As a journalist, I was outraged when I learned of Lara Logan’s sexual assault. As a woman—even more so. With only two days to go until the release of a book about my own 13-year ordeal as a survivor of rape, I found it incredulous not only that Logan was brutally victimized, but that thinking people still speak before they think.

I was so disgusted I posted a link to the Salon article about Logan on Facebook, and then said, “So being blonde gives one a license to rape fair-haired women? Give me a break!”

I can relate, you see, because I’m blond and I’ve been called attractive. I’ve also been a journalist since 1988. Equally important, I still remember traveling, at age 16, from the States in 1979 to visit my parents in Jordan, a Muslim country, and the jokes my family made before I flew there. “I wouldn’t be surprised if some sheik didn’t kidnap you and take you to his harem,” my uncle said, in large part because of the pale blond hair that came down to my waist.

I wrote about how “pretty girls” become targets for violence, and a subsequent unsettling interaction with an Arabic man during my visit to Jordan in my book, Sister of Silence. That brief incident occurred as I was exiting a taxi in Amman with my Muslim neighbor, a girl named Aminah. Much to my shock and chagrin, an elderly fellow pinched my backside. Upon hearing my protests, Aminah began yelling in Arabic, apparently swearing at the fellow as he fled. “You have to be careful. Some men here are just bad,” she said.

Now juxtapose that with the scene that greeted my parents, when they arrived one month earlier, and found hanging in the city square three men who had been convicted of raping a young girl.

But what I was thinking, and what I’ve continued to think since then, is that Aminah, who came to my aid, and the Egyptian women and military men who came to Logan’s aid, share a spirit we can learn from: they stepped up and took action.

This is far more than happened as a 15-year-old high school student was gang-raped in 2009 outside of a homecoming dance in Richmond, Calif. Instead, police reported that as many as 20 people either took part—or stood and watched—the heinous crime.

Rape has been used as a weapon of war for centuries. But it’s also a tool used by husbands to control their wives; by college students who expect “payment” for spending money on a young woman after, say, a date; and by incestuous male relatives who prey upon their unsuspecting daughters or sisters, believing these females are no more than convenient objects, useful solely to satisfy their base sexual desires.

The crime doesn’t just take women as its prisoners; men are equally vulnerable. Nor are attractive journalists the only ones thus targeted: any woman, regardless of her physical appearance or vocation, is at risk. I say this because I still remember, while a cub reporter working at my first newspaper, the story about the 80-something woman from our small, rural community, who was raped when her home was broken into.

It has been said that rape (and/or sexual assault) is about control. But it is also about a lack of stability, something that is undeniably in short supply in Egypt right now.

Nor do American homes, or Christian homes, or any home anywhere in the world where violence exists, have a stable foundation. A pattern of violence, as has been seen recently in Egypt, bears a strong resemblance to the same pattern that can be seen in homes of people of any religion, wherever such violence festers.

Logan’s assault is by far one of the worst crimes to occur, as a result of recent Egyptian events, but can it be worse than what happened to the 15-year-old Richmond girl on American soil? I understand that a “hands-off” policy once applied to journalists, much like human rights workers or doctors. After all, these are the very people who try to stay neutral, who travel to report on events or help injured victims in a war-torn area. Sadly, that “hands-off” policy seems to have vanished, wherever skirmishes occur throughout the world. Anymore, anyone who “gets in the way” is considered fair game.

I voiced my disapproval and disgust over Logan’s undeserved and traumatic mistreatment, but what I personally like to take away is that, regardless of what else happened to her in Tahrir Square—people stood up for Logan, and helped her make her way to safety. All while in a Muslim nation.

Not a Christian nation, where here in this country we instead stand around with our cell phones, taking pictures while a teenager is gang-raped. And where no one comes to her aid.

It is this action that will make a difference in how we as a society, as a world of people interdependent upon each other, go forward from here. And what we do will define us—and can powerfully lessen the trauma that comes from rape. I have tried to shatter the silence that surrounded my own experiences with rape, by writing about it as a journalist and speaking in public wherever possible. Asra Nomani, another courageous journalist who has also voiced her concern about this crime and its aftereffects, has said my book helps us “emerge in the light . . . with a sense of hope, authenticity and courage.”

Personally, I hope other people take a page from Aminah, and from Logan’s rescuers, and are willing to speak up and show that same kind of courage, so that other victims of any type of sexual assault can—like I pray Logan is able to do—emerge in the light, too.

Editor's Note: For more information about Sister of Silence, or to find out how to order a copy, go to: http://nellieblybooks.com/sister-of-silence.html

Posted by Daleen at 11:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I’ve always hated finding a misspelled word or reading my published work and seeing I’ve used the wrong verb tense. With today’s electronic publishing world beckoning us to publish, post and publicly ponder what other people say, a second after they’ve said it, it’s so easy to make such mistakes that it’s become commonplace. Even for me.

I look back at old posts and find that—even though I tried to proofread and edit out any errors—invariably, one or two remain. And I hate that! But apparently, it’s the price we must pay for being members of the ever-changing, fast-paced world we live in.

On the other hand, traditional publishing still aims for accuracy, and thank goodness for that. (This form of publishing, in case you’re too young to remember, occurs more or less when you send a file to a printer who lays out the pages, then prints and binds the manuscript into a book.) This is content you can trust, because the writer has spent many months or even years honing the work until it’s the absolute best it can be. He has labored over it until all errors are gone, and no one is the wiser.

That’s what I did with Sister of Silence, until it was error-free. Or so I thought. Then, just when I was absolutely certain that it was ready for publication, I found a few. Or rather, a helpful reader found them for me. (Thanks, Rick!) Corrected, the finished book should be ready in a few days. While I can’t guarantee it’s perfect, I can say it’s as good as it gets. And I truly believe that.

At least I will until someone points out a misspelled a word, or the improper use of punctuation. Because, even in traditional publishing, nothing is perfect.

Posted by Daleen at 08:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Domestic violence is a term that has been replaced, to some extent, with the phrase “intimate partner violence.” That’s because such violence doesn’t just happen inside the home, and it isn’t only confined to spouses. IPV encompasses all types of intimate violence, in a variety of settings, and between people who are intimately involved.

One thing that’s finally coming to the fore of IPV research is what experts are calling “reproductive violence.” Johns Hopkins Nursing Professor Dr. Jacquelyn Campbell says it’s a big issue for adolescents. This type of violence is what often causes a girl or a woman to become pregnant when she doesn’t want to.

I’ve known about this type of violence since I was a teen, when it happened to me. It left me feeling like I had no control whatsoever—no say so—over my own body. This isn’t just a loss of dignity, it’s the denial of a basic human right: the right to choose for yourself what happens to your body.

Two years ago, I reported on a study by Dr. Elizabeth Miller, a leading expert on adolescent health and trauma with the University of California, Davis. She found that many teen males sabotaged their female partners’ birth control efforts. This could include refusing to wear a condom, poking a hole in her diaphragm, or hiding her birth control pills.

I’m happy that experts are finally recognizing this type of violence for what it is: another way for an abuser to control and manipulate the woman he’s with. This is a very deadly form of violence, as can be seen from what almost happened to me, and what almost happened to my four children. That’s because, when a woman doesn’t believe she can take care of a baby she conceives, it can turn into a personal and societal nightmare. At the best, a child can end up being simply unloved. At the worst, it could end up dead.

It’s not easy to recognize when someone is being abused in this way. But it is possible. Quite often, the symptoms are there, if you’re alert and watch for them. So if you know a woman who’s a victim of reproductive violence, do your part and help her. If nothing else, be there to lend a hearing ear. Let her know it’s all right to speak up, and then listen to what she has to say. That’s the first step, and it’s a big one.

Posted by Daleen at 10:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

As a teen mother, the doors of one of the top universities in the world would never have been open to me. Because, when you become pregnant while a teenager, you’re automatically catapulted into the adult world—and the adults in YOUR world (usually your parents) expect YOU to pull your weight and care for YOUR baby. Compared to the number of teen pregnancies, rare indeed are the parents who will rear your child for you while you finish your education. And why should they, when they didn’t choose to become grandparents?

That’s what I was thinking yesterday as I drove to Johns Hopkins University to speak to students in a Family Violence class taught by one of the nation’s top domestic violence researchers. Well, I didn’t think about all of this, but I did wonder in amazement that I was even going to speak to students enrolled there. Me, a teen mom whose multiple pregnancies guaranteed I wouldn’t attend any college, much less one as revered and renowned as Johns Hopkins!

And that’s how I began my speech, when I addressed Dr. Jacquelyn Campbell’s nursing students. I’m not sure how they understood my introduction: Was I not intelligent enough to be accepted, did my parents not have enough money to send me, or couldn’t I obtain a scholarship? But they soon learned what I meant.

This is it: when you, a teenager, become pregnant (or when you father a child while a teen, although not as frequently, since the guys still often walk while the gal bears the brunt of the fallout), your future options are greatly diminished. Thinking of going to beauty school? Okay, who’s going to babysit while you’re in class? Or how about getting a good job? Who’s going to hire you, a high school dropout? Maybe you had plans to model or become an actor. Well, pregnancy doesn’t automatically rule out these two careers, but again, it’s pretty hard to pursue a vocation with a baby strapped (figuratively or literally) to your back.

I’m now a grandmother of two. My eldest daughter did it the right way, the healthiest way: she got an education, got a job and got married. Then, when she had a supportive partner to help her, she got pregnant. My two grandsons have something their mother did not: financial security and an abiding contentment that comes from knowing both parents love you and will care for you, no matter what.

My youngest child will be 26 in April. And last night, his mother walked onto the campus of one of the premiere universities in the world. His mother, once a straight-A student, could have done that at age 17—if she hadn’t instead become a teen mom.

Posted by Daleen at 08:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)