I like motorbikes.
I like the
way I feel like I’m freefalling whenever I make a steep turn.
I like the brisk,
chilly way the air feels at night after rain.
I like the soft,
ticklish way sunlight feels on my skin, especially when it’s been filtered through
trees.
I like riding
past cars during rush hour, and flipping off the asshole drivers that try to
cut lanes just before the turn in.
Know what I
don’t like?
I don’t like
how some men think that if you’re a female and
on a bike, it means you’re open game.
But I
digress.
I started
riding since I was 11 – on a crusty, second-hand Honda Cup that my father had
bought off a friend. He’d take my little brother and me on joy rides throughout
the countryside. This was back in Sungai Petani, where little Malay boys would
start riding around at the tender age of 10, causing havoc up and down kampung backstreets
and generally having an amazing childhood.
Not to be
outdone, I asked my father to teach me as soon as my feet could reach the
ground from the bike’s leather seat. We practiced switching gears and making
sharp turns in the park in front of my house. I fell once – I received a scrape
deep enough to rip through my jeans – and never looked back.
Now I ride a
cute, little SYM Mio 100. It’s been approved by my parents – too slow for
racing but light enough not to crush my legs should I fall – and has a decent
pick up speed. The only issue I’m having now is when I’m riding to work in my
office wear (or shorts because let’s face it, Malaysia is a fucking hot and
humid country and there is no way I’m going to sweat in my jeans all day if I
can help it) and some guy thinks it’s perfectly fine to shout out from his
motorbike – or lorry – at me.
What's it like to be harassed on the road?
To put
street harassment into context for my male readers, I don’t think I’m going to
do the old sex switcheroo and ask you to imagine a woman leering at you
(because that is just not a realistic
or effective example).
Oh no. I want you
to imagine sitting on a bus when you catch this dirty, fat man staring at your
crotch. Or imagine walking the short distance from your house to 7-eleven when
a man catches up and starts walking alongside you, asking personal questions
(Where are you going? Who are you with? What’s your name? How old are you?).
It’s
uncomfortable (you’ll be hearing that word quite a bit), it’s unnerving, but
unlike men, for most women it’s also dead terrifying. Because I’m a 5 foot Chinese
girl at 53 kg, I don’t have that many defence options other than running, or
pissing my pants (or both).
I’ve been
groped at and shouted at in the past. I’ve had people try to strike up
conversations at traffic lights more times than I can count, and have had way
too many middle-aged men stare at me way longer than is necessary.
But is staring or striking up conversation even considered harassment?
“Why get so
upset?” My ex had asked this one time, after two men on bikes called out to at
me (Nak pergi mana, amoi? You comel lah!) as I was leaving my apartment “Maybe
they were just complimenting you.” He said.
(You see why
he’s an ex now.)
Maybe they
were, but that is exactly what makes this example and situation in general so
troubling. Because that. Is. Not. How. You. Hand. Out. Compliments.
I can’t
believe that in this day and age, I still have to spell it out for some people
(But not you, dear reader. Clearly, the mere fact that you are reading this is evidence enough how much more highly evolved you are than the common man) but:
- A compliment is by definition designed to make the receiver feel good about themselves.
- It is done in a safe setting where both parties feel secure.
- It is made with genuine and/or earnest intent.
That’s it.
That’s all you need to know. Really. It’s really that simple.
So last week
when a stranger pulled up beside me and started asking probing questions (Where
I lived, what I did for a living, where I was headed), that was neither a
compliment, nor a welcomed advancement. Then when he followed me down two turn-ins,
rode up beside me and asked me to pull up ahead for some coffee, that was also neither a compliment nor a welcomed
advancement.
Frankly, I
was shit scared.
“But
Clarissa!” You might cry out “Well then how the frick frack do I talk to other
women? Say I spot the girl of my dreams and she’s starting to leave and this
might be my only chance and I just want to be friends after all and –”
Stop. Just
stop right there.
I hear your
cry, fictional but relevant reader.
In other words, how do you draw the line between friendliness and harassment?
I’ll share a
little secret I’ve learnt. There is no line. Or rather, I don’t think that
there are any set circumstances that can construed as either definitely
friendly or harassing – a man’s stare could either be interpreted as a smouldering
come-on, or a revolting gape. It all boils down to how comfortable the person
on the receiving end is.
But it isn’t
enough just not being an asshole. If
you see someone else harassing a person, and making them visibly uncomfortable,
then the best thing to do is step in. I don’t mean telling the person off –
that usually brings more trouble than is warranted. But normally I get very
relieved when someone else joins the conversation. The original asker usually
butts off when they see that I’m not alone.
But what
about staring?
First,
staring isn’t illegal. Anyone can do it; I do it all the time, especially if it’s
a very attractive person in question.
But there are of course, boundaries. If the person looks clearly uncomfortable,
stop. If you know the person can see you but is intentionally averting their
gaze, stop. And if the person has to open their mouth to tell you to please,
for the love of god, stop, then for the love of god, stop.
Secondly – and
this is where it gets tricky – girls, If you are feeling uncomfortable, say so. I know we’re socially programmed
to be polite (Or more accurately, not
be bitchy), but when you stay silent, you’re letting people know that it’s okay
to violate your personal boundaries.
What a person does in his own time, or thinks in his own mind is his business. But when their actions or words infringe upon you, they're making it your business too. So speak up.
It doesn’t
have to be rude, or loud, but next time when someone is doing something that
makes you uncomfortable, voice it out. Even if it’s a joke or a compliment, a
simple “I don’t feel comfortable” or “please stop that.” lets everyone know
where the line is.
A lot of
people get away with being assholes by the “joke” excuse. Lately Sam Pepper is
getting a lot of heat for posting a “prank” video where he groped visibly
distressed women. Years ago, nobody would have cared (he has posted up another video in the past where he forcefully made out with strangers on camera), but now I’m pretty
happy that the tide is turning.
It is always a good thing when all parties are
being held accountable for the shit they do.
This isn't a question of feminism, it's a question of not being an asshole.
