Sexual Assault and the Problem with a Feminine Tongue

When did it begin? Was it in my next door neighbor’s house? I called her a silly goose. The older woman told me it wasn’t nice to call people names. I can still feel the guilt and wrongness my five year old self felt. Was that when I began to tiptoe?

Or was it in middle school? In the ways we began to gather around other girls. The way I had to talk to be seen as nice and friendly, never bossy. We began to use each others’ words. Our styles becoming generational, not familial.

Or was it with my mother in the car? We were arguing about public transport. She said my argument was foolish because of the way I said it. Even now, I can’t remember exactly what either of us said. Still, the message was clear: watch your tongue. If you don’t say it correctly, it could be your undoing.

I used to think all my issues with talking were my own fault. I used too many likes. I was too easy with curse words. My Gemini nature was just too off the cuff.

Yet, how can we win when society continues to distrust and discredit women’s voices? We are critiqued for various vocal sounds, including vocal fry, but its men who have and continue to use it the most. Articles have various lists of advice: Don’t use like. Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t end your sentences with upspeak (even though George W. Bush does). Just as women have constantly watched their body for fear of gaining weight, we patrol ourselves just to be heard.

Yes, women talk differently from men. My brother is my closest genetic relative, but we use language differently. Over lunch, I caught up with a female friend in California. We shared not only what was going on in our lives, but also how we felt about it. We were using language in order to build and maintain relationships.

While my brother? Just this past Christmas he and my father spent a good hour or two debating each other on economics and social welfare. A classic example of men defending their ideas from each other.

Just as women have constantly watched their body for fear of gaining weight, we patrol ourselves just to be heard.

These differences may not seem important but they underlie our communication expectations. For instance, one study found that female leaders were expected more so than men to guide listeners to a conclusion rather than share it directly.

In many parts of the world, we still believe that women’s value comes from social relationships, not by the work we do. The message is subtle but clear: Accommodate to the world’s expectations or become ignored.

You can protect yourself and his feelings, right?

In the realm of sexual assault, language becomes even more difficult. Women must suddenly communicate in a very different way. We are being asked to use language like a man, to enhance our control and preserve our independence. In most cases, we aren’t being told to do this with a stranger. We are told to be authoritative with people we know. We are taught to stand up against our social relationships that underlie our value and worth.

In a split second, we are supposed to forget decades of social training and protect ourselves, perfectly. I can tell you: it isn’t easy. Once my boss’s husband gave me a ride home. He came onto me, asking me to go away with him for a weekend. I can still feel the panic, spooling in my belly. My tongue felt heavy. I didn’t know what to say. On one hand, I wanted to yell at him for such a fucked up idea. On the other hand, I wanted the perfect words to get out and away from him.

In a split second, we are supposed to forget decades of social training and protect ourselves.

What did I say? I told him it was a bad idea, no, no, no. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t hear my refusal. Instead, the car filled with the words, discretti discretti, as though Italian somehow made the situation beautiful instead of pathetic. As though my no meant nothing but politeness for his wife. Even then, speaking as a woman meant nothing more than my face becoming a veil for his illusions and dreams.

I was lucky: he took me home. He didn’t force himself on me. It could have ended in a very different way. My story could have been just like Nicole’s. It could have been the story a million other women have had and not named. That’s what we consider lucky these days.

Even then, speaking as a woman meant nothing more than my face becoming a veil for his illusions and dreams.

Learning to listen

I hate sharing how jaded I’ve become. At a Christmas party, someone blamed modesty as part of the issue of sexual assault on campus. I wasn’t surprised. It still took every fiber of my being not scream.

When I saw someone accuse Kesha of lying about her producer just to get out of her contract, I wasn’t shocked. I went straight to angry. We’d rather make up myths and lies than face the truth. Worse, we’d blame rather than listen to a woman.

But I’m no longer surprised. We don’t listen to women when they speak on business or politics. We find a million reasons not to, whether it’s too many likes or she’s just using the wrong tone. Adapt how you will, but the rules will change again. There will always be another reason not to listen.

Is it any wonder then that we ignore women’s stories of assault and violence?

I don’t think so.