And so it was, that on a day when much of Melbourne was reeling from the information that a woman just like our friends and sisters and cousins had been raped and murdered when only 400m from her house, that I saw an upsetting display of street harassment as I rode my bike home from Richmond to Fitzroy North.
I know you can hear me. Come on baby. You’ll probably like it. A big, thick hard one up ya. Fuckin’ bitch. You know you want it.
She kept her head ducked down as she walked fast, away from this despicable character. And I too kept my head down, quietly grateful that I didn’t have to step in, because even from afar I was intimidated by this man.
I rode home, unnerved. Unsettled. Angry.
This is why women are angry, scared and resentful. This is the reality of misogyny, of the overwhelming, pervasive impact of the patriarchy.
Because the fact is, you can’t be a woman and walk down the street without the fear of being harassed. Ignore them and you’re asking for it. Smile politely and you’re asking for it.
The message, essentially, is that being a woman is asking for it.
Well, fuck that. Fuck any man who claims to be a victim of misandry. Fuck MRAs. Fuck anyone who thinks that living in fear is acceptable.
And most importantly, a big fuck you to any man who claims to be a victim
of overzealous women’s rights. I don’t care if your feelings have been hurt by a woman in the past. Because, shit - if hurt feelings were the worst I could expect out of life, I’d throw a fucking party.