We tell our daughters to be careful. What are we telling our sons?
I recently saw a social media post that I can’t stop thinking about:
“If a man was severely intoxicated around seven women, he would actually be in the safest place he could possibly be. He’d be taken care of on every level. He’d be hydrated, fed, given meds and a cozy place to lay down. I can’t stop thinking about that difference.”
Neither can I.
A woman’s instinct is to take care of him, not take advantage of him. Why isn’t the reverse true?
When children are young, we teach them to find a mom or another woman if they’re lost or frightened. As our daughters grow older, we are adamant they stay with their friends, cover their drinks, never walk alone at night and carry pepper spray. We tell them to text when they arrive and share their location. And those lessons never end.
We aren’t protecting our daughters, or ourselves, from other women or rabid dogs. We’re protecting ourselves from men.
… We are constantly calculating risk. Is this parking garage safe? Should I get on that elevator? Is this a safe running path? Can I trust this man? … Guessing wrong can have devastating consequences.
Inevitably, when women say this out loud, someone responds, “Not all men.” We know.
Not all sharks attack people either, but no one is willing to jump into shark-infested waters. Women have been told their entire lives that there are sharks in the water, so we are constantly calculating risk. Is this parking garage safe? Should I get on that elevator? Is this a safe running path? Can I trust this man?
We know most men don’t hurt women. We just don’t know which ones may, and guessing wrong can have devastating consequences.
Recently, a group of men stood outside a pilates studio in St. Louis Park, Minn., and filmed women working out through the windows. Feeling unsafe and uneasy, the women stopped their workout and blocked the windows with boxes. The men appear to be so-called “auditors,” testing their First Amendment rights to record in public, part of a creepy trend playing out across the country.
Here’s a radical idea: Just stop being creepy.
And then there’s the Cornell case.
I’m tired of women being handed an ever-growing list of precautions, then asked what we did wrong when we’re harmed.
Jane Doe alleges she was drugged and sexually assaulted by members of a Cornell fraternity. The seven accused have not been criminally convicted but investigators have reopened the criminal investigation. Among the evidence that has emerged are vulgar fraternity group-chat messages cited in her lawsuit.
Then, around 1:42 a.m. on the night Jane Doe says she was assaulted, a message went to the fraternity’s group chat saying there was “free p*ssy” upstairs.
Free.
That word is hard to get past. In one scenario, vulnerability brings care. In the other, a woman’s vulnerability became an opportunity to take advantage of her.
And there is another part of this story we shouldn’t ignore: The chat reached more than 50 men and none intervened to stop what was happening, Jane Doe and her lawyer Thomas Giuffra allege.
If women are jumping through hoops to learn how to navigate their lives to be safe, why aren’t we teaching boys and men to speak up and stand up when they see behavior that degrades, threatens or endangers women?
And yet when a woman says she’s been sexually assaulted, many start asking questions about her behavior. What was she drinking? What was she wearing? Why did she go upstairs? Why didn’t she leave? Why didn’t she report it sooner? What if she’s lying?
Allegations should be investigated thoroughly and fairly—but maybe we’re interrogating the wrong people.
As some online users attempt to identify and publicly name Jane Doe, women across social media are responding by posting, “I am Jane Doe,” an effort to flood search results and confuse the algorithms, making it harder to identify Jane Doe. These are women who don’t know her, but their instinct is to stand beside her and help protect her.
Once again, women are taking care of others.
I am tired of women being hurt, watched, harassed, questioned and doubted. I’m tired of women being handed an ever-growing list of precautions, then asked what we did wrong when we’re harmed.
Women don’t need another lesson in how to protect ourselves. We’ve had a lifetime of them.
Imagine if instead of teaching our daughters how to stay safe from men, we could trust men not to harm them and to help keep them safe.
Isn’t that the world we want—one where our daughters won’t have to think about this difference at all?
It’s time for men to step up and take responsibility.
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A note from Ms. editors: We want to hear from you for The Majority, a new campaign collecting stories about how reproductive freedom has enabled readers to build the lives they want and need.
Poll after poll shows a majority of Americans support reproductive healthcare access. Yet public debate overlooks the lives shaped by abortion access, contraception, IVF, miscarriage care, maternal healthcare or comprehensive sex education—countless women who chose to pursue an education, have children, not have children, protect their health and chart their own future. What’s your reproductive freedom story? Add your voice. Together, these stories will help show not only why reproductive freedom remains a majority value, but also what it makes possible.
