Endure, rest, repeat
By Lillie Pierce
TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual violence, harrassment
Original speech edited and adapted from Reclaim The Night vigil
My first thought when asked to say something when Emma asked me to speak at the vigil was to list each time I could remember being harassed by a man. A sort of very depressing timeline, if you will. Starting with being approached as a child in a supermarket in the 90s. Consciously and unconsciously skipping dozens, perhaps hundreds, more encounters to describe the time I woke up on a night bus with a stranger’s hand in my knickers. That’s without mentioning the big, unavoidable ones in my mind that stop me in my tracks most days.
During this process of coming up with the timeline, I recall the more recent ‘every day’ incidents. At work, when I’ve had to eject men harassing or physically grabbing female staff or customers in bars or restaurants I’ve managed. The times I’ve had to ask a colleague to do it when it’s happened to me as I try to finish my shift. When coming to close up those establishments each night; locking doors behind me because it’s late. Shouting ‘anyone here?’ when doing the last checks of the toilets with my heart in my throat. Feeling like I’m shit at my job because I need a bloke on the rota for those difficult shifts (any and all) where the mere presence of a male working is more of a preventative measure to predatory men than my own experience, age or license. The time I caught two men filming my armpit hair in the window’s reflection on a boiling hot tube. How the August heatwave and embarrassment somehow propelled me to confront them but when I got off at the next stop (about 10 too early) I burst into tears. When working for a very respectable London restaurant in 2015 I had laughed off a time when a kitchen porter cornered me in the tiny office downstairs and put his tongue in my mouth and his hand on my breast. It was 4pm.
The list feels endless, and to be honest I’m exhausted by having to share stories of traumatic assault in order to home my point. Upon writing this I had no idea where to start or finish. Imposter syndrome kicks in and I worry I’m taking up space in a conversation perhaps I shouldn’t be a part of. I worry I’m nagging. Some peers in the past have complained how tired it is, how much I ‘go on’ about this stuff. I don’t want to bore people. When does sharing become overly so? My brain tells me to be more palatable, more polite, more digestible pink infographic-y with my feminism. How explicit is too explicit?
I’m so tired of having to recount visceral experiences I’ve worked so hard, and for the most part, failed, to overcome. I have personally struggled to grow when feeling like the foundations of adulthood are rotten and painful. Sometimes I’ve seen no point in building on them at all.
Sarah Everard: a woman who did all the things we’re told to do since we believe to possess agency over our bodies. I would argue that we, as women never truly know agency when we are so close to harm at the hands of predatory men and patriarchal norms. Do we ever know freedom when we are collectively and individually on high alert to react and defend ourselves, in conversation, online and when going about our daily lives?
With the greatest amount of respect to Sarah’s life and her family, it should be noted that it took the death of a white cis female it shock us into action like we’ve seen in the last two weeks. I’m glad it has now. I’m heartened and triggered by this overdue uproar but abhorrent crimes are committed every minute to all those who identify as women, women transitioning, gender non-conforming, sex workers, the unemployed, the unhoused- of all races and classes. On our streets, and in our homes. Statistically, the agency I speak of comes far less easily to POC and marginalised groups than it does to me, a white cis woman.
There has been next to no investigation into the death of a black woman Blessing Olesegun, whose body was uncovered in the next town to us here in Hastings and St Leonard’s. Saturday marked a year since Breonna Taylor was murdered in her bed by US police. She was shot 8 times. Not a single charge has been brought to those responsible for their deaths. In the UK last year, police officers took selfies with the mutilated bodies of sisters Bibaa Henry and Nicole Smallman, killed in a London park. They were walking home too. Say their names.
As little girls we are given a huge additional set of rules to adhere to. We are told by our care-givers to shout ‘FIRE’ if ever attacked- a white-lie-cry for help as the honest gravity of a situation wouldn’t be taken as seriously. We have limited looks to try when styling our everyday demeanour and when it comes to expressing ourselves. The onus is on us to ensure we dress appropriately in each and every situation. We must not be too outspoken or brash. We are, forever, additionally required to earn base level respect by dimming our light and conforming. If we don’t we won’t achieve as our male peers will. If we don’t we’ll be subjected to abuse. If we don’t there’s a real chance we could lose our lives.
Women have been hard at work to alter the society that oppresses us and rarely listens to our very real concern, lived experiences, our pain. But enacting change must come from the top too. It must come from the state. It has to come from men. Rape jokes aren’t funny. Attempting to slot ourselves into and honouring male-dominated environments isn’t working. Accepting our circumstances is killing us. Well, men are killing us but this is why we have to fight… Our right to protest a better, more comfortable, more just life for ourselves, and others, is on the cusp of being taken away from us.
We must remain loud in demanding respect from the media, our peers and the patriarchy. But please, if you don’t feel like dragging up your lived trauma, then rest. Please rest because this shit is painful and scary and sad. You do not have to speak about your experiences in order to be heard.
If you can work then please work. Sign petitions, write to your MP, attend demonstrations if you feel comfortable doing so, speak to your children’s schools, support community organisations that listen to and help those in need. It’s time we were believed. We shouldn’t wait until more bodies are uncovered to be believed.