An Open Letter to Assemblywoman Michele Fiore, From A “Young, Hot Little Girl on Campus”

Ms Assemblywoman Michele Fiore,

My name is Caitlyn Caruso. I am a high school student here in Las Vegas, who is active on UNLV’s campus and is an out rape survivor to the media.
I am writing to inform you of my disappointment and anger that survivors of rape and sexual assault are being used as your political tool to pass AB 148, the campus carry bill. Your comments today to the New York Times were off hand, blaming, inappropriate, and absolutely unacceptable.
-If these young, little hot girls on (1)
Statistics show that nearly 3/4 of all sexual assaults are committed by someone the victim knows personally. When I was raped, it took me off guard, because I had been given drinks that clouded my judgment and consciousness by the perpetrator – a family friend. There is no way I would have been in the right frame of mind to have shot someone nor would I have been able to pull the trigger looking in the eyes of someone I grew up with, while in shock and disbelief of what was happening.
If you were at a party with a friend on campus, and they started to push you against a wall, in all of your shock and potential inebriation had they drugged you (as statistics show many campus sexual assaults go), could you look them in the eye and shoot them in the head? As you advised women on campus to do, in your statement?
Not only will you be arming women on campus with this bill, but potential rapists will be armed too. You will be putting guns in the hands of our rapists, and then asking us to walk from class to class at night on campus.
If you care about campus sexual assault, you will address the problem at the root by proposing a bill that educates our students on consent, rape, and sexual assault. If you cared about rape survivors such as myself, you would push for education on these issues as early as middle school.
Instead, you care about your guns, and continue to use my trauma for your political agenda.
I will not have that.
I ask for you to make a public apology, and I demand for you to speak with organizations like the Rape Crisis Center, and evaluate your stance on this bill. Don’t charade this bill as a rape prevention bill when it is the furthest from that it can get.
I am looking forward to continuing this conversation with you as I come up to Carson City to lobby, and I truly hope you listen.
Signed,
Caitlyn
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We Are the Ones We’ve Been Waiting for

As a kid from the projects (the barrio, the ‘ghetto’), I can’t remember ever having lived somewhere without gun violence. My mother often tells me the story of when I was a toddler, we were packing up our car to move from one place in the inner-city to another, and she had to throw me into the car and cover me with herself to protect me from people that drove past shooting. Where we’re living now, our first week there, our neighbor was shot and murdered outside of our building. To this day, there is still a hole from a stray bullet that had lodged under a bedroom window in the building next to us. Gunshots have always been a backing soundtrack to my bedtime stories. And I have been complacent within this reality, because where the hell do you even start? These are our brothers, our boys, our children and friends, both in front of, and BEHIND the gun. That’s scary. That is downright terrifying.

                Recently, I had the privilege to attend Generation Progress’s first Gun Violence Prevention Summit, #Fight4AFuture. There were 120 youth in attendance, and it got me fired up. I went into the summit fully aware that the issues I currently work in (repro. justice, racial justice, sexual health, LGBTQ issues) intersect more often than not with gun violence. However, I got there and I was surrounded by people with stories that filled the space and made all of it that much more real for me. My complacency is shattered. I have angrily sat by while hearing of the newest Stand Your Ground (SYG) vigilante murders of more of my black and brown brothers and sisters, and I will sit by no longer. After hearing that someone has already lost 28 of their friends before they’ve even turned 18 years of age, the anger that burns within you quickly turns into a fire. If you know me, you’re aware that many fires rage on in my heart, and I am not one to turn away from a fight.

                I do not believe it is possible to make substantial progress in our movements if you only have one issue. Going to this summit has given me even more tools, awareness, and resources to work at the intersections. We cannot ignore that in our LGBTQ community, trans* people of color are disproportionately affected by violence. We cannot ignore that women are 5x more likely to be murdered in a domestic violence dispute when a gun is present. We cannot ignore the racial profiling of our youth of color that are ‘stopped-and-frisked’ on a daily basis, stalked while walking home and shot, handcuffed and shot by the very people that our criminal justice system claims are the ones protecting us, and killed by a stray bullet while sleeping in their own room.

I’m not gonna be having any of that, “It’s Black-on-Black crime!” or “It’s all those gangs, they’re so violent,” because we need to dig deeper than that. I trust that we need to be having this conversation. In my personal experiences, some people seek an alternative type of family in ‘gangs’. It is not always so “Bloods” and “Crips”, black and white. Often times, in my experience, people seek safety in these alternative family settings. They are seeking people to protect them from the very violence mentioned earlier. Fear fuels people to do things that our society doesn’t understand all the time. Gangs are founded differently, for different reasons, with different intentions, and admittedly, they aren’t always good. We do have a problem with gang violence in our country. But I am not quick to judge all people that are affiliated or have been, because I’ve been affiliated myself, through friends and family.

These conversations are exactly the ones we need to be having. Where do these systemic roots of this violence come from? How does the criminal justice system often end up being the perpetrators of gun violence? Why are Black and Brown bodies consistently criminalized in our society? Why do people so often see ‘gun violence’ as mass shootings in white, affluent, suburban settings; why does society see gun violence in marginalized communities as commonplace? What can WE do to put in the work and have our communities’ voices heard while preventing these tragedies from happening? If we don’t speak up for our youth of color who are disproportionally affected by gun violence, who will?

I am so grateful to have been in a new space that has started to talk about these issues. I am humbled that I was accepted to attend this summit and further the dialogue from my perspective. Our communities and our movements across all issues have to be present in these conversations. It is not a one-issue thing, and if you haven’t noticed – I am not a one-issue kinda girl. This summit left me passionate and ready to fight. It’s time to get out into our communities and talk. Let’s get real. Let’s show our mommas and our brothas and our sistahs that there is a way out. Let’s show them how we can prevent gun violence by working WITHIN our own communities. Let’s empower our communities to put in the work WITH us, instead of others speaking FOR them. It’s time for us to work on gun violence prevention policy, and also (and maybe even more importantly) our own communities. It’s time to fight like our lives depend on it, because often times, they do. It’s time, because we’re running out of it. I leave you to process with the quote we closed out the summit on:

“It is our duty to fight for our freedom. It is our duty to win. We must love each other and support each other. We have nothing to lose but our chains.”– Assata Shakur  

“Pretty Hurts”… It Sure Does

In my early adolescence, I spent a lot of time at rehearsals. Dance rehearsals, vocal rehearsals, theatre rehearsals, the list goes on. I spent most of my preteen and teenage years in dance studios and on stages, being picked at and prodded. So, of course, when I watched the video “Pretty Hurts” on Beyoncé’s new self-titled visual album (short freak-out- YES!! PERFFFF), I related on a seriously deep level.

The entire song and video, “Pretty Hurts” is a take-down of beauty standards our society has and how they can be detrimental to our women. The ‘perfect’ woman is often seen as having straight blonde hair, tall, slim, fair, and dainty. This is  Eurocentric, and these standards and expectations can lead to assimilation, self-hatred, and just nasty stuff.

In my own personal experience, I never really looked much like my friends. I was always the first one to be pointed out, and I was often addressed by physical characteristics rather than my name. I wasn’t white, I wasn’t tall, I wasn’t petite, the list goes on.4501_1075007470560_3380138_n

Being in an entertainment industry, I was often reminded of this. I lost out on roles that again and again went to the more stereotypical ‘pretty’ girl. I remember I was in a winter musical; I got an old costume that used to be one of my friend’s, and when I tried it on, it didn’t even fit over my bum. My theatre instructor told me I needed to eat a little less and shed some pounds, because I needed to fit into that skirt like my friend did before the show date.

In the video for “Pretty Hurts”, Beyoncé portrays a pageant woman (as she was in the past) that struggles throughout the video with trying to fit the script of ‘pretty’ by taking pills, exercising excessively, getting botox, and vomiting in a bathroom. The entire video she is trying to fit into a set of beauty standards that are suffocating her, quite literally, and then she still loses (to one of her more fair-skinned counterparts, may I note).  We see her wreck a room of her trophies and crowns, scream and break her level-headed demeanor, and basically lose her sh#$. It’s only after this at the very end of the video that we see her wash off all of the makeup, take out her hair, look in the mirror, and give the most authentic smile of the video yet.

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When I was younger, I tried everything to look ‘pretty’. I wanted to look more like my friends that got the lead roles; I wanted to fit in when I went out with them. So, one summer, I decided to do everything I could to become more fair-skinned. I didn’t go out during the day unless absolutely necessary (covered in pounds of sunblock and clothing), I covered myself in lighter colored foundations and powders, I did everything within reach of my little thirteen-year-old hands. I became depressed, I developed an eating disorder, and I truly hated myself. I was told again and again that I would never make it in the industry, could never be a ballerina because I was too dark and too fat, could never be a singer because my nose drew too much attention. Only when I pulled myself out of that environment and took a long couple of months to myself (and counseling) did I realize that beautiful is not just one thing. It can’t be.

Beyoncé does a wonderful job of ripping these notions to shreds while admitting her own struggle with trying to adhere to them. I saw myself in so many different parts of this video and song, it felt like she read my diary. This song is a beautifully written critique of the unrealistic Eurocentric beauty standards that are ever present in entertainment industries and elsewhere. Queen Bey ends the song with this phrase, “When you’re alone all by yourself and you’re lying in your bed, reflection stares right into you; Are you happy with yourself?”
Beyoncé is unafraid, strong, flawed, and she is starting dialogue and leading us in the right direction.

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Yes, Beyoncé. I’m happy with myself – most days – but I wasn’t always. It’s a struggle, and it will continue to be, but the more artists in the spotlight that are diverse and beautiful in everything they do and are (just like you), the easier it will get.

Four Letter Word: Fast || Spoken Word

I recently had a weird experience at a party. I say weird, because I have been called many things that have to do with my sexuality but have not ever been called ‘fast’ until then. I guess I previously had felt like that was outdated, and we had strictly moved on to the use of more popular slurs and insults like ‘slut,’ ‘whore,’ and all those fun words.
But this took me by surprise. Especially because the man was not very quiet or respectful about it.
I’m ranting again.
Watch the video! The poem was inspired by it, and the short explanation beforehand might help clarify the situation that set it all into motion.