February 22, 2012

Real talk: last week was a frustrating week to be a feminist. We saw abusers glorified, women silenced, and reproductive rights denied. A look back:

Chris Brown’s “comeback:” The week got off to a bad ...]]> By JULIA CALAGIOVANNI

February 22, 2012

Real talk: last week was a frustrating week to be a feminist. We saw abusers glorified, women silenced, and reproductive rights denied. A look back:

Chris Brown’s “comeback:” The week got off to a bad start on Sunday when Chris Brown, the R&B star notorious for assaulting his then-girlfriend Rihanna, performed at the Grammys. Just three years after the assault, which took place the evening before the 2009 Grammys, he’s been returned to the position of lauded celebrity figure. The “comeback” came, not coincidentally, days before Brown released a lead single and a month before the release of his fifth album. He also won the Grammy for Best R&B Album that night.

It’s reprehensible that both the entertainment industry and the American public absolved a public figure of such violence—a felony, by the way, that he pled guilty to— in three years. But even at the time of the incident, public sympathy was with Chris Brown. After the infamous photograph of Rihanna’s battered face emerged, apologists—Carrie Underwood, Lindsay Lohan, Nia Long, Mary J. Blige—were quick to all but defend him. Jay-Z was the lone voice of reason, reminding fans, “You have to have compassion for others. Just imagine it being your sister or mom and then think about how we should talk about that. I just think we should all support her.” When Usher commented the following March that a picture of Brown jet-skiing was probably not the best way to reform his image, the backlash was so severe that Usher was forced to apologize.

Sorry, Grammys: The Grammys’ executive producer, Ken Ehrlich, doesn’t really seem to get it either. Earlier this month, he told ABC News that the Grammys were “glad” to have Brown back. Ehrlich said, “I think people deserve a second chance, you know. If you’ll note, he has not been on the Grammys for the past few years and it may have taken us a while to kind of get over the fact that we were the victim of what happened.” That’s right, the Grammys were the victim of Chris Brown’s violence. Got it.

The worst Twitter trend ever: Twitter’s by no means a feminist’s best friend (sexist hashtags, anyone?), but it reached a new level of awful this week when young women who are Chris Brown fans exclaimed, en masse, that, essentially, they wouldn’t mind being beat up by such a heartthrob. Again: domestic violence is no big deal, because Chris Brown is famous and totally hot.

No patience for PETA: The animal rights organization known for its horribly misogynistic media campaigns decided to celebrate Valentine’s Day with a new ad. Here’s what I learned: real men go vegan, and when they do, the sex will be great—meaning he’ll beat the shit out of you.

Ultrasounds required for abortions: In Virginia, the GOP took their habit of invading women’s bodies to the extreme this week. A proposed “informed consent” bill requires a woman to undergo an ultrasound before having an abortion. Sadly, that requirement is nothing new. But since most abortions occur within the first twelve weeks, most women seeking abortions will have to have a penetrative transvaginal ultrasound, since that is the only way to obtain an ultrasound image in early pregnancy. Such a practice is insulting to a woman who obviously knows that she is pregnant and has already made the often difficult decision to terminate the pregnancy.

The sonogram itself is not only an invasive, medically unnecessary procedure. In January, the FBI expanded its definition of rape as such: “The penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration by a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim.” Since the penetrative ultrasound is mandatory for an abortion, it cannot really be consented to, meaning that the ordeal itself could very well be classified as rape.

Additionally, Slate’s Dahlia Lithwick has noted that, while the woman can choose whether or not to look at the ultrasound and/or to listen to the fetal heartbeat, the doctor will make note of that in her record. In Lithwick’s words, “I guess they were all out of scarlet letters in Richmond.” A protest on Monday delayed the vote, but Republicans in Pennsylvania’s state legislature are proposing a similar bill.

Personhood, again: Virginia’s not a great place for reproductive autonomy right now. Last Wednesday, its House passed a personhood bill. This comes despite polls showing that Virginians are opposed to the measures: 52% are against personhood and 55% are against the ultrasound requirement.

Oklahoma’s on a similar track. On Wednesday, the state Senate approved a “personhood” bill like the one defeated in Missouri this fall. The bill will head to the House, where it is also expected to pass. Embryos and fetuses will then have “all the rights, privileges, and immunities” of Oklahoma citizens. The Oklahoma State Medical Association opposes the bill, because of the terrible effects it will have on the delivery of reproductive medicine and availability of birth control.

FOX pundit on military rape: When confronted with the staggering statistics on military sexual assault, Fox commentator Liz Trotta asked, “What did they expect?” She criticized “the feminists” for wanting to be “warriors and victims at the same time,” advocating for such silly and expensive things as sexual counselors, victims’ advocates, and sexual response coordinators. These are all demands from “women in the military who are now being raped too much,” whatever that means. When the host tried to argue that perhaps service members do deserve some protection, Trotta was indignant. “That’s funny, I thought the mission of the armed forces was to defend and protect us, not the people who were fighting the war!” When even a Fox host thinks rape apologism has gone too far, you know that rape apologism has gone too far.

Give ‘em some aspirin: Foster Freiss, a mega-donor to Rick Santorum’s campaign, doesn’t really see what all the fuss is about birth control. It’s not that expensive. There are more important things to worry about. Heck, in his day, “they used Bayer aspirin for contraception. The gals put it between their knees, and it wasn’t that costly.” Salon’s Irin Carmon translated this obscure comment: “he didn’t mean applying the aspirin vaginally — he meant that the sluts should just keep their legs shut.”

Freiss may be a major donor, but he needs to study up on his candidate. He asked, “Do you honestly think that if Senator Santorum becomes president, we’re going to get rid of contraceptives?” Well, given his extreme anti-contraceptive views, yeah. But let’s hope not.

Hooking kids on sex: This video about Planned Parenthood’s crusade to create a generation of sex addicts (by providing them with factually accurate information about their bodies and materials for safe sex!) would be hilarious, except that there are people who are taking it seriously.

VAWA reauthorization blocked: The Violence Against Women Act, signed into effect under Clinton in 1994 and reauthorized in 2000 and 2005, is up for reauthorization. Yet Republicans on the Senate Judiciary Committee blocked it this month. Their objections? An explicit ban on sexual orientation or gender identity-based discrimination within the organizations receiving VAWA grants; greater availability of visas for undocumented immigrants hesitant to come forward lest they risk deportation; and limited jurisdiction for Native American tribes to prosecute cases internally, whether the accused is Native American or not.

Lines crossed, definitely: Who’s better qualified to discuss women’s contraceptive needs than a bunch of men? The House Oversight Committee assembled a panel of them—Baptist and Lutheran ministers, a Catholic bishop, and an Orthodox rabbi—to speak at a hearing called “Lines Crossed: Separation of Church and State.” The hearing is another step in the discussion over whether President Obama’s decision to require employers to provide health insurance that includes contraceptive coverage. Democrats asked Chairman Representative Darrell Issa to allow a woman to speak, but he refused on the grounds that “the hearing is not about reproductive rights and contraception but instead about the Administration’s actions as they relate to freedom of religion and conscience.” The woman, Sandra Fluke, is a Georgetown 3L and a past president of Georgetown Law Students for Reproductive Justice. Fluke had planned to tell the story of a friend’s experience with an ovarian cyst. When Fluke’s friend couldn’t afford the medically necessary birth control to treat the condition since it wasn’t covered by Georgetown’s student health insurance, her condition worsened until she had to have the ovary surgically removed, jeopardizing her ability to have children in the future. (Her prepared testimony is available here.)

Bonus good news: Rock on, CT-3. The jury’s out on whether New Haven’s Representative Rosa DeLauro is a fucking hipster but she is definitely a much-needed voice on women’s reproductive freedom. This statement, which she submitted to the oversight committee, is an eloquent defense of women’s right to health care – not that it should need defending.

Julia Calagiovanni is a freshman in Yale College. She is a staff writer for Broad Recognition.

February 21, 2012

Celebrate Black Herstory Month with Ms. Magazine.

Despite the (predictable) resistance from Republican lawmakers and religious groups, a New York Times/CBS News poll recently found that sixty-five percent of voters support the Obama ...]]> By SAMUEL HUBER

February 21, 2012

Celebrate Black Herstory Month with Ms. Magazine.

Despite the (predictable) resistance from Republican lawmakers and religious groups, a New York Times/CBS News poll recently found that sixty-five percent of voters support the Obama administration’s mandate that employer-provided health insurance plans include birth control coverage.  Fifty-nine percent–an easy majority–agree with the stipulation that religiously affiliated institutions be included in this mandate.

The bad news: female witnesses were egregiously excluded from last Thursday’s House Committee hearing on the applicability of the no-cost birth control mandate to religious employers.  The good news: two female representatives walked out of the hearing, and Senator Kirsten Gillibrand (D-New York) is making sure her Republican colleagues know exactly how they messed up.

In case you missed Gillibrand’s mention, Mother Jones reminds us that ninety-nine percent of all American women (and ninety-eight percent of Catholic women) who have had sex have used some form of birth control.  No wonder House Republicans couldn’t find any women to testify who oppose it — they’re virtually nonexistent.

Marriage equality roundup:  Washington state legalized same-sex marriage last Monday, making it the seventh state to do so.  Maryland is following suit, as its own gay marriage bill has been approved in the state House of Delegates and is now entering the Senate.  Maryland’s Democratic governor, Martin O’Malley, has expressed his intention to sign the bill into law.  Less optimistically, New Jersey’s state legislature passed same-sex marriage legislation last week, only to have it promptly vetoed by Republican Governor Chris Christie.

Consistent with the reasoning behind the Department of Justice’s refusal to defend the constitutionality of the Defense of Marriage Act, Attorney General Eric Holder has announced that the DoJ will no longer defend laws that exclude same-sex couples from military and veterans benefits given to heterosexuals.

Earlier this month, the Athena Film Festival brought more than thirty-five films about “Women and Leadership” to New York City.  Check out the full lineup here.

Tired of cable news’s usual lineup of talking heads?  Check out feminist author, columnist, and political scientist Melissa Harris-Perry’s new show on MSNBC.  Harris-Perry is professor of political science at Tulane University and a founding director of the college’s Anna Julia Cooper Project on Gender, Race, and Politics in the South.

At Shippensburg University in Pennsylvania, students can buy Plan B from a vending machine.

Sam Huber is a junior in Yale College.  He is the managing editor for Broad Recognition.

February 19, 2012

In the Sex Week at Yale (SWAY) 2012 keynote address, famed alum and feminist agitator Ann Olivarius ’77 turned at the end of her speech to the power of the erotic: “Treating your sexuality as ...]]> By EMILY VILLANO

February 19, 2012

In the Sex Week at Yale (SWAY) 2012 keynote address, famed alum and feminist agitator Ann Olivarius ’77 turned at the end of her speech to the power of the erotic: “Treating your sexuality as something to invest in, to really learn about, adds immeasurably to an internal sense of power—not just a sense of well-being, but a sense of being worth fighting for.” The idea that sexual awareness reverberates beyond the bedroom can be seen, too, in a statement on the SWAY official website: “Conversations about sexuality matter to us because they implicate ideas about what we should and should not do with our bodies; ideas that affect not only our physical, emotional, and mental well-being, but also the social environment around us.” To be sure, in this political climate, a week of in-depth sex education is far from innocuous. Yet beyond that, it bears investigating the ‘social implications’ of an event series like SWAY—what precisely is it empowering us to fight for?

Roughly a century ago, proponents of ‘free love’ and a ‘New Morality’ were coming to the fore in the United States. A cadre of young individuals, self-described ‘new intellectuals’ running in the American underground of socialist and anarchist circles, forged domestic arrangements outside marital norms, distributed information about contraception, and celebrated women’s sexual desires. Ushered in by the expansion of women’s labor in the industrial work force and the emergence of theories of sexuality popularized by the likes of Freud and Ellis, this idealistic movement sought a new mapping of societal relations through sex. In some senses, this movement parallels the work of SWAY, the latter with a lecture entitled “Contraception 101” and a screening of Hysteria, on the invention of the vibrator. In other ways, however, it provides an interesting foil.

For these ‘new intellectuals,’ sexual emancipation very much entailed a strong social and political critique. Their sexual politics were enmeshed in the socialist and anarchist sentiments they also carried. Sexual emancipation was set in conscious opposition to the “bourgeois” values of Puritanism and materialism. Marriage, seen as a purely economic property arrangement, was contrasted with ‘free love.’ The atomization and ‘spiritual barrenness’ of the profit-driven industrial world were contrasted with the spiritual unions and elevations of sexual intimacy. Sex and love, then, came to symbolize a resistance, or alternative, to dissatisfaction with existing conditions.

Under some conceptions, the ideal of sexual emancipation seemed first to necessitate an economic and political transformation. Alexandra Kollontai, a Russian socialist revolutionary, argued that only after the enactment of “reforms transposing obligations from the family to society and the state” could ‘free love’ be realized. Economic and political inequalities precluded individuals from the equalized plane sexual emancipation required. Others saw sexual emancipation as the route and means to a new societal order. Emma Goldman, anarchist and feminist, argued that rather than the product of a wider revolution, sexual emancipation would be its prelude and driving force. “Free love? As if love is anything but free!… Man has subdued bodies, but all the power on earth has been unable to subdue love,” writes Goldman. As a crucial site of resistance to existing structures, and of empowerment to defy them, Goldman affirms, “If the world is ever to give birth to true companionship and oneness…love will be the parent.” Whether an economic and political revolution would generate a sexual revolution, or vice versa, the two were always inextricably linked in the minds of these turn-of-the-century activists.

An examination of SWAY, however, reveals an apparent decoupling of these once intertwined visions. SWAY asserts the importance of sexual awareness and the right to sexual expression. Yet it makes little effort to look beyond that to, say, the role of capitalism in the objectification of bodies, or political structures that undermine sexual autonomy. Instead, SWAY features sex tips with the founder of Babeland, a woman-friendly sex toy franchise; a lecture by Suki Dunham, inventor of OhMiBod musical vibrators, on filling the untapped market potential of female desire; and a discussion on social networking for queers, highlighting apps for iPhones and Androids. The resolution of a Yale Political Union debate, “Destigmatize Sex,” nicely sums up the event series: far from undermining the society we live in, SWAY aspires to remove the stigma of sex within society’s acceptable bounds.

Notably, SWAY hosts some exceptions to this trend. Gail Dines, in her lecture on pornography, delivered a biting critique of porn as capitalist industry. And while the programming is never explicitly radical, some of the speakers at events have presented subversive ideas in their talks. Feminist bloggers Marie Lyn Bernard, Miriam Perez, and Lena Chen expressed skepticism over the push for the legality of gay marriage in a panel on “Writing Sex,” urging a shifted focus to economic forms of discrimination instead. At a Broads-sponsored panel on “Privacy, Sexuality, and the Law,” WGSS visiting lecturer Liz Montegary drew attention to welfare policies that compromise the sexual autonomy of the poor, as well as the potential appropriation of LGBTQ issues by the U.S. government to justify “humanitarian” interventions abroad.

Nevertheless, SWAY in general seems to point to the integration of sex-positivity into existing society—far from the ‘new intellectual’ vision of revolutionizing society through sex. Even a panel on “BDSM and Alternate Sexualities” framed their practices by making them analogous to “vanilla,” or mainstream, sexuality, likening a bondage collar to a wedding ring. BDSM, it seems, is simply more upfront about the power dynamics inherent in mainstream sex. Admittedly, thinking of sex in these terms—radical or conformist, subversive or mainstream—can function to obscure sex itself. To an extent, taking sex on its own terms, and not as an instrument to further ends, itself merits consideration. Perhaps sex need not be political; it just needs to be insanely pleasurable. But looking over the event calendar or attending some of the events, it’s difficult not to sense that, in diverging from its free love forerunners, SWAY and the contemporary sex-positive culture it reflects have lost something important.

Listening to Olivarius’ keynote address, one returns to the Audre Lorde essay she draws on. Sexual satisfaction, Lorde argues, causes one to “demand from ourselves and from our life-pursuits that they feel in accordance with that joy which we know ourselves to be capable of.” This, she continues, leads one to “examine the ways in which our world can be truly different.” Lorde pushes beyond sexual satisfaction, indeed, pushes onto the scale of worldwide transformation. Demands for something different, more, better, from one’s sexual partners, carries into similar demands on one’s society at large. Certainly, the goals of SWAY are laudable and deserving of support. But given SWAY’s mission statement, it’s worth questioning why the event series stops short of exacting a deeper societal critique. Arguments against the sanctity of marriage aside, one may object to the contemporary divorce of sexual emancipation and radical politics.

Emily Villano is a junior in Yale College.  She is an associate editor for Broad Recognition.

February 17, 2012

Even for those who haven’t watched a backstage-anything since Black Swan, a lot of what appears in Smash is predictable: ingénue, rival, predatory director (who speaks with an accent). Even the less obvious characters—the queenly producer, the ...]]> By SOPHIA NGUYEN

February 17, 2012

Even for those who haven’t watched a backstage-anything since Black Swan, a lot of what appears in Smash is predictable: ingénue, rival, predatory director (who speaks with an accent). Even the less obvious characters—the queenly producer, the peppy boyfriend, the peppier assistant—manage to, in their own way, be predictable. The creation of a theatrical production has a familiar rhythm, even if no two performances are exactly the same. The problem is in the sometimes flat and unnatural script, in which these people succumb to the strange, occasional urge to explain their lives to their own family and friends.

“Revivals and movies,” Julia, one of the writers, sulks ostentatiously, “Why doesn’t anyone do new musicals anymore?” Then, as if it has occurred to her for the first time, and the fact cheers her up: “We write new musicals.” Right on cue, her partner Tom rejoins, “I thought we were taking a break.” “We are!” insists Julia. Marilyn: the Musical is born.

Yet the show is charming, in an easily-digested sort of way. Smash isn’t supposed to be The Wire of Broadway: it’s comfort food, and more importantly, it’s made for adults. The cast is strong, the premise is fun, and the tone is consistent, which was its predecessor, Glee’s, particular angst. Smash isn’t Glee, so hookups aren’t the headline; all singing and dancing will be necessitated, or at least motivated, by plot; and it will never feel obligated to serve up PSAs about the perils of drinking.

But the show has other aspects which are predictable and yet completely un-charming—namely the rivalry between the two actresses, Karen Cartwright (Katherine McPhee) and Ivy Lynn (Megan Hilty). Though in this genre, feminine jealousy seems to be a stock character in itself, the way that this has been set-up is particularly disheartening. Karen and Ivy Lynn can’t be more obviously the opposite of one another.

McPhee’s character, Karen, is a midwestern sweetheart with a dream. She is also irritatingly coy: “Why do I have to be sexy all the time?” she pouts to her boyfriend (sexily). “I wish I was fat.” A documented instance of public eating follows this, just so it’s made abundantly clear how down-to-earth and wholesome she is. Karen’s dewy-eyed innocence about her looks derives from the McPhee American Idol “who, me?” persona; blushing denial, or lack of self-awareness, is what pretty people are supposed to put on in order to be more likeable. Among the wigged, gowned crowd auditioning for the part of Monroe, she wears jeans and a jacket. She sings a treacly  “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and “Beautiful” while the camera pans over the extremely amazed and impressed faces of the prod staff. Smash insists on defining Karen in terms of girlish innocence, sexual and theatrical. “I can’t do sexy,” she insists several times, anxious for reassurance.

Enter the “whore” to Karen’s “virgin”: Ivy Lynn, a sexual blonde and Broadway veteran. Smash’s saving grace is that it recognizes the charisma of Megan Hilty (an actual Broadway star), and doesn’t demonize her character. Like everyone else, she’s just a young starlet trying to make it in the business: she gets disappointed, she gets nervous, she recognizes that she is overeducated for the ensemble roles she currently gets. She’s not a monster; she just wants a part. Ivy Lynn also happens to be incredibly talented—charismatic, versatile, a presence impossible to ignore onstage or onscreen. But the preview hints that Ivy Lynn also has no scruples about sleeping with the director, Derek, something which Karen refuses to do. (Derek, who we hate for his sexual-harrassment-suit-waiting-to-happen sliminess, does get a great line his scene with her: “Oh stop with the scared bird routine,” he rolls his eyes.)

It’s unlikely that Smash will get rid of McPhee, but it would be a terrible mistake to let go of Hilty, even if we expect good-girl Karen to eventually win out over vixenish Ivy. But consider the alternative: they’re both cast, and end up sharing a dual lead, with Karen as Norma Jeane Mortenson and Ivy as Marilyn Monroe. This would allow us the pleasure of seeing both on TV, but would also send a dispiriting message: that love is necessarily the opposite of sex, and that a woman, even one as singular as Monroe, can’t be complex and contradictory without literally having a split identity.

Sophia Nguyen is a sophomore in Yale College.  She is a staff writer for Broad Recognition.

Feburary 15, 2012

Tristan Garcia was born in Toulouse, France. His first novel, La meilleure part des hommes, was published by the prestigious publishing house Gallimard in 2008, and was awarded the Prix de Flore that same year. ...]]> By KENNETH REVEIZ

Feburary 15, 2012

Tristan Garcia was born in Toulouse, France. His first novel, La meilleure part des hommes, was published by the prestigious publishing house Gallimard in 2008, and was awarded the Prix de Flore that same year. In 2010, the novel was translated for Farrar, Straus, and Giroux by Lorin Stein and Marion Duvert as Hate: A Romance.

Broad Recognition writer Kenneth Reveiz asked Tristan Garcia about his first novel, his thoughts on queer and political writing, and what it means to write and market literature with LGBT subject matter in France today. What follows is Reveiz’s translation of the interview, conducted via e-mail, from the French:

KR: The cover of Hate : A Romance, in bright yellow, shows Andy Warhol’s « Querelle », which portrays two shirtless young men, one who, in a ludic and sexual gesture, sticks his tongue out towards the other. La meilleure part des hommes resembles, more or less, the other books published by Gallimard : red title, white background. What do you make of that?

TG: I really like this image of Warhol’s, taken up again for one of the posters for [Rainer Werner] Fassbinder’s [1982 film] Querelle. It’s tender and violent at the same time: it’s simultaneously a game, a rape, and an act of love. I chose it for the novel’s paperback edition; for the first French edition, in the “collection blanche” [“white collection”], I didn’t have a choice: it’s the publishing house’s brand. It’s interesting to note on this subject that the big French publishing houses often have very sober covers (Minuit, Grasset, Le Mercure de France, Gallimard’s “la Blanche” [“White”], which indicates their respectability and oldness: la Blanche is the cover of Proust, Claudel, Céline, Camus, Modiano…) In Anglo-Saxon countries, for a much longer time the tradition has been to illustrate and to individualize the book, with an image, with press quotes. In France, the imprint comes before the novel; certain people buy a book simply because it was published by that imprint.

KR: In the middle of Hate: A Romance, Willie, who is speaking to Liz, deplores the fact that people think more about profitability than about utopia: “Cash. What happened to the queer utopia?” (126). Was this book difficult to sell? In writing—and furthermore in trying to sell the novel, were you thinking about what kind of reader you wanted, or what kind of reader you might be able to obtain? —Philosophers; teenagers; gay people; activists? Do you think that, because of its subject matter, this novel encountered problems that other novels might not have encountered? One example: in his review of the book, Richard Canning wrote for The Independent, “With the odd exception …, readers weren’t buying.” In other words, readers weren’t amenable to buying novels about AIDS (or, to put it another way, about gay subject matter).

TG: The novel wasn’t difficult for the editor to sell since it was relatively successful. On the other hand, it was more complicated for me to find myself in the skin of a writer who people were talking about and that people could only get to know through his book; certain people judged the novel to be “slick”, that it employed cynical or indecent strategies: using the disease, using a story that echoes the stories of real people, in order to write a “hip” novel.

That wasn’t my intention in the least: I didn’t even want to “sell” the book, I wanted to write it, and only on second thought did I send it to an editor. It’s really hard to faithfully reconstruct the desires that preside over the writing of a novel, since they are progressively swallowed up by the actual making of the novel. That said, I remember having wanted to create a novel about a/the gay community, not for the gay community; about political activism, not for political activists; about a character who was a philosopher, not for philosophers. It seemed to me that, as time passed, the memories, the intimate writings of those who had participated in the chronology of gay liberation, the subsequent arrival of the AIDS virus, and the political ruptures that accompanied them step-by-step, weren’t enough any more—it needed an aspect of fiction. The risk was to write from an exterior point of view, one that is therefore, at least at first glance, illegitimate: the point of view of someone who didn’t know anything about that whole situation.

With regards to whether readers were ready to buy literature reminiscent of AIDS (and/or gay subject matter), I guess that in a world partially organized into communities there are and there always will be two kinds of narratives: those for internal usage, which function like mirrors (a homosexual literature about homosexuals), and those for external usage, which function like windows (a literature about homosexuality destined, indiscriminately, for homosexual and heterosexual readers). The risk of the first is suffocation and shutting oneself in (towards the self); the risk of the second is voyeurism and vulgarisation. I imagine that there is no miracle solution, only bridges between the one and the other.

KR: Do you consider yourself to be a “gay” or “queer” author? Do you consider Hate: A Romance to be a “gay” or “queer” novel?

TG: No, neither the one nor the other.  If I absolutely had to, I’d be more inclined to consider the novel to be in part « queer », because it questions the limits of both sexual gender and literary genre [Trans. note: Garcia is punning on the French word “genre”, which means both gender and literary genre.]. I would say that it’s a communitarian novel from the outside, not from the inside, in other words a novel that represents and questions ideas, acts, and people of the gay community (but also of the Jewish and Muslim communities, towards the end) from a point of view that remains exterior. This choice certainly makes the novel more accessible, maybe more universal, but also it makes the novel lose some of its subversive potential; it definitely normalizes the novel. I’ve realized this more and more with time.

KR: The word « queer » appears a number of times in Lorin Stein and Marion Duvert’s translation—what does this word mean to you? In comparison with “gai,” “homo,” “pédé,” etc., how do you understand it? [Trans. note: while “gai” can be translated to “gay,” for French speakers “homo” resembles “homosexual” yet without the clinical or limitedly sexual implications that word has in English, whereas “pédé,” related to “pederast,” is as offensive as “fag” but is weakening as a pejorative much as the now-dated “queer” has in the U.S. Somewhat like “queer”, “pédé” has been more or less reclaimed.]

TG: In my view, “queer” is a potentially more universal term than gay, homo, pédé, lesbian, etc. It attests to a suspicion of all gender distinctions between individuals within the human species, and marks the desire to transgress every boundary in the great classifications of the human population—notably, but not simply, gender boundaries. “Queer,” to me, is someone who judges that the only valid identity within humanity is that of the individual, and that every category to which he is supposed to belong (sex, race, class, caste, family) is illusory, and which therefore could be made the object of an inversion, of a game.  Willie, in the novel, is truly queer in this sense.

KR: Do you consider yourself an “engaged” writer? In an interview on mediapart.fr you said that you were an activist in your teen years, or at the very least interested in the revolutions that predated you (not to equate, of course, activism with revolution). Are you still into activism? Furthermore, how do you think that philosophy or literature have been, are, or could be “engaged”? Are there any links between an engaged literature and the “moral adventures” that you’ve talked about in the past?

TG: I’m from a rather politically engaged family (on the far left), in which politics have played an important role. That said, I’ve not been much of an activist myself (which is somewhat of a source of personal guilt); I’m sensitive to all the demonstrations around class struggle, to the breakdown of trade unionism, to the emergence of a Europe closed in upon itself, with the many Islamophobic and also anti-Semitic currents running through it, a mistrust of the Roma populations.  I’m also sensitive to the current transformations of feminism, to gay and lesbian activism, and to questions regarding animal ethics. However, I never end up having a definitive position on any of these questions, and my indecision (which diminishes the possibility of my own activism) appears in my novels and in my philosophical works, I think. I get the sense that I write about characters who are both morally and politically engaged, politicized characters, or about contemporary ideas subject to violent debate, because I find myself torn, taken between often contradictory feelings.  To be more concrete, regarding questions that shake up feminists today, I don’t really know what to think anymore when it comes to the problems of legalizing prostitution, of surrogate mothers or of the possibility of an artificial uterus (that would allow giving birth without pregnancy); but these questions fascinate me because they too are in the process of defining our age. Maybe I’m better at staging things than directly taking a part in them.

I would say then that I’m favorable to a literature engaged in the problems of the present era, but not to a literature engaged for a present cause. I like to be engaged in something rather than for something.

KR: Elizabeth is, notably, the only woman in the novel. She is the most removed, in a way, and is also the narrator. Did you consciously choose to have the story transmitted by a woman, or did that develop more or less unconsciously?

TG: It was necessary to have a woman disguised as a voice, who guides the reader through this universe of men. It’s a demi-character, who barely acts, suffers a lot, but tells all; I regret it a little at the moment. I should have affirmed her presence a little better. But that’s how it is, and what’s more she allows the reader, I think, to love Willie, Dominique, Leibo. Her regard is one that forgives. It’s important that the reader understand thanks to her that he shouldn’t judge characters before loving them.

KR: Asked if Hate: A Romance was “a good representation of French literature,” France 24 literary critic Agustin Trampenard answered “definitely,” and began to talk about the fact that your novel worked “both on the personal and the political level.” What are your thoughts on that? Do you believe that your book is representative of contemporary French literature?

TG: It is, I hope, representative of one part of contemporary France. Of its literature, that’s less certain. When I wrote it, I hated what was being produced in French: autofiction or the formalism following the Nouveau Roman. Today, after having read quite a few novels more attentively, I would be more moderate: Chevillard, Jourde, Volodine, Jauffret, de Kerangal, Del Amo have all written at least one book that I liked and that seemed to say something about the state either of our society, of our language, or of our thinking.

KR: Did you work with Lorin Stein or Marion Duvert on their translation? Also, have you read or leafed through the translation of one of your books?

TG: Unfortunately, my English is mediocre. That said, I exchanged quite a few e-mails with them; I provided them notably with a series of notes and responses concerning some of the text’s political references (which sometimes cites politicians, or French political parties that don’t exist abroad). We also agreed upon five or six minor cuts in the text: certain paragraphs were certainly of no interest to people who don’t live in France.

Their translation, as far as I can judge, perfectly respects the spirit of the text, the style, the rhythm, the orality, Willie’s deliberate tactlessness.

KR: When the novel ends, you thank Jean Le Bitoux. Could you talk a bit more about his relation to the book? It’s something that interests me a lot, having recently seen Le gai tapant, a film which tries to construct a history not just of Jean Le Bitoux but of an emergent gay culture—the latter being, according to Didier Lestrade, approximately the same project as Gai pied’s. [Trans. note: Gai pied was a monthly French gay magazine founded by Jean Le Bitoux in 1979]. In any case, what do Jean Le Bitoux and his projects mean to you?

TG: I met Jean Le Bitoux after the death of my grandfather (my stepfather’s father), Pierre Seel, who was deported with the pink triangle; it’s a complicated and somewhat painful family history. Nevertheless I sent my manuscript to Jean Le Bitoux some time after I finished writing the novel: I didn’t particularly want to publish it, but rather to get the opinion, the reaction of a person who would have known those years well. He replied—always on the front of white pages that he then slid into yellow envelopes (his distinct mark)—very kindly. I went to his place a few times, where he introduced me to his partner and a few of his friends, a little circle of musicians, neighbors, buddies. He was a very lively man, who always had vivid reactions regarding what he considered to be injustices or treasons, but he was also very sweet, very attentive. Showing me photographs of dead friends, he made me aware of what had been a kind of war: the years of disease, the years at the cemetery, at the graves of friends and lovers.

He himself died too young; we were supposed to see each other again to discuss his projects (political, editorial). I really enjoyed his company and I’m indebted to him for having helped me build up enough confidence to send my manuscript out to editors. I read his Entretiens sur la question gay [Interviews on the Gay Question (as yet untranslated)]. You can recognize his voice sometimes, in the questions, the preoccupations. His memory is returning, and it makes me quite sad.

Kenneth Reveiz is a senior in Yale College.  He is a contributing writer for Broad Recognition.

February 14, 2012

As part of sex week, Gail Dines, a professor of Sociology and Women’s and Gender studies, as well as chair of American Studies at Wheelock College, gave a talk on the dangers of pornographic culture. ...]]> By ANDREW WAGNER

February 14, 2012

As part of sex week, Gail Dines, a professor of Sociology and Women’s and Gender studies, as well as chair of American Studies at Wheelock College, gave a talk on the dangers of pornographic culture. Dines recently published the book Pornland: How Porn has Hijacked Our Sexuality, and her stance was decidedly anti-pornography. According to Dines, the advent of pornography has led to the evolution of views of women from the “Stepford Wife” to the “Stepford Slut,” the robotized female that only exists to sexually please men. Dines spent much of her talk discussing “Gonzo” porn—hardcore porn that she believes degrades women by treating them less as humans and more as animals. Such “Gonzo” porn includes the genres of gagging, anal to mouth, and more recently, “Daddy’s Little Girl” porn, in which older men have sex with daughter-stand ins. Dines showed photographs of the advertisements for these porn genres, which almost never refer to women as “women,” but instead refer to women as “bitches,” “whores,” “sluts,” or “cum dumpsters”—dehumanizing women and legitimizing Gonzo porn’s treatment of them.

Dines repeatedly stressed her background as a Marxist, which she said affects her views. She is concerned that the porn industry, by turning sex into a commodity, changes how society has sex. The phenomenon of non-pedophile men having sex with their daughters or other girls especially disconcerts Dines, and she traced this to Gonzo porn. According to her, Gonzo porn makes men so desensitized that they seek out increasingly degraded pornography and means of satisfying their desires, leading them to making sexual advances on young girls. For this reason, Dines wants to frame the anti-porn campaign as a public health issue, instead of a moral one. Dines suggested at the end of her talk the necessity of completely getting rid of porn for society, though she was ambiguous as to how she wanted to accomplish this. The Q&A proved to be particularly contentious: some attendees challenged Dines, saying that queer porn could subvert these patriarchal structures, and that some women both consent to and desire some of the very porn that she was deriding. Dines, however, countered both of these remarks, maintaining her anti-porn stance.

Andrew Wagner is a freshman in Yale College.  He is a contributing writer for Broad Recognition.

February 13, 2012

Walking into the Whitney this past Friday, I was floored by the sheer amount of people that had come out for a movie about the invention of the vibrator. Old men, young women and even a ...]]> By ISABEL ORTIZ

February 13, 2012

Walking into the Whitney this past Friday, I was floored by the sheer amount of people that had come out for a movie about the invention of the vibrator. Old men, young women and even a few children crammed into the theater, placing the screening and the following talk with director Tanya Wexler among the most well attended Sex Week events. Judging by the enthusiasm of the audience, who giggled, squealed and erupted in laughter throughout the film, it was an overwhelming success. However, while at times I found myself laughing along with everyone else, it’s important to acknowledge that for all its charms, Hysteria fell far from expressing the progressive values it claimed to espouse.

Hysteria surrounds Dr. Joseph Mortimer Granville’s invention of the first electromechanical vibrator in 1880, meant as treatment for “female hysteria”, a once-common blanket diagnosis for everything from depression to domestic ennui. While this story alone would lend itself to a fascinating investigation of female pleasure and sexuality in the Victorian era, it’s the film’s insistence on lumping in the cause of the suffragettes, divorce laws, and prostitution that ultimately cheapens its feminist message, turning it into a veritable cheese sampling tray of feminist doctrines rather than an interesting look at any one in particular.

The story follows shy, conservative Granville (Hugh Dancy) as he takes a job at a clinic that cures hysteria by pelvic massage. Early scenes of his introduction into the world of female satisfaction are harmless and entertaining, and Hugh Dancy’s squirms and hesitations as he navigates and ultimately conquers the complexities of the orgasm are among the movie’s best moments. Things get problematic upon the introduction of the movie’s feisty feminist mouthpiece, played by the lovable if at times overeager Maggie Gyllenhaal, who lopes around on her bicycle and delivers all the fist-shaking diatribes as the movie’s “modern woman”. The daughter of clinic head Dr. Dalyrmple (Jonathan Pryce), her character Charlotte acts as the saucy, rebellious counterpart to Granville’s staunch traditionalism by running a settlement house, stomping around, sticking it to the man, etc.

However, for all her vivacity, her manifestos are simple and textbook to the point that they come off as canned, and the movie makes little effort to probe into her ideas beyond what can be easily consumed by a contemporary audience. As she delivers impassioned speeches about women’s right to vote, to fair divorces or even to the eradication of the sexist idea of hysteria itself, characters in the movie (including her supposed love interest, Granville) make little effort to engage with her in a way that makes these issues come to life. Though we get small windows into her life at the settlement house and the occasional glimpse at her work within the community (though always through male eyes), these moments seem to be more of a courtesy to the idea of feminism, only taking place as secondary digressions to the more consuming male plots of the movie.

In particular, the main romantic narrative is among the movie’s most disappointing aspects. Clinging to every rom-com convention, the relationship between Charlotte and Granville is a hollow, poorly developed attempt at a Mr. Darcy/Elizabeth dynamic abounding in clichés. Though first attracted to Dr. Dalyrymple’s other daughter, piano-playing angel of domesticity, Emily Dalyrmple (Felicity Jones), Granville slowly transitions his affections to Charlotte. Initially disgusted at Charlotte’s lack of decorum, he has no feelings for her until her Cinderella moment at a ball, where suddenly, clad in a sexy black strapless dress, her hair in an attractively wispy chignon rather than a frizzy bun, she’s not so bad after all. Despite the two failing to have a single interaction in which he takes her ideas seriously, his ability to swoop in at the end and save her in her damsel in distress moment and his corresponding offer of economic support allow the couple their perfect Hollywood ending.

The movie’s treatment of the phenomenon of hysteria is also unfortunately limited. As we repeatedly watch old ladies in hats have comical orgasms in Dr. Dalyrmple’s clinic, the movie barely explores the societal oppression and boredom that would lead them to pursue this strange new method. Perhaps a look into their lives beyond their operatic climaxes could have brought about an understanding of the mysterious concept of hysteria. Instead, we laugh at their funny sex noises. Thus the women of Victorian England are left sadly deflated caricatures, with little attention given to their struggles or hardships—realities that are only teasingly alluded to throughout the film.

Though the actors’ nice comedic timing and the mostly snappy writing (save for the painfully drawn out ending) keep this film afloat, calling it a progressive movie for its genre would be a stretch. Tanya Wexler’s talk following the film left attendees with the idea that this film was a pioneer for progressive ideals and a refreshing break from the traditional romantic comedy, but I would stop short of attributing such political significance to it. Indeed, viewers would do well to enter the movie with a dose of skepticism and consider the deeper issues at stake beyond the bubbly Wexler reading. Though Sony Classics bills Hysteria at as a “smart but funny” comedy, it’d be better approached as just “funny”, a jumping off point perhaps, after which we must fill the “smart” part in on our own by probing more deeply into the film’s feminist sampler.

Isabel Ortiz is a sophomore in Yale College.  She is a contributing writer for Broad Recognition.

February 12, 2012

There were a lot of things that offended me about the True Love Week poster when it arrived in my inbox last Tuesday—Anthony Esolen, the vague and moralizing lecture titles, the very name “True ...]]> By SAMUEL HUBER

February 12, 2012

There were a lot of things that offended me about the True Love Week poster when it arrived in my inbox last Tuesday—Anthony Esolen, the vague and moralizing lecture titles, the very name “True Love Week”—and so it wasn’t until my third rereading that I noticed the pair of wedding rings. There was a casual humility about them, leaned one atop the other in the poster’s bottom-right corner.  They were a plain and unassuming gold, like the ones my parents wear. When I finally closed the email, I felt a bit ruffled, deflated.

I used to want them. I was always a successful kid, a kid who was going places, and the place Future Sam was bound for would feature a nice house with a big yard, a child or two, and—the linchpin—a wife. The failed loves and thwarted romances piled up as I entered middle and then high school, but the dream life persisted, shiny and static, like the most convincing of mirages.

I did not think to doubt it because no one else seemed to, because adults didn’t not get married and so of course I would as well. And I wouldn’t need to do anything to make it happen, because it was conspiring all around me on my behalf.  Marriage, like puberty before it and death sometime after it, would take care of itself; I would get a marriage certificate as surely as I’d gotten a birth certificate, as surely as I would get high school and college diplomas: one more sheet in the paper trail of a life well lived.

As high school advanced, more loves failed and more romances were thwarted, and I began to harbor distressing suspicions of my difference. They registered as a gnawing pain. No one else seemed to worry about missing the marriage track because they were already on it; I knew that the hookups and movie dates my classmates were stumbling through were inadvertent first steps in the direction I yearned after, and the farther I felt myself drifting away from it the more desperately I clung to its promise.

At 17 I read Autobiography of Red for the first time and felt my world crack open.  In it, Anne Carson retells the myth of Herakles slaying the red monster Geryon as a current-day queer bildungsroman: The young monster Geryon falls in love with the young rebel Herakles, and over the course of the verse novel this love melts into something less stable, less nameable. It makes room for variables, for distance, for other people.  I still felt isolated and crippled with difference—and it would be another couple of years before I identified as anything other than straight—but the lock on the pen had sprung loose.  The gnawing pain finally had a pasture to graze in; horizon wheeled out in every direction.

When I met a boy at the end of my freshman year of college whom I thought I could fall in love with (though we never quite made it that far), that formerly crippling difference reified and demanded to be accounted for—even threatening, for awhile, to bolt back into its pen.  Provided with a new kind of object on which to fix themselves, my desires began to feel materially consequential. Like a protective parent, I was terrified of what would happen when my difference came into contact with a world that seemed to have no place for it, but I was quick to learn how much fugitive variety the rest of that world was harboring. The dream life finally dissolved into air. I began to imagine alternatives.

***

Queer theorist and English scholar Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick wrote a lot of things that have become essential to how I understand myself, but her most important insight might also have been her most basic: People are different from each other.  Our culture works tirelessly to reproduce a single kind of love.  The actors change, and today even the actors’ genders change (a fact that is itself monumental and deserving of applause), but their desires don’t. Or if they do, we are meant to understand that they shouldn’t, because they are inevitably punished for it.  And so that emailed poster with its wedding rings left me ruffled, because I can read it as nothing other than a symptom of the painful and ubiquitous negation that has taken me years to overcome.

I did not go to any of the True Love Week events—the average week is exhausting enough, and it wouldn’t have felt productive to subject myself to them—but on Sunday evening I did make it out to Sex Week’s “Writing Sex” panel.  Both of the queer women on the panel discussed how long it took them to arrive at their sexual identities. One invoked the little girl in the nameless town who might not know she’s a lesbian until she stumbles onto a blog that arms her with that word and guides her to its meaning.  It struck me then how convincingly our cultural artifacts present themselves as mirrors, and how profoundly alone one feels looking into that mirror and not recognizing oneself among the people staring back.

How isolating to be the child who might understand herself as asexual or pansexual or polyamorous if she were only equipped with the words for it. How scary (though also, I hope, how thrilling) to be the child who must invent new words or even languages with which to order an emotional and sexual life more rich and particular than our current vocabulary can accommodate. That child doesn’t need to be shown the wedding rings; she’s bombarded with them every day.

Laws have a teaching effect—they’re not meant simply to codify dominant practices and beliefs, but to guide us towards better behavior, better thinking.  By recognizing marriage and marriage alone as a relationship structure worthy of affirmation and reward (because in addition to social privilege and cultural approval, the legal rewards are numerous and material), our government teaches us to share in that value system.

***

Though I oppose marriage’s very existence as a legal institution, it still pains me to know that many of those same people complicit in its glorification are prejudiced enough to insist on my exclusion from it.  And so I cried—of course I cried—right there on the subway platform that night in June when I learned that the state of New York had legalized same-sex marriage.  Given the unrelenting reports of gay teen suicides over the last couple of years, I do not doubt that more than a few lives were saved by the news.

Because I imagine that every additional state that passes same-sex marriage legislation gives a few more queer children the hope they need to stay alive, I have to support it.  I am haunted by these children, these beautiful children driven to death by their peers’ and their culture’s brutal refusal of their identities, and I think of them daily.

But I also worry that our affirmation of marriage not simply as one kind of acceptable and fulfilling relationship but as an inalienable right precludes too many queer children from imagining their own best futures.  In my opposition to the institution, I imagine these futures with them.

“There is no person without a world,” writes Anne Carson.  The quote is taped to the wall above my desk.  Ironically or not, exploring my particular emotional topography has led me to believe that long-term monogamy may suit my sexual and emotional needs best after all.  When my personal world feels sufficiently charted, I’ll probably settle into something more or less resembling a marriage, though I can’t say with what kind of partner and I won’t ask the government to register it as such.  Still, it gives me great joy to imagine how many other people’s worlds I bump up against in the course of a day, and how dramatically their landscapes might differ from my own.

Two nights ago I caught up with a friend over bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwiches at Gourmet Heaven.  It was 2:30 a.m., and we were complaining about work; among the things I had to complain about was this essay.  When I mentioned that I would be writing about not wanting to get married, his eyebrows furrowed, then softened in concern.  “You don’t? Sam, that’s really sad.”

It occurred to me then that I’d never been happier.

Sam Huber is a junior in Yale College.  He is the managing editor of Broad Recognition.

The text of this article first appeared in The Yale Herald (Feb. 10, 2012) and is reprinted with permission.

February 10, 2012

The recent news about the real reason Yale quarterback Patrick Witt “turned down” a Rhodes Scholarship interview to play in this November’s Harvard/Yale football game has, inevitably, prompted another look at Yale’s much-discussed policies for handling ...]]> By JULIA CALAGIOVANNI

February 10, 2012

The recent news about the real reason Yale quarterback Patrick Witt “turned down” a Rhodes Scholarship interview to play in this November’s Harvard/Yale football game has, inevitably, prompted another look at Yale’s much-discussed policies for handling allegations of sexual assault.

As has now come to light, an informal complaint was brought to the University-Wide Committee on Sexual Misconduct against Witt in September. Informal complaints involve arbitration, rather than a formal hearing, seeking not disciplinary measures but provisions to ensure the accuser’s safety: changing living arrangements, altering class schedules, and similar measures. It may also be useful in the event that another victim comes forward to accuse the same individual, indicating a pattern of such reprehensible behavior; if a formal complaint is filed, prior informal complaints against that individual are grandfathered into evidence. Formal complaints, of course, allow the University more leverage in immediately imposing disciplinary measures.

Some online commenters and pundits have asked why the woman involved in this case chose to file an informal rather than formal complaint, let alone a police report. This question points to a fundamental misunderstanding of the many possible motivations for taking legal or disciplinary actions after sexual assault.

Survivors have a range of options to choose from as they proceed.  They can contact the police or not, have their rape kit tested or not, and press charges – or not. Yale’s protocol offers an additional choice, mandated by Title IX, and one that this alleged victim was well within her rights to make. And the choice amongst these responses is essential because no single option will address the needs of every victim.

Two anonymous columns appeared in the February 1, 2012 edition of the Yale Daily News that illuminate the difficulties survivors face as they decide what action to take. Both columns – “Why I was silent”  and “On assault narratives” – were written by female Yale College undergraduates. One author took no disciplinary action following her rape, while the other filed an informal complaint to put a quick end to the harassment and stalking she suffered at the hands of her attempted rapist. Both speak to the many reasons why a student who has survived a very real and very serious assault at Yale may not choose to file a formal complaint.

The author of “Why I was silent,” in the aftermath of a rape in her first semester at Yale, chose not to file a complaint, press charges, or work with SHARE (Yale’s Sexual Harassment and Assault Response and Education Center. She still fears for her safety, but finds the prospect of having to further discuss her ordeal in a formal or even an informal complaint to be terrifying.

The author of “On assault narratives” “did pursue an informal complaint through the channels available at that time, which brought an end to the attempted rapist’s continued harassment and stalking. That much was, for her, a much-needed result, and one that happened expediently. Yet she was told by the now-defunct Sexual Harassment Grievance Board – the very body entrusted with protecting her rights and ensuring her safety – that her case was not serious enough to warrant more formal measures. Like the woman in the Witt case, her claims were not taken seriously because she had previously had a relationship with her assailant. However, she does mention that she probably would not have pursued a formal complaint, “given the stigmatization of sexual violence very much alive on our campus.” That is precisely the strength of the informal option – that it is that allows survivors the safety they need and deserve without the difficult ordeal of a formal complaint procedure.

For these two survivors, the choice of how to proceed was certainly a difficult one. We can imagine that the woman involved in the Witt case likely faced a similarly difficult decision. Those who doubt the accuser for not making a formal complaint are not only challenging her right to do so, but are making a transparent attempt to discredit her. True, an informal complaint involves “limited or no investigation”  and leads to non-disciplinary results. But this in no way means that the complaint is fabricated. The rate of false accusations of sexual assault is incredibly low – it falls between 2 and 10 percent . Some argue that, in the case of informal complaints, these rates could be higher, since no fact-finding occurs and it would ostensibly be easier to pursue a fabricated complaint. But it is important to remember that informal complaints cannot lead to any disciplinary measures, only precautions for the victim’s safety. Therefore, it is illogical to suggest that someone with a grudge or a desire to harm someone’s reputation would bring an informal complaint against them.

Using the issue of the claim’s informality in service of the perennial “is she lying?” argument is at best ignorant and at worst malicious. The decision to make an informal complaint – or, for that matter, to take any kind of action – has everything to do with how the survivor wishes to proceed, and absolutely nothing to do with the veracity of the accusation.

Title IX requires that a school allow a victim to choose how he or she would prefer to respond to his or her own assault– a crucial right of someone whose autonomy has been so terribly violated. The fact that this woman chose to file an informal complaint in no way delegitimizes her accusation, which must be taken seriously by anyone who considers themselves part of the Yale community.

Julia Calagiovanni is a freshman in Yale College. She is a staff writer for Broad Recognition.