A Brief Observation on the Verdict Declaring Donald Trump Sexually Assaulted E. Jean Carroll
There was a time in the not-so-distant past when it was just fine to sexually harass and assault women. Slapping a woman on the ass was supposed to be taken as a compliment. Discussion about women’s looks and their fuckability was a constant in workplaces. And by “fuckability,” I mean “rapeability” because it didn’t matter if the woman wanted to be judged that way. Consent was something that was given the moment a woman agreed to be alone with a man. It was a bullshit, stupid time, and a good many men didn’t buy into it. But a whole fuckin’ lot of them did and not enough of those good men did enough to stop it. So there was a kind of impunity, especially since a woman who didn’t “happily” accept the ass slaps and tit comments and sex propositions was seen as uptight and man-hating while a woman who didn’t give in to fucking when alone with a man who wanted to fuck was seen as a cocktease and prude. And if you were a woman who was raped by a man, your entire sexual history would be questioned, as well as what you wore and what you did to make that man rape you.
This is the gendered world that both E. Jean Carroll and Donald Trump came of age in. And when Carroll was alone with Trump in that dressing room at Bergdorf-Goodman, this fucked up sense of male desire being more important than female agency was overtly present.