I walked down the street in my long white dress and inch-long, black hair one afternoon, and truck drivers whistled obscenities at me. I felt defeated. I had just stepped out of a hair salon. I had my hair cut short, telling the hairdresser to trim it as she would a guy's. I sat numbly as my hairdresser skillfully sheared into my shoulder-length hair with her scissors, asking me with every inch she cut off if I was freaking out yet. I wasn't freaking out, but I felt self-mutilated.

It wasn't just another haircut. It meant so much more. I was trying to appear androgynous by cutting my hair. I wanted to obliterate my femininity.

Yet that did not prevent some men from treating me as a sex object. I was mistaken. It was not my femininity that was problematic, but my sexuality, or rather the sexuality that some men had ascribed to me based on my biological sex. They reacted to me as they saw me and not as I truly am.

Why should it even matter how they see me, as long as I know who I am? But it does. I believe that men who see women as only sexual beings often commit violence against them, such as rape and battery. Sexual abuse and assault are not only my fears, but my reality. I was molested and raped. My experiences with men who violated me have made me angry and frustrated.

How do I stop the violence? How do I prevent men from seeing me as an object rather than a female? How do I stop them from equating the two? How do I proceed with life after experiencing what others only dread?

The experiences have left me with questions about my identity. Am I just another Chinese-American female? I used to think that I have to arrive at a conclusion about who I am, but now I realize that my identity is constantly evolving.

One experience that was particularly educational was when I "dressed up" as a Muslim woman for a drive along Crenshaw Boulevard with three Muslim men as part of a newsmagazine project. I wore a white, long-sleeved cotton shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, and a flowery silk scarf that covered my head, which I borrowed from a Muslim woman.

Not only did I look the part, I believed I felt the part. Of course, I wouldn't really know what it feels like to be hijabed - I coined this word for the lack of a better term - everyday, because I was not raised with Islamic teachings.

However, people perceived me as a Muslim woman and did not treat me as a sexual being by making cruel remarks. I noticed that men's eyes did not glide over my body as has happened when I wasn't hijabed. I was fully clothed, exposing only my face.

I remembered walking into an Islamic center and an African-American gentleman inside addressed me as "sister", and asked where I came from. I told him I was originally from China. That didn't seem to matter. There was a sense of closeness between us because he assumed I was Muslim. I didn't know how to break the news to him because I wasn't sure if I was or not.

I walked into the store that sold African jewelry and furniture and another gentleman asked me as I was walking out if I was Muslim. I looked at him and smiled, not knowing how to respond. I chose not to answer.

Outside the store, I asked one of the Muslim men I was with, "Am I Muslim?" He explained that everything that breathes and submits is.

I have concluded that I may be and just don't know it. I haven't labeled myself as such yet. I don't know enough about Islam to assert that I am Muslim.

Though I don't pray five times a day, go to a mosque, fast, nor cover my head with a scarf daily, this does not mean that I am not Muslim. These seem to be the natural manifestation of what is within.

How I am inside does not directly change whether I am hijabed or not. It is others' perception of me that has changed. Repeated experiences with others in turn create a self-image. I consciously chose to be hijabed because I was searching for respect from men. Initially, as both a Women's Studies major and a thinking female, I bought into the Western view that the wearing of a scarf is oppressive. After this experience and much reflection, I have arrived at the conclusion that such a view is superficial and misguided: It is not if the act is motivated by conviction and understanding.

I covered up that day out of choice, and it was the most liberating experience of my life. I now see alternatives to being a woman. I discovered that the way I dress dictated others' reaction towards me. It saddens me that this is a reality. It is a reality that I have accepted, and chose to conquer rather than be conquered by it. It was my sexuality that I covered, not my femininity. The covering of the former allowed the liberation of that latter.

This article was originally published in the October 1994 issue of al-talib. I was s senior at UCLA majoring in Psychobiology and Women's Studies at the time.

One reporter's plagiarism has caused the careful scrutiny of journalistic ethics and accuracy of newspapers across the country. Jayson Blair from The New York Times deceited America, but he didnt' act alone. He's not solely responsible. Last few days, the editor of The New York Times, Howell Raines, and the managing editor, Gerald Boyd, resigned. The latest scandal makes me believe in the egalitarian process of weblogs and open discussion as a valid method of obtaining news and information.

James Martin Luther, a 29-year-old software engineer, started another weblog this month. It is no extraordinary act. He, like many others, sees this new brand of journalism as a way to publish his work without going through a publisher, or any intermediary, for that matter. James uses his blog, www.jamesmartinluther.com, to discuss his science fiction and comment about scientific and social issues.

"Now that I am getting back into fiction writing, I see the blog as a great way to immediately reach out to a reading community," said James Martin Luther. "In fact, it did not take long to start. It took long to want to do something worth blogging about!"

Many people like James are finding their voice and carving their niche in the vast online community through their blogs. The popularity and explosion of weblogs on the internet have caught the attention of the established press. The establishment, stuck in the age of industrial waste, criticizes weblogs for their lack of credibility. For example, Geofrey Nunberg, writer for The New York Times, degrades bloggers and their writing in his article, "As the Google Goes, So Goes the Nation," published May 18, 2003 in The New York Times. He writes, "the Web is a tool that enables people who have a life to benefit from the efforts of those who don't." Further, he states that the popularity of the sites reported by search engines such as Google reflect "the deficiencies of plebiscites in the democracies on the other side of the screen."

What is the motivation behind the criticism of bloggers and their readers? I believe the strong opposition the established press expresses towards weblogs arise from a perceived and real threat that weblogs pose to the press. The internet has empowered the individual. It enables writers and journalists to eliminate the middlemen such as third party journalists, editors, and publishers from the process of publication. Such go-betweens are no longer needed to convey information to the public. And this hurts.

These days the established press that has been perceived as the arbiters of truth is hurting even more. The credibility and objectivity that it has constructed is severely tarnished by the deception of one of its reporters. Jayson Blair, a New York Times reporter, single-handedly destroyed the reputation of the press. He resigned amidst allegations of violations of ethics in journalism. Blair had lifted quotes and faked interviews in stories published in The New York Times.

Blair's fabrication calls into question the accuracy of the great writing published by reputable publications. The same skepticism that the press holds towards weblogs should apply to it. The press has done such as great sell job that people forget that reporters and editors have their own agenda and ambition, other than reporting truthfully. For one of the world's most powerful newspapers, The New York Times, to publish articles that are not completely truthful and accurate is embarrassing. It will take years for the public to forget.

For now, the mass is communicating with the masses. It's a more direct connection. And the conversations are a lot more interesting and engaging. By the time a story is printed on paper or a newscaster reports on it, it's already old news. Bloggers are like the embedded journalists during the War in Iraq. They are often reporting from the scene. Through weblogs, people can exercise their right to report and analyze events as they unfold. The writing of bloggers usually have a sense of immediacy to it that is lacking from the structured objectivity journalists impose on their writing.

"Jayson Blair's dereliction of duty doesn't surprise me at all. Every workplace is filled with scumbags and liars. I think the difference now is that more reporters and even bloggers will be held accountable for their coverage," said James Martin Luther. "With every scandal there's a correction of people's blind belief in what various authorities tell them. Enron is an example of this. Now newspapers, online and off, get to sit in the frying pan. "

In many ways, bloggers are more accountable than journalists. Weblogs invite more participation from their readers through online chats, message boards and comments than newspapers and magazines. They are constantly being criticized and corrected. They don't believe in password-protecting their ideas, like The New York Times. Bloggers want to reach as many readers as possible and RSS, invented by Dave Winer, helps to syndicate their writing. Most weblogs have a RSS file, acronym for Really Simple Syndication, associated with them. RSS is a data file that serves as a Web content syndication format. This file enables search engines and other weblogs to easily retrieve information for publications, commentaries, and archives.

Weblogs are as egalitarian as publications like The New York Times are snooty. Through blogs, common people can express themselves and add original content to the Web. Blogs often blur the line between private and public. They are usually more personal and reveal the personality and taste of their authors. Bloggers are like embedded journalists during the War in Iraq. They often report from the scene. The different perspectives readers get from blogs are invaluable. Just as practically everyone has a web site right now, soon everyone will need their own blog. Google is making this bet by buying www.blogger.com. Even the almighty press cannot stop the revolution in journalism that is taking place right now.

James took me to see Tori Amos in concert at the Greek Theatre (October, 1998). I was so moved and touched by her performance that right after I got home, I wrote about my experience. I submitted it to the Dent, where it was initially posted.

October 1, 1998 - It's 12:50 am now and I just came home from watching an incredibly energetic and memorable performance by Tori and her band at the Greek Theatre. Tori sounds like such a rock and roll gig with her new band. The lights, smoke, her strong voice and incredible energy lit up the stage and the whole auditorium. Girls walked around with glitters on their faces and wings on their backs. Very angelic. People were having a great time. I've always liked Tori but I've only seen her perform live twice. The first time was in a parking lot in Hollywood a few months ago.

I liked all her songs tonight. She improvised with her band on "Cruel" and it sounded incredible in conjunction with the lights and smoke emitting from the stage. It's better than I've ever heard it. I appreciate all the rhythm and beat that her band brings to her music. Now I can sway my hips and dance to it.

The one song that especially stood out for me tonight was "Me and a Gun". She sang it in a storytelling way, poignantly and honestly. She said a fan requested it and that she doesn't sing it much anymore. "It's just one of those things," she muttered quietly as though to herself, but yet amplified loudly enough for her fans to hear. I knew what she meant. Some things we just rather put behind us and move on.

As she sang the song, couched over and straddling the bench that sit between her piano and digital keyboard, she retold the story of her rape. She seemed to move back and forth to keep herself in rhythm because this was just between her and her audience. She had no accompaniment as her band had left the stage and she was not playing her piano. It was extremely effective and personal even though I was sitting in the C section towards the back. Nonetheless, her voice resonated through the open auditorium and her every word pierced through me. Her voice, at once sad, angry, defiant and triumphant, evoked that wide range of emotions within me.

The audience was attentive and quiet and shared in the moment with Tori. Tears streamed steadily and uncontrollably down my face as Tori recounted her experience. It was such a catharsis. I could feel that the women to the right of me and to the left of my boyfriend were also crying as I noticed them wiping their eyes and face intermittently as Tori retold her story. Someone in the audience had wanted or needed to hear the song but I didn't know I had needed to too.

I heard what she sang about but it was me that I cried for. She touched me deeply when she recounted that she was thinking of Carolina and the sweet things she remembered about it as the man unzipped his pants. Tori's story took me back to my night of despair and desperation. I was raped by a UCLA student while I was attending UCLA a few years ago. As he pinned me down on the bed with his hands and legs, I too was thinking about home that night, my mother in particular, and if I will ever see her again. Wishing and praying that I could be home again.

As Tori sang, I could tell that she hadn't forgotten about her rape and still could get back to that moment and place. When our lives were in someone else's hands and could have ended in a matter of seconds, do we dare forget?

It was around the time I was raped that I really understood and felt what Tori sang about in her songs and really appreciated her work and strength in coming forward about her experience. I felt like she spoke to me directly and honestly. Yes, me alone, as each woman may feel. She guided me towards womanhood. She taught me to be a strong woman and not be afraid of authority or anyone else who threatens to silence me.

Tori channels her energy and passion and shares her painful experience through her songs whereas I write about mine. I think it's so important for us to gain the strength to break the silence and be our own women and "no one else's girl," as Tori would put it.

Thanks Tori for showing me the way.

(Thanks James for introducing me to her music and taking me to her concert tonight. It was very memorable and special, as you can tell.)

In sisterhood,
Kathy Chin
(Los Angeles, CA)