Hey! Your classic Western student here—I study hard so I can party hard. My favourite day of the week is Ceeps Thursday. Unfortunately, sometimes my night gets interrupted by grimy dudes who never learned how to keep their hands to themselves, or maybe just refuse to do so.
Here’s an example from last semester. I was at a bar sipping drinks with my friend, minding my own business. A group of strangers, all boys, barged into our booth and started putting their arms around us… so we decided to leave immediately. As I stood up to go, the guy next to me grabbed a big ‘ole handful of my ass. I froze, and then whipped around and slapped him, yelling “Don’t you ever ****ing do that again! **** you!”.
To this day, I still struggle with if my reaction was appropriate. Does his assault on my body justify mine on his? Would he even care if I dropped a few f-bombs and walked away? I definitely got his attention with a slap, but at what cost?
The next thing I know, security was coming after ME, asking why I hit the guy. As calmly as I could, I began to explain the situation. Apparently, because they only saw me slap him and not the actual assault, they had to ask me to leave. To make things worse, the boy who did it began denying that anything had ever happened and all his buddies backed him up. I have never felt so frustrated in my entire life. I felt small and powerless, like these boys could do whatever they wanted and get away with it regardless of my rights or feelings.
Grasping at whatever I could to give myself a sense of control, I demanded that the group of boys be asked to leave as well. This set the group off, which actually worked in my favour because they were then escorted out. As I went to leave I was stopped AGAIN by the security team—this time because the group of boys was waiting outside, angry, and it wasn’t safe for me to leave on my own.
I am still at a loss about where to begin with this incident. It was wrong for a stranger to assume he could grope at my body just to impress his friends. I don’t feel good about hitting him, but it was the only effective way to defend myself in that circumstance. It sucked that, despite having a handful of witnesses to the assault, every single other boy who saw denied the whole thing in order to save their friend. It is completely messed up that not only was I unsafe in the bar, I couldn’t even leave without risking further assault. It hurts me to think that although this night will stick with me for years, it is likely just a funny, drunken story to that group of friends.
I get that often people go out to bars looking for some form of companionship. Personally, I wasn’t, but regardless, that is not an appropriate way to go about finding a mate. The rules of basic human respect still apply inside your local watering hole, no matter how greasy it may be. It doesn’t matter if the bar is packed and I have to accidentally touch you to squeeze by—that is not an invitation to paw at my hips. A shadowy booth is not free game for your hand to work its way up my thigh. Paying $5 at the door is not an exchange for access to whatever body makes your pants feel tight. All of these actions require permission regardless of setting, intoxication or choice of clothing, yet as a society we are incredibly tolerant to assault as part of the bar scene.
If you ask me, this culture of grabbing at women without permission is rooted in a deep seated lack of respect for women. This is evident in how easily I was dismissed when pleading with security to kick out the perpetrator, how my claims were buried under a barrage of denial by witnesses, how we look up to the stars of Hollywood for their accomplishments on screen while ignoring the stories taking place on the other side of the camera, and how we even elect officials who have been caught again and again in the web of their own sexist and predatory actions.
Fortunately, times have started to change. We have movements, marches and hashtags. But why is it that our efforts struggle to permeate one of the last ‘acceptable’ places to assault women: the bar? What is it about that atmosphere that says, “Go ahead, squeeze her butt, you can get away with it”? Why do we allow people to get away with it? What is it about the eyes of others that promise “I won’t tell if you don’t”? Why do we assume that going to a bar = wanting to hook up = automatic access to anyone inside? Why don’t we do more to protect women?
I don’t have the answers.
I am unbelievably tired of asking for such a simple request—respect. UntiI my fellow sisters and I are granted that one right, a girl might just have to defend herself. Who knows, I might even slap some sense into them.
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