Posts Tagged ‘family’

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Yes, it’s perfectly OK for Mackenzie Phillips to sell her incest-rape story. Next question.

September 25, 2009

Ever since Mackenzie Phillips dropped her bombshell on Oprah – her father John Phillips raped her while high on drugs, and the sex even eventually became consensual – there’s been all of this discussion. Some people have been focusing on whether or not father-daughter incest is always rape, and others have been screaming “she has a book coming out! Poor John’s not even here to defend himself! She’s a money-grubbing skank!”

Oh dear, oh dear.

First of all, it makes perfect sense for Mackenzie Phillips to start talking about this long after her father’s death. Who could deal with the fall-out of a public revelation like this when both parties are still around? Very few people, I think.

But most importantly, Mackenzie Phillips has every damn right to cash in on this. Believer her or not, she’s telling a story, and that story is her own. Michelle Phillips might disagree. We might question Mackenzie’s motivation. But ultimately, I’m all for taking something that has hurt you terribly and making money off of it. As Steve Buscemi famously said in the postmodern cinematic masterpiece known as “Armaggedon,” – “I don’t mean to be the materialistic weasel of this group, but do you think we’ll get hazard pay out of this?”

If she wants to make money off of it, then that’s what it is, hazard pay. And anyone shedding big fat tears over poor John should honestly be glad he’s not around anymore, ’cause it would be that much bigger and uglier if he was.

As for Tracy Clark-Fory’s question – is it always rape? I’m going to go with a yes. Mackenzie Phillips was actually pretty brave to admit that the sexual relationship became “consensual,” but to an outsider looking it, it just looks like a case of Stockholm Syndrome taking hold, because – and this is important – I’m sure she cared about her father. No matter how awful he got, she probably loved him. And when the people we love do horrible things to us, we tend to disassociate from what the hell is going on in an attempt to protect ourselves from the betrayal being perpetrated against us.

As her dad, John Phillips had tremendous power over Mackenzie Phillips. On top of that, you must consider the drugs and the general batshit lifestyle of the man in question. This is John Phillips we’re talking about here.

Do all unequal relationships automatically translate to rape? I don’t know. I don’t think so. If you’re lucky enough to want the person in power, you might be alright. For a while, at least. But in the case of, say, a dad and his daughter, or, as recently discussed on Feministe, a slave owner and his slave, how real can consent be?

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“Volvo” in fall colours

September 17, 2009

Volvo in fall colours

This picture was taken right after we burst into an impromptu rendition of “Black or White” on the marshrutka.

One of these days, I’ll get shot for being obnoxious.

Volvo will do alright though, as he is still fairly young and cute.

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What Luma witnessed: the sacred status of male abusers in Jordan (and how it hurts both men and women)

August 29, 2009

When something like this happens in public in Amman, I think it highlights one of the main reasons why the so-called honour killing law has still not been changed. Family is turned on its head, and the reverence for family becomes a reverence for psychological and physical abuse.

Of course, the situation described is also very much gender-specific. I seriously doubt that a sister would get away with treating a younger, smaller brother like this. The violence of male relatives, however, is not an aberration, it’s viewed as something natural and right and, most importantly, it is supreme. “She’s my sister,” he says as he’s grabbing her, and we automatically think, “well, she must’ve done something to piss you off then, eh? None of my business anyway. Who knows what might happen to me if I get involved? Let sleeping dogs lie.”

The bystander effect only reinforces the given situation.

I wish I could tell you that the incident Luma has described is shocking to me, but it isn’t. After being in Jordan for more than a year, it feels oddly natural, the way a broken bone feels natural after a while, inasmuch as it’s still a part of your body. This is what happens in a society where women’s worth is tied to a completely arbitrary and convoluted idea of sexual purity, and men are meanwhile charged with upholding this idea of sexual purity at all costs. And don’t you dare interfere with their duties! These are all private matters! Look away, unless you want to get into trouble yourself. Don’t you dare question it! You just want to destroy the moral fabric of our society and turn all of our women into whores!

“She’s my sister” really means that “she is a thing.” The words are like a magic curse, turning a flesh-and-blood human being into a kind of rag doll you can publicly rip apart.

I don’t blame the male witnesses for upholding the brother’s “right” to publicly abuse his sister. It’s a survival tactic as much as anything. It feels better to look away and pretend as though the woman has earned such treatment. If you don’t look away, you might very well get into trouble. The brother’s right to harm his sister is practically sacred. After all, brothers are cast into the impossible and equally dehumanizing role of shepherding their sisters as if the latter are livestock.

I think that all of this warrants a closer look at to what being a part of a family actually means. Is in abusive family still a family? At what point do we say – “these are not the actions of a brother”?

Also a closer look at womanhood is needed. What defines a “good” woman? Is it her mind and her integrity, or is it her hymen? You can’t have it both ways.

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Monday Music: Vova’s 21 glasses of champagne on the wall edition

August 10, 2009

Today is my cousin Vova’s 26th birthday. From a really lovely boy, he has turned into a really lovely man. I’m really lucky to have him in my life, in whatever capacity (we don’t see each other as often as we should). So this one is for him. Because it’s a special occasion and because Caroline has tagged me in a music meme again, this one will include 21 songs.

There was a gorgeous sunset over the Kiev neighbourhood of Obolon’ today. I don’t very much like Obolon’, but I find that all of the concrete and all of the people drinking beer in summer slippers outside certainly match my mood. Vova grew up in Obolon’ too, and still lives there, so all of it will always be tied with him for me. Obolon’ itself goes down well with Patrick Wolf’s latest album, The Bachelor:

Who Will? – Patrick Wolf
Push It – Garbage
Overcome – Live
Straumnes – Sigur Ros
Kon’ – Lubeh
Nap Rico Van – Jon Swihart
Billie’s Blues (If I love my man) – Billie Holiday
Girl Friday – Beat Crusaders
Forgive Them Father – Lauryn Hill
Cemetery Gates – the Smiths
Lovesong – the Cure
I’m Down (Take 1) – the Beatles
Zombie – the Cranberries
Piemo-piemo – Mariana Sadovska
Catfish Blues – Muddy Waters
Na Sever – Melnitsa
Fuck You – Lilly Allen
Go Square Go – Glasvegas
Mr. Tambourine Man – Bob Dylan
Shining Light – Ash
Djivaen – Vassilis Tsabropoulos

Here’s Patrick Wolf with the video for “Hard Times,” off the The Bachelor:

Sufficiently glam for a birthday, I would imagine.

And if these are hard times (and I have no doubt), here are some old times, the ones that were still going on when Vova and I ran away from our great-grandmother and hid in the sandbox:

Well, this is hardcore vintage. Before either one of us was born. But still. It counts.

“And the fight continues again. And the heart is unquiet in the breast.” And so on.

(I love the CPRF – Communist Party of the Russian Federation – slogan at the end, it’s so adorable)

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Your daily dose of WTF: of crayfish, curlers and impudent teenagers

August 6, 2009

Just a typical photo session in my household in Ukraine:

stabbing my brother in the face with a make-up brush...

stabbing my brother in the face with a make-up brush...

I’m not really sure why I’m in curlers. I’m not even going out. We do have live crayfish at the house, and the cat broke a crystal honeypot trying to escape from them. So maybe the curlers are there for the sense of solemn occasion. Or maybe to commemorate the fact that I ZOMG have new hair again! Back to blond, it would seem. They understand blond here, in Ukraine. In fact, they start screaming and flapping their arms at you if you try to go darker.

mom decides to provide ambiance with sandwiches

mom decides to provide ambiance with mini-sandwiches

Right now, there is drama because my brother refused to consume the sandwiches pictured. I’m not really sure how to defuse the situation, to be honest. Walking around looking ridiculous doesn’t seem to be helping.

i don't even know what's going on here

i don't even know what's going on here

I feel bad for the live crayfish because they are, apparently, fated to become cooked crayfish once the resident crayfish expert, Uncle Vasya, is due to arrive. I console myself with thinking that once I am dead, many creatures will feast on my body. My brother, to go by this picture, looks perfectly capable, for example.

let's try looking like normal siblings just this once

let's try looking like normal siblings just this once

And we succeed for a second. Well, aside from the curlers.

Uncle Vasya almost here. Getting rid of curlers and trying to function as family unit in 3…2…1…

… Aw, what the hell. Here are the crayfish with a suspiciously Ukrainian-themed plastic bag:

i could bust out the fancy Olympus for these guys, but somehow i don't think they'd care

i could bust out the fancy Olympus for these guys, but somehow i don't think they'd care

Isn’t this like a great little mini-horror film going on in our kitchen sink?

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Man with 86 kids going for 100… and he gets applauded? Really?

August 5, 2009

Remember the outrage over the Octo-Mom – Nadya Suleman? How come I am hearing nothing of the sort directed at Hot 100-Dad? Could it be because of… *gasp* sexism?

Because Islam only allows 4 wives at a time, I’m assuming he marries and then gets divorced to make room for the next crop of broodma…sorry, women. How nice. While it’s no doubt that being married to this dude bumps up your status as well, I would feel genuinely sorry for any woman who became attached to him on an emotional level. And God forbid you should marry him and then discover that you can’t have kids. What value would you present to him then? For all my criticism of religion, I somehow fail to remember any passage in the Quran that women are animals that a man selects for purposes of breeding and celebrity before discarding them.

“Abdulrahman said he supports his family through a military pension and donations of hundreds of thousands of dirhams from sheikhs who want him to make his century.”

While it’s good to know that at least these people appear to have enough to eat – all of the men who are attempting to vicariously live through this dude make me giggle. The “prize sire at a barn” mentality is demeaning to both men and women, but in a world where masculinity continues to be grotesquely distorted, it’s no wonder that other men’s insecurities would continue fanning the flames of this spectacle.

The UAE has the worst per capita carbon footprint in the world, and something tells me that Hot 100-Dad isn’t going to improve that situation. This is consumption at its most cynical, and no amount of platitudes about the joys of family can quite cover that up. If children are a gift from God, so are natural resources. Guess what’s going to happen to them if this mentality is encouraged further?

This is all beside the fact that assuming that one person is even remotely capable of loving one hundred separate children is beyond naive. This entire set-up ceased to be a family a long time ago.

And please don’t give me any noble savage crap about how “it’s their culture.” The average Emirati family has 2.3 children. Considering the environmental catastrophe we humans have already set into motion, that is a very good thing.

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So… about Otty Sanchez…

August 2, 2009

If you haven’t heard the grim news, this somewhat maligned Salon headline speaks for itself: “How could a mother eat her own baby?”

Well, then.

When something as horrific and tragic as this happens – a new mother, a schizophrenic, splits with the baby’s father, who is also schizophrenic, goes into a tailspin that may or may not be related to the break-up, begins hearing voices, murders her baby and consumes some of his body parts before trying to kill herself – it’s only natural to say that all of this could have been prevented. Where were social services as she was breaking down? Why was she off her meds? Where was her doctor? Why couldn’t the dad step in and take an active role? Why was she released from the ER within 24 hours after trying to get help? Why was her sister apparently lulled into believing that Otty was OK to care for the baby? Why why WHY?

There is legitimate debate to be had about the entire incident – it goes to the heart of how society treats both new mothers and the mentally ill. It raises questions about the horrific state of the U.S. healthcare system. It reminds us about the oft-ignored importance of fatherhood alongside motherhood. And so on. And so forth.

But I also firmly believe that yes, sometimes horrible things simply happen. Some people get sick, and then they get sicker, and then they get so sick that they walk into some dark and unknown territory for which there is no map. The lights in their brains flicker. They look for help, and find none. In one crucial moment, there is nobody to hold them back from something monstrous.

Read the rest of this entry ?

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My brother is loving Jordan

June 11, 2009

And the photographic evidence is as follows:

Cooling off in Amman's Citadel with big sister. Why is a piece of big sister's hair standing at an almost 90 degree ange to her head? God only knows.

Cooling off in Amman's Citadel with big sister. Why is a piece of big sister's hair standing at an almost 90 degree angle to her head? God only knows.

Squinting at the sun while the world's largest flag waves proudly in the background

Squinting at the sun while the world's largest flag waves proudly in the background

Enjoying minty lemonade at Wild Jordan

Enjoying minty lemonade at Wild Jordan

It’s nice to be able to see Jordan through a teenage boy’s eyes. It gives you a completely different sense of the place. Everything, from the Virgin store at City Mall to ordering Kebab Express, becomes an adventure. The skies look bluer, the shopkeepers seem friendlier, the cats feel fluffier in your hand.

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Today, Yaroslava would have been 31

May 14, 2009

Since I am in Kiev (yay!), I got to participate in the rituals: the graveside wine drinking and remembrance, and the wine drinking and remembrance at her family’s home. Yaroslava was as pretty as the month of her birth; she was flowery and clean like the rain. My mother told Yaroslava’s mother that she had a child that showered everyone around her with brilliance, from start to finish. You just can’t help but dwell on the fact that the finish came too soon. You can never get enough of the people you love, of course, but Yaroslava was so particularly striking, so intense, so profound, and so kind to the people in her life, that it’s an aberration to think that this wound could ever close. It doesn’t, of course. The pain gets duller, that’s all.

We talked about how we constantly think we are running into her – on the escalator, in the street, at the airport, by the side of the road. Everywhere you turn – she’s inside a reflection on a shop window, you glimpse the back of her head in a crowd, you think you hear her voice when you’re getting your coffee at a cafe and the cup begins to shake in its saucer, and there’s nothing you can say to anyone that would make them understand.

I miss her so much.

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Happy Birthday, Dear Vladimir

February 9, 2009
The bestest little brother in the whole world. And yours truly. Modeling hats sold exclusively in Kiev's Hip Hop Shop.

The bestest little brother in the whole world. And yours truly. Modeling hats sold exclusively in Kiev's Hip Hop Shop.

13 is a funny age to be. When I was 13, I wore a lot of black, for example.

You, my dear “Volvo”, are different from me, but your Sweet 13 is no less funny. You’re living in a funny time. In a funny country. And the way you handle it already proves that you have more grace than I could ever hope for.

On your 13th birthday, and the advent of teenagedom, I wish for you an easier time in your studies. I hope that you encounter subjects and books that can really get your attention. I hope you continue your fascinating musical journey, from T.I. to Ratatat, and not forget your own musical talents in the process. I heard that mom and dad got you a guitar this year. Treat it as a sign from up high. ;

Look both ways when you cross the street. For every time that you don’t, you STILL owe me a ghrivna.

Be safe. Be lucky. Be healthy.

Be good to yourself. Know that you are loved.

I love you – I love the cheese omelets you make, I love how you tell jokes, I love your fierce loyalty and growing independence, I love how you have the most hilarious picture of me ever framed above your desk, I love how you have the best ringtones, I love how you get modern theater, I love hanging out with you downtown and wish we could do it more often, I love how you have your own inner world that not just anyone gets a peek at, I even love how you slam your door and blast Linkin Park.

I love that I have you with me in this world. Even though I’m mostly far away these days – your presence makes the distances a little smaller, and the steep Amman hills a little flatter.

Big up from Big Butt! And three cheers to you on your birthday.

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