As I walked to the bus stop on Saturday, September 30th, a feeling began to build in my chest. It was heavy, foreboding and frightening. The air was crisp as it danced over my cheeks, my nose was cold, but the most chilling part of the walk was the men who were behind me. I played my music softly; I’ve been taught to never turn it up too much because that’s dangerous. I could hear them shouting the way they described my figure, certain parts of my body. They were only there for a few seconds, but it felt like years before I finally rushed onto the almost moving A-Line.
I wasn’t the only one who felt it.
The next day, two of my female coworkers walked beside me as we waited for the night bus. We’d never done it before, but tonight it wasn’t a discussion. There was a nervousness in the world now, because on live television a man was told that he could commit a grand injustice against multiple women, and still be the one who decides what justice is.
My Facebook feed filled with the narrative. Outraged individuals, demanding this not be the end of the fight. People’s profile photos changed, baring a banner that declared where they stood on this decision. Evidence, arguments, and fighting in comment sections hit a new high on my pages.
On the other end was a claim I’d seen now for a while, large percentages of false rape claims suddenly being thrown out with little care. Men claiming they are under attack, that they are in danger of being accused of some sort of horrible life ruining crime.
The hardest time I had with this, though, was the idea that it ruined their lives. That they would be ruined by some kind of lie, and that this lie was suddenly commonplace. That they believed every man who was accused and never suffered serious repercussions, not taking into account that it may never have been a lie. Even more so, as I saw more and more feminine presenting people becoming more and more nervous to even walk to their front doors, I had a hard time with the concept that men were suddenly repressed. Perhaps, then, they are referring to the repression of their ability to say what they wish to people?
That was the complaint of Man A, who stood before me on the bus one September evening. He was clearly over 30 years old, and he had followed me from the mall I work in. He sat down across from my seat and made it very clear he wished to be noticed, but I had no mind to do so. He said hello, I muttered a small response, and then looked to my phone for refuge, going through the contacts I might call. Then, to my great surprise, he leaned forward and tried to snatch the cord of my earbuds. I was startled, to say the least, but he wasn’t satisfied. He stood up and began to explain his position to me.
“Women these days,” he said. “You’re all so nervous, makes people not want to talk to at all. All so paranoid; makes it really uninviting to try and make nice conversation! You’ve got no reason to be so uppity.”