Archives for September 2015

Roxana Geru, București, Romania, SSH Blog Correspondent

As a woman raised in Romania, I have been taught that I am not equal with a man. It is not necessarily my family who taught me, but my school, my friends, the church, and the SOCIETY. For a long time, I really believed it. I believed that I cannot do or I am not supposed to do some things, just because I am a woman. Like if a woman wears short pants she is considered a sexual worker, who “asks for it.” Or if a woman dares to drink a beer with a man she is an alcoholic. Or it a horrible thing to see a girl eating in McDonald’s.

Instead, it is believed that all a woman is supposed to do is be pretty, cook and give birth.

During my teens I felt upset. I did not understood why it was forbidden for me to do some things that were not for my best friend, who was a guy. And I cried. But after a few years I accepted that people have different points of view. I started to see equality as a thing which involves rights and obligations as well. And to accept that men can naturally be more physical strong than women, but that does not mean that all guys have to be strong or all the girls have be less strong. That maybe we are not born equal, but we should all have an equal chance to get where we want.

A few months ago I was at a university helping students who wanted to join the Psychology Faculty. At the beginning, we had to explain to them that they had to pay a fee and then come back. Everything seemed to be okay until one guy came back in this public institution and started to yell at us that he did wrong because of us. This “us” refers to a group of six women and a guy. Some of us tried to calm him down and explain to him that he was wrong and he misunderstood. We even came to him with some solutions for his problem. When a woman, a friend of mine, tried to speak to him, he yelled at her, “I do not speak to you. You are a woman. You are a woman and you do not have statute.”

My friend and I did not have any idea how we should reply because he became very verbally aggressive toward us.

I was shocked to see a guy around my age say that women do not have any statute. That women are nothing but objects who have to be pretty and produce kids. I wonder how that guy acts at home with his mother, his sister, his girlfriend. How will he act with his daughter? What he will teach his daughter? How will he react when his daughter comes home and says that another guy punched her. Will he defend her? Or he will congratulate the other guy?

I know my story is not exactly about street harassment, but it shows what it is like to be a woman in Romanian society. It is about how some of us are educated. It is one of the reasons why women in Romania are street harassed. It can be an answer to the question of “Why, as a woman in Romania, can someone touch my back?” or “Why, as a woman, in Romania, do some guys whistle after me?” and “Why does no one do something when someone rapes a girl?”

We have to see our culture change if we want to see street harassment and other forms of sexual violence end.

Roxana is a 21-year-old who is studying psychology and plans to do a master’s program in Sexuality and Gender Studies. She hopes to one day work within the LGBT community, with sexual workers and/or with people who are suffering from sexuality disorders.

Smriti RDN Neupane, Nepal, SSH Blog Correspondent

She almost runs, in the drizzling rain,
towards the last bus of the evening, or so they said
Up the road
She almost runs under the drizzling rain
Her body putting in all the strength she has onto the ‘almost’ running,
crying out silently, for some rest, for peace,
Her body aching to be not- groped, on her way

Her body has a Saree
Draped around it like a vine creeping up
the only thing that covers her ‘dignity’,
A whisk of strong wind would blow the shield away,
She ought to hold it with her hands,
her hands, she can’t put it free, cannot fling it while she walks,
Her coarse, broad hands trying to grip to the hope that she is safe

Her hands have a bag
and bangles that jingle with her every step,
She gropes to them; the saree and the bag,
as if her life depends on it,
She walks hastily, almost running, her feet trying hard to move fast
but the vines around her not giving them enough space
Her feet trying so hard,
Hoping the path she travelled was as dry and clean as she would like

Her feet have slippers,
They keep slipping on the slippery slope
Sometimes plunges in the puddle
while her feet desperately trying to stay steady
She cannot miss the bus
when it’s already getting dark,
Not when she has probably five eager, hungry adult stomachs to cook for, at a place called home

Other adults around her,
they look, keep looking, at her vines,
and the lines beneath those vines,
The lines that peek through the vines when a gust of wind blows it,
The lines, she is desperately trying to shield
with those vines from the prying eyes,
Her eyes, mapping those eyes
She almost runs to the bus,
The bus isn’t still, keeps rolling away slowly,
slow enough to jump in

The bus has a small door
and it’s open, yet jammed,
Seven of them trying to get in, twelve trying to get out
at the same time
She can’t leave now,
not after the second bus just got missed, not when it’s turning dark
On her attempt to get in
She feels a hand pushing on her behind
Pushing her to go inside and that hand is not trying to be discreet

That hand also has a mouth
Tells her to get in fast if she wants to go
She recognizes the tone,
and the way those hands push her every time
She manages to get inside.
manages to grab the handle- too high for her
Her hands high up towards the handles,
Her lines exposed, the vines would not protect her
No

There are bodies all around her
Bodies have hands
and other parts
There is an occasional pull and push, occasional tug
Her vines and her lines
also her hair,
all exposed
There is frequent touch,
and pokes she doesn’t want to talk about
She dissociates herself from the present
Becomes numb to the happenings around her,
To her.
She thinks about work
She thinks about the struggle to prove herself every day, every time, every where
The bus rides along, oblivious of what is going on its inside and her inside.

She gets down on her stop
And the bus with a small door swirls along the road,
Away
With her
Dignity,
Self-confidence,
Happiness
Few parts of her

She thinks about tomorrow
“Tomorrow is going to be a better day”
She dreams while she walks towards the place she calls home,
The roads, rides and respect she deserves
She will get
because
She has hope!

Smriti coordinated Safe cities campaign in Nepal with a team of feminist activists of various organisations, networks and community groups from 2011 to 2014 and is still voluntarily engaged with it. She is currently engaged in an action research and advocacy on women’s leadership in climate change adaptation focusing on women’s time use.