Venting about casual harassment

So as you can tell from the title, this is more a blog post rather than a structured article. It’s me trying to work through my thoughts about something that occurred over a year ago, and I wasn’t the only person involved, or the person worst affected. The whole thing might seem a little fragmented and disjointed, but I’ll do my best to explore the wider implications. It’s quite a generic, common incident, and that’s exactly why I need to talk about this; the desensitisation of sexual harassment.

Casual harassment is how I keep thinking of it, and of course this is me minimising a stressful experience because it happens far too often. It has also happened to every woman I know. If I tell you there was a guy on the tube who stood too close and was touchy, most of the women reading this will think, yeah, I know where this is going, I’ve been there. And that really sucks.

To be honest, I know this isn’t a ‘big’ thing. It happens to everyone. But I also know that thinking and saying that will just have everyone saying I should stop minimising it, that it was a big thing and I’m not wrong to keep thinking about it. I believe both. I switch between both beliefs.

I was on the tube on the way into uni. It was packed, as usual, so when I noticed the man standing in front of me lean a little closer, legs pushing between mine, I thought it was just because the tube was too full. Someone must have jostled him and he accidentally got too close. I looked up and caught his eye and he smiled, and that’s when I got it. And all I thought was no way, you’re overthinking it. But he was smiling. I was confused, slightly scared, and I realised through that confusion that he was happy to see that look in my eyes. I kept looking around wondering why no one had noticed. Was I really just exaggerating things in my own head? But something else was about to occur that would make me realise people did notice. They just then looked away.

The tube stopped and more passengers got on, and once a woman stood close enough to him, he turned to face her and speak to her. I could breathe again. He put his arm around that woman and my immediate thought was thank God that isn’t me. Cue the guilt. I was wondering if I could justify my selfishness to myself when he switched target again. A seat had opened up beside a woman in a red coat, and he took it. This time he was even more brazen. Hand on her leg, saying things I could barely make out and laughing when she said she didn’t speak English very well and couldn’t understand him. I kept sneaking looks, too stressed to look away, too afraid to openly stare. I wanted one of the men in the carriage to do something. I looked at a father sitting with his daughters and thought, come on. You’re meant to step in and do something. Just give the guy a look. I was, and perhaps still am, convinced that men can easily influence other men in public spheres. I wanted this man, or any other, to just look in this direction disapprovingly or warningly, in any sort of way really. Just to prove that they saw what was happening, that you couldn’t just get away with doing something like this and no one would react.

No reaction. The tube stopped and the girl in the red coat darted up and stepped out. The man followed her. Before the doors closed, she slipped in again, and so did he, glued to her heels. She had been trying to shake him. He was going to follow her. She was visibly uncomfortable, and didn’t sit back down. He didn’t either, standing far too close, leaning in and whispering things. I was so glad it wasn’t me, but I felt horrible for staying quiet. I wanted someone else to do something, but I was absolutely terrified to step in and do something myself. I was scared getting involved would draw his attention back to me. But he had his arm around her and she looked close to tears, and I was beginning to feel that way myself just from the sheer emotional distress. A seat opened up next to me, and purely instinctively I tugged on her coat and motioned for her to sit.

She took my hand, and I saw she was shaking. I asked her quietly if she was okay, and she nodded, explaining she thought the man was going to follow her. I thought the same, so I asked her what station she was going to. Luckily it had been the same as mine. I don’t have to think about what I would have done if it had been different stations. Honestly, I know what I would have done. If it had been a different station, it would have been a perfect excuse, and I would have taken it rather than missing my seminar. But again, that didn’t happen.

The tube stopped and we rushed off, still holding hands. We walked with the crowds of people, looking back, not seeing him but knowing he was there. We went up onto the escalators, and only then did she let go of my hand. She asked for my name and number, and then we were out of the station. The man wasn’t in sight. I said I was sorry she had had such an awful experience (she was visiting from abroad and had never been on London’s public transport before this. What a welcome). And that was that.

I went to my seminar. My group for that day was waiting in the hallway, and I told them what had just happened, still shocked. They were all comforting and suitably disgusted. Hours later I got home and told my parents, who were understandably horrified that I had stepped in. I think they thought it bravado? Or in the very least completely stupid. Really though it was just instinct. I acted because things became easy. My guilt made me act, a seat was conveniently free next to me, her stop was the same as mine. The situation suited my involvement. And although I acted because I was worried for her, it was also selfish. I acted because I knew it could have been me. And I didn’t want to attend my seminar feeling guilty and rethinking the situation in my head, wondering what had happened to the girl I didn’t help. I did it to spare myself from those feelings.

And that’s about it. I didn’t really do anything. I was just scared. I’m writing this now because I still think about what happened and how inconsequential it feels. It really does feel like nothing happened, even though in the moment it was completely exhaustive and stress inducing. I know this sort of thing happens all the time, and that is a miserable thing to know. I don’t have a conclusion or sermonic ending to this piece. I’m just angry- sometimes at myself for being ‘weak’, sometimes at the world for being this way, and often at men for being so free and able to claim what isn’t theirs with surety. That sort of anger is impossible to word but I know it’s shared. Many of my friends have had similar experiences, some have had worse. Most of them know about what happened anyway, so this won’t be too difficult or surprising a read I’m sure. I just want us to stop minimising things and let ourselves feel tired and sad and angry that this is ‘just the way the world is’. I don’t like the way the world is. I think harassment is so deeply normalised and ingrained in our minds and lives that we don’t react or talk about it enough. We have to think more actively, as well as react to situations as they happen in front of us.