Women are scared by everything because we are taught that it’s not safe ‘out there’ – can we feel safe anywhere?
As a child, I was told I couldn’t walk to and from school because someone could notice a pattern, stalk me, and attack. Kind of heavy for an eight-year-old. But, as I’ve gotten older, the widespread (and sometimes borderline hysterical) safety concerns haven’t faded, but rather they’ve only become more front of mind. I am acutely aware of the dangers that inherently (and they are inherent) come with being a woman. I was taught early on that it’s not safe “out there” and have internalized that awareness to a degree of paranoia. When walking alone, I’m constantly checking behind me (“keep your head on a swivel,” as my dad would say). I will do everything I can to avoid going outside alone at night, which is especially difficult in the winter. In the summer I intentionally cover up to avoid unwanted attention and I don’t make eye contact or smile at strangers for fear of it being taken as an invitation. Why should a smile be misinterpreted as an invitation for anything? It’s a sobering reality that women are scared by everything because we are taught our whole lives that that it’s not safe “out there.” So can we feel safe anywhere?
I don’t think there’s much I can say about gendered violence that hasn’t already been said. There are songs and movies and books that explicitly explore the subject. And I would hazard a guess that the people reading this blog are probably pretty familiar with the womanly experience of living in fear. Rites of passage like not walking alone or the ubiquitous “text me when you get home!” at the end of the night. I’m not going to pretend to have any ground-breaking insights here. I do, however, want to share a story from a few months ago.
I was walking between Tube platforms alone late at night. Ahead of me was a young black man. I was walking quickly because I was scared, gripping my keys between my fingers in makeshift brass knuckles and always looking behind me. He was also walking quickly, constantly looking behind him. And it hit me- both of us are terrified to be out alone at night. We are very much aware of what happens to people who look like us when cornered. And I’m sure he was very much aware of what happens to young black men if a young white woman is alone and afraid of a young black man. White men don’t feel the fear that women and black folks feel. After all, how many stories have there been of rapists and racists being let off the hook for their actions because a criminal record would ‘ruin their lives?’ Seeing the fear in this stranger somehow calmed my fear. Knowing that he was afraid of something bad happening as much as I was made me realize that we were both just trying to get home safe.
As a woman, a feminist, a scholar of gender studies, and a champion for public health and safety, I often think about gendered injustices and how they impact folks’ daily lives. But, as a white cisgendered woman, it’s easy to forget the privilege afforded to me. It’s easy to overlook the perspectives of POC, transgender, and gender nonconforming folks. It’s easy to assume the ladies out there are the only ones who are afraid to be alone. I think it’s important to have moments that force us to realize and acknowledge the fears of all the other people in the room. My experience in the Tube got me thinking – is the world only truly safe for cishet white men?
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