A Doormat Or a Prostitute
Ryo Sen
It really shouldn't surprise me anymore. I mean, I
must have had the same conversation hundreds of times
with hundreds of women. Call me naïve (or
idealistic?); it still shocks me every single time.
This particular conversation came about as the result
of Danny. I should be used to his questions leading
to situations that make me want to jump off of a tall
building, but this one surprised me.
I was almost done with my briefing, having finally
dispensed of the small Phree Pharmecuticals snafu
(they protested current drug laws by staging a
smoke-in on the sidewalk in front of the White House,
at which point the D.C. police saw an opportunity to
exceed their monthly drug-bust quotas, and
Representative McCall flipped his wig over this latest
demonstration of 'liberal excess at the White House'
by calling a hellfire and brimstone press conference
at the police precinct), when Danny asked the
question.
"CJ, will the White House support VAWA3 even with
Senator Douglas-Radford's rider attached?"
This is, of course, the first I've heard of a rider on
VAWA3. I curb the urge to riffle through the papers
before me and give my old standby: "I'll have more
for you on that at the three o'clock briefing."
I ignore the chorus of groans and stalk out of the
press room. Danny tags along, as always. I am not
amused.
"Didn't know about the rider," he guesses.
"Astute deduction."
"CJ--"
"Danny, not now."
"Don't you want to know about--?"
"I'm serious, Danny."
"Okay," he says, and veers off to the right.
I continue to Toby's office. "Toby," I start, "Do
you--"
"Phree Pharmecuticals?" he asks without looking up
from his desk. "Phree with a P-H?"
"Toby, they staged a drug-in at the front door of the
White House; you're criticizing their spelling?"
"Spelling 'free' with a P-H is criminal."
"Toby."
Finally, he looks up. He must infer the way his
afternoon is going to go from the scowl I'm wearing.
"Not VAWA3," he says. "Please tell me Terrell
didn't--"
"A rider," I say, moving forward to lean against the
visitor's chair.
"A rider?"
"Yup."
"Who did it?"
"Douglas-Radford."
Toby gives one of his sighs. "What is it?"
"Don't know yet," I admit. "But knowing
Douglas-Radford..."
"Right," Toby grimaces. "It'll be something
completely irrational."
I narrow my eyes at him. "Toby, her thing about rape
being a hate crime? She's got a damn good point."
Toby watches me for a moment. "I would not argue with
you on that."
"Because you agree with me, or because you're afraid
I'll beat you senseless with a dog-eared copy of
Backlash?"
"Both?"
I roll my eyes at him. "Irrational?"
"What?"
"You said that knowing Douglas-Radford, it'll be
something irrational. The rider."
"All sex is rape?" Toby offers.
"She didn't say that," I argue.
"It was on CNN, CJ."
"She was quoting Andrea Dworkin; she wasn't saying she
agreed, Toby. It was taken completely out of context
in order to set her up as a crazy feminazi."
There's a knock on the door behind me. I turn to find
Ainsley Hayes in the doorway.
"Hi, CJ, Toby," she says.
"Hello, Ainsley," I answer with a smile. I'm trying
to like her. I really am. I admire her for standing
up for what she believes in, even if what she believes
in is, you know, completely contrary to everything I
believe in. You'll notice I haven't quite mastered
the liking her part.
Toby just nods.
"Leo asked me to stop by." Ainsley takes one step
into the office. "He thought you might have some
questions about the rider."
Toby and I exchange a look.
"Douglas-Radford?" I ask.
"Yes, the pornography thing," she nods.
Toby clears his throat, "Senator Douglas-Radford added
a pornography rider to the Violence Against Women Act
reauthorization?"
Ainsley nods, "The rider is, to be precise, a clause
that would allow victims of violent sexual assaults
wherein pornography was used as an inspiration or
a..." she pauses and waves her hands around a bit
while searching for a word, then shrugs, "...tool
during the act in question to sue the producers and
distributors of the pornographic material."
It takes Toby and I both a minute to untangle the
clauses for comprehension.
"You mean," I venture, "that if I were raped and my
rapist used a picture from a porn magazine while
raping me, I could sue the magazine?"
"Yes," Ainsley nods.
"That's ridiculous," Toby says.
"I know," Ainsley agrees. "It'll never pass."
"Wait a second," I say. "The idea is not without
merit."
"What?" Toby scoffs.
"I'm not talking about Playboy, Toby," I say. "But
violent pornography that shows women being beaten and
tied up and mutilated and killed, maybe that
encourages some men--"
"Such men would do things like these either way,"
Ainsley says. "And the First Amendment clearly
states--"
"I'm familiar with the Bill of Rights, Ainsley," I
note dryly. "I'm not saying there aren't problems
with the idea, I just don't think you should dismiss
it as ludicrous. There are studies--"
"CJ," Toby interrupts. "Do we have to--"
"There are studies," I say louder, "that show men who
use violent pornography are, in effect, conditioning
themselves to be sexually aroused by violence against
women."
"Conditioning themselves?" Ainsley asks with a faint
look of distaste.
"An orgasm is pretty strong positive reinforcment," I
say.
"CJ," Toby tries again.
I ignore him. "Did you know that a majority of serial
killers have testified to their use of pornography to
get themselves worked up for the kill?"
"CJ," Toby all but shouts. "Can we table this?"
"No," I answer. "What about the big lawsuit against
gun manufacturers for their culpability in gun violence?"
"That lawsuit should never have been brought," Ainsley
states. "The Second Amendment--"
"Calls for a well-regulated militia," Toby interrupts
sharply. "Not for arming small bands of paranoid
bigots."
We're still a bit touchy on the subject of guns around
here. Call us oversensitive, but living through a
hail of bullets zinging the ground around you--not to
mention nearly losing one of your best friends to
racial hatred--will tend to alter your life
permanently.
I steer the subject away from guns before Toby boots
Ainsley out of his office. "I'm not saying
pornography should be outlawed--"
"Thank God," Toby mutters sarcastically.
"I'm just saying maybe this should at least be part of
the discussion."
"You see," Ainsley says. "That's the problem with
feminism: Feminists go so far into the fringe that
your average American woman couldn't possibly
self-identify as a feminist."
I gape at her. I actually stand there, open-mouthed,
and stare at her. This young woman who, a hundred
years ago, would be unable to vote, unable to access
reliable birth control, and unable to procure housing
on her own. This woman who, a hundred years ago,
would be considered the property of her father until
she married, then be considered the property of her
husband. Instead this woman, after attending college
at the University of North Carolina and law school at
Southern Methodist University, is standing in the West
Wing of the White House working as an advisor to the
President of the United States. Her audacity just
astounds me.
"You're not a feminist?" I ask, attempting to keep my
voice neutral. If Toby's amused expression is any
indication, I have failed.
"No," Ainsley says. "I am most emphatically not a
feminist."
I hesitate for a moment, not because I can't think of
what to say, but because I can't decide which of my
many, many questions I should ask first. "Ainsley, do
you believe women should be able to vote?"
"Excuse me?" she gives me that condescending smile.
"That's a ridiculous question."
"Is it?" I prompt. "Women couldn't vote in this
country until 1920."
"I did take one or two history classes in college,
CJ," Ainsley says.
"Did you miss the part that covered
women--feminists--fighting against oppression and
prejudice to gain what lopsided 'equality' we have
now?"
"CJ," Ainsley says. "I'm not disagreeing with you
that there was a time for feminism in this country--"
"There *is* a time for feminism," I interrupt. "It's
right now--"
"CJ," Toby interjects unsuccessfully.
"It's right now when women still make 75 cents on the
male dollar. Now when all the violent crime
statistics the FBI keeps track of are falling; all but
rape. There is still not affordable child care, and
single mothers are still blamed for neglecting their
children by working two jobs to make ends meet.
Domestic violence is an insidious and largely ignored
problem--"
"CJ!" Toby shouts. "Could you two please take this
discussion elsewhere?"
"CJ," Ainsley says, ignoring Toby's outburst. "I
agree that women should make the same as men for the
same job--"
"Which is a tenet of feminist thought," I point out
helpfully.
"And I agree that rape and domestic violence and the
availability of child care are issues that need to be
addressed--"
"By cutting funding for shelters and another round of
welfare deform?" I guess.
Ainsley glowers at me for a moment. "I am not a
heartless person, CJ," she says. "I believe we both
want what's best for people--for women. We just have
different ideas on how best to accomplish that goal."
"No," I shake my head. "You're just scared to be
labeled a Republican feminist." I glance at Toby, who
has dropped back into his seat in defeat, and ask, "Do
Republican feminists even exist?"
"They're a rare and endangered species," he answers.
"That's not funny," Ainsley says. "Feminism is a
radical concept--"
"What?" I interrupt. "Believing the men and women are
equal and deserve equal protection under the law is a
radical concept?"
"No," Ainsley frowns at me. "Declaring that women
should denounce their femininity to compete with
men--"
"Do I look like I've denounced my femininity? Shut
up, Toby."
To his credit, Toby doesn't say a word.
Ainsley looks at me for a moment, in her tailored blue
suit and her sensible heels that look remarkably like
my tailored black suit and sensible (if lower) heels.
"No," she says. "But that is the impression that
people get from the feminist movement."
"That is the projection of virulently anti-feminist
political operatives on the conservative right," I
argue. "And, really, you'd prefer to believe Pat
Robertson or Phyllis Schlafly or Rush Limbaugh and
their incredibly uninformed opinions on the feminist
movement? Why don't you thumb through some Susan
Faludi or Molly Ivins or, hell, Elizabeth Cady Stanton
and see if they don't make a little more sense."
"CJ--"
"I've got copies in my office," I say. "Feel free to
borrow them."
"I am not going to borrow your books," Ainsley says.
"Although I do thank you for the offer."
We stand there, staring at each other in the sudden
silence.
Toby clears his throat, "Well--"
"Yes," Ainsley says. "I'd best be getting back to the
basement. Let me know if you later have questions on
the rider."
Toby blinks rapidly, then says, "Yeah, thanks."
I manage a nod.
Ainsley winds her way through the bullpen and
disappears through the far door.
I turn to Toby, who is shaking his head at me. "Was
that really necessary?"
"What?"
"That tongue-lashing just then."
"Yes," I say. "I believe it was. And if you so much
as think the word catfight, I'll--"
"CJ," he interrupts. "You didn't convince her of
anything."
"I know," I nod. "But now I know where she stands."
"And where is that?"
"On the opposite side of just about everything."
"You're just realizing this now?" Toby asks
skeptically.
"No," I admit. "But I was hoping to find some common
ground. You know, so I could like her."
"But instead?"
"I agree with Donna," I say. "I'm going to hate her
now and avoid the rush."
***
THE END