Dear Men, Start by Understanding That You Will Simply Never Understand!

Last weekend, I was walking home with a close male friend of mine. It was not the brisk early winter air that made the insides of my bones shiver, but the sudden realization that we found ourselves completely alone. If he wanted to, he could have. This thought began ceaselessly engrossing my mind. And yet, nothing about him as a person gave validity to my discomfort except for the mere fact that he was a man.

How could I think so low of my friend, you ask? Is it not a cruel generalization to be afraid of men because they are dangerous? Was this not someone I knew well? Someone who had never shown me any sign of danger?

It is in great part due to a perpetual state of alertness that women’s lives are different from those of men. The tireless fear defining our everyday lives is something you men are lucky enough not to know. Simply put, you must become aware that, to women, you are a threat, and it is not paranoia. It is simply how we all grow up: infused with the knowledge that it is always better to be safe than sorry.

We are continuously reminded of the validity of our suspicion. For example, with the current Pelicot trial in France, we have once again been confronted with the mundanely “regular” personalities of the fifty-one defendants accused of rape. It could be anyone: a friend, a colleague, a family member, or anyone in the street. Women live in the looming shadow of their anxiety about the overpowering capacity and willingness of men to cause us harm. Famously expressed by Margaret Atwood, the main psychological difference is that “Men are afraid women will laugh at them. Women are afraid men will kill them.” This is succinctly the chilling reality of our commonality.

We have all had some form of negative experience. While drafting this piece I decided to ask a few of my friends what they are most afraid of as women. Their answers were all the same:

“You must always look around you and assess every situation with your safety at the forefront of every decision. Maybe today is the day you can defend yourself from a catcalling comment or maybe today is the day you need to pick up the pace walking home because a man won’t stop staring at you.”

“I’m most afraid of a man being physically aggressive towards me because I know that, almost for sure, I wouldn’t be able to protect myself.”

Our shared fear is not unfounded. If you do not deem our recounts reliable enough, you might find the statistics more resounding. Globally, an estimated 736 million women, or about one in four—have experienced physical and/or sexual violence at least once in their lives. This number does not include sexual harassment more broadly. In the US alone, 81% of women report having experienced some form of sexual harassment or assault in their lifetime. Horrible news of rape, violence, and assault constantly overwhelm headlines. The issue is chronic.

Femicide too, is not an ornamental buzzword—it is a distressing reality growing in numbers. Turkey, for instance, has just reached the highest level of femicides in over fourteen years. Equally distressing is that those who commit such heinous acts are not solely strangers: women have reason to fear those they trust too. This October, at least seven women in France were killed by their spouse or ex-spouse. In 2020, 47,000 women and girls worldwide were killed by intimate partners or family members. This type of violence often begins early, with 1 in 4 young women having already experienced partner violence by their mid-twenties. Around 31% of women aged 15–49 (up to 852 million women worldwide) have faced violence from an intimate partner or non-partner, or both, during their lifetime.

We are warned about men and hypersexualized from a young age, so we are programmed to be attentive to dangers men simply do not sense. As Mary Dickinson, writer and co-producer of No Safe Place: Violence Against Women, has written: “It’s not that women are perpetually frightened or immobilized by fear. Rather it’s that we know we must constantly be wary. We look over our shoulder in the parking lot, hold our keys in our hands as we leave the building, check out who’s in the elevator, and lock our windows even on a sweltering summer night — a hundred small gestures that become second nature to a woman. We take precautions a man never considers.”

Whether we hold our keys in our hands just in case, wear only one earphone when running after dusk, cross to the other side of the street if someone is walking behind us, share our locations with our friends, or always wait for their texts saying they got home safe, all of these behaviors are habitual for us.

Rachel Hewitt has talked about a lasting social contract of male public space domination through abuse and harassment, “and by entering those spaces, they perceive that women acquiesce to their abuse.” A study showcased differences in assessments of walking spaces by using heat maps when men and women were shown images of public areas. It was found that women focused far more heavily on areas outside their path, or dark segments, bushes, and potential hazards, showcasing a gendered difference in perception of environments.

Routinely, the responsibility of avoidance is placed on women. It is nauseating how many times I have changed the short dress, scared to attract too much attention. Or how I always make sure to walk past a group of men pretending to be on the phone with someone, to signal I have a witness to any illicit behavior. There is an instinctive dimension to all of these efforts, even if the core responsibility for heinous acts is anything but ours.

At this point, you might ask, “I’m a nice guy… why would someone be afraid of me?” It is precisely because I cannot, in good faith, answer the question with “I am sure you are” that defines the perpetual condition of womanhood. A girl can never be sure. There is an extra layer of anxiety we live with, precisely because one cannot easily tell between “good” and “bad.” The imminent threat is out there making constant suspicion the safer road.

To draw from the sagacity of Bell Hooks: “This is a patriarchal truism that most people in our society want to deny. Whenever women thinkers, especially advocates of feminism, speak about the widespread problem of male violence, folks are eager to stand up and make the point that most men are not violent.” The “not all men” agenda is not a solution. It is a petty loophole to remove yourselves from acknowledging our reality and a luxury of hypocrisy that has not been afforded to us. To grumble with those three words denies that the stakes are different for women.

It is this gendered privilege of men that has to be the starting point of the conversation. Be ready to listen to the lived experience of the women you are surrounded by. Be able to recognise that our reality is tainted by a mindset of constant caution that you have luckily been spared from. As such, you hold a responsibility to interrogate misogyny. Brushing over this gendered psychological difference is a form of complicity.

To begin disassembling the preponderance of misogynistic behaviour towards women, do not condone silence on the matter. Instead, come to terms with the patriarchal culture that has freed you from the capacity of ever having to identify with this distressing dimension of being a woman. Be prepared to listen and then seek out to acknowledge this fear-laden normalcy of womanhood. Be prepared to empathize and learn.