Well, old lady checking in here. What on earth is date rape? Is it (a) your date roofies you and has his way with you, (b) your date tries to wrestle you into having sex with him, or © your date persistently requests sex until you give in?
(a) is rape, all right, and I don’t see why you can’t report it. You know who he is and what he did and you have some evidence. Get him put away for awhile.
(b) I have never believed it. On a date? Yes, I have heard of, and experienced, things like, “If you don’t want to put out you can get out and walk.” But the thing is, even back in the bad old days women were not so weak that they couldn’t fend off someone intent of having sex without their consent if they were conscious. There are two key things here. If the guy has a weapon, in which case what the hell kind of a date is it? And if they guy is willing to hurt her, in which case, again, she knows who he is and she can report it and, let’s hope, get him in a lot of trouble.
© Just keep saying no, he’ll get it eventually.
So here’s three harassment incidents.
I was a telephone installer and I had a little ID tag which I wore clipped to my pocket, which is where everybody wore them in those days before retractable lanyards and the line. So, I go into the main downtown office for some reason, and as I’m in the elevator a guy decides to take a real close look at my ID. Now the thing is, there was a number on there indicating, basically, your status, the higher the better. I was a 9. He was a 1. In examining my tag he managed to get a fairly good feel in on my breast. But being that I was a feminist at the time, and in fact was then (and am now) in favor of treating women the same as men, then, no big deal. No harm, no foul. I put my hand under his tag and gave it the same inspection, even though this was kind of a cheeky thing to do, given that he was a 1. And as soon as I did that, he backed off. I don’t know if it was because I was touching him back or because now I knew his name, but he backed off, and it was like we both sort of tacitly agreed that didn’t happen.
I worked in a marketing and PR office with mostly women, and we had one client, our best client, who was a little handsy. We all knew to stay out of arm’s reach. So our boss complained that we weren’t being very nice to Clyde, the representative of our best client. We gave our boss a really bad time. Asked him did he want to be a pimp instead of the CEO of a marketing firm, told him to let Bob be nice to the client, or maybe, MAYBE, this client could hire some other firm. And he listened. Not that he had a choice, we ganged up on him and there were more of us. It was a small enough office that being the point person for the best client wouldn’t necessarily advance you. (Or Bob would have been all over that thing before being drafted.)
I had a temp job, and the guy I was working for kept coming up and caressing my shoulder, and then he asked me how old I was. It was none of his business, so I took off a few years. He said, “Well, you’ve got a hell of a body for a woman your age.” I called the temp agency and said, “If you can’t get me off this desk, get me out of this firm entirely,” and not half an hour later I had a new assignment in the same firm, and found out the guy couldn’t keep an assistant. This man was married BTW to a fellow lawyer and you will not believe what she specialized in: Harassment and hostile work environment. I don’t know if that’s ironic but it seems like it. It was a very large firm so she was probably on the wrong side of it, if you know what I mean.
So, you know, today it would be dealt with by just complaining to HR and getting the 1 written up? Or firing the client…I guess? Or getting the senior partner married to another senior partner called before the ethics committee? The thing is that there were repercussions. Clyde had to deal with Bob, Mr. Nasty Lawyer couldn’t have his own assistant and had to deal with a quickly revolving series of temps. I sure wouldn’t want to be the one working at his desk after he was called out on it. (Or, frankly, at all, because besides being a nasty old man he had terrible personal hygiene.)
But my point here is that back in the old days women were not totally powerless. As a 9 versus a 1 I was only a little less powerless than a similarly numbered man, but I was cheeky ( and I had company-issued power tools).
There used to be a magazine called Ms., and for all you young things who don’t remember, it used to have what it called “click” moments. Moments when you realize you’re being objectified–by society, by your significant other, by your boss, whatever. My experience with this was, the clicks came along, and then as time passed they got lamer and lame, because they got harder to find.
The last one I saw was a woman under the sink, with a bunch of plumbing tools next to her indicating she was a professional plumber and not just an amateur under the sink. Her pants rode down, as plumbers’ pants will, and revealed that she was wearing a thong. I don’t know what this was an advertisement for but the click moment was, “Hey, cool, a woman plumber.” I mean, all their pants slide down. It’s how you know it’s a plumber–right? But maybe, to a younger woman, it would be hella sexist.