A few recent headlines from the BBC:
August 17, 2024: Indian doctors strike over rape and murder of colleague
(follow-up) August 27, 2024: Tear gas fired at protesters angry at Indian doctor's murder
September 2, 2024: Man accused of recruiting dozens of strangers to rape his wife
(follow-up) September 5, 2024: Woman describes horror of learning husband drugged her so others could rape her
September 3, 2024: Ugandan athlete in hospital after Kenya petrol attack
(follow-up) September 5, 2024: Olympian Rebecca Cheptegei dies after being set alight by ex-boyfriend
Violence against women is nothing new. A number of recent high profile cases has brought that back to the forefront of the public conscience. Reading the news can be devastating. Living the news, even moreso.
According to the WHO, “worldwide, almost one third (27%) of women aged 15 – 49 years who have been in a relationship report that they have been subjected to some form of physical and/or sexual violence by their intimate partner.”
And, from U.N. Women, “15 million adolescent girls worldwide, aged 15 – 19 years, have experienced forced sex. In the vast majority of countries, adolescent girls are most at risk of forced sex (forced sexual intercourse or other sexual acts) by a current or former husband, partner, or boyfriend. Based on data from 30 countries, only 1 per cent have ever sought professional help.”
And it isn’t all men. Of course it isn’t all men. But it’s many, many, many men.
And no amount of fortune or fame leaves you immune. Even in death.
When I was in 5th grade, a boy I was friends with in class asked me to go to the firehall dance. I called his house phone and said no and also said that I loved being friends and hoped we could stay that. The next day, he didn’t come to school. His best friend—another boy in the class that I would have called my friend—told the class that the boy who’d asked me out said he wouldn’t come to school the next day if I said no. It was not a fun day at school.
It was the first time I realized there could be negative consequences to saying no to a boy.
And this doesn’t stop, does it? When I go out—whether to a fancy restaurant or for a walk around the park—I dress differently if I’ll be by myself or with my boyfriend. His presence next to me being enough to deter street harassment. Every decision is calculated. Every potential outcome accounted for.
Do straight cis men share their location with their friends before going on a first date? Do they send their friends a screenshot of the profile of the person they are meeting and let them know that they’ll text when they get home? Do they ever feel the need to “text when they get home?” I’m honestly asking.
Have you ever walked past your street because someone has been following you for a few too many blocks? Do you change your running routes so strangers can’t learn your patterns? Do you fake phone calls into silent headphones? Do you know what areas you’re more likely to get harassed in? Do you take the elevator even though you’re only going to the second floor because the stairwells are isolated? Have you ever given second thought to an isolated stairwell?
Sure, not all men. But every woman I know has a story. Every woman.
And in sharing these stories, in having these conversations, we reclaim our power. Our voices. We are reminded that it was never our fault.
Shame must change sides.
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