Wednesday, November 1, 2017 // The Statement
6B
Empath in the Wild: When I Fight Back
Trigger
warning:
This
article
mentions
sexual
harassment
and
gender-based violence.
I
’ve
never
been
very
enthusiastic about Michigan
football, but it’s my senior
year, and I decided the
Saturday of the Michigan State night
game that I would go out with my
roommates and give tailgating one last
go before I graduated. On Saturday
afternoon, I was ready to go, but as
I tied my shoes to leave, something
inside me knew I’d end up lamenting
later that I’d spent several hours on
this.
I should have trusted my gut: That
Saturday a guy groped me at The
Pit, my roommate and I witnessed
intimate partner violence on the street
and we were verbally harassed by two
men a block away from our house with
a level of graphic detail and disregard
for basic human rights that I have
never personally experienced before.
My
last
column
was
about
empathizing
with
people
who
promote violence without condoning
their behaviors, and where empathy
and justice butt against one another.
I
used
the
example
of
white
supremacists
and
neo-Nazis
who
protested in Charlottesville, saying
I can empathize with their emotions of,
say, displacement, while still vehemently
opposing their actions. I’m white, so to
a certain extent, I identify that my call
for all people, regardless of their race, to
empathize with white supremacists and
neo-Nazis may reveal a white-privilege-
induced bias. Racism is a detriment to
everyone, but it affects people of color
much more directly than it affects me.
One could say it’s easier for me to make
this call for empathy because I’m white.
Although I realize racial oppression
is different from gender oppression, I
outline my experiences on game day to see
if I, myself, could empathize with people
who act violently toward me directly,
based on my gender as a woman.
I won’t pretend to know exactly what
goes through the minds of individuals
who perpetrate sexual harassment and
gender-based violence, but I can certainly
speculate, knowing that anyone’s actions
are a result of their inner thoughts and
emotions. In addition, the perspective
I’ve gained, living for 22 years as a woman
in the U.S. can inform my speculation:
From being catcalled while going on
training runs for cross country in high
school to encountering sexism in intimate
relationships with men, I’ve been subject
to both milder and more extreme sexual
harassment and misogyny. I recognize
men aren’t always the offenders in these
situations, but they most often have been
in my experience.
When the guy at the Pit groped me, I
yelled at him not to. When my roommate
and I witnessed a girl being physically
and verbally attacked by her boyfriend,
we offered her help. When my roommate
and I were verbally harassed, I yelled at
him (with plenty of expletives).
What’s frustrating is that yelling at
people with such aggression and anger
is not in my character. These instances
of gender discrimination and violence
force me into these kinds of behaviors
because it feels like the only thing I can
do in response. In a perfect world, I could
try to speak out, take to activism, and
educate people about sexual harassment,
sexual violence and other related topics.
People would listen, learn and adjust
their actions accordingly.
But activist and educational efforts
have been going on for a long time, and
are going on right now at the University.
The Take Back the Night protest happens
every year; bulletin boards in dorms and
University halls are covered with flyers
for events such as the Vagina Monologues.
What’s more, women’s calls for equal
treatment are all over the mainstream
media. Hillary Clinton is a controversial
figure, but she brings even basics of
feminism into a general public. Further,
assault allegations against public figures
such as Bill Cosby and Harvey Weinstein
also bring issues of gender equality to
glaring attention.
The only reason I can imagine for
someone to ignore calls for equality is
because they feel threatened. If they
ignore nonviolent calls, they can continue
to reap the benefits of their privilege as
men (in this case, white). Maybe they’re
scared that if they begin learning more
about women’s experiences, the faint call
of justice may grow louder and force them
to renounce some of their power.
This warrants fighting back.
When one group makes nonviolent
calls to change and the other in
power refuse to listen, choosing
instead
to
continue
oppressing
those who call for change, I
can engage in empathy but also
violence—whether it’s in the form
of yelling, punching a guy in the
face, or getting my friends to yell at
him with me. Women and LGBTQ
activists have also been doing this
for centuries: Take Carrie Nation,
for example, who was part of the
feminist temperance movement in
the late 1800s and early 1900s. The
movement sought to stop men from
drinking because drinking was
associated with increased instances
of domestic abuse. Nation was (and,
among some, still is) famous for
leading all-women raids into bars
and attacking the bar fixtures and
stock with a hatchet.
Thankfully,
These
kinds
of
encounters are unusual for me. They
stick out in a generally peaceful
existence. But I know other people
— specifically people of color and
people who are genderqueer —
experience
oppression
ranging
in levels of violence every day,
and can feel alienated on campus
and in classrooms, which are spaces
they’re supposed to feel comfortable.
The existence of this oppression is clear
from frequent and recent protests and
demonstrations, especially in the case of
race relations on campus.
When people in power deliberately and
continuously ignore nonviolent calls for
equality, what’s the next step? Refusing
nonviolent calls provokes people to
become violent, turning a dialogue into a
fight.
Even if violence can be justified in
fights for equality, what my fellow
advocates for human rights must never
forget is that the other side is made up of
individuals with valid emotions. Ignoring
anyone’s emotions is dehumanizing, and
it’s easy to act violently against someone
who is construed as being less than
human. In this way, dehumanizing people
serves to further violence, which I believe
should be a last resort in any fight for
equality, whether it’s for my own equal
treatment or for that of others. Empathy
and violence can coexist, but it’s certainly
not ideal.
by Regan Detwiler, Columnist
ILLUSTRATION BY HANNAH MYERS