“Hey, ladies,” he said, unprovoked.
The phrase was directed at my friend and me as we walked across campus one evening. When given two uninterested gazes in response, the oblivious man proceeded to ask us if we had gum. My friend said no, though we were both chewing gum ourselves.
Walking past this stranger and his sidekick, my friend and I tried to ignore the obnoxiously loud, snide comments he continued to make about us. “I want that one. You can have the other,” we heard them argue. As if they were entitled to our bodies in the first place, even still as they continued to disrespect us with their voices, their venomous words nipping at our heels and quickening our pace. I’m sure their remarks turned more vulgar, but my friend and I drowned them out eventually.
As we approached the stairs of the Academic Forum, our verbal assailant called out to us. “Are you going to hold the door for us?” We didn’t answer. We simply walked into the building, which we sought as a haven away from our aggressors.
They waltzed through the doors shortly after us. “Thanks,” the main antagonist stated, sarcastically. “I’ll still eat you, though.”
Not a hint of sarcasm detected.
My friend and I whipped our heads around faster than I thought humanly possible, only to see these two boys laughing at how hilarious the one’s comment was.
Because making women feel uncomfortable or vulnerable while exerting that power imbalance over them is the funniest thing in the world.
My friend was quick to display her middle finger proudly into the air. I was too shocked to even react. All I could do was stare blankly, my mouth agape in utter shock and disgust.
Even now as I write this, I find it hard to put into words how I felt in that moment. I’m developing the same terrible knot in my stomach I felt that night as I could sense their eyes on my friend’s body and mine. My hands are beginning to shake again from the slight fear they struck in me, as well as the pure rage that coursed through my veins, as the one harasser stated—very matter-of-factly—that he would place his head between my legs. He seemed to present the notion as a kind of honor or privilege, though I gave no indication of wanting—nor consenting—to engage in such an act with him.
This is rape culture. This is why women don’t walk alone once the sun begins to dip into the horizon. This is why we are afraid of being attacked. If someone can openly harass you and make sexually objectifying statements about you and explain what they would do to you—when you have expressed no interest whatsoever—what would stop them from actually going through with it?
I should NOT have to fear walking across my own campus. I should NOT have to be harassed by a random man—or any man—for denying his advances. I should NOT be viewed as an object that a man feels entitled to, just because he wants it. And I should NOT be laughed at for being made felt uncomfortable, unsafe, scared, or vulnerable.
Women are people.
Treat us as such.