Trigger Warning: mentions of sexual assault
Like many people over the past few days, I have been closely watching the story of Sarah Everard develop in London. For those who are unfamiliar with that name, Sarah Everard was a 33-year-old woman who was kidnapped, raped and murdered by a police officer while she was walking home from a friend’s house. Her body was discovered on March 10, 2021. She had been missing for seven days. Everard’s story isn’t unique, and violence against women isn’t rare.
She had done everything right. She walked on brightly-lit streets. She wore noticeable colored clothing. She called her boyfriend on the way home. She was wearing shoes she could run in. She did everything that has been taught to women over our entire lives, and it still happened to her. Sarah Everard’s story is proof of what women have known for years. We are not safe anywhere. We are not safe at night, on the street, in our universities, in our homes, at work or even in broad daylight. Our sex is a threat to our lives.
Don’t wear revealing clothes, or you could be asking for it. Don’t wear too much makeup because then you look like a slut. Don’t drink too much because then it’s your fault. Remember to wear shoes you can run in. If you feel unsafe, fake a phone call. Don’t walk alone at night unless you absolutely have to. Put your keys in between your fingers. Check behind your shoulder. Cross the street if you see a man coming towards you. And if you fail to do one of these, then it is your fault that something happened to you.
This is not a dramatic take, and I’m not making any of this up. I was 12 the first time I faked a phone call. I was 13 the first time I was cat-called. My middle school told us to cover our shoulders or we would be a distraction to the boys or even the male teachers. I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and jeans when I was sexually harassed at the age of 13. Maybe I should have been wearing a parka instead? Or maybe I should have told someone? Let’s ignore the fact that I was 13 years old and could barely repeat the words they were saying to me out loud. I was 15 the first time I was called a slut all because a boy was flirting with me. I had done nothing wrong, but I was the slut. That same year I was told that I had apparently hooked up with somebody backstage during a show. Funnily enough, that story was news to me. I was 16 when my first friend told me she had been raped. She was the first, but not the last of my friends to go through that. I cannot count the number of times I was dressed coded while a girl with a smaller chest wore something significantly more scandalous right next to me. Recently, a girl I had known for five minutes hid behind me as her rapist walked past.
So don’t tell me I am overreacting.
I want men to understand what it is like. What it is like to go through college knowing that there is a 1 in 5 chance that you will be raped. Even if you make it through college, there is still a 1 in 3 chance that will happen to you at some point, according to the National Sexual Violence Resource Center. I want them to know about the silence that I feel every single time I get an email alerting me of an assault that has occurred on campus. I want them to know what it’s like to hug your friend as she talks about getting raped. I want them to know what it is like to remind your friends to text you when they get home—that a request is not only a request, but a plea that they will get home safe. I want them to know why I carry pepper spray at all times. I want them to feel how my heart races any time I am alone with a stranger. I want them to know the fear that I have for myself, my friends and my family every single day. I want them to feel it all. The fear, the hopelessness, the anger.
And, don’t you dare say that it is “not all men.” We know that it is not all men. But it is enough men. It is enough men that we have the right to be terrified. Think about it this way: it is a fact that bees sting, so if a bee flies past me I will step away. That does not mean that the bee was going to sting me, but that there was enough possibility that it might so I reacted as if it was going to.
We have raised our daughters to be brave, smart, cunning and prepared. Unfortunately, that is no longer enough.
That is no longer enough and I am terrified.