Who owns my body? Surely I don’t. I cannot run from the dictatorship of society in every aspect of my life, dress, education, manners and sex, no matter how far I traverse the boundless Kgalagadi. Any attempt has been put down or answered back by steaming atomic bullets. And feminists made another big mistake in the history of liberation.
When we sought to protect what I ours by right, by nature or by the Most High, the feminist-made man (please read It is the Women who pay) took another route. Male dominance has been seen to inflate egos and pump up sleeping dogs. What our new-man thought when we began taking a hold of our sex choice, was that his privilege would be increasing. They rallied behind us, because of the capability they have to sway our actions to their desires. When we thought we have the choice to sleep with whomever we so desire, they cooked up “practicals” that it should be each of them. When we thought granting states with the power to go pro-sex with brothels and red-light districts was an advancement needing more than just a pop of champagne, we legalized abuse by these male managed industries. And those providing second-hand sex sale now have the liberty to traffic thousands of young girls every day.
What have the feminists done? Promoting sex and sex liberation has increased female oppression. It was miscalculated beyond reverse! We sought to choose but the system is still running the show. And the sad truth behind mainstream criminology is that it does not acknowledge sex or any crime relating thereof, making Justice beyond us.
Today, many women are just victims of opportunity, while some among us are victims of the nature of love. The opportunity which we have presented by drawing up pro-sex legislation. And the love which is more likely by choice. But does me loving him give him the right to do as he pleases with my body? What manner of love is that?
To every woman who has experienced sexual assault, either by an unwanted slap on your backside, or the local store’s collection of flimsy apparel, a suggestive stare, a lover’s derogatory actions, prisons called red-light districts, or the most grim ones which left us soiled and heartbroken, at the hands of a stranger, a father, a friend, and uncle or a lover, be calmed by the knowledge of our feminist mothers’ disappointing failure. May your broken vessel be filled. My little campus room seems to be closing in on me as I consider these things in anger, but I give in to a silent resolve. We never chose, but our fore-runners did.
Sex should have never been liberated, because patriarchy always has counteractions for our every attempt at escaping oppression.