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

