Huntsman: So, Red. Tell me how you ended up getting eaten by the Big Bad Wolf.



Red: Well, I was on my way to my grandmother's house...



Huntsman: What were you wearing?



Red: A red cloak.



Huntsman: Ah. A red cloak. Why were you dressed like that?



Red: My mother gave it to me.



Huntsman: So your mother approved of you dressing like that? Go on.



Red: I was bringing a basket to my grandmother.



Huntsman: What was in the basket?



Red: Flowers. Bread. A bottle of wine.



Huntsman: So you were carrying alcohol. I see. And then what happened?



Red: And then I met the Wolf. He said he knew a place where wild flowers grew, off the path.



Huntsman: So you willingly followed him? He didn't force you to go with him? Didn't hold a gun to your head, didn't threaten you in any way? You just went with him, even though you'd never seen him before.



Red: Yes.



Huntsman: I see. Go on.



Red: We started talking. He asked where I was going, and I told him I was going to visit my grandmother in the woods.



Huntsman: So you basically told him where to find you. I see. And when you got to the house, what happened?



Red: Well, I thought my grandmother looked different...



Huntsman: So you knew something was wrong, but you stayed.



Red: By the time I got close enough to figure out what was going on, the Wolf was already eating me.



Huntsman: Did you try to stop him? Did you tell him "no?"



Red: There wasn't enough time for me to...



Huntsman: So you didn't try to fight him.



Red: I wasn't able to. I was afraid. He was bigger than me.



Huntsman: So you went out wearing that red cloak. You had alcohol with you. When the Wolf approached you, you willingly spoke to him. He asked you to go off the path, and you went. He didn't force you. When he asked where you were going, you told him. And then when he attacked you, you didn't fight back. I think in this case, it's only fair to say that you were...





EVERYONE SAY IT WITH ME, NOW.






This is just a quick little thing I wrote today after hearing Joe's request for more feminist writings on LRRH. I'm sorry to say that this was extremely simple to think up. This is exactly what we face every time someone mistreats us. Our behavior is questioned, not theirs. It never seems to matter how old we are when it happens. Whether we're children or adults or seniors, we always get asked, "What were YOU doing, why were YOU doing those things?" No matter how much we like to believe we're past all of this, it still happens, every single time.


ETA: I also want to say that I think this goes double for women of color. I think they're questioned and marginalized worse than I can imagine. And on that same subject--I know this is about women's rights, but oppression is oppression--I'm also thinking of how Trayvon Martin is now being portrayed by some media as the "aggressor." 




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