ago and this fact is relevant:  it was well-known in my law school that for religious reasons I was a virgin (no I will not be answering any questions raised by that statement; only that moment in time is relevant and so that is the only moment in time to be discussed). 

Shortly before the day in question, I had started dating a new guy whom I was quite excited about (it still didn't last past three dates, but I really thought it would).  Since there were 70 other people in the class, I sat down, opened my laptop, and figured I'd spend the first few minutes of class reading his latest email to me. What was the likelihood this professor would call on me?  While she knew me by name, I sat off to the side of class and usually voluntarily participated so I didn't need to be called on on an impromptu basis.

I had the class book open, but it wasn't on the page with the relevant problem questions. As class started, I was dreamily reading the email from the boy, when I heard,

"Tara, why don't you tell us the answer to question 1."

I couldn't remember what the question was - though, obviously, I had diligently prepared all the questions the night before - so I had to quickly flip to the right page and skim the question. I could feel her eyes and felt the second hand on the clock as I tried to catch up to where I should have been already. The question was about a woman who had sex with two guys in one night; once was consensual but she was alleging the other was not. She had gone to the hospital, where photographs documented extensive bruising in her vaginal area and semen was extracted.  The alleged rapist admitted to having sex with her, but said it was consensual. The defendant wanted to introduce evidence of the woman's other sexual encounter from that night. The question was whether the judge should let him.

I'm clearly an unapologetic feminist and I have documented my position on the issue of consent. I also understood the concept of slut shaming, though I don't know that we had that term back then.  I hate the idea that a woman's sexual history can ever be introduced as some way of justifying an assault.  I find the entire thing ridiculous, but simply saying that without a legal basis is inappropriate in a law school class.  Instead, I said this:

"The judge should not admit the evidence. Under Federal Rule 412,* evidence of a victim's sexual history with someone other than the defendant can only be introduced in order to prove the source of the semen or physical evidence. Even then, it can only be introduced if the probative value outweighs the prejudice to the jury. In this case, the defendant acknowledges he had sex with the victim so there is no benefit to the evidence."

I was ready for her to move on.  Silly me

"Okay, Tara, but what about the bruising?"
"Um, what about it?"
"Can't the evidence be used to show the bruising was from someone else?"
"Well, yes, but in this case given the competing claims center on consent only, the probative value is outweighed by the prejudicial effect of a jury hearing about multiple sexual exchanges in a single night."

She asked a follow up question, which I stumbled through. I hadn't thought about the bruising issue, but in law school you're rarely supposed to change your position. The professors can go in for the kill at that point.

And then she asked another question - again about the bruising.  I was flustered at this point.  I wasn't expecting to answer questions in the first place. I had barely skimmed the question and wasn't ready for the follow-up, had forgotten to consider the bruising, and really thought this professor would have moved on by then as she wasn't particularly known for hard-line Socratic Method.

Oh, and did I mention I had finished about 3/4 of my morning venti chai tea latte?

And then I blurted it out:

"I don't know, Professor [last name], some people just like rough sex."

As soon as it was out of my mouth, I wanted it back.  All 70 students howled.  I looked down the row to see the minister laughing so hard that tears came out as he pounded the desk.  My co-president fell out of his chair. Literally, fell out of the chair. We didn't have chairs that were easy to fall out of -- they slid back and forth on a little metal rod and you were almost always hitting another chair next to you when you were getting in and out.  But he fell out. Onto his knees. Between two other chairs.

And the professor froze.  Not for very long, but long enough I knew I would have problems looking at her for the next 2 years.  Her hand was mid-air, her finger pointed at me from when she had finished the question.  Before the laughter could even die down, she regained her composure, pivoted, and said, "Um, okay, so..." and called on the next student -- someone sitting on the exact opposite side of the room -- for better clarification and a more legally constructed answer than "some people like rough sex."

Upon leaving the classroom, I was asked several dozen questions about how exactly I knew that and what I exactly I liked. I was also teased relentlessly about my "great legal reasoning" and "clear thinking."  A few of the feminists in the room tried to comfort me with, "oh, don't worry -- everyone was thinking it; you just had the guts to say it."  But it was pretty clear that it wasn't guts, it was stupidity. And no one else was thinking it.

For two years, I was known as the virgin with a penchant for rough sex.  However that works.





* I don't remember if this was the right rule number back when I was taking class.  It probably was.  If it's not, does it really matter?

It's actually not that hard (no pun intended)

Disclaimer: there's some graphic imagery used here so if you're a delicate thing who doesn't like to have honest discussions of sex and rape, then don't read. Similarly, if you're under the age of 18, read only with your parents' consent. This post is for grown-ups. 

My friend Mary asked my opinion on this disturbing story, in which "[a] California appeals court overturned the rape conviction of a man accused of pretending to be a woman's boyfriend when he snuck into her bedroom and had sex with her, concluding that the law doesn't protect unmarried women in such cases."

The court found that the law from 1872 only addressed women who have sex with someone impersonating their husbands, not boyfriends or other non-married partners.

The case will be retried, but I am overall disgusted with this case.  First, if the linked story's video telling of the story is accurate, there are two additional reasons this episode constitutes sex.  The first is he had sex with a sleeping woman!  She "woke up to the sensation of having sex."  So she didn't consent. You can't consent if you're asleep.  That's part of the whole consent thing. You have to be conscious and able to make a decision.

This is the theory that will be retried now that the original conviction has been overturned.

But even without this theory, the story says that at some point, the victim started fighting with the man and he continued to have sex with her.  That's rape.  A woman has a right to withdraw her consent.  A guy doesn't get to "finish up" just because a woman started to fool around or even have sex with him. Once she says no, she says no. Everything after that is against her will and is forced.

And this brings me to one of my favorite ranty subjects: the apparent need of the GOP to continually treat women as less than human beings.   Tennessee state legislator Douglas Henry reportedly once said:

"Rape, ladies and gentlemen, is not today what rape was. Rape, when I was learning these things, was the violation of a chaste woman, against her will, by some party not her spouse."

Thank you Senator Henry for encompassing all that is wrong with the GOP's understanding of rape in a single sentence!

First, did a 21st Century legislator in the US actually use the phrase "chaste woman"?  Cause I think the Egyptian military, the Iraqi judiciary, and certain Afghan governors are recruiting if you'd like to join them in their hunt for all non-virgins ripe for the raping. Er, I mean, sexing because apparently you can't rape a non-virgin, right Senator?

I do have to wonder if the Senator could tell us when a lesbian stops being chaste?  I mean, if chasteness is all about whether one's hymen is in tact, and one can presumably be fingered and engage in lots of other types of sexual contact without breaking the hymen, does this mean lesbians, unlike their heterosexual partners, have more leeway for sex with their non-married (thanks to people like you) partner while still retaining their chaste-ness?  On the other hand, a 14 year old girl whose hymen is broken on a bicycle or while horseback riding can presumably be attacked by any guy on the street and it's totally fine? 

And does this mean that heterosexual women have to stick to oral sex in advance of marriage just to stay chastey enough to not be rape-worthy?

Second, apparently rape only happens to women?  Senator, you're an idiot. This doesn't deserve espousing, other than to point to Jerry Sandusky and say that what he did was rape. It was also gross sexual imposition of a minor and child abuse. But it was also rape.

And third, apparently you can't rape a spouse under the Douglas Henry / Phyllis Schlafly idea that marrying someone is an automatic consent for them to put whatever they want from their body into or on whatever they want in your body regardless of what occurred in the time immediately before or during.  Found out your husband was cheating on you and contracted HIV/AIDS? Oh well. You married the a$$hole, so you consented to the sex he then forces on you. Your husband beat you immediately before having sex with you and you said no? Well, that's kind of your fault because 20 years before you said "I do." Found out your husband had a whole second family in another city? Doesn't matter - he wants sex and you've consented to it. Found out your husband is actually a super secret spy sent from the future to destroy America and you're trying to escape for your life? Well, you can but only after he's finished sexing you all he wants.

The only thing missing from Henry's declaration is a suggestion that certain types of women deserve to be raped because of how they dress or how much alcohol they have.

Okay, now that the sarcasm is out of my system... Rape is actually not that complicated of a concept. It's having sex with someone without their consent.  Legislators sometimes want to make it more complicated than that - and sometimes they need to make it more complicated so that judges and juries understand that, actually, it is rape even if it's not a penis that's inserted, and an unconscious person can't consent, and your wife isn't a cattle, and, oh yeah, it's not consent if you're impersonating the person they would consent to have sex with.

But ultimately, rape isn't complicated. Did both parties to a sexual encounter consent? If yes, then it's not rape. If no, then it is rape.

That pretty much covers it.

Please note that I did not say "sex" but a "sexual encounter" because it can be rape if it's oral, anal or vaginal, with a penis or a hand or a pencil or a stick.  (This suddenly feels like a really graphic Dr. Seuss book for me. I suddenly want to say things like "It can happen in a car, it can happen at a bar." Both of which are true, but still...)  It's all rape.

So again, did they consent?  If someone can't consent, they didn't consent. This covers drunk women (if they can't sign a legally binding contract; they can't agree to have sex with you), unconscious women, sleeping women, minors, and those for whom a mental or physical disability means they cannot express valid consent.

Consent is a person specific thing.  Just like in contract law, if I agree to purchase 100 widgets from Fred Smith, that doesn't mean I'm bound to purchase 100 widgets from every Fred Smith or from every widget seller.  If a woman (or man) is consenting, it's about entering into an agreement between her (or him) and the specific people they are consenting to have sex with.

If a woman consents to have sex with someone else, that's not consent for you. This covers the whole "chaste" woman issue, but also the "pretending to be your boyfriend" issue.

And no, the theory that it would have been their wish if they were conscious is never a defense, village idiot from Steubenville.

Quite frankly, I don't understand any one who thinks there's some other standard or defense or that some women 'are asking for it." Let alone that that "asking for it" can be found in someone's drunkenness.

By suggesting any other standard, you are saying women do not have the same right as men to act as adults. As an adult, I have a right to drink. I'm over both 18 and 21, the drinking ages in the UK or US. I am entitled to go to a bar with as many men as I want and drink as often as I want and as much as I want.

How do I know this?  Because my male counterparts get to do it.

If they stumble down on the way home and get robbed, no one says they were "asking for it."  They might not be surprised by the depravity of humankind towards one another, but the perpetrator will be arrested and prosecuted and the victim will be entitled to compensation.

If they want to drink until they can't say a single coherent word, their friends are expected to take them home and put them to bed. Without forcing their penis in the drunk guy's mouth or anus.

As a grown-up, I'm entitled to the same respect. Anything less and you are saying that women are inherently unequal from their male counterparts. And I don't mean biologically different; I mean you think women are essentially mentally incompetent to the point of being no different from an animal.

Because I get why we don't prosecute bulls for having sex with cows without their consent. For starters, we can't understand either the bulls or the cows to know whether or not they consent. And we're not really convinced that they understand each other or understand the concept of consent. We don't know if they can consent, much less how they would communicate that consent both to the bull and to us so we could take measures to stop it or prosecute it. Oh, and we're eventually going to kill the bull and/or cow anyhow (sorry Rachel), so prosecuting the bull seems like a waste of time and money.  (And where are we going to put them? They're already kept in fenced-in areas!) 

I, on the other hand, am not a cow.  I am a human being.  I have the capacity to give consent and the capacity to be understood by other human beings as to whether I give consent or not.  Even in countries where I don't speak the language, I have the capacity to give or not give consent.  When the taxi driver in Istanbul ended our 10-15 minute ride with "you, me, hotel" and a rubbing together of his index fingers, I was able to say no.  And get out of the car.  I also could have said yes.  But I didn't.

And he was never confused by whether I was consenting or not. I laughed at him, shook my head, said no and got out of the car. While he looked disappointed, he never seemed to think my "no" was actually "yes."  He never thought my laughing at him meant "I'm actually meaning yes when I say no."  And when I got out of his car, he didn't feel entitled to chase me into public and have sex with me anyhow.  Because he understood that I wasn't consenting even though we could only speak about 60 common words.

So why do we still treat women as if they don't have that capacity? As if they can't consent or can't communicate that consent in a way that is understood by the listener?

And tell me Tennessee, how friggin hard is it to stop voting for someone who treats your daughters like cattle?  Because it's guys like this that feed into the culture that says what happened in Steubenville is okay.