1991, down the street from my house on Fathers Day, there it was, spray painted in the alley: “Dead Dads Don’t Rape.” and it made me feel like there was someone behind me, after all those years, not a man creeping up, but a girl watching my back. and invisible force. A girl army. A girl gang.
Jacob, walking with me, said “That’s pretty reactionary. It’s not like all dads rape”, And I was thinking about ‘85 and my friend who really did kill herself, not just cut wrists or too many pills like everyone else I knew did. Erika hung herself on Fathers Day. Of course we knew why, we had to have known. But none of us talked about any of that shit back then.
Can I tell you what it was like when the girl gangs started? It was amazing to see. I want to talk about this and not their faults. I want to talk about the power I felt in my body; the power and relief when I saw their flyers - and how their violence made everything so much more immediate. Our lives are a war and not less of a war than the one against the nazi skins or the one against the class system, not less of a war than the war against the state. Our lives are a war, and you’re part of it boy, and this was is full of unignorable realness and strong, fucking strong as hell emotions.