Sarasvati - Of Art and Knowledge

There's been a lot of talk going around (at least on my reading list) about sexual harassment and the "why didn't you do something about it" attitude that people tend to throw in there. Many people have said what I want to say a lot better than I could say it, so this is not an entry containing my own thoughts on the matter.

The posts have, however, made me relive my own brushes with sexual harassment. None of them were as horrifying as a lot of the incidents that I've read about lately, and for that, I'm extremely thankful.

But regardless of how minor it was, each incident stands out clearly in my mind, and each one has had its effects on me, whether that effect is a momentary flash of anger and disgust or a long-standing fear of men who look a certain way.

I'm going to talk about them now. People who don't like to hear of such things are free to skip it all, and I'll feel no offense. I will cut them for everyone's benefit, and I will warn that some of the incidents may be triggering for some.

( The first incident. )

( The second incident. )

( The third incident. )

( The fourth incident. )

My experiences were comparatively mild when you consider what other people have suffered through. But even I've learned the answers to the question, "Why didn't you tell somebody?" Nobody would believe me, people would blame me, I had no real proof, it might make things worse, maybe it was my fault all along, I should have known better, it wouldn't make a difference.

My father once told me that if somebody was trying to rape me, I shouldn't shout out for help and say that somebody was trying to rape me. I should instead shout, "Fire, fire!" People will help you if there's a fire, he said. Nobody wants to get involved in a rape scene, even if it's to stop it.

What disgusts me the most is that he's probably right.