janela

Last night's festa de mulheres (party for women) was one of the most outwardly carnal events I have ever been to. It was held at a beach club (a barraca) - where the roof is the sky and where bamboo walls prevent you from seeing the ocean. The concept was as follows: women pay R$10 (about $5) to occupy the place for two hours before the men arrive. They get free drinks and some light snacks, which means they walk between two barricades like a herd of cattle would, and are handed two plastic cups of warm beer per person, which they drink while standing in line for the next round of warm beer. It was gross, actually, but we drank it.

About an hour before the men were allowed to come in, some men took the stage to strip to their underwear. Of course, with the women being so tipsy (and some drunk), they screamed and yelled and maintained the rowdiness the entire time - and we all laughed out loud at the women who jumped on stage to pull down the men's underwear, showing some bare bums. Most of the men didn't have much rhythm and I don't think stripping is entertaining. And a part of me burned with rage at this disgusting concept of a night - a plan obviously devised by men to make heterosexual women as easy to seduce, kiss, and lure into any possibly dangerous situation, in favour of men's pleasures. And imagine, they used the label of "women's party" - in supposed recognition of International Women's Day earlier in the week. I went to this event mostly out of curiosity and of course, to dance.

And when the clock struck 12 a.m., the doors opened for the men to join the party. They walked in single file at first, between two queues of women. We stood back and watched in amazement. The men were heckled with wondering hands, screams and attacked with lips eager to be kissed. The people were anywhere from 16 to 30-something, I'd say. And even though the drinking age is 18 here, no one checks I.D. at the door, because, I've been told, owners don't care if an underage person is drinking in their clubs.

So the men arrived. They were eager to grope, and by what I'd observed, most women complied and "had some fun." The walk to the bathroom meant having a slew of men try to lean over to kiss you. (In Canada, most often, at least, you first ask the person's name). Someone kissed my neck and when I turned around, I couldn't identify who it was and just had an urge to walk faster, so I did. These men assumed that the women wanted to be treated like this - like complete and udder pieces of meat. They had been prepared for two hours before the "guests of honour" arrived. They were teased with strippers and decided to become intoxicated just enough to feel confident to let loose among the other animals, not knowing - and often not being in the headspace to think of - how to say "no" if they wanted to. Ah, one of the many books that has profoundly impacted my beliefs, The Sexual Politics of Meat, rings true in the past few thoughts. Of course, many women find the strength, courage and confidence to say "no" in such situations. But many don't. We mustn't forget these women. They had the choice of attending the event, sure. But the problem lies in the freedom for such an event to take place. This sort of publicized party is underheard of (or at least to me) in Toronto, or any other Canadian city. This party totally ignored, rather it mocked, women's achievements thus far. This party wasn't meant to celebrate women.

Needless to say, the music was good - lots of hip hop, reggae, samba/electro-samba, MPB (musica populare Brazileiro). I danced and chatted with friends and newer friends. I had fun. Though, my heart felt heavy - sad and helpless because such a party took place.