TW: Sexual assault
We look over our shoulders. We put our hands over our drink. We hold our keys between our fingers when we walk home at night. We can’t go outside after dark alone, even numbers don’t help. We can’t wear ‘revealing clothes’. We can’t tell a persistent stranger to ‘leave me alone’ when being harassed. We can’t reject a compliment that makes us feel uncomfortable. We can’t be in large crowds without being groped or touched. We can’t walk past a group of men without feeling a hundred eyes on us. We can’t sit with our legs uncrossed. We can’t tread one step on the pavement without being catcalled or wolf whistled - like men are drawing the attention of a stray animal. We can’t get drunk without becoming an ‘easy target’. We can’t say no. We can’t expect reports of sexual assault to be taken seriously by authority. We can’t live our lives without fearing for our lives.
After the murder of Sarah Everard on the 3rd of March, the topic of sexual assault has been explosive in the media. To pair with the tragic murder of Sarah, a recent investigation by UN women UK found that 97% of young women, aged 18-24, have been sexually harassed with 96% not reporting their experience with sexual assault with fear of ‘nothing changing. This, as expected, sparked conversation. To me it feels like three conversations are taking place. One among survivors of sexual assault, supporting and empathising with each other about our experiences. One between women and men, with women trying to educate men about why we deserve the same basic human rights that they have (a crazy notion, I know). Lastly is a conversation between feminists and any figure in power.
Trying to change laws, enforce action, protect women and educate men all comes from top down change. It comes from those in power. Despite feminists shouting for change, it feels as if we’re shouting into an abyss. Habitually, women’s voices are drowned out with the exclamations of ‘it’s not all men’ and ‘it happens to men too’ (note the latter is of course true but I find this counter ‘argument’ reductive and more infuriating for women who are just trying to be heard). Often women aren’t even heard in the first place. Any word of sexual assault falls on deaf ears. For some, talking about how women are constantly assaulted, objectified and mistreated is a taboo. Some simply try to play devil's advocate, like the sharing of our experiences of assault is an argument. Like fighting for equal rights is up for debate. Often, the silence is more deafening. But we’re at a point in this decade where women are simply fed up with silence. We’re fed up with deviations. We want to tell our stories.
While this is great, the fact that conversations about the sexual assault of girls and women is being had, I can’t help but feel exhausted. Being a woman is exhausting. Trying to educate, what feels like, the entire male population about what we go through and what we’re put through as women is exhausting.
Recently, there was a vigil for Sarah Everard and a protest at my university. The entire experience was profound and extremely reflective. It made me realise that some things I had experienced weren’t just ‘boys being boys’, but assault.
My first experience with sexual assault was when I was in year 6 (yes, I was in primary school). I was in a supermarket afterschool with a friend. I was wearing a navy pleated skirt, part of my Junior’s school school-uniform. A man who worked in this store bent down, pretending to pick up something off of the floor and took a picture with his phone up my skirt. I instantly nudged my friend, told her what had happened and I’ve never spoken about it since.
I don’t know whether it was embarrassment or confusion (I didn’t entirely know, at the time, why a grown man would want to see up my skirt and keep a digital copy of it - because of childhood innocence, I suppose) but I didn’t tell my parents or even friends years later. To think that this man, for days, months or even years later, still had that picture on his camera roll makes me feel sick, and to be honest it still irks me that I’m probably not the first or last schoolgirl he has assaulted.
Aside from the frequent catcalls, stares and honks, I’ve only had two other stories of sexual harassment, which is a lot less than most women. Another happened on New Years, January 1st 2020 (being assaulted was a great start to my decade as you can imagine). I was caught up in the crowds getting into a tube station in the early hours of New Years Day with a friend. Like how most women are vigilant and aware of their surroundings, so were we. We realised this man was following us through the crowds and before I knew it, he was behind me. Within the swarm of drunk Londoners, he managed to clamber through the crowds and got pretty close to me, pretty quickly. He groped me. Because I was standing and waiting to get through the masses of people, he didn’t stop and I couldn’t simply walk away. Again, I’m probably not the first woman he’s groped.
My last experience only happened a few months ago. It was my second night being at university and I was walking to a motive with two friends. The night was young and so we were all sober (note- being intoxicated does not make an assault justifiable in any way). While walking, a blue car pulled up and proceeded to drive slowly next to us. I noticed two men in the front seats and, again, being alert and extremely weary of men, we clocked what was happening and picked up the pace. Of course the car continued to follow. Within seconds, two men jumped out the back seats, both wearing masks and walked right behind us. To make sure I wasn’t being paranoid I turned around (this is when I saw they were wearing masks) and as soon as I did one man shouted out ‘Max, those ones!’. These two men were on a mission, walking directly to us, and with the car trailing behind, I’m sure that if myself and my two friends didn’t start sprinting for our lives, they would have grabbed us.
The sole reason I feel comfortable to share this (alas, behind a screen) is because other women have been sharing their experiences too. Some might think being vulnerable and open, especially online, is just a form of ‘oversharing’, which, understandably, for some women is a dangerous game to play. Being open as a woman can draw unwanted and unwarranted comments from anyone, especially men. Some feel being open about our sexual assault makes us lesser; makes us less human. Instead we put up a wall and act like nothing has transpired.
As women, we’re made to feel uncomfortable just so that men can feel comfortable. We’re made to minimise our emotions so that men can feel at ease. We're made to mitigate our voices to maximise men’s egos.
Naturally, I’m quite an argumentative and opinionated person, but I often find myself biting my tongue and staying quiet in the presence of men when I feel threatened or offended by them. Even withholding from sharing any experience I’ve had with sexual assault is something I wouldn’t naturally do, but alas I have done so for many years.
Being a woman doesn't make you lesser. Talking about womanhood and what we go through, as large or small it may be, doesn’t make you lesser. Although challenging degrading comments, calling out misogynistic men and speaking about your experiences is fucking scaring and can be dangerous (you don’t know the amount of times I’ve flipped off a catcalling man before instantly remembering I’m a young woman, therefore potentially eliciting danger), it needs to be done!
A friend reminded me how powerful being an ‘open book’ is. I strive to remind women, and people in general, that sharing anything about your life does not make you lesser. It makes you human.
[This was a more personal piece than my usual content, but sharing this feels necessary. My Instagram and Twitter DMs are always open for anyone to share their story or just rant}
- @emilyyy.r (Instagram) and @emilyxrogersxx (Twitter)
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