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Walking down the street, sitting in a park as a teen or a young woman, reminiscing about the books I read, debating ideas with myself, contemplating life and the world around, I was constantly interrupted by men. Besides their sleazy glance & the pornographic insults,
what I hated most was never being left alone with my thoughts.
“Pss Pss, miss!” “Nice ass bitch!”
Having my thoughts invaded by men who demanded my attention, at all time of day, while I was single and alone by choice, was infuriating. No, it was worse.
“Pss Pss, miss!” “Nice ass bitch!”
Having my thoughts invaded by men who demanded my attention, at all time of day, while I was single and alone by choice, was infuriating. No, it was worse.
It was bad enough to have my body, my youth evaluated, weighed, degraded in their imagination, sullied by their dehumanising gaze, but I knew what the world was like early on.
And because I already knew the world of men and its dangers, I particularly cherished my inner life,
And because I already knew the world of men and its dangers, I particularly cherished my inner life,
my intellectual &creative fluency, the unlocking of the natural world by the science I studied, the precision and beauty of art and poetry.
But that too, had to be tarnished and taken. There was no walking, thinking, day-dreaming, contemplating the world in peace on men’s watch.
But that too, had to be tarnished and taken. There was no walking, thinking, day-dreaming, contemplating the world in peace on men’s watch.
Not if you are a woman.
Men affix their stamp everywhere in the public sphere, and they have always made it clear that if I wanted to enjoy my own thoughts, I had to stay home.
Men affix their stamp everywhere in the public sphere, and they have always made it clear that if I wanted to enjoy my own thoughts, I had to stay home.
I could not fancy myself as the character of my book, imagine the ocean currents, interpret the scenes unfolding around me without being reminded that my sole purpose in this world was to pay attention to men, smile to men, be pretty for men.
As I dreamt of being Virginia Woolf, the new Marie Curie, as I was composing poems, rehearsing my Somali and Bahasa, following in Karsten Niebuhr’s footstep, I was inescapably brought back over and over and over again to the reality of men’s world.
With a “Pss!”, a “Hey smile!”, a “Slut!”, I was shown what my role really was in this world: his sex-toy, his dirty fantasy, his emotional resource.
In public spaces, women and girls do not have a right to even their own thoughts, their inner life, their feelings or emotions.
In public spaces, women and girls do not have a right to even their own thoughts, their inner life, their feelings or emotions.
All are invaded, interrupted, annihilated by the imposition of men’s will, men’s desire, men’s depravity. And now they want to take away from us the few public places where we can hide from this, get a respite from this. No.
