"I got my arse groped on the tram the other day" wrote Chloe Booker in Daily Life a few months ago. Fuck that! I thought at the time. Then today, I read of the 'predators honing their skills' on trams and trains around Melbourne. These are the blokes who may then go on to worse assaults.
As I read these pieces, it made me reflect on all the times that men had threatened me, flashed at me, and made unwanted physical and verbal advances at me throughout my growing up.
In my case, many grimy, offensive things have happened, including turning up for work experience to find that the experience involved the boss pushing his hard dick into my back.
In Chloe's case, she decided to call the behaviour out, and she walked away from it feeling liberated and proud: "I whizzed around and sent that excuse of a man into his own shame spiral with my loud public yelling."
I got to thinking: why had I stayed silent so many times? Maybe we 'normalise' these incidents at the time as a way of coping with our experiences?
Is it normal that as a 15 year old, the taxi driver should turn off the cab meter and propose that I pay a reduced fare as he needed a young wife? Is it normal for my driving instructor to suggest that he should take nude photographs of me, while I was preparing for my licence test and was trapped alone in a car with him?
Why was it that although I felt uncomfortable about the bloke in the cinema a few seats from me fondling his exposed penis, I did not expose him!? Yell at him, 'Put your f---ing dick away!!!'
When a flasher showed us his penis and told us not to tell anyone, why did my teenage friend and I not alert the police? When my friend's boyfriend gave me drugs, then tried to forcibly seduce me, why did I not tell anyone about his botched attempt for 20 years? Was it his threatening spiel about what he would do to me if I told anyone-that he would say I had gone along with it, even though I had been able to fend him off? Whatever it was, it scared me enough to say nothing and to feel soiled and dirty for having even been in that vulnerable a position.
When I was about 14, a boy broke into the family home, stole my clothes and 'wanked all over my pillow' (as I then described it), leaving a smiley face drawn in cum and a tell-tale red pube. This was not normal, and it did not make me feel liberated-it made me scared to walk my local streets. I couldn't sleep in my room for weeks. We reported it to the Police, and I figured I knew who it was, so why did I never confront those neighbourhood boys? A leering smiley face grinned back at me from the fresh graffiti painted opposite my house, taunting and warning me.
When I travelled overseas, how many times did men push up against me in elevators, or let their legs rub harder and harder against mine on the train? Why was I so paralysed that I said nothing?
On an overnight train trip from Florence, I sat in a carriage with a handsome soldier. He spoke little English, but we talked with my halting Italian. He invited me to 'camminare', to walk with him. As we passed an empty compartment he pushed me in and fell upon me. I was able to extricate myself and rush back to my carriage-but now I wonder 'why did I not tell someone-a conductor, another woman on board?' Instead I sat upright, vigilant against attack all night as he sat opposite, glaring at me. I watched the snows of the Swiss Alps lighten with daybreak and wished and hoped for him to disembark before my destination.
The boss at the Hotel who asked me out for a drink after work, then on the way, lured me to his home where I suddenly felt so threatened that I realised not to cross the threshold. I lost that new job and was too scared to go up that High Street for 6 months. I did not report his behaviour to management, because, what did he really do, apart from make me feel unsafe and intimidated?
Then there's the harmless old boss from the employment services office where I worked. Sure, as a young graduate I had to feel it was OK for him to get a bit groiny with me on the dance floor, didn't I? Because he was a bloke as old as my dad, with daughters just a bit younger than me, so there couldn't really be any harm in it, could there?
This stuff only takes me up to my early twenties. Beyond that there were the pushy advances, the unwanted conversations, the uninvited attention that we women sometimes tolerate so as not to seem 'rude'. On many occasions, I have been incredibly lucky to get home safely, and some of those times I had had far too much to drink.
Maybe the stories that women now tell will give girls more courage to tell the sleazy creep, the attacker and the perve to leave them alone and respect their humanity and their space. In fact, Police say that the increase in reports of assaults on public transport may well be evidence that women are now more inclined to report such incidents. Detective Senior Segeant Montgomery said that "the growing community push to combat violence against women had also given victims of sexual assaults on public transport a voice."
If we didn't suffer so many unwanted, inappropriate approaches in silence, maybe we could be more emboldened to call the real danger when we see it. In doing so, we could prevent future attacks. "If we identify these people at the early stages of offending, we can certainly prevent, we believe, other offences from being committed, and other people from being victimised," Inspector Curran said.
It's time to yell when necessary: "Get your hands off me!" "Fuck off!" and even "Put your dick away!" It's time to call out the creeps.
In my case, many grimy, offensive things have happened, including turning up for work experience to find that the experience involved the boss pushing his hard dick into my back.
In Chloe's case, she decided to call the behaviour out, and she walked away from it feeling liberated and proud: "I whizzed around and sent that excuse of a man into his own shame spiral with my loud public yelling."
I got to thinking: why had I stayed silent so many times? Maybe we 'normalise' these incidents at the time as a way of coping with our experiences?
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| Under the clocks. Tick, tick, tick. Image (c) Anna Sublet |
Is it normal that as a 15 year old, the taxi driver should turn off the cab meter and propose that I pay a reduced fare as he needed a young wife? Is it normal for my driving instructor to suggest that he should take nude photographs of me, while I was preparing for my licence test and was trapped alone in a car with him?
Why was it that although I felt uncomfortable about the bloke in the cinema a few seats from me fondling his exposed penis, I did not expose him!? Yell at him, 'Put your f---ing dick away!!!'
When a flasher showed us his penis and told us not to tell anyone, why did my teenage friend and I not alert the police? When my friend's boyfriend gave me drugs, then tried to forcibly seduce me, why did I not tell anyone about his botched attempt for 20 years? Was it his threatening spiel about what he would do to me if I told anyone-that he would say I had gone along with it, even though I had been able to fend him off? Whatever it was, it scared me enough to say nothing and to feel soiled and dirty for having even been in that vulnerable a position.
When I was about 14, a boy broke into the family home, stole my clothes and 'wanked all over my pillow' (as I then described it), leaving a smiley face drawn in cum and a tell-tale red pube. This was not normal, and it did not make me feel liberated-it made me scared to walk my local streets. I couldn't sleep in my room for weeks. We reported it to the Police, and I figured I knew who it was, so why did I never confront those neighbourhood boys? A leering smiley face grinned back at me from the fresh graffiti painted opposite my house, taunting and warning me.
When I travelled overseas, how many times did men push up against me in elevators, or let their legs rub harder and harder against mine on the train? Why was I so paralysed that I said nothing?
On an overnight train trip from Florence, I sat in a carriage with a handsome soldier. He spoke little English, but we talked with my halting Italian. He invited me to 'camminare', to walk with him. As we passed an empty compartment he pushed me in and fell upon me. I was able to extricate myself and rush back to my carriage-but now I wonder 'why did I not tell someone-a conductor, another woman on board?' Instead I sat upright, vigilant against attack all night as he sat opposite, glaring at me. I watched the snows of the Swiss Alps lighten with daybreak and wished and hoped for him to disembark before my destination.
The boss at the Hotel who asked me out for a drink after work, then on the way, lured me to his home where I suddenly felt so threatened that I realised not to cross the threshold. I lost that new job and was too scared to go up that High Street for 6 months. I did not report his behaviour to management, because, what did he really do, apart from make me feel unsafe and intimidated?
Then there's the harmless old boss from the employment services office where I worked. Sure, as a young graduate I had to feel it was OK for him to get a bit groiny with me on the dance floor, didn't I? Because he was a bloke as old as my dad, with daughters just a bit younger than me, so there couldn't really be any harm in it, could there?
This stuff only takes me up to my early twenties. Beyond that there were the pushy advances, the unwanted conversations, the uninvited attention that we women sometimes tolerate so as not to seem 'rude'. On many occasions, I have been incredibly lucky to get home safely, and some of those times I had had far too much to drink.
Maybe the stories that women now tell will give girls more courage to tell the sleazy creep, the attacker and the perve to leave them alone and respect their humanity and their space. In fact, Police say that the increase in reports of assaults on public transport may well be evidence that women are now more inclined to report such incidents. Detective Senior Segeant Montgomery said that "the growing community push to combat violence against women had also given victims of sexual assaults on public transport a voice."
If we didn't suffer so many unwanted, inappropriate approaches in silence, maybe we could be more emboldened to call the real danger when we see it. In doing so, we could prevent future attacks. "If we identify these people at the early stages of offending, we can certainly prevent, we believe, other offences from being committed, and other people from being victimised," Inspector Curran said.
It's time to yell when necessary: "Get your hands off me!" "Fuck off!" and even "Put your dick away!" It's time to call out the creeps.
For many more stories of women encountering sexist behaviour and assaults, see Laura Bates' Everyday Sexism and on Twitter @EverydaySexism. As Laura says: "by sharing your stories you're showing the world that sexism does exist and it is faced by women every day and it is a valid problem to discuss."
A sexual harassment reporting site has started up, based in India. Users can tag incidents of assault, sexual harassment and "pin the creeps".
(c) Anna Sublet, 2015
A sexual harassment reporting site has started up, based in India. Users can tag incidents of assault, sexual harassment and "pin the creeps".
(c) Anna Sublet, 2015
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