A Men’s Rights Activist who isn’t a jerk, but has genuine grievance and wish to live in a world where female rapists aren’t lauded and institutionalized rape isn’t assumed to be a standard feature of incarceration. Possibly working to start and/or save a battered-men’s shelter.
“Save the men’s shelter?” Nobody was taking Lee’s pamphlets. Nobody was putting a coin in his tin. “Save the men’s shelter?”
Someone stopped. “Why do men need a shelter?”
“Men who’ve been battered or raped need a safe space,” Lee began his pitch. Offering the pamphlet so it could be read whilst in his hands. Not forcing it on the passer-by who may have been schooled to accept an offering because of the patriarchal norm. “They need somewhere they can speak out without fear of reprisals from society. Where they are allowed to be weak, until they get their strength back.”
“I thought male rape only happened in prison,” she said. “Or with gay gangs.”
“That’s a common misconception,” he said, glad that she wasn’t hurling slurs or invective. “Most gay rapes are perpetuated by homosexual men attempting to ‘teach someone a lesson’. And prison rape is far less common than -say- rape in the back of a car. Or in a classroom or study environment. This shelter is the last in our city where men can feel safe, speaking up about rape, abuse and sexual molestation.”
“Men can’t be abused… They’re bigger and stronger. They can fight back.”
“That’s also a common misconception. Men and boys are being abused as we speak. What’s wrong is that society tells them that they should be strong, and never admit to such weakness. One in twelve male rape survivors never admit to being raped. That number is far worse in cases of abuse or sexual molestation. Men need to be allowed to speak up.”
She took the paper and read it. All men’s issues. All in easily-digestable paragraphs with reference links.
“So you want to end rape, domestic abuse, sexual molestation, and the restrictive gender roles in our society?”
“Yes. Every little bit helps,” Lee rattled the donations tin meaningfully.
She folded up a large bill for it. “Sweetie, I hate to tell you this, but you’re not really a Men’s Rights Activist.”
“I’m not?”
“You’re a Feminist. I was on my way to my group. We’re holding a bake sale for the same darn shelter.” She slotted her money into the tin. “Want to come along?”
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