When we simply exist, as a high school athlete, a research undergrad, a waitress, a housekeeper, a professional, they don’t see us. They see the smile, the figure. They don’t see the hard work, the determination, the excellence. We are naked.
When the assault happens, we are scantily clad, too flirtatious, too drunk. We’re ripped of the clothes from our backs, our innocence, our humanity. We are naked.
When we are finally compelled to report, not because it will help us heal or get justice, but because the highest court in the land is about to welcome our attacker, because the swing vote senator just said he’d vote yes, because the Senate Majority Leader promises to plow ahead with a vote this week, we bare our souls. In the United States Capitol. In an elevator. In an airport. We are naked.
And vastly ignored.