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Antigone Rising: The Subversive Power of the Ancient Myths

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Helen Morales

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“Women have been using their ‘womanly wiles’ to influence male’s behavior for thousands of years. Why are they suddenly crying foul after they receive favor from those same men, some even decades before? They knew what they were doing from the start but had no problem accepting the benefits from those influential men. Why do women feel like they have the right to make outrageous claims of sexual harassment against men while destroying careers, businesses, and families with no repercussions?”

“We want Harvey Weinstein in prison. We want Brock Turner to have a longer sentence. We want Judge Aquilina to sign Nassar’s death warrant. We rely on a third party to take these ‘bad men’ away, usually in the form of an institution or the state. And this White Knight or Angry Dad is patriarchy personified. This is how our outraged activism fails to dismantle the intersecting systems of heteropatriarchy and racial capitalism that produce sexual violence – and strengthens them instead.”

“A LITTLE SONG AND A RECEIPT. Doe: a deer, a female deer— Often chased by sonneteers of old. Caught, and killed, and bathed in fear, turned to human blazons to be sold— Eyes—$twin models of the stars. Skin—$fine tissue wrought from gold. Lips—$your favorite kind of flower. Sex—$a secret still untold/ a Silk Road to unfold/ a thing for you to mold/ a source by you controlled. Total: $—————.—”

“Our daily routines influence the lives of people and animals halfway across the world, and some personal gestures can unexpectedly set the entire world ablaze, as happened with the self-immolation of Mohamed Bouazizi in Tunisia, which ignited the Arab Spring, and with the women who shared their stories of sexual harassment and sparked the #MeToo movement.”

“MUTANT BLAZON My rapist’s eyes remind me of the sun. To look at them will mean that I go blind. His mouth beside my ear—they form a gun. Each breath: a bullet targeting my mind. My rapist’s eyes remind me of the sun. His throat: a fist to silence mine designed. His reason: a ventriloquist’s illusion. No tenor in the end could hearing find. My rapist’s eyes remind me of the sun— Too close for any vessel with a mind. Survive or get to die—that is the question. No longer have I any will to mind. My rapist’s eyes remind me of the sun— Not dead, not living, neither keen nor blind; A daily haunting; memory rebegun; Disaster in some future undivined. I write, rewrite, a “sonnet” about rape To hunt that voice I wish I could escape.”