Fury at the fear
IF you had asked me last week whether I walking alone at night feel’unsafe I d probably have shrugged “not really”. has ripped the scales of self-denial from my eyes. Because the grief and anger that followed her abduction and death prompted thousands of women to share their experiences of harassment, stalking and assault by men.
And as they spoke of the “countless” times they’ve been left in fear on the streets I started to remember some of the incidents I had brushed off or blocked out.
The man who exposed himself to me when I was nine. The school museum trip when a bloke offered to show me something behind the scenes then stuck his hand up my skirt. The whistling weirdo who rode behind me on the pavement and all the drunks making lewd remarks at bus stops.
I WAS scared each time, of course, but I never told anyone. Perhaps I assumed I wouldn’t be believed or – like with the museum incident – that I’d brought it on myself. So you accept bad things can happen when you’re simply living your life and you begin to adapt your behaviour.
You develop a routine of self-preservation that becomes so normal that you don’t even question it. And perhaps, like me, you even convince yourself you don’t really feel the fear.
But now a woman who took all those sensible precautions has died. And you realise there’s nothing normal about anticipating an attack every time you go for a walk. You realise how outrageous it is that the responsibility rests on women’s shoulders and countless incidents of harassment still go unreported.
But the remarkable response to Sarah’s death has been opening men’s eyes too. And many who never understood our culture of self-preservation are vowing to adapt their own behaviour.
It’s a positive step. But we also need to report the ones who don’t and for the police to heed our fears. Only then can we truly feel safe walking the streets alone.