I’ve decided to include this here because it contains paddling-related examples, and things that are examples of access barrieres for women* and girls wanting to get into sports.Originally posted on facebook.
Me Too
Of course. I tried to remember the first time, but can’t be sure. I think I was about eight years old, proudly sitting in a tree I’d just climbed. A man walked up to me and informed me that my boyfriend wouldn’t like the scars if I scratched myself on the branches. Yep, just an example of the usual everyday sexism, but the way he looked me up and down made me uncomfortable, even though I had no way of placing it at the age of eight.
I’m eleven. A boy who’s repeating a school year has just joined our class. He’s two years older than the rest of us and thinks it’s funny to walk up to the girls and pretend to hump them from behind. Most of the class doesn’t seem to think much by it and doesn’t react. I’m really uncomfortable with it, tell him to stop, yell at him when he doesn’t, get laughed at by him and by the people who are watching, get laughed at by the teacher I talk to about this, asking him to make it stop.
I’m thirteen, walking in the forest with my little sisters, the smallest one in a pushchair. A man steps out from behind a tree. I realise that his trousers are at his ankles and he’s wanking. I’m confused, try to make sure he doesn’t notice that I’ve seen him, wanting to give him the privacy to disappear behind the tree again once he spots us. Surely, he would be embarrassed if four little girls saw him touching himself? When he doesn’t stop and I realise that there is no way he still can’t have noticed us, I get scared. I tell the eldest of my sisters to take over the pushchair and run, pick the middle one up and start running too. I don’t tell my parents what happened when I get home. Neither do my sisters. We’re confused and embarrassed. When my dad reads me my bedtime story, I start crying. He asks me what’s up and I tell him. He is angry and shocked. I’m surprised he is. He tells me we’re going to the police the next day. I’m even more surprised.
The police are surprised that I can use the word penis, rather than saying willy or something like that. When they research the case, they find out that lots of girls in the same area have had the same experience, but didn’t come forward. There is a trial, where I have to go through the whole thing again in a courtroom. The guy in question gets a probation order, but never actually has to go to jail because he agrees on seeing a therapist. He doesn’t finish the therapy. Nothing further happens. When I go kayaking, any passer-by on the riverbank looks like him. I tell myself I’m safe because I’m on the water, but walk to and from the clubhouse as quick as I can.
I’m fifteen. I sit at the table in a restaurant with the rest of my team. I feel like my coach is looking at my breasts and shift, sitting chin in hand, covering them up without saying anything. “Oh, Lena’s shielding herself again!”, he blurts. I’m mortified.
I’m sixteen, on a training camp in Czech Republic. It’s my turn to get the groceries. On the way to the shop, I walk past a building site. One of the workers (there are about ten of them) whistles. The rest of them starts whistling, calling out to me in Czech and laughing. I act as if it has nothing to do with me and walk on, walking three extra miles on the way back to avoid passing them again.
I’m nineteen. My flatmate and friend slaps my bum in the supermarket, “because it is a good bum.” I feel like I should feel flattered and try to look it, but feel weird and embarrassed.
I’m twenty-three. The old lady is talking to me, her hands on my thigh. I don’t like it, but don’t move away or say anything because I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. While she’s talking, her hands wander further up, until at some point there’s no doubt anymore that she’s not just being friendly. I get up and walk away.
I’m twenty-five. Someone sends me a message saying that I “looked hot tonight at training.” “I saw what underwear you were wearing.” I answer him that I do not pay attention to what underwear I wear at training, and neither do I want anybody else to. He sends me three emojis. An aubergine, a hand and three droplets.
And then there’s all the things in between. When a really good friend says something slightly or not so slightly inappropriate, and I think about whether to call him out on it or not. When a colleague “supports” me going up a slippery hill, putting his hand on my bum. I’ve known this person for a really long time. He is somebody I trust and respect. Now I’m constantly wondering whether he secretly wants more, whether he’ll try something else once we’re alone together again, or whether, after all, it was just an accident where his hand landed, and if the same accident would have happened if I was somebody else. When I hear a really inappropriate joke that I don’t find funny, and chose not to laugh, then get told that I should “relax” and “cheer up”. When I call out an inappropriate/sexist message in a group chat and get nicknamed Sensible Sally as a result. And when I’m aware that writing this will make a big percentage of the people who read it think that I’m “no fun”, “can’t take a joke” am “frigid” or a “fucking feminist”.
I often hear that, exactly for those and for other reasons, women resign themselves to harassment. That they don’t react to it anymore. They feel like “men need to do something”, that “it’s not in the hands of women”. Of course, sometimes it’s not possible to make someone realise they’re out of order. Sometimes you would put yourself in danger if you reacted to a wolf whistle, so you walk on without doing anything about it. Sometimes, you can’t avoid seeing something, and sometimes you’re weaker and have no chance to escape or resist. Off course it is complete bullshit to blame a woman for anything a man does to her. She is not responsible. It is not her fault because her skirt was too short, because she smiled at him. Whoever does something inappropriate is responsible for it. But I don’t think it’s at all constructive to make women out to be “helpless victims”. The reasons should be fairly self-explanatory.
There are lots of situations where I can say NO, GO AWAY or “This is out of order, LEAVE ME ALONE”, loudly, confidently and safely. Don’t stop doing it. It is absolutely essential.
I agree that the discussion often happens in extremely unconstructive ways. That we talk about “women being raped” rather than “men raping”, for example. I also agree that men have been too little involved in the discussion. I wish they would be more aware and speak up, particularly when the seemingly trivial stuff happens, the little comments and the rape jokes. Just saying “I don’t find that funny” or “I think that’s really disrespectful, I don’t want to hear things like that” or “hey, I don’t like being depicted as a violent ignorant shit who can’t control his dick” every now and then would have a big impact. Just not making someone else feel uncomfortable for saying things like that would. This discussion doesn't only have to happen for the sake of women. It's everybody's business.
#metoo
Comments:
(Answering a question whether ‘the situations you describe have long existed and/or whether tsunamis of porn are making it much much worse.’: hmm, I think it's always kind of existed, because it was acceptable at some point in the past. Women weren't regarded as being worth the same as men, they were property. I think we still haven't got over that inequality. I also read something I found really clever the other day which shouldn't be entirely new to you (; ) ) only if you respect yourself can you respect others. I don't think our society necessarily fosters self-respect. I don't think porn is necessarily helpful in this context, but I've come to the conclusion that it's the little things that matter. Do you know the TV show two and a half men, for example? it's supposedly humourous, but all it does is promoting the idea that men are a bit stupid, massively inappropriate and obsessed with sex, all the time. I mean, don't get me wrong, I think it's part of being human to be obsessed with sex most of the time, no matter what gender, and I'm an advocate of being allowed to joke about any topic, but, and that's the point, if it is really a joke, and not prejudice using jokes as a trojan horse. This is a TV show that's on normal TV, that everybody can watch without thinking too much by it. In my opinion, it's those small things that normalise assault enough to make the big stuff happen.
A friend of mine described an incident in her post: "The last time I had a dick pulled on me was in xxx at a crowded gigg. A young guy with friends in tow muscled in on our dance space and aggressively shoved his dick at me...it wasn't about attraction. It wasn't a come on but aggression - he was spoiling for a fight not wanting a date. We let him have the dance space and shrugged it off - he won. I now feel I should have done more. Alerted bar staff, sought to have him thrown out...but you wonder - will he get thrown out? Will he wait round the corner after, for revenge? Is it worth it as it will ruin my night out? So I let it slide. And a young man had a lesson reinforced that he can use his dick for dominance and get away with it. And at the time I didn't think of it as a big deal..."
And I think that pinpoints the issue: The general climate is set to make you feel ridiculous, frigid, a bit of a nuisance, but definitely not somebody who should be taken seriously if you speak out.
To someone saying ‘these things shouldn’t happen: It shouldn't but it does... I didn't write this to whine about it, I don't think whining helps. You once told me "Most people are nice, but you will come across the odd bad apple every now and again." I found that that's very true, and I don't want to lose sight of all the nice things that happen in the world and between people. But I think we all need to start (or continue) being open about this stuff. We've learnt to keep it quiet, so that everything stays nice and harmoniously peaceful. That makes it so much easier for "offenders". It makes everything worse.
