The abuser: I will not speak his name
I will not speak his name.
He does not deserve attention anymore.
In some other cultures, this man would have been cast out into the wilderness, shunned by his people, at the very hint of the violence he committed against many, many women.
In other cultures, he would be allowed to let his energy flow freely, and it would be the women who would be cast out for being dirty, evil, lesser.
In our culture, it's somewhere in the middle.
He has been cast out, in some way, unemployable in the vainglorious media where he toiled; he has been denied his hunting ground. But he still walks among us, his face allowed to feel the cold and damp of this spring/winter day.
I hope the rain stings like needles.
In our society, the women, too -- one named the others nameless -- have been singled out for punishment. They weren't believable enough, they didn't remember enough, they talked among themselves, reassured each other. In some cases, they covered their tracks, tried to hang on to the few shreds of dignity they still had in life.
They were denied justice, ridiculed in some circles, because they didn't consult lawyers before contacting him and trying to ask him: are we not good enough?
Doesn't matter anymore; it's a cautionary tale.
They must wish there had been a consent form to sign, before they were upsided on the head, or pulled or tackled. Abused. Humiliated. Discarded into the night.
And now they walk alone on the streets wondering: are we not good enough?
Why doesn't anyone believe we didn't ask for it?
The cries from these women were lost in the translation of the justice system.
And so they walk alone, empty, nameless, faceless.
But not him.
His name is everywhere.
People are discussing him.
He who admitted that he liked to play rough. He who did not have to face his accusers and say, "Yes, I did it. But they asked for it."
For this, he is treated like a rock star.
He must feel very special.
Emboldened, ready to feed again.
I will not say his name -- until next time, and there will be a next time.
Maybe it won't be him. But it will be somebody else confident in the fact our society allows monsters to roam free, gives them a hall pass to abuse women wantonly.
I won't say his name until next time.
And when there is a next time.
Then, you will hear me roar.