Tag Archives: rape cop

NYPD “Rape Cop” Juror Is Cashing In

For the past year, the country has been following the sordid tale of the two NYPD “rape cops” who were accused of sexually assaulting a drunk woman whom they were called to remove from a taxi cab and take into her apartment. After a night of partying, the 27-year-old Gap employee was put into a cab by friends. She vomited on herself and was disoriented, so a cab driver called police to come to her aid. The cops who arrived on the scene helped her inside her place, but returned to her apartment several times over the course of the night to “check up on her.” Ex-officer Kenneth Moreno claimed he cuddled the blackout-drunk woman in her bed while she wore only a bra, although the woman herself claims he raped her and can recall her panties being removed. Moreno’s partner, Franklin Mata, allegedly hung out elsewhere in the woman’s apartment while Moreno was alone with her in the bedroom. The pair were also accused of faking 911 calls that would allow them to stay in the area near the woman’s apartment.

Shocking those of us who followed the case, Moreno was found not guilty of sexual assault. Jurors did not trust the victim’s memory because she had been blackout drunk; they also said they could not convict him due to a lack of DNA evidence. (Moreno had admitted on tape, when he was approached by the victim at his police station, that he had used a condom.) The surely-despondent victim released a sad statement after the verdict to say she was “devastated and disappointed by the jury’s decision.”

So it is in this environment that one of the jurors in the case, Patrick Kirkland, decided to cash in, publishing an article on the blog Gothamist called “Confessions of a ‘Rape Cop’ Juror,” for which he charged $1.99 on Kindle and $2.99 on PDF. Keep reading »

Girl Talk: Why Being Drunk Is A Feminist Issue

Too Drunk?
If you're a drunk woman who gets raped, will you be taken seriously? Read More »

Last weekend, I stood on the subway platform, thumbing through a magazine and grumbling about how the next train wouldn’t arrive for another 11 minutes. As I waited, more and more feet descended the stairs. Two pairs caught my attention — one was manicured with bright red polish and strapped into a sky high silver sandals, the other was in electric blue stilettos. Both pairs of ankles wobbled as their owners awkwardly lowered their feet. It seemed like at any moment, one—or maybe both—of them would come plummeting down the stairs. A few unsteady steps later, two women appeared in full view—both their faces were flushed and they clung to each other’s arms for dear life. “Wha a you lookin’ at,” one of them slurred to a guy who shook his head as they passed.

These girls were trashed. It was only 8 p.m.

Watching them zig and zag down the subway platform, I felt adrenaline rush through me. I felt like I should do something. But what? These are adults. They’re just having fun, I thought. They can take care of themselves.

But then another part of me thought: how naive. Keep reading »

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