Last Monday was International Women's Day. It was a normal(ish) day for me, mostly spent on my laptop. But reading about impressive projects and campaigning women whenever I had a writing break, felt empowering. By the end of the day, I'd heard or read more female voices than male ones. Not the norm, of course, in a patriarchal society, but it felt weirdly supportive. I found my head was a little higher and I walked a little taller because of it.
The following day I was right back in my place. During the weekly food shop, I had to ask a member of staff to reach something from a top shelf. I am the average height for a UK female and yet the design of the supermarket I regularly fund, precluded me from buying the item I wanted. The man I asked to help was kind and willing, but the fact I had to ask for help to buy onions felt pathetic. I felt pathetic. And pissed off.
By the end of the week, of course, there were far bigger reasons to feel pissed off. Burning with anger might be a better description of how I felt. The remains of a woman, Sarah Everard, were found in Kent. I'd been following the progress of the search but even when it was announced that someone had been charged, it all felt so familiar. Earlier in the week, local police had issued 'advice' to women telling them not to go out in the evenings while the suspect was still unknown. Quite rightly, the various responses to that could be paraphrased with, 'No. Why don't you tell men to stay indoors until you find which of them did it.' I think my rage started then. By the time Saturday came, and the vigil on Clapham Common saw policing that might be termed as 'heavy handed, inappropriate, or disproportionate' at best, I was exhausted. It's knackering being angry. And yet to not be, isn't an option. It implies acceptance of the unacceptable. And yet acceptance is what we've had for so long.
Women policing their behaviour because of the threat of male violence, is not new. In my younger years, I would carry a bottle of Bud inside my jacket when I got the last bus home from my boyfriend's. As a teenager, I was given a rape alarm as a present. I forcibly told the man that stopped to help with a flat tyre on the motorway, I was absolutely fine and he needed to get back in his car, because I remembered the murder of a woman on the hard shoulder when I was a kid. The risk is always there. In my head. In many women's heads when they walk home, get the bus, break down, or exist.
And yet I hate the narrative of being made to behave in a restricted way. I hate that, as Caitlin Moran tweeted this week, women have a curfew. It's shameful that this is the way a modern society functions; when women have to behave less than in order to be safe. Despite my general indifference, I watched the Oprah interview last week. What was clear was how Meghan was able to use her voice. She had been silenced - by protocol, by the media, by the need to keep safe in a toxic environment. Now she was free to talk. Ultimately being less than had been catastrophic for her mental health. She may have privilege, money and a platform, but she proved that policing your own behaviour because of outside pressures is destructive.
Predictably, the Twitter trends for the week were skewed. An ex-breakfast host and his creepy obsession were trending for a few days, as was the hashtag # notallmen. Last week I spoke about the marvellousness of male allies. I know loads of them and they rock. Men who, when hearing a friend make a sexist joke or objectify a woman, tell them to give their head a wobble. Men who have female mates and so develop their empathy of another's lived experience. Men who teach their sons to respect women by respecting women themselves. Those men are brilliant. And the more of them that exist openly, the more the systemic issue of violence against women and girls will be reduced. It's definitely not all men. But it is men.
The news that a police officer has been arrested for Sarah Everard's murder is shocking. Except it isn't. Women are used to being on high alert no matter who they meet. Every interaction is a gamble. The man I asked for help in the supermarket was kind and willing. I got my onions with only my pride dented. A man whose job is to protect the public has been charged with killing one of them. In the meantime, male allies? Keep on keeping on. Make it really clear, you're not a gamble a woman may live to regret.
Have a lovely week, folks.
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