By Sneha Rajaram
Once upon a time, a guy was telling me a story about how he rescued a woman who was being sexually harassed. He saw from a distance a man pestering a woman, molesting and manhandling her. He ran to the spot, and on seeing him, the molester ran away.
But this wasn’t enough for our narrator. He then ran after the molester and beat him up.
The relish with which this dude told me his heroic tale convinced me that it was all about him. He didn’t mention checking on the woman to make sure she was all right. Which begs the question:
Why do men feel the need to ‘protect’ women?
And are their motives ulterior or white as driven snow?
Wendy Kaminer, American feminist and writer, argues that positive discrimination in a country’s laws – to protect women as a vulnerable group – is a double-edged sword. She distinguishes between “egalitarian feminism” (promoting equality between the sexes by granting equal rights) and “protectionist feminism” (legal protections for women in areas like employment laws or divorce laws). One book reviewer explained her rationale thus:
“She insists that protections afforded women in the work place or in the divorce court must never be premised on the notion that women need or deserve special protection because of their reputed differences from men. For it is just such differences that always appear in attempts to justify discrimination against women.”
Kaminer doesn’t seem to talk about protectionism in the street or at home. But when it boils down to a physical fight, I for one want to be rescued if I can’t physically defend myself, however politically incorrect that wish for protection may be.
I can handle the customary punch to the breast from a bike whizzing past, I can even handle it when that bike takes two U-turns and starts stalking me, as long as the street is crowded. But when I have to come to physical grips with an attacker, in a domestic or public space, and I can’t remember my imaginary Krav Maga lessons, I want someone to come along before I’m killed, maimed for life or traumatized for months. (The extent of potential trauma is always hard to judge based on how fleeting or comparatively “light” the assault is, so I’d say, rescue first and ask questions later.) And I would be very, very grateful to that person who steps in to help during such an emergency.
But here’s the thing. Once I’m out of danger in the emergency, I’d also want my rescuer to worry less about chasing and punishing the attacker, and care more about my wellbeing. Why? Because I want it to be about me, not about the attacker.
And if my rescuer is a man, I’d want him to not be self-congratulatory. Why? Because I want it to be about me, not about a testosterone-filled “Man Rescues Me from Man” narrative.
Whether my rescuer is a man or woman, I’d be grateful, sure, on a person-to-person level. But I’d also want him or her to not expect a medal, or think they did me a favour. Why? Because they didn’t do me a favour. They were incredibly kind and brave, yes. But when under attack, it’s not only my human right to rescue myself, but also my civic right to be rescued by someone else. My rescuer shouldn’t consider it a favour since it should be a kindness that’s quite within what’s due to all of us.
Finally, I’d want him or her to not draw any conclusions from the emergency about women being the weaker sex, or thereafter think that they have a say in where and when women can be alone in domestic or public spaces. Because protection against assault is also misused by people as a tool to control women, the way most things are.
Although I disagree with Kaminer that a purely egalitarian feminism is possible today and so protectionist feminism can be done away with in our laws, I do agree with her that protection is a double-edged sword. It lays women open to all sorts of predatory, eager-to-control encroachment from protectionists – be they men or women. How can you go home alone at this time of night? That sort of thing. There’s a not-so-fine line between protection that’s respectful of a woman’s choices, and protection that prescribes. If “Rx” is on the tip of your tongue then you know you’re crossing that line.
So can protectionism in daily life also be respectful of a woman’s independence? Is there a way for people to also be protectionist towards women, in a helpful and non-intrusive way, during non-emergencies as well?
I believe that it’s possible. First, if you are with a woman and her safety is threatened, think for a moment if she can handle it herself. If she can, and you still want to show concern for her safety, do so as passively and non-intrusively as possible. Consider, for instance, the following incident:
I once attended a school reunion at a restaurant, after which I walked out alone into the night at around 10-11pm. The other woman and the two men in our group said nothing to me, just a “Bye.”
An hour or so later, both the men messaged to ask if I’d got home okay, and I replied yes.
I didn’t for a minute get a vibe of disapproval from them, either when I left the restaurant or later when they messaged me (if they disapproved, they wisely kept it to themselves). Did they message me perhaps because they were simply unused to the idea of a woman taking that kind of risk? I do not know. But I did not find their messages controlling, authoritarian or offensive in any other way.
The woman, on the other hand, in a supreme show of trust and solidarity, didn’t message me at all. This is the only way to outshine the men’s already impeccable behaviour.
So to all the well-meaning protectionist folks out there, here’s the bottom line:
Get used to the idea of women taking risks.
You surely can’t expect us to let fear direct our lives. We don’t want to get raped. We try to take calculated risks. No one can put it better than a Jamia Millia Islamia University student, who in a recent open letter to her Vice Chancellor protested their restrictive girls’ hostel rules:
Yes, I understand that the city is unsafe. But as a young adult woman, at least let me decide how I want to live, study, move, work and love in this city. Every day, I am constantly making my own decisions about what to wear, where to go, where to walk, what transport to take, and whom to meet. Sometimes I feel brave, sometimes I police myself. But let this decision be mine. Let me learn.
This is a courteous letter, so it uses the word “let”. But don’t expect every woman to use it.