Small victories in street harassment

One of my favorite things about my new life is that I can walk to my office. 

Today was the first day in six weeks that I have walked all the way there and all the way back home without a single instance of a man: whistling at me, screaming at me, honking a car horn at me, making a rude gesture at me, yelling at me, or grabbing his crotch in front of me.

Today, I just walked there and walked home. 

The note I never wanted to write

I have a tendency, I fear, to blog only when I'm riled up about something, or upset about something.  This probably gives the impression that things are worse than they are, when in fact so much of life simply consists of putting one foot in front of the other and simply doing one's work, with perhaps a little irritation that requires blogging thrown in on the side.  But every once in a while, the floor drops out.

I mentioned R a few months ago.  Pancreatic cancer is doing what pancreatic cancer does, and today my colleagues and I found out that she's been admitted to hospice.  We were asked to write her notes.

I don't want to.

I don't want to say goodbye to a young woman, a bright woman, a marvelous teacher, a tenacious and fierce scholar, a wise and gracious mentor.

I don't want to write a note.  Simply saying "thank you" seems totally inadequate, and I can't figure how I could possibly say goodbye.  

But not writing a note is a thousand times worse than writing a note.  And of course, I see the irrelevancy of saying that I don't want to do it; what I want to do or don't want to do has exactly no bearing on reality.  None.

Nine years ago, I lost another mentor, another kind, ferociously intelligent, savvy woman.  The world is immeasurably poorer for her loss, and I think of her often.  She died in the springtime.  I have a vivid memory of walking to the train on my morning commute when she was ill, passing through a grim development of Communist-inspired apartment blocks, thinking in time with every clack of my heels on the sidewalk, "I don't want to.  I don't want to."  There was an enormous old cherry tree in the middle of the buildings, and its blooms were the most audaciously beautiful thing I had ever seen, this bright splash of life and beauty in the middle of the grimness.  I was struck by the sheer nerve of the thing to bloom, to have so much gratuitous beauty, when someone I loved was suffering and dying.  But yet there it was, waving branches and spilling blossoms like the living thing it was.  When I think of her now, I think of the tree.  I didn't want to do any of it--the grief, the loss, the pain, the beauty, the polite conversations at a funeral--but not doing it would have been a worse choice.

And so much of life seems to be doing what we don't want to do.

I'm going to write a note.

Responding to Street Harassment

I was in a railway station in a major urban center tonight.  I was thinking about the lecture I'd just heard and walking quickly so I'd have time to dart into one of the shops and buy a bottle of water before getting on the train.  A guy comes up to me.  He falls into step beside me and gets very close to my face.  I take about five more steps, long enough to hear some commentary about what I'm wearing, and interupt him by saying coolly, "do I know you?" His answer does not bear repeating -- although it was a decided no -- and I did something I have never done before.  I raised my voice and said loudly, "Leave me alone!"

This did not work, so I yelled:

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Now, I am a singer with a reasonable lung capacity and no fear of volume.  I was in a crowded and particularly acoustically-lively railway station.  


It worked the second time. 

In the past, I've responded to street harassment with a jolt of shock and surprise and then have continued on my way, trying to cool my burning cheeks and ignore whatever had just happened.  Today was not the day for that.  I've felt badly bullied this week, and he picked the wrong girl on the wrong day, and I was not about to take any nonsense from anybody.  The whole thing was an odd mix of completely terrifying and a little satisfying.  But I did learn a few good lessons.

1. It's ok to make a fuss.  Women are so strongly socialized not to do this.  Be polite, take it as a compliment, blah blah blah bullshit.  Make a fuss.  Draw attention to inappropriate behavior.  Alert strangers that you may need help. 

2. But be smart about where you do it.  In the nanosecond before I yelled, I had this flash of adrenaline-driven clarity.  I knew exactly what I was going to say, I knew exactly where I was going to walk as soon as I said it so I could see if he was following me, I saw that there were a lot of people (including several women) standing around who would notice.  Public well-lit place with lots of people? Go for it.  Dark isolated place?  Just keep walking. (This, by the way, is why you should not wear shoes you cannot walk in unaided.) 

3. Be clear and unequivocal in what you say.  No conversation, no deflection, no chitchat, no explaining.  It is not your responsibility to teach him manners or to protect his feelings.  No name-calling or profanity either.  "Leave me alone" worked well for me, and I will try to remember it in the future. 

Any other favorite responses?  Do share.  

Some Christmas present...

One of my mentors--a kind, savvy, and ferociously-intelligent academic--was just diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  Say a prayer for R and her family if you think of it. 

Singled Out: How Churches Can Embrace Unmarried Adults

Especially as Christmas rolls around, this article should be required reading for those in ministry.  No excerpts, just read it all.

Re: L's last Post

I'm no expert at photoshop, but look what I did after work today!

(That's all I got.)

Heartbreak

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?  Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care. (Matt 10:29)

 
I said goodbye to my best friend yesterday. I will always remember his sweet horsey breath on my cheek, his gentleness with small children, and the delight we both felt when we cantered through the woods. He was smart, kind, loyal, and sensitive; I was enormously blessed to call him my friend, and just being in his presence always filled me with joy and peace. Godspeed, dear Zak.

O God, you created all that is, and you love all that you have made: we come to you this day with grief and in thanksgiving. We grieve the death of our beloved Zak, who has been our companion on the way, and we thank you for the gift of his presence among us as a sign of the richness of your creation and the generosity of your love, through Jesus Christ our Savior, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen. 

Speaking of domestic violence...

... you may have seen the horrifying pictures of Nigella Lawson being strangled in a restaurant by her husband, who later said that the incident was merely a "playful tiff."  Wiser people than I have responded to that particular incident, but I just wanted to take the opportunity to issue this general reminder:

Domestic violence is a real problem.  It is everywhere: among the wealthy, the poor, the beautiful, the homely, the educated, the illiterate, the religious, the secular.  No group of people is magically made immune.  And violence from a date, a family member, a partner, or a spouse is never ok. 

Update: Everyone, men and women, should read Gavin De Becker's The Gift of Fear.  This book had been on my list of things to read for years, and I finally got around to it.  I'm sorry it took me so long.  If you think you may be suffering from abuse, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline, 1-800-799-SAFE. 

Mother's Day

At my church several years ago, some well-meaning passed out carnations to all the mothers in the pews on Mother's Day.  Most Sundays, I am one of only two or three single people in church, and on that day, I was the only woman who didn't have a flower.  I was stopped as I was leaving, given a flower, and when I said, "oh!  I don't have children!" was told, "that's ok.  You will someday!" 

I haven't been back on Mother's Day since. 

And so, pastoral types, if you get a minute before next Sunday, do give this a look.