Jose Antonio Vargas

It is a DISGRACE that someone who was brought to the United States as a child, in complete ignorance of his illegal status, should have to suffer in the way that Jose Antonio Vargas has suffered.

It was painful to read this piece, because immigration issues *always* leave me very nervous myself, and though I’ve done my fair share of country-hopping, this stuff never gets easier. It’s not easy when you go the legal route – and I imagine it is a thousand times worse for people who are forced into an scenario that involves anything illegal. People don’t deserve this kind of punishment, and they especially don’t deserve it if they never had control of the issue to begin with. If Jose’s grandfather had shot someone – would we hold little Jose responsible? Why the hell do our laws then make it OK to hold Jose responsible for a bunch of fake documents? Are fake documents worse than murder? Guess they are – if those awful, no good, stealin-mah-job immigrants are involved somehow, right?

A goddamn Pulitzer winner can’t sleep at night, because of just how ass-backward the system is. Priorities. We’re doing them wrong.

Dear Scott Adams, it’s mostly FEMALE lions who hunt. And so on.

So Scott Adams, the man behind Dilbert (oh the humanity!), showed his ass again. I read about it on Feministe. I’m not going to link to his original post – because screw it.

Still, I’d like to address it. Because oddly enough, I do agree with Scott Adams on one important point – there certainly IS a crisis of masculinity going on in countries like the United States. Though I don’t believe that said crisis hinges on the whole notion of “ZOMG men are not allowed to rape! Their natural instincts are being suppressed by hairy-legged feminist-types!”

First of all, let’s get real about rape – it happens, and most of the perpetrators get away with it. Every once in a while, you’ll have a terrible story like the Duke lacrosse fake rape thing – but the majority of sexual assaults are real, and nobody presses charges afterwards. There is usually too much shock, denial, and, hey, most women are raped by guys they know. It’s hard for them to reconcile such a breach of trust with the image they have in their heads – the image of the guy as just a normal fella.

Most rapists, I believe, don’t even refer to their actions as “rape.” Some are sick individuals who get off on the violation, but the majority, I think, don’t really get the concept of consent, and have been brought up to believe that certain women and girls are “asking for it,” etc.

There are also frequent cases of men raping other men, or boys. And I’m not just talking about prison. Hardly any of that ever gets reported.

And sometimes, women will rape men too. And most of these situations revolve around someone being drugged. And how many of those do you think are ever reported?

So the way I see it, we do, in fact, allow rape. Even though, as a society, we believe that it’s wrong – we don’t exactly deal with the issue. We merely pay lip-service to it.

Now, for some reason, Scott Adams seems to believe that rape is the most natural thing in the world. Which is odd, because how exactly does one define “natural”? Even in some of the most patriarchal societies to date – rape was framed as kinda a problem, whether for property reasons (“You violated my woman! But she BELONGS to me!”) or otherwise. Even societies that think of marital rape as no big deal, for example, tend to think of it as a violation – if not one that anyone needs to worry their pretty heads over it.

Scott Adams believes that men are basically born into a world in which their “natural instincts” are framed as “shameful and criminal.” It’s not that surprising to me that an American man, even a highly successful, even famous, American man should feel this way. Actually, fame and success are sort of part of the issue here, are they not? Being famous and successful, you have farther to fall. You are way more scrutinized. And as such, you being to scrutinize yourself more. And you realize that there are gaps in your self-knowledge. And you can’t address those gaps in a meaningful manner, because you have, indeed, had your sexuality pathologized for most of your life. Just not in the way that you think.

Americans are not big on sexual honesty. We’re not encouraged to make sense of our desires. The best most people can do is learning socially acceptable catchphrases, such as “no means no” – and hardly ever address the issue of why we need such catchphrases to begin with.

Scott Adams writes:

The way society is organized at the moment, we have no choice but to blame men for bad behavior. If we allowed men to act like unrestrained horny animals, all hell would break loose.

Society is not organized this way “at the moment.” It has always had rules. Rules have shifted over time, but rules are also the general reason why the “lion and the zebra at the watering hole” is not a valid comparison to men and women and rape. Even if you cast notions of morality aside, our brains are more complex than the brains of lions and zebras. Such complexity demands order – and justification for said order. Order is a fluid concept – but it’s also what has allowed the human species to become dominant on planet Earth.

If a man is just an unrestrained horny animal – then the entirety of human history fails to make sense. Look at Einstein. He was really into ladies…

… In fact, he was a cheater, some people even claim he was a rapist – or just a creep of sorts. He was also, um, Einstein. All jokes aside, I somehow doubt that Einstein developed the theory of relativity simply as a way to avoid dealing with “natural” sexual frustration. Rather, Einstein was a complicated human being, like everyone else, and he had his sexual urges and possibly even his violent urges – and he had his urge to do complex theoretical work. He had an oulet for his ideas – he probably had way less of an outlet for his issues with women. Was his excellence in physics unnatural? Whereas his troubled personal relationships were just dandy?

“We have no choice but to blame men for bad behaviour” – oh no! So if Einstein decided he was just going to run around and hump everything in sight, and he had never become a great physicist, this would be, like, a good thing? A natural thing? I’m fairly certain that Einstein’s brain was bigger than his dick – and I’m also fairly certain that nature, the Holy Grail of guys like Scott Adams, planned it that way – but using one and not the other would be, like, OK? And in the best interests of the human race? Wow, who knew?

I think the real problem with guys like Scott Adams is this whole fact that most American guys are brought up with the idea that they are undesirable (in fact, Einstein may have had the same problem growing up in Munich!). Just like women, when you think about it, but this insecurity is taught in a different way. The average American guy internalizes a lot of bullshit about “alpha males”, and judges himself accordingly. The lucky few are natural-born pussy magnets, the rest have to scramble and compensate somehow – that’s the game. It’s really messed up, and I think it screws up boys big-time. These boys are not taught to value themselves – at best, they’re taught how to be cocky as a means of covering up a bunch of self-esteem issues. They’re taught that their sexuality is totally separate from the rest of their identity – like an atrophied muscle. And women, they’re taught, don’t really like them. And they should pay women back in kind – should they get steamrolled or otherwise humiliated. So hating women and desiring women physically is framed as normal.

It’s a crappy situation and it affects more people than Scott Adams could shake a “round peg” at.

The Globe and I

“It’s not a fucking walk in the park.”

– Madonna, on pregnancy and childbirth.

Well, except on those rare occasions when it is:

© Maria Savelieva. 2011.

This summer in Moscow is nothing like last summer in Moscow. For one thing, I don’t wear heels (I don’t even know where all of my high-heeled shoes went, at this point – and may have to hire a detective once they become relevant to my life again). I don’t stay out until 5 a.m. I don’t fall asleep on the grass in the park. Somebody’s little feet feel as though they’re pressing up against my ribcage on occasion. The owner of the little feet is an entirely new person.

Occasionally, this person gets the hiccups or turns awkwardly. The latter causes me to stop dead in my tracks and gasp, while the people in the street pause to look at me in horror – and their faces say, “Is a woman about to go into labour right in front of me?! Will she now start screaming and watering the sidewalk with amniotic fluid? Goddamit, I knew I shouldn’t have left the iPhone at home!”

I am mostly hysterical, but every once in a while I smile – and now we have photographic evidence. I miss my husband – he is filming. I have packed a little backpack and put it by the door.

At this time of year, the nights get watered down early. Because I don’t sleep much, I greet the magical turning point at which the night sky suddenly becomes a not-quite-night sky. Something rich and strange. Having moved away from the center, I notice that the grass here smells like grass is supposed to smell in the morning.

Because of finances, I haven’t really invested in much maternity wear. Thankfully, a surprising number of my clothes are somewhat stretchy. People greet me at social gatherings – when I manage to crawl to one – and say things like, “Well fuck me, here comes Natalia, guess I have to put out my cigarette” or “At least it’s nice that you’re still going around half-naked – it means you haven’t lost your identity.”

A drunk actor who starred in one of the most controversial Russian TV shows to date (I suppose this was to be expected from the likes of him) called me “a walking advertisement for unsafe sex” recently. My husband made a big show of flying into a jealous rage. Then they made up and kept drinking.

Recently, I have discovered that my passenger has musical tastes that are similar to that of Dmitry Medvedev. I’m not kidding, nothing quite sets him off like Deep Purple.

I have discovered that I am an even bigger coward than I have previously realized. I have discovered that my capacity for love is bigger than I have imagined – and that it towers over me like a Stalin-era skyscraper, all resplendent and full of secrets.

I’m supposed to present a documentary drama project about the death of Liza Fomkina and her aunt at Teatr.doc next week, and I end all of my correspondence on the subject with a cheerful: “If I’m giving birth that day, I probably won’t make it!”

In reflecting on all of these peculiar changes, I have come to the conclusion that this could only have happened to me in Russia. It could only have been a Russian guy – who could do this to me. Clearly.

Dear Tom MacMaster, your non-apology sucks even worse than your screw-up

Updated below, to include a link to Tom MacMaster’s real apology

Lying to people is never a great way to help an important cause. Still, I can understand how someone can get caught up in a lie of this magnitude, I suppose. I write a lot of fiction, and I know that fiction, even political blog fiction, has a way of warping an individual author’s mind in a peculiar way – that’s usually positive, but then it can wind up like this.

What I do not get is the fact that Tom MacMaster has basically defended his actions.

 I do not believe that I have harmed anyone – I feel that I have created an important voice for issues that I feel strongly about.

Right.

Hate to break it to you man, but you have harmed plenty of people. Such as, you know, those who are really in Syria. You’ve sat in the goddamn safety of Scotland, pontificating, while other people have suffered from brutal violence. You’re typing away at your freaking keyboard, while people are getting shot. You’re on vacation in Istanbul, while a country is falling apart not far away. None of these things are your fault. But what has resulted in actual harm is this: Your lying and self-aggrandizement helps de-legitimize the very things that many of those people are fighting against.

I’m no expert on Syria, but gosh – it seems to me that a fake persona created by some tool from a foreign country plays directly into the hands of those who are claiming that no violence is going on and everything is just dandy.

Can I just say that I’m not at all surprised that Tom MacMaster is a student? Because while most students certainly don’t act like this – he certainly fits a certain type, the self-righteous type for whom serious issues such as what’s going on in Syria are a kind of “thought exercise”, people so caught up in precious theory that they’re willing to appropriate other people’s problems and other people’s pain for the sake of a rhetorical point.

“”I regret that a lot of people feel that I led them on…”

Those people? The ones who feel this way right now? Were led on, dumbass. Their feelings are exactly correct on this one.

“What I don’t regret is the fact that I did hopefully bring a good bit of attention to real human rights abuses in Syria, the real situation that real people are facing even if through a fictional voice.”

No, man, no! You brought a lot of attention to yourself! And you appear to have learned exactly jack shit from the experience!

Once again, I can understand how someone can get caught up in a fictional online persona. But after having been called on it – and called on the damage such actions result in – there should be no excuses. “I fucked up, I’m sorry.” Why is that so hard to say in a situation like this?

I mean, how about I go and pretend to be an Auschwitz survivor on the internet? A Chernobyl victim? A human rights activist blogging via mobile phone via a stray WiFi signal while locked in jail somewhere? I mean, it would draw attention to the issues, bro. It would totally not be a joke! Sure, I’d be stomping on the dignity of the actual people whose lives were torn apart, but I would be providing a Western audience with a unique voice here! Because we all know, that catering to a Western audience with a goddamn blog is the key issue when violence breaks out. Clearly.

{UPDATE}

This reads to me as sincere and genuine and thoughtful. And I’m glad for that.

Money and the (pregnant) ladies: song and dance

I fell for you jiving and I too you in
Now all you’ve got to offer me is a drink of gin

Why don’t you do right?
Like some other men do
Get out of here and get me some money, too

Unlikes some other women I know, I have no problem admitting that I want a guy to pull his weight – and then some. Especially when you’re expecting a baby, geez. It sucks being a hugely pregnant breadwinner, when you’re not “winning” that much “bread” to begin with – and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It sucks going to the readers of this blog, cap in hand, because your cashflow issues are about to ruin your credit history – and much worse. I mean, what’s a credit history when you’re going, “Hmmm, do I buy meat or do I buy prenatal vitamins?!” Though I am incredibly grateful to the readers of this blog – both ones I know, and ones I’ve never spoken to before – who have been so generous in these last few weeks. I used to get very embarrassed when accepting gifts, but now I am just absurdly grateful.

As I have found out, cashflow can also hinge on communication. When we found out about my pregnancy, my theater director husband expressed his wish to remain in film school – but said he would do odd jobs to help out. My response? I initially talked him out of it. I thought I could do alright on my own financially, considering the stuff I had lined up, and I thought that film school was ultimately more important. Which it is – especially if you want more contacts and job offers down the line – but it’s not the end-all, be-all of existence. Especially not with a baby on the way. This is what I’ve had to learn the hard way.

There used to be shame, for me, in admitting that I want to be financially dependent and taken care of every once in a while. That shame is loooong gone, baby. I don’t need to strike a pose and cock my gun and act badass – when I’m not actually badass. I feel rather like a girl in her mother’s too-big pumps and some clown make-up, playing a role. I suppose this is why so many women dread pregnancy to begin with.

The actual physical state I’m in, though, I don’t find dreadful. It’s been an amazing process, from the first flutterings to the karate kicks. “I am a little barge, bouncing on the big ocean waves, with a little passenger on board,” I tell my husband when I’m being particularly wistful and passive-aggressive. “I am a little barge. Water splashes on my deck.”  Sometimes, I go full-on Linda Hamilton in “T2,” when she’s having one of her moments: “You think you’re so creative. You don’t know what it’s like to really create something; to create a life; to feel it growing inside you…” She did have a point.

And all of that taken into consideration, I still don’t think that greater happiness is possible – when it’s just me, my husband and The Globe, and The Globe is all animated, making his father laugh. I’m glad I realize that now. It would be hard to look back on this years and years down the line, and go, “Well, damn. We were so happy. Funny how I never realized as much.”