“Oi…oi! OI!” it takes two more “oi”’s for me to stop walking and turn around. I figure I must’ve dropped something, that’s why the guy I just passed is persisting to get my attention.
“I met you the other day, I was with Z”, he says, “You might not remember me”.
I vaguely recall bumping into him and Z a few weeks prior; I tell him I didn’t recognise him in the dark, with his hood up.
“Z never told me…you were so hot”.
“That’s inappropriate”, I snap as I step away.
“Oi! I’m just saying you’re fucking hot!” he shouts. As I carry on walking, his “oi”’s become increasingly hostile; I lift a middle finger in his direction, looking straight ahead, ignoring the avalanche of threats and insults pelted my way. My other hand, buried in my pocket, is clutching onto makeshift knuckledusters.
I mentioned the incident (a common occurrence to any woman who dares going outside) to my mother, without getting into much worrying detail. Her immediate response was that I ought to be more careful not to say or do anything that could anger these men. That old chestnut. In other words, I should always watch what I say in case the guy I’m turning down happens to be a violent, pervert psychopath. Risky gamble for standing up for oneself.
An alarming amount of men will only leave you alone if you claim to already be another guy’s property. Kindly saying you’re not interested doesn’t necessarily work, and telling them they’re not your type would make it worse. Hell, even pretending you’re a lesbian can be interpreted as a challenge. It kills me that we are expected to see unwanted advances as compliments, and that we can’t honestly decline a man’s suggestive comments without dreading his reaction.
There’s recent footage of a French girl getting cat-called on the street. She muttered something back under her breath, so naturally, the cat-caller grabbed a glass ashtray from a nearby terrace and hurled it at her head. It missed her by a few inches. Quietly standing up for herself almost ended in getting her skull cracked open. She wasn’t confrontational, as it is engrained in us females to live in a permanent state of threat.
Even the bravest, most feminist of us all can’t help it. The ‘worst case scenario’ constantly playing at the back of our minds means we’re always careful – just in case. Sure, there’s no harm in being safe rather than sorry; not acting like a complete idiot is a pretty good, gender-less rule to live by as a human being. Yet women are taught to be extra careful in their daily life. Our governments, justice and education systems all seem to imply that the male gender has no impulse control, and it is thus up to females to double down on alertness if they’d rather not get attacked. Such behaviours are and have been integrated, normalised – it’s assumed that, as a part of growing up, girls will experience some type of harassment.
I am tired of perpetually having to look over my shoulder. To never listen to music with both earbuds in when walking down an alleyway. To always be wary. To feel that I can’t simply turn down a guy and not worry about how aggressively he’ll take it.
We’re told that a ‘no’ is a powerful weapon. And when ‘no’ isn’t enough? When a ‘no’, as firm yet polite as it can be, has to be followed by a series of justifications and excuses, for that ‘no’ to ultimately get ignored – what then?
It feels like women have been dealt a bad hand at life’s genetic lottery, with multiple consecutive orgasms as our only redeeming perk. Personally, I’d happily trade those for the right to speak up without fearing for my person.
BASIC HUMAN WRITES 