To rage or not to rage

Last year, my friend and I were flashed by a man just outside Utrecht Science Park. It was a blustery spring afternoon, but still warm enough for people to be out and about. We were heading from Amelisweerd back to campus when I saw a figure standing at the edge of the path, his back turned to us and his hands fumbling at his belt. My first thought was that this was a very public place to choose to have a roadside piss – there were quite a few cyclists and pedestrians passing by, not to mention that it was also broad daylight. My next thought was “oh god”, as he turned towards us, with his hand clamped around his dick. 

When I think back to this moment, the first thing I remember is the sense of fear. It was exacerbated by the realisation that this man did not care that it was the middle of the day when he chose to flash us. But once the initial shock had passed, the anger settled in. This anger propelled me to the police station, where I filed a report with an officer who told me that if this happened again in the future, I should call 112 and try to follow the flasher until the emergency services arrive. Most people I told this to were surprised: what if he was armed, or psychotic? How can you guarantee your safety while tracking a sexual offender?

As I get older, I find myself feeling more angry than fearful whenever I or my friends are harassed. But the internal monologue – what if he has a knife? Should I share my location? - never fully leaves. Growing up, I was taught to get myself out of situations like these as quickly as possible without engaging with the perpetrator. Ignore them, run if needed, and definitely don’t talk back. Of course, this is what mothers teach their daughters. But while turning a blind eye may keep you safe, it never makes me feel good about myself. Instead, I feel powerless, and spend the day fantasising about the insults I could have thrown back. 

A few weeks ago, I was catcalled by a group of men while I was cycling home. Instead of ignoring them like I would have a year ago, I screamed back at them, hurling every Dutch swear word I knew into the night. My grammar was probably awful, but it felt better to shout than to pretend not to hear it. 

Of course, there is a difference between raging at catcallers and more serious offenders. The decision to ignore or to shout depends on a constellation of factors and context. But 12-year-old me believed if I ignored harassers, they would eventually stop – and 25-year-old me now knows that this is not true. So when possible, I am choosing to let my rage have a say – even if I embarrass myself trying to conjugate insults in a different language.