I am angry at every man I see these days.
In a fancy home-goods shop this afternoon, I watched as an older guy got too close to a young salesgirl. One month ago, I might have rolled my eyes and moved on. Today, I stood right where I was, arms folded, glaring. He got the message.
Walking with my daughter down the platform at the train station, I saw a man note her presence. He watched her with obvious and lascivious pleasure, then turned to his friend to make sure he had seen her too. I stopped, turned around and glared at both of them.
I am fierce these days. I am angry. I glare (v. to stare angrily or fiercely). So don’t get in my way. Don’t you dare look at a girl or a woman with anything less than respect. Don’t even think about it.
Like everyone else in the country, I was shaken to the core by the brutal rape of the young woman we all feel we knew. Being from Uttarakhand, and a person who hires physiotherapists (I run an organization for children with special needs) made it seem even closer to home. I could have offered her a job! She could have worked in my organization!
I am a writer and I write about the things that move me, the things that astonish me, the things I wish I could change, the things I will not tolerate, the things that define me.
But for days, stretching into weeks, I could not write about this.
I could not write about a young woman who had only boarded a bus to go home. Such a simple, ordinary act.
Oh, just think about it! Go out to see a movie and then go home on a bus. You’ve done that, haven’t you? You board a bus to go home. You do not board a bus to be tortured and ravaged. You do not board a bus to have your clothes torn off and your vagina ripped open and your internal organs eviscerated and speared and shredded. You board a bus to go home.
I could not write about this unspeakable act because of the grief, because of the sorrow, because all I could think about whenever I sat down at my desk to write about it was my own daughters and God knows no writer can be effective or useful if she is thinking about her own children when describing an atrocity.
And yet the grief was there. It was real and it was in layers. There were so many of them they took days to hack through (It could have been Cathleen, boarding the bus with a friend, her future all ahead of her; What if it were Moy Moy? – her disability would have meant nothing to them. Were they mad? So deranged with drink and their own insane views that nothing was sacred?) and at the end of those days I was no further forward.
Grief, grief, layer upon layer, swimming desperately up through the thick, unimaginable visions of what that poor young woman suffered – the iron rods driven into her body, the hands, the claws.
And then suddenly, one day, the grief was replaced by rage. Anger. Cold, implacable anger. Standing tall. Saying no. Saying, in words of two syllables, easy to understand, that this was unacceptable, that I, and my daughters, and all the girls and women I know, have the right – the GOD GIVEN RIGHT – to live in peace, to move at will, to be unimpeded, undeterred.
And at that moment of recognized rage (it happened this afternoon) I was suddenly able to write it down. And every man I see now is implicated.
Are you part of the problem or part of the solution? You, that man on the street. You, that man in the bus, in the shop, on the corner, in the home. Do you respect and honor the women in your lives or do you denigrate and deny them? Do you stand silent as they are stripped of their honor and their izzat or do you step forward and stand with them?
With or without you, we are moving ahead. With or without you, we will not stand for the insanity or the hatred. We are done with it. The unspeakable brutality unleashed on one woman on one bus has galvanized a nation. We will not – we cannot – tolerate any more of it: in our homes, in our offices, on our streets.
There are many men whom I love, but this rage against the rest of them feels good. Beware of women right now, my friends. We are not ready, we are not willing, to forgive. We are enraged.
It does what it does to our hearts! How must God bleed by them.
Jo… thanks…for putting all in words.. everyone is shocked.. due to brutality in the act.. and all this only because she is women…anger is boiling inside and at the same time frustration that we are not doing, not able to do anything to those boys… who did this….
another issue is …. at the end what I am teaching my daughters and all young girls…DON’T believe on any men…I am teaching them to be suspicious all the time about opposite sex that is male….and that to from very young age.. then how in future they will have any good relations?..friends, uncles, colleagues…
But one issue as you rightly pointed is now look back, stare at them and say no…
The incidence has shaken us…..
Too good. I share your feelings too. You have expressed them very well. I promise to be bold in future and help out others whenever i can. Love you.
Jo, I still don’t have words to write anything at all on this….thank you for writing on behalf of all of us…
Exactly my thoughts. It could have happened to anyone…any of the young girls I know who go to movies with friends, and get home in public transport. They dont have to dress in skimpy clothes to get molested. And it never ends.
Its shameful. I too feel that we have to accost these men and shame them in public. I dont know how I am going to do it, but I will think of a way!
Jo, you have written exactly how we all feel. We are all feeling the pain, the anger and the feeling of being helpless. It is time to make a change individually and collectively. We need to put our minds together and start making changes. We have to bring about that change. We need to do this for our girls and for the millions of women all over India and the world.
Legislation will reduce crime? Need for awareness in society, need better upbringing, and change yourself .
I completely relate and feel same – but as the days have gone by and as my extreme anger mixed with sadness and helplessness not being able to save this lovely daughter is beginning to settle down and thankfully allowing my feeling to rearrange some space around the emotion of reason… I am thinking this: did sociology not teach me something that said that the family is the first institution where the individual learns ? We women are raising bad sons .. Period ..who become a nuisance to society -because we are so needy and dependent on them for our own identity and when we suffer them we look around and wonder if we can blame the law makers and then we get frustrated and often become unreasonable feminists. For starters give your son a barbie or anything else when he is a little boy and teach him to how to handle her instead of a gun or a truck and racing cars! I assure you he will not become gay – am just thinking out of the box – dunno if its workable .
We also need to teach our girls judo and a few useful karate punches -back in the old days my dad taught me how to go for the balls between the legs if any man tried to over power me but when I think of the young daughter who was raped by six it must be impossible to handle so many – Coming back to the rapists they have to be hanged as stoning is not allowed in our country .
Jo, you are so right on so many levels. I have lived here for almost six years and I have never gotten used to being stared at by strange men. My husband always tells me to simply not look back at them, to avert my gaze. Why should I have to avert my gaze. Why can’t I throw something at these idiots? Because of what could happen… So there it is. ..
True story: Two years ago I was suffering from repeated UTIs and was sent to Dehradun by my doctor for a cistoscopey to determine what was causing them. I met with the doctor (male) and and appointment was made for the following week for me to come and have the procedure. My husband came with me and I was put in a room for the procedure. There were three male technicians in the room and one female nurse. I asked the nurse if the men would be leaving and she seemed rather nervous, and said she was not sure if they would leave. At that point I insisted that my husband be present. The men said this was not allowed, but I was adamant and I insisted. The nurse put a blanket over my lower half and told me to remove all my clothing from the waist down. Then the doctor arrived. He moved about brusquely, setting everything up, barely giving me or Kunwar the time of day. He told me to put my feet up in the stirrups. The nurse again arranged the blanket to protect my privacy. I asked the doctor again if the three attendants would be leaving, and he said ‘no’ that they were required to be there to operate the equipment, and then before I could blink my eyes he removed the blanket that was covering me. I was completely exposed. I think I went into utter shock. I remember turning my head and shutting my eyes. The three attendants could see everything. I was completely exposed. I remember whimpering for my husband to do something, but it was as if this was being done to him to. He sat motionless, shocked and horrified, confused I think… The doctor started yelling at me to look at the screen so I could see what he was doing, but I don’t remember much of anything else. In the end I remember the nurse covering me again with the blanket. My hands were shaking so badly that I couldn’t manage my clothes, and she helped me get dressed. I remember her eyes, the knowing look in her face. I tried to stand and I could barely manage to walk. I was shaking so badly and it was only then when the doctor saw how shaken I was that his demeanor seemed to crack a little. I told this story to my doctor in Landour (a woman) and her response to me was, ‘this is completely unprofessional. Why didn’t you get up and walk out of there?’ How? When my feet were in stirrups and everyone had already seen the ‘freak’ show? Then she said, ‘This happens all the time. You are educated. Imagine how it is for the poor village women.’ I had a difficult time wrapping my mind around this comment. Educated or not, how does it make a difference? Whether I am rich or poor, educated or not, do we not all feel the same when we are violated? I wondered if I was treated differently because I was a foreigner, but I spoke with several Indian female friends and learned all had had similar experiences. In fact, one friend who was fighting breast cancer shared her horrific experiences, very similar to mine. For her, I cried. Not only fighting for her life, but having to go through such humiliating, invasive practices, and being used for the entertainment of these spineless, little creeps. So there you are. The medical profession — a place where we expect nothing but professionalism. I was not raped in the traditional sense of the word, but I felt raped. I have never been able to get that experience out of my mind and I am terrified to ever have to undergo any kind of medical treatment in this country in the future. So that is my story. There is so much to needs to change with the way women are treated and on so many different levels, but at least the dialogue has begun and I hope it is never dropped. We have a responsibility to our selves as women, and to all woman kind both present and future to fight the fight until the end. So good for you Jo for standing your ground. I applaud you and I will do likewise in the future and challenge all women and men alike to do likewise.
I strongly feel, in such matters, one should immediately initiate some action or on a pretext go hurriedly and dash against the man in an attempt to throw him offguard.
hi jo. i wish my first comment to you in the new year was on a happier note, but i wanted to thank you for so eloquently describing what so many of us are feeling. the news has gone well beyond the borders there but i can only imagine that it is much more horrific having it happen so very close to home. anything but respectful attitudes towards each other is unacceptable, whether it’s “just” an inappropriate glance or much more, so thank you for reminding us of that. i can feel the anger in your words, and i am glad you expressed it. we should be angry.
Thanks Jo McGowan Chopra, for giving voice to the anger…esp for someone like me who can feel the anger but cannot write it down as well as you have. Sharing the anger and the note!