Editor’s Note: This is cross-posted with permission from Bell Bajao’s site for International Anti-Street Harassment Week:
This past weekend, on my way to meet up with friends for an evening of food and live music, I stopped at a popular phone recharge stand in M-block market. After going through the usual motions, I waited for the confirmation text before paying the store worker. Just last week I had 100 rupees stolen this way at a different place, so I knew better than to pay and walk off. After five minutes and no message, the man called me back to the counter. I explained to him that I couldn’t pay him because the balance on my phone was still at zero. He began to yell, “Give me 100 rupees” and I knew at this point I should leave.
As I stormed out of the door, he ran in front of me and began demanding the money again. I explained to him, once more, that without a confirmation text, I could not pay him because that meant the transaction had not gone through. But he did not seem to care. I pushed past him and walked onto the street. As I did, he yanked my wrist and tried to drag me back into the store. At this point, I was the one who yelled, “Do not touch me! I will call the police!”
My body began to shake and I couldn’t steady my voice but I kept yelling and fighting him off. In that moment of fear, I recalled what many residents of Delhi have told me in the past: if you’re being assaulted or harassed in a public space, people will watch, a crowd will gather but no one will intervene. I panicked and struggled harder.
That’s when I saw a hand, and then a body, come between us. A young woman and her friend saw what was happening and stepped in. The speed of their Hindi meant I couldn’t comprehend a word of the exchange but I knew they were scolding the man and trying to defend me. The louder their voices grew, the larger the crowd became.
Within two minutes, there were thirty or so people surrounding my assaulter and just before the crowd swallowed him from view, I saw two men grabbing him by the arms. That’s when the woman who originally stepped in turned to me and in kind voice said, “Go home.”
I walked home in fear trying to steady my hands. But by the time I reached my apartment, ripped off my jacket and slumped down onto the couch, the only emotion I felt was gratitude.
I wish that I could tell you that this was the first traumatic incident that I’ve had in India. Two months ago in Delhi, I had an auto rickshaw driver grab me by the arm when I refused to pay him more than the price we had negotiated. Last summer, while on a train to Varanasi, I woke up to see the man in the berth opposite mine masturbating while staring at me. I screamed and the other passengers began to shame him. But this evening was different because it was the first time a man had actually placed his hands on me in such a violent and persistent way.
Almost every woman I know in Delhi could rattle off a similar incident ranging from harassment to attempted abduction. If you speak to enough people, you soon begin to accept that we are in the throes of a global pandemic of violence against women. And despite taking so many precautions, it seems we still find ourselves in scarring situations. So what more can we do?
After I was assaulted, all I wanted to do was stay home where I felt safe but I took a deep breath and headed to dinner. I realized that if I allow myself to fear public spaces, then violence wins. While I’m a strong proponent of women heeding safety concerns and making smart judgments, simply saying, “avoid going out” is not the answer.
I realized that if I allow myself to fear public spaces, then violence wins.As is, women are largely absent from public spaces in India. You can walk around Delhi and wonder why there are so many more men than women. What we need is for women to be brave, be outside and carry on with their lives so we become a natural part of the environment.
More than that, what we really need are more people like that crowd in M-block market. If we learn to see strangers as brothers and sisters and step up to act on their behalf when they need our help, accepting what consequences may come, then we begin to assert the sense of human decency and respect this city is lacking.
If perpetrators of violence see day in and day out that their actions will not be tolerated, they will be the ones who begin to feel fear. And we will reclaim our neighborhoods and finally live in the kind of place that we all deserve.
The thing about activism is that it really starts with you. Brush away the overwhelming scope of the problem and you’ll realize it’s honestly that simple. If we vow as individuals to right wrong where we see it and shape our actions toward others in a compassionate, loving and considerate way, then we have already succeeded.
We need parents who will raise their daughters to be strong and unwilling to accept the inequalities and restrictive norms thrust upon them from birth. We need parents, especially mothers, to raise their sons to respect women in a culture which quickly encourages them to do otherwise.
I sincerely wish that I could thank that crowd, not for physically stepping in, but for preventing me from being alone in my victimization. And I hope they are not alone in their courage.
I came back to Delhi this September to work at a human rights NGO because I want to dedicate my career toward building the kind of world each of us deserves to live in.
Veronica Weis is an AIF President William J. Clinton fellow in Breakthrough’s Delhi office.
