Originally
printed in The Muse, Volume 53 -
Issue 6, October 10, 2002.*
A Survivor’s Take on Take Back the Night
As I read last week’s editorial I wondered once more
if I would respond. How often have I heard this question, Why can’t men come on
the Take Back the Night March? My usual response to this is that men have 364
other nights of the year to march in protest, let us have this night. But I can
tell that while some women cheer when they hear this, others are left with a
look of confusion and disappointment. I am tired of speaking on this topic and
I have yet to begin. Will I begin my response with statistics and case studies
to validate women’s rights and outline the reasons why we ought to march alone?
No. I share in this march because of how it makes me feel and I do not want to
ruin that good feeling with a lot of research and academic mumbo jumbo,
sometimes you accept something is good for you without dissecting the reasons
why. But I decided, long ago, that if this march makes me feel good than that
is enough reason for men not to partake. It is important, I decide, to help you
understand, so, Adam, I ask you and people who share your thoughts, to take a
moment and spend them in my shoes. I do advise that what you will experience
may not seem politically right and may not be fair, but what happened to me was
not right and not fair. I can not always explain my thoughts and feelings only
accept that they are there and they are who I am. Perhaps this quick look will
give you a chance to see for yourself that this walk is not about men or about
taking away anyone’s voice, but rather it’s about giving people a voice.
As
you squeeze your feet into my size 5 sneakers let us take flight to the actual
night of this event. I am in
Let
us start marching now, chanting “Hey Hey Ho Ho Patriarchy has got to go!” My
voice resonates with those around me and I connect with the young girls ahead of
me and those around me, and compete with the pot someone next to me is
enthusiastically pounding (next year, I think, I must bring my own pot!). For a
small moment, my voice is heard. I am yelling! I fly back to that time, that
night, and while I said no it must have been quiet, too quiet, too soft. I
meant it with everything that is me but he invaded everything in me, and I was
not loud enough for it stop. Why? Why? How loud do I have to be? I thought no
meant no? I thought we lived in a society that respected men and women equally,
no patriarchy here, we are in
We
arrive to the Courthouse, I am chanting, “Where ever we go, what ever we dress,
no means no and yes means yes!” The speaker is on the steps but I am not. I am in
a room, a bright room with a desk and three chairs. Opposite me is a 6’4
constable and I am asked what I was wearing that night. I answer them with
relief, it was a turtleneck and dress pants and winter boots. Thank goodness, I
think to myself, that I was not wearing a low cut shirt, or a tight shirt, or
tight jeans, or a skirt…I look at the courthouse and think of how my case
continues to be pushed back. There might not be enough evidence, they say, it
will really come down to your word against his, they tell me. Unfortunately,
assaults are usually done when you are alone with your offender. While I was
strong and loud only minutes ago I am silenced by the system as I remember my
report and the questions that followed. My case is still waiting, my offender
unknowing the damage that has been inflicted. I have yet to stop discovering
the damage inflicted
The chalk is passed to me and I step forward to
make an “X.” Wait a minute, that is me on the Courthouse, that is my mark. I am
real and I am not alone. I make another mark for a friend who was assaulted and
another for the women I have met since. I am alive now, I have been silenced
but the chalk has allowed me freedom. I am here and I am not silenced. My case
is pushed back, waiting, but I am here right now and I make my “X’s” on the
courthouse as proof. I stand back and think smugly, you might have silenced me,
and the power I had when I reported is gone, as I wait. I am waiting, again
powerless, for the system to process. But I am here now and just look at my X
and those that accompany it!
Empowered,
I am empowered now, we continue our walk. We come to the end and here I stand
and listen to speeches. I look behind me and see the women, and know I am not
alone. I look around and see men, not many but they are there. Thank you. I
want to go to them and say thank you for letting us do this ourselves. I know
we did not walk by ourselves and unprotected by someone else, we were escorted
by the police for goodness sakes, I know it is not just about that. But to be
surrounded by women, well, you have been already walked there with me, in my
shoes. To see the men here at the end of the march and know that they have
supported us, it was right. They have let us take something back, and maybe
that is why we call it, Take Back the Night, I don’t know.
Thank
you for accompanying me throughout the march. It tires me to think about why I
do things, why I enjoy them, but to read the previous editorial and see that
people still continue not to get it…well, I had to try.
Brenda L. Kitchen,
M.A. Candidate Sociology, and Survivor
* Posted with
permission from author