A guy in a bar once told me: “I’ve never met a woman who was angry enough.” A sex crimes law enforcement officer told us trainees at the Los Angeles Rape Hotline, “First they say they are fine, then they cry, and then, finally, some of them get mad. It’s not until I see them claim that rage phase that I know they’ll get through it.” In my early teens I began encountering men who would suddenly expose themselves in my presence–in parking garages, among the rows of books in libraries, from passing cars and apartment windows along the street. I would be startled, horrified, put my head down, turn my back, and walk away in tears, shaken for hours or days afterward. Ask any woman about her experiences of street harassment. She’ll likely have a story of some kind to tell you. It wasn’t until my mid 30’s that I finally overcame my always-be-pleasant-and-immediately- forgive-your-enemies Mennonite upbringing. I was walking to a therapy appointment in downtown Harrisonburg for depression after a failed marriage. My eye caught a naked guy with an open coat standing in an alleyway across the street, leering at me. I suddenly transformed myself into the […]
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