![]() This indicates that women are discouraged from speaking out against these crimes in the first place. According to the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network, out of every 1,000 rapes, 344 are reported to police. It may sound shocking that Brock Turner will only serve three to four months in prison, but he is actually serving more time than most rapists. I personally define rape culture as the normalization of sex crimes and a cultural acceptance of these crimes as an inevitable fact of life.Īlthough public outrage has been swift, the Stanford Rape Case serves as a perfect example of rape culture and the leniency with which the United States treats rape cases. Part of the reason why responses vary so widely is due to a failure to disseminate a clear definition of the term. That’s just feminist propaganda”, or perhaps, “Yeah, rape culture, but that only exists in third world countries, not in the developed world like the United States,” or my personal favorite, “Rape is a part of life, it’s awful and ugly, but you can’t extinguish it from humanity.” These are only a few of the common responses to hearing the term, “rape culture.” Perhaps someone will cut you off and say, “Ah, rape culture, what baloney. When we talk about rape culture, the parallel universe erupts with possibilities. We normalize rape every time we consume literature and film that urges us to interpret aggression and dominance as pleasurable for the heroine. Across the globe, cultural products enforce destructive fantasies. We forgive fictional and real acts of aggression when we accept narratives that claim women enjoy rape and or sexual assault. We assuage our discomfort by deluding ourselves into believing the hero has been in love all along and therefore any malice towards the heroine was misplaced love. ![]() When narratives end in proclamations of love and promises of marriage, readers and viewers are inclined to interpret prior scenes of aggression and abuse as justifiable expressions of passion. He HAS TO take charge of the situation otherwise she’ll never recognize her love. The man is so overwrought with emotion and love meanwhile the woman is frustrated and confused. What romance film isn’t complete without the heroine attempting to storm off before the the hero puts a vice grip on her wrist and pulls her into a kiss? We have been conditioned to accept this action as a mark of passion and romance. Remember, when a woman attempts to flee, all she wants is for you to manhandle her. You’re telling me this is consensual sex? Verbally she said no, but Randal was shrewd enough to interpret her confused feminine brain and discern the true meaning behind her words and her desperate attempt to flee him. Randal knows what she truly wants, he knows what is best for her. ![]() As Randal had intended, she felt differently (241). He had realised what she had always known, that she had been dying to make love with him for so long, but had resisted him under the lash of her rational mind-and now it had happened, and she was different. The heroine does not appear to provide consent, but that is only because she either doesn’t know her true desires or she is unable to express them. S**t did that not help? I know it looks and sounds a lot like rape but I promise you this is a scene common within popular romance novels. ‘I’ve never…I’m a… It would be my first time and I can’t, not like this!’ (236). Randal was between her parted thighs and now he was naked, too, his bare skin brushing hers sensuously, his hands sliding beneath her, lifting her buttocks off the bed so that her knees fell apart. ‘Randal, don’t!’ she groaned. She must stop it now, before it was too late! But it was already too late. Here, let me assure of the male protagonist’s pure intent:Įvents were moving far too fast. If you’re horrified by the excerpt above, don’t be, this is a romance novel a mainstream paperback romance published by a popular British author in 2001. ![]() In seconds she was naked all but her brief white panties. She fought him uselessly, tried to stop him stripping her, but his deft fingers were too fast and certain. He slid an arm under her, lifting her, swiftly pulled her dress over her head, followed by her lacy white chemise and then her bra. Randal looked down at her, eyes half-open, smouldering, languorous, and her mouth went dry at the expression in those eyes. He moved his hand to touch her breast and she drew a shaken breath. ‘Let go, let go,’ she cried, pushing at his wide shoulders.
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