I went to a history conference, and one of the PhDs at the front was talking about the common occurrence of silence during tragedy. And, while those around me discussed WWII, and the Iran-Iraq war, and internment of the Japanese in Canada, I started thinking more about how uncomfortable people are talking about rape.
It all fit together for me largely because of a woman I once met, a friend's mom, who had lived in a concentration camp in Poland. She had nine kids, and two were born there, while she was separated from her husband. The guards routinely took women into their cabins. But, she said, the difference between that time and place and now, is that when a woman came out of those cabins, the rest of the women were ready for her, with open arms and warm blankets and a soothing touch. According to this smiling woman with only one good leg and numbers on her arm, rape couldn't be hidden there, so it was much, much easier to recover from.
It all fit together for me largely because of a woman I once met, a friend's mom, who had lived in a concentration camp in Poland. She had nine kids, and two were born there, while she was separated from her husband. The guards routinely took women into their cabins. But, she said, the difference between that time and place and now, is that when a woman came out of those cabins, the rest of the women were ready for her, with open arms and warm blankets and a soothing touch. According to this smiling woman with only one good leg and numbers on her arm, rape couldn't be hidden there, so it was much, much easier to recover from.










