“The ability for us to live and walk down the street without being afraid of being physically, sexually, or mentally assaulted is possible.” - Charlene Carruthers
And still… that day has yet to come.
I could tell you about that one time.
You’re walking home one night with friends after jerk chicken and rum punch, when two men, driving in a baby blue convertible, pull over to drunkenly shout at you all. When you ignore them (isn’t this what you’re taught to do?), the driver slows down. And then the men make an abrupt turn into the alleyway you would have, seconds later crossed, if they weren’t blocking your path. You especially are pissed. Are you fucking serious? you shout, ready to tear apart the car and the men who think this is okay. And your friend, visiting from out of town, and so visibly disturbed by the scene, whispers softly, Let’s just go, let’s just go. And you go, reckoning firmly with the history of women who stood up for themselves and are no longer alive because of it.
(And several days later, you will step into the elevator in your apartment building to see one of the men who sat in the passenger seat, standing there with his dog. And you will replay the Resident Evil laser scene (I will never forget this cinematic moment) and want to tear him to shreds. But instead, you feel powerless. Even more powerless than you felt outside. Unlike him, you are able to control yourself.
I could tell you about that other time.
Same summer, same route home, instead this time, alone, two drunk men lounging around the CTA bus stop off 55th. Their focus suddenly locks onto you like a target (with laser precision), and they begin shouting for your attention. Hey, hey, HEYYYYY, one of the men roared. (And yes, I say roar, because they were acting like fucking animals.) You ignoring their demands ignite a volley of Hey bitch, answer me, ANSWER ME. And your heart sinks; can a bitch make it home without being bothered? Your legs (and intuition) hastily carry you away despite the blood boiling within you to correct the injustices committed against your personal liberty to fucking BE.
I could tell you about that other time.
In January, before the pandemic hit, walking down one of the busiest and most visible streets of Chicago, down State Street near Depaul. And yet again, a man has again chosen you as prey. It always starts with Hey as the hook. And you always respond by ignoring (because you were taught to ignore them. To keep moving. But apparently, no one has taught men that it’s not okay to openly demonize, harass, and abuse women), by continuing to walk. And this time, he responds, Don’t you hear me fucking talking to you again bitch?
And something snaps inside of you.
You are tired. You are tired of the fear. The fear of walking and running and wandering outside, because a man can’t control his mouth. Of the crippling anxiety you get sitting too long at red lights next to cars with men with windows rolled down. Of the incessant need to immediately lock public bathroom doors after yourself. Of the well of nerves you sit with each night unlocking the door and entering your home, because a family member, a friend, a favorite author, was attacked by men, strangers, and you could be too. You are tired of living in fear.
You are tired of protecting the ego of men, placing their comfort and reassurance over your own desire for safety and security.
All of that baggage forces you to snap.
What did you fucking say?! Would you talk to your mother that way? You are dis-res-pecting ME! And you let it out. And he continues as men continue, hating you and your rejection of him, for reasons beyond you. And as you look to the eyes of passerbyers for help, for reassurance, to be seen (as human) in a way that this man does not, you find nothing. And so, as always, you have to keep walking. Walking away.
I could tell you that this only scraps the surface of times.
But really, I share this. Because we don’t often think (enough) about the invisible ways that oppression and violence seep into our lives and limit our ability to be free. That I can’t take a walk alone, can’t sit at the lake alone, can’t be a woman navigating the world alone, without fear.
We are forever imprisoned by the trauma of unhealed men, until men set their eyes on the target of dismantling toxic masculinity (and the patriarchy) with the laser focus they have on diminishing my humanity as a woman. Until they do the fucking work on themselves… we are not free.
I am not free. We are not free. Until women no longer live in this intricate balance expending energy dodging the attacks of men. You, me, we us, all play a role in upholding violence against women… how you talk to your daughters, how you raise your sons, how you stand up for other women, young girls, femmes, etc. on the street who face abuse and assault…each moment is an opportunity to practice and unlock a liberatory future, one free of violence committed against women. One free of violence committed against anyone.
If anything came of the pandemic. (Bare with me.) By being forced inside, more than I normally was, I was at least spared the incessant guerilla attacks from disturbed men on my personal freedom as a young woman. (You can count my dads fussing if there was a single dish in the sink as annoyingly disruptive, but not anywhere close to the level of harassment I have experienced on the street.)
And so. After some reflection during this pandemic, how can we take more responsibility for creating environments where all people (not just me, this 5’2 kid who wants to wander in peace) can explore, roam, adventure, meander… in peace? Where I can stroll along the lake, alone, without fear of being attacked or snatched? Where I can roam the streets at 1 am without my father chastising me because he knows all the dangerous and sick things people do this time of night? Where I am free without fear to take a bus or a train late late, because I love the solitude, or love the way the darkness and night and city quiet looks from this view?
I ask. Because I’ve come to think that I deserve, have a right, to accessing, to touching, to tasting, this type of freedom during my lifetime.
P.S. I wrote this years ago, during the pandemic.