“There is something that pains me so deeply about-”
It is the day before my birthday. It is 5 am. I have spent the past hour crying because Sarah Everard was just on her way home. I cried, thinking of the many nights I’ve had to be on the phone pretending I’m speaking to someone anytime I see a suspicious stranger or my gut tells me somethings not right. I cried remembering times when I’ve even been with my younger sister and have had men approach us and sexually harass her, despite being there and only leaving after I shouted and expressed my anger. I cried thinking about times I’ve been at bus stops after work and have had to politely entertain questions from men speaking to me, just in case they perceive me to be rude and act upon it in a way I could regret. Questions like “so are you single, do you live local, are you going home?”.
I cried, thinking about how some of my precautions to make myself safer has become second nature—walking home with my keys between my fingers as soon as I get off the bus. Taking the long route home with more streetlights despite my bag being heavy, my back feeling exhausted and knowing the shorter route can literally take half the time. I cried because of how I’d berate myself for forgetting to take these precautions sometimes because I’d feel too tired after a long day. Or days where I just want to listen to music on my way home.
I cried, thinking about whether anyone would care if I was to go missing. If an investigation would be conducted. Or whether police will be quick to announce that there is “inconclusive evidence and the case needs to be closed”.
There is something that pains me so deeply about *who* decides which cases are important enough to investigate. To follow up. To turn into a national search.
There is something that deeply frustrates me about the fact that I have to rely on the police for “protection” in the first place. I do not want to depend on an institution I do not innately trust. Yet, I know this is the institution that would be responsible for actioning a “follow up” if something was ever to happen to me anyway.
There is something that deeply saddens me about the fact that I’m only hearing about Blessing Olusegun after the events of this week. I have spent the last year grieving for people I know and have lost and for people, I don’t know but have been treated as an afterthought by so many others. Every time I read about one of these cases, I am reminded of how “it could have been me”. I am tired, and I know I am not alone in experiencing this very physical and emotional exhaustion.
The older I get, the more I recognise that my love for summer isn’t just because of the warmth it can bring. It’s also because of the added daylight saving it provides. It means I can physically see people for longer without having to rely on streetlights as much. It means I don’t necessarily have to worry about wearing “bright clothing” that makes me visible. It means that there are additional precautions that “add” to my safety.
But I hate that this is something I have to think about because these thought processes that I have, and so many other women have to think about show just how ingrained victim-blaming has become. I hate the fact that whenever there are incidents such as what heartbreakingly happened to Sarah Everard, we repeatedly see the ‘are you really a victim’ police crawl out of the woodwork asking questions like “what was she wearing”, “what time was it”, “why was she out that late knowing it was dark outside”. I need less people pre-occupied with asking about women’s presentation when they are harassed, or assaulted or murdered, and I need more people asking why there are men out on streets searching to harass and assault and murder in the first place.
I keep thinking about a Twitter thread a long time ago that asked, “what would you do if all the men in the world disappeared”. I remember how most of the answers were essentially variations of being able to go for a walk or a run at night without feeling scared.
Why has something as simple as being outside without fearing for your life become so revolutionary? I don’t know whether it’s because we’ve spent most of the past year at home. Still, I keep thinking about the amount of pent up physical and sexual frustration that many have had to face, and I am scared, so scared of how this will manifest in social spaces when we are allowed to socialise more frequently once again.
Statistics show that a woman is murdered by a man every 3 days in the UK, and 1 in 5 women in the UK will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime (Home Office VAWG, 2019).
I wish every woman could get home safe. I wish every man could do better.
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By Makella Ketezi
Managing Editor @ Ashamed Magazine.