We don’t do that here

On a sunny O-week afternoon as I was walking towards the bus stop on campus I heard behind me, at the kind of decibel and tone that begged for attention, “Wow – look at that ass.” My mind immediately started to flip through the stack of life lessons that have been instilled in me over the years: just ignore them and they’ll leave you alone; they just want attention so don’t give it to them; people like that aren’t worth your time; it’s just the way guys are, so don’t let it get to you.

I had a hundred reasons not to tell this guy that his comments made me feel dirty and uneasy.

To my delight, his friend warned him, “You better be careful man, one of these times someone’s going to turn around and tell you off.”

This friend’s comment meant many things to me. Obviously I was not the first girl – probably not even the first girl today – to be subjected to this guy’s belligerent comments. The friend sounded like he had some moral grounding and knew that his friend was making others feel objectified, and that even if for no reason more than self-preservation, he should ask him to stop.

I was so happy with this response that I took it as an opportunity to prove him right. Usually standing up to someone like this is unnerving but I felt like I had a supportive audience and I could tell him that his comments were not welcome. When I turned, I realized that it was not just a couple guys walking behind me, but a group of about ten dressed in matching collegiate gear. I couldn’t even tell which one had made the comments, until I noticed that one was particularly shifty, trying to hide his face behind another guy’s shoulder, too drunk to disguise his culpability well. I confidently told him, “You should really listen to your friend. We don’t do that here.”

I turned back around, expecting that this would be the end of it, and continued on my way to catch my bus. The friends within this little mob started making excuses for him and told me that he was drunk, quite directly stating this as an excuse for his behaviour. Of course I had gotten myself into the situation at this point and there was no backing down, so I told them that being drunk is no excuse for talking to people like that, and if he can’t handle being respectful he should stay home.

They didn’t like that.

The guys went on to defend their friend, saying that because I’m sober I shouldn’t expect any kind of decency from him (though of course not in these words). One guy said “Okay, you’ve said you’re piece, so go away and leave it alone.” The main antagonist of our story said, in the most condescending tone that he could conjure up, that he was trying to pay me a complement.

Where exactly was I supposed to go to get away from the situation when we were heading in the same direction? How could “Wow look at that ass” be considered a complement? Even if that were an acceptable thing to say to a person, making this comment around me instead of to me is a distinct way to exert power and state “We’re watching you.” Telling me “You’ve said your piece” is saying “We control the situation.” Most disturbingly, telling me to “Go away” says  “We own this space, so you can accept the way we are or you can leave.”

One final comment, “You’re making a scene,” was thrown my way. Although I thought I had kept my cool pretty well considering the advantage of numbers that these guys had over me. I arrived at my platform, faced the street and stared ahead, being sure not to look their way again. The bus came soon thereafter and I eagerly got on, relieved that they weren’t taking the same bus, although a good number of the spectators were.

Towards the end of the altercation, my body betrayed me and I started to shake. As soon as I sat on the bus and caught my breath I realized my physical reaction occurred because I was embarrassed. I regretted my actions because no one around me supported me, and so I was shamed into thinking that I was wrong to say anything. Should I have thanked him instead? I was mad that I had worn those Levi’s cut offs that I love so much. I was mad that at my own beautiful school, I should feel so vulnerable in a crowd.

Thankfully, I texted a loved one while on the bus, and he responded quickly, showing not only sympathy, but anger towards the guys, and confidence that I had done the right thing. It shouldn’t have taken this much to make me feel safe and dignified.

It can be incredibly difficult to stand up to someone who is publicly exerting power over you and making you what they want you to be. To think that I, an outspoken student of political science with plenty of experience in public speaking and advocacy for the injustice committed against others, should feel so uncomfortable standing up for such a basic principle makes me question much more than myself. I know that if I had not said anything this guy would have taken it as consent and continued on to the next girl. I only hope that he felt some of the embarrassment that I did, and that some part of him will hold him back from acting like that again.

I know that most people out there, especially the ones that are students of a great institution like the one I attend, do not agree with this kind of behaviour; but silence is a powerful thing in a situation like this.

I am thankful that this situation did not escalate any further and that I was able to leave it, but I fear for other girls who run into guys like this, and people that don’t care enough to get involved.

This is the kind of every day injustice that we can change in society with very little effort. All you have to do is say that it’s not “OK,” and that you’re not impressed by their show of machismo. If you’re not an extrovert and think this is too much to ask, at least show your solidarity to the victim after the incident by going over and saying a quick, “Good for you,” so they know that they aren’t completely alone in the fight.

A community is only as good as the people in it.