In the light of 16 days of activism against gender based violence, I thought it poetic to do a piece on…well you guessed it, rape. Now before you close the tab because you’ve heard so many times how much rape sucks (and it does) and the terrible aftermaths of a forced sexual encounter…relax, this isn’t one of those, at least not entirely.

Dictionary definition says rape is an unlawful sexual activity and usually sexual intercourse carried out forcibly or under threat of injury against the will usually of a female or with a person who is beneath a certain age or incapable of valid consent.

 That definition says rape is sexual assault. It says basically that rape is merely a sexual aggravation. That rape stems from an inability to curb one’s sexual impulses, leading them to “pounce” so to speak. And as someone with newsroom and as a result courtroom experience, I have heard rapists give the “I couldn’t control myself” excuse one too many times.

Now excuse my French but that is a load of BS. The kind of monumental BS that has women thinking that if they dress a certain way or walk a certain way, talk a certain way or act a certain way, then raping them is somehow justified if not outright inevitable. And in the aggressor’s eye, it’s a twisted sort of compliment, most brutal kind of compliment, like, “You look so great, I have to have you (eye roll). It is like I said a load of BS. See this entire said BS is based on the assumption, the wrong assumption that rape is about sex-it hardly ever is.

Rape is about control. It is an act of psychological, emotional and physical damage of the other person for almost any other reason other than sexual gratification. Rape is about ego. It is about asserting dominance over the other person and knowing that there is nothing they can do about it. It’s about feeling big and macho and powerful at the expense of the next person. It’s about reminding the other how limited they are as a human being, and feeling invincible at the thought of the limitations of another person.

Rape is a battle of wills, who can make who come on their knees. It’s about whose will power is stronger, the willpower to hurt someone or the willpower to protect oneself. It’s not about whose skirt is shorter or whose boner stood the test of time. It’s a lot deeper than that.

Rape is about humiliating the other person; taking away from them something as basic as their right to say no. It has a lot to do with deriving strength from the vulnerability of the other person.  It’s about reducing someone to their most fragile state and enjoying every minute of it. Rape is a culture that thrives on shame. Making the other feel insecure about everything that they are and letting that feeling of shame accompany them everywhere they go. It’s about making someone doubt their worth every time they look in the mirror, and making them ashamed to go out in public and talk about it because we all know how understanding society is about these things.

If rape really were about sex, we wouldn’t have cases of toddlers being raped…because in no world is it natural for anyone to look at a toddler and get aroused. We are more evolved than that. Rape is never sexual. Rape is an art, a sordid form of art, the most twisted art form if ever there was one. A lot like a tattoo. It’s on you, you carry it with you it plays over and over in your head and traces of it subtly show themselves to anyone who pays enough attention. Rape is the perpetrator’s way of staying relevant, it’s about staying if as nothing else then just as a terrible memory in someone’s head. So no, ladies, your short skirt didn’t cause it, neither did your alluring laughter…it was all him. He had demons way before you showed up and nothing you could shave would have made any difference.

[Originally posted on https://nkocykwanele.wordpress.com/2016/11/26/rape-is-hardly-ever-sexual/]