Tag Archives: victim

The Ethics of the Underworld

1 Jun

 I love the Israeli TV show “The Arbitrator”. It’s about a family of organized criminals. There seems to be more justice there than among law-abiding society.

You betray them? You die.
You collaborate with the enemy? You die.
You cheat on them? You die.
You kill their child/parent/spouse? They kill yours.
You break your word? They break your spine.
You beat a pregnant woman to the point she loses her baby and can’t have any more? You die.
Breakers of words get broken, destroyers of life get destroyed.

Law never seems to cover nearly enough on one end, but too much on the other. You liberate a tortured animal, you go to prison. You share the crimes of your government with your fellow citizens, you go to prison. You make love to a consenting minor who regrets nothing, you go to prison. But you cheat and betray, you cause hurt and even suicide, and that’s fine by law. You order a genocide (america’s war on Iraq), you get re-elected.
Law makes little sense that way. A traitor can do as much damage as a rapist. One violates trust, the other violates intimacy, but both violate a deeply precious, vital, and vulnerable element of a person’s soul that they need in order to be strong in their personal integrity. So why should one be punished, while the other one gets away with it? Same with school bullies. Victims of real crimes can be utterly devastated, and for that the perpetrator is punished. Yet bullying victims can sustain just as much damage, and are left to cope alone while their tormentors are rewarded by lack of consequence? Makes no sense.

I don’t think it’s right that the victim has to deal with the damage done while the pereptrator gets to get on with their life. It doesn’t matter to me how a victim responds. I don’t think there is responsibility in sustaining or dealing with something you didn’t choose to happen to you, but that was forced upon you needlessly and deliberately by a third party. It is not blameless misfortune like an earthquake or disease. It is a choice action that has been forced upon the victim. And so, any and all responsibility should lie with the perpetrator. Which is why it’s nice that in the Arbitrator, the person who started it when they did not need to, ends up dead, in a wheelchair, or worse.

You can’t spell reaction without re-, which means it’s a REsult, a REsponse to what has been done to you. Would I tell anyone to fuck off if they didn’t deliberately offend me first? Would a person be in prison if they hadn’t committed a crime first? So why should the response/ibility to any other type of transgression be anyone but the perpetrator’s problem? You can always, without exception, choose to not be the initiator of evil. The choice is yours and with it, the consequence. Victims have limited options – the most important limit being the inability to not have transgression happen to them. You get the stone rolling = it’s your fault and yours alone if someone doesn’t make it out of its path in time. Just as not everyone can outrun a rolling stone, not everyone can heal from a non-criminal transgression. A victim hasn’t got 100% control over the degree of damage done to them, a perpetrator always has 100% control over whether or not to initiate transgression. This should relieve the victim of any and all responsibility. A soul can be broken like a bone. One can have as little control over how fast the soul heals, as one has over the bone.

After all, when a crime is one by law, the perpetrator gets punished no matter if and how much damage was done to the victim. Some rape victims brush it off easily, others kill themselves, but the rapist still gets the same punishment and nobody tells the victim it’s their job to suck it up and move on. The perpetrator is still punished, the victim defended. Why not in the case of liars, cheaters, traitors etc.? Morally, they are no better than legal criminals. The underworld/organized crime is cruel, but at least people reap what they sow. Law-abiding citizens? One does something that kills the other’s soul, but the body remains intact, so he gets away with it.

One of my favorites on that show was when Nomie Spoonie ordered her lover killed. He pretended to love her to get in her pants, then promised to marry her with no intention of doing so, so he got what he deserved: his best friend was ordered to kill him, but only severed his spine and put him in a wheelchair, to be forever the captive of Nomie Spoonie, now legally married as promised, and miserable as deserved. That is justice. That needs to be legalized.

Reality makes no sense.

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The Arrogance of Solidarity

15 Jun

Image

‘t Is me. Yeah. On the first night of October (the date on the picture is from the day I edited it), I shaved my head bald. Completely. With a woman’s hand razor. Over the course of hours. Since I like sharing my life and shocking people in the process, I immediately made sure Facebook knew about it.

And Facebook immediately made sure I knew what an empowering, inspiring woman I am.

…what?

Feminists lauded me for giving “rape culture” and “macho” society that much-needed message: “Fuck you, I will not please men and to drive my point home, I will now disfigure myself needlessly and excessively, I’m a woman, hear me roar!”
That isn’t the words they told me, but that’s all I hear when I hear/read angry feminists celebrating an excessive degree of making oneself undesirable or ugly to men just to piss them off or make a point. Like the emo(tionally unstable) teenager who slits her wrists and uploads that shit to Instagram to make sure her daddy understands that she feels raped by not being allowed to party with her boozehead friends until 5 am. Hurt or ridicule yourself more than you hurt, ridicule, or even change, others. I don’t believe in this. If I cannot fight a battle or a war unless the only scenario where my opponent loses, being one where I lose too, by putting myself in a long-term position where I would never want to be in, I will not fight. I will not suffer in the name of feminism; who cares whether macho society makes me suffer or I do it to myself?

The other reaction I got a lot was, well, friends and family of cancer/chemo patients praising me for my beautiful gesture of sparkling solidari—no. You know, with all due respect because I get you’re doing it with pure intentions, if I had cancer and someone who wasn’t even family went and shaved their hair off to tell me they understand my pain and suffer with and for me, I would rip their pubic hair out one by one and implant it into their heads using a staple gun. Then they know my pain.
I’ve never had cancer but from what I understand, it sucks. You lose organs over it, you spend years of pain and sickness with or without treatment, and you may die. In front of the miserable faces of your loved ones. Having shaved my head after always having treasured long hair to a point where I spent what little money I had, on extensions, I know how big a loss it is. Not a big one. As long as you got a nice face, you’ll be fine. It grows back. It’s a few months of looking unusual and maybe getting stares, so what? People stare all the time, it’s in our nature to stare at what we deem unusual. It’s not animosity that drives these stares, so calm down and stop beating people up for staring at chemo patients or other unusual-looking people – no one means them any harm or offense. Some even stare in awe.
Losing your hair is no fun, and most women, myself included, love long hair and wouldn’t want to lose it lightly. So yeah, it was a bit painful for me to lose my hair. It was one of the few things I had going for me appearance-wise. It wasn’t pleasant. But it was not a huge deal, either. Having cancer is a huge deal, and if you think that you can even begin to understand what a cancer patient goes through just by cutting your hair, errr nope. Losing your hair without losing an organ or a job or a spouse or your last bit of life by being chained to a hospital bed, is probably not a loss that would inspire awe or gratitude in a cancer patient for your “sacrifice”. You only lose your hair for a little while.
It would be different if you were to donate the hair to have wigs for cancer patients made. But on the other hand, there are enough wigs on the market that should be good enough. Indian women get screwed out of their hair all the time by being told it’s for the gods and then it’s really just for a greedy old man who makes money out of it. I’m guessing a wig is near the bottom of a cancer patient’s priorities, way underneath Survival, Family, and A-way-to-take-the-edge-off-this-agony.

So no, you’re not a hero.

Neither are you a hero if you’re one of those idiot Jews who get concentration camp tattoos. What the fuck? Again, just like the head-shavers-for-cancer, they just go and get the look, the mark, of a “victim of suffering”, and think this signifies solidarity. No. It signifies that you think you understand any extent of the horror Holocaust victims and survivors had to go through. But you don’t. You don’t have the memory of the abuse, the fear of death, the smell of your people being incinerated. You don’t have the memory of the indescribable feeling the survivors must have felt when they were freed. You got your number willingly, probably feeling all epic about yourself, and not at gun point. You don’t even begin to understand their suffering, and neither do I, and I refuse to sit my well-off ass down and get a tattoo for 50 bucks and a wince of pain, when the people who’ve inspired it, have been through so much more to end up branded. Unwillingly.

Getting a camp tattoo “in solidarity” with Holocaust survivors or in a victim’s memory, or shaving your head to show that you “get” cancer patients, is like going to a bar to have bad but consensual sex with a guy who ain’t your type, to show solidarity with rape victims.

You make no sacrifice. You sit down feeling all warm and fuzzy and do-goody about yourself by getting a small or temporary modification done or going through a period of inconvenience.

And as for that calf number 269 whose number you got tattooed somewhere it doesn’t bother you? Cute, now follow through and get slaughtered. Then you understand its pain. You sit around on your fat ass eating tofu only the better-off can afford, playing around on your Smartphone, trying on cute dresses, and somewhere in the background of your activity, you have a tiny little number tattoo. If calf 269 could speak, it would probably ask you what part of its pain, other than its number being burned into your skin, you share. And then it would shit on your hipster-ass canvas shoes.

And as for my bald head? In my quest for beauty I had ruined my hair with aggressive black perms and it was falling out in strands. There was no saving it, only getting rid of all the damaged hair (ALL the hair), and letting it grow back naturally. No sociopolitics, no cancer awareness, just the disappointment that yet another one of my desperate quests for beauty had gone horribly wrong.