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Street Harassment and the Failure of Politeness
During my upbringing, my sensibilities were doused with the importance of politeness. This partly helped me. Learning manners and being taught to think of others, to put myself in others’ shoes, kept me from becoming an inconsiderate jerk.
But lessons in female politeness were a tremendous setback.
The problem was that the pressure to exhibit extreme politeness cost me myself. I was nice when I was harassed on the street by male predators. I said, “Please don’t touch me.”
The grabbing continued.
The National Sexual Violence Resource Center claims that one in five women will experience completed or attempted rape in their lifetime. Additionally, 81% will suffer some type of assault. Clearly, niceness doesn’t protect us.
I was fed up. My way-too-kind approach changed nothing. When the next predator tried to grab my arm, I turned around and yelled.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I screamed.
He quickly shrunk away and tried to appease me.
Should I have had to assert my boundary like this?
No. Of course not.
That said, this response felt better than politely asking for someone to please, please, please…
