I sat in my film class, my head against the desk, salvaging what was left of my attention span. The class was silent and dark and we all looked toward the screen somewhat attentively. We were watching saturday night fever, a film known for the way that it mirrors the 70s. For the teachers in the room the film oozed with nostalgia and the disco slipped people into a trance of foot tapping. Personally, my toes were prepared for anxious curling through the sexism, racism, and homophobia already fermented in the film. Once I saw her, crying and squirming, her mouth whimpering the word ‘No’. My stomach began doing somersaults, my eyes began watering up as I watched this group of men take turns with the girl, as if her body was a prop. They heard
