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I’m the guy that overanalyzes the misogynistic hip hop pouring from his car and wonders if he should cut it off out of principle. I’m the guy that derails the incessant conversations held behind closed doors where men rant about all allegations of sexual violence being the result of malicious, lying accusers. I’m the guy who spends his free time blogging about whether or not the language that we use for sex contributes to a rape culture that fosters violence against women.
Needless to say, my opinions sometimes generate conflict. Some long-time friends have written me off as as their overzealous friend with the strange politics; but I’ve prepared my entire life for this role. Common arguments as to how sexual violence needed to end, even those that placed the blame at the feet of men, always fit comfortably into my social justice perspective. I also happened to be trained by great folks that prepared me for conflict. They made it clear that sexual assault survivors are often met with scrutiny and chastisement so their allies shouldn’t expect perfect comfort either.
Nonetheless, even my invaluable mentors didn’t quite prepare me for the sterling exemplars of resilience that I would find as I went on to meet survivors. I remained unaware that those who were to disclose experiences with violence to me would become models of perseverance that I would lean on for motivation.
