Why I’m angry, confused and sad (but trying to be a little less resigned)
TW: The following piece includes discussion of violence, murder, kidnap and assault. Reader discretion is advised.
Like many people, I’ve spent much of the last week following the story of Sarah Everard with a mixture of anger, confusion, sadness and, perhaps most unfortunate of all, a kind of low-level resignation. Anger at the fact that Ms Everard, by all accounts a sensible and savvy young woman, did everything we women are trained to do to keep ourselves from harm, and yet somehow still came to the worst harm imaginable. Confusion over the vocation of the individual believed to be responsible, and how on earth such a thing was able to come to pass. Sadness at the fact that something as unremarkable as walking home from a friend’s house resulted in Ms Everard losing her life when, in a more just world, the night of Wednesday March 3rd would have been like any other for her, one wherein she made it home safe, kicked off her running shoes, and simply went to bed. And finally, although I can only really speak for myself here, a low-level resignation set in almost as soon as I learned of her disappearance, as the details immediately made me fear the worst. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be right less.
Over the last few days, we’ve been repeatedly reassured that what has happened to Ms Everard is rare — which, true or not, is likely of scant comfort to her loved ones — but, in many ways, her story is all too familiar. I grew up in an age of high-profile kidnap cases, almost all of which, tragically, ended up being murder cases. Many of these involved young or teenage girls: the names Sarah Payne, Milly Dowler, and Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman (often referred to somewhat diminishingly as the “Soham murders”) have all been etched into my brain for as long as I can remember, as have the minute details of their respective cases. For some reason I’ve never forgotten Milly’s playing card-shaped coin purse, or Holly and Jessica pictured side-by-side in their matching Manchester United strips. I think that, because I was the same age as some of these girls were when they disappeared, these cases imprinted on me in an indelible way. Here in the North East, there was the murder of twenty-three-year-old Sara Cameron, from Earsdon, as she walked home from Shiremoor Metro station. In almost all of these cases, the victim’s bodies were found in a ditch or a hedge or a patch of remote woodland, and so when this story took a similar turn, I was profoundly saddened but not at all surprised.
“I think that, because I was the same age as some of these girls were when they disappeared, these cases imprinted on me in an indelible way.”
I mention all of this not because I want to take a grisly trip down memory lane but to reiterate that, when you’ve grown up against a backdrop of violence against women and girls — and I can’t imagine how much worse this must be for those who experience it first hand, or in the home — you end up accepting it as normal. Being on the back foot or in constant fight or flight mode is just…normal. Owing to the stories I mention above, I’ve played out the scenario of my own demise at the hands of a malevolent stranger in my head so many times since childhood that I no longer realise I’m doing it, or even consider that it might be a weird thing to do. I guess I’ve always hoped that, by imagining it vividly enough, I might somehow prevent it from actually happening.
And I think this is why the case of Sarah Everard has shaken us all up so badly; what has happened to her taps into our worst fears, the potential horrors we replay over and over in our heads but that we hope remain purely abstract, the notion that someone could easily intercept us and we might never make it back to our front doors. It’s the reason for the now ubiquitous “text me when you get home”. Sarah should have been able to make it home. Every woman deserves to make it home, and to feel safe within that home.
“Being on the back foot or in constant fight or flight mode is just…normal.”
I am lucky to have been raised in a safe and secure environment, and the men I am related to have never given me or anyone else any cause for alarm, but, here’s the thing: I know how lucky this makes me. Similarly, I am lucky to have never experienced any outright violence at the hands of a man, but there are scores of women and girls out there who cannot say the same. All week long, women from all walks of life have been sharing their stories, from narrow escapes to out-and-out assaults to the verbal and sexual harassment that, unfortunately, most of us have become so inured to we almost don’t notice it anymore. I don’t have anything especially novel to add in this regard — I’ve been followed, grabbed, occasionally screamed at, always by men, and almost always in or around a train station. But my stories seem insignificant compared to many I’ve read this week.
The only real sexual misconduct I have experienced in my life was in the workplace in my early twenties, but I was either too young or too stupid to recognise it for what it was. There was only one incident that left me shaken, but I won’t go into detail as the individual responsible was likely only a hazard to himself rather than anyone else, and it would appear that he has since sorted himself out. But I do often wonder about the ones that don’t sort themselves out, and how certain behaviours, if left unchecked, can spiral into something much, much worse. After all, the prime suspect in the Sarah Everard case is also accused of having exposed himself in public mere days before her disappearance, so where does that leave us? Such incidents are often written off as “harmless” or “banter” but, as we are very sadly seeing, when not dealt with appropriately the consequences can be grave.
“I wonder about how certain behaviours, if left unchecked, can spiral into something much, much worse.”
I don’t know what the answer is. Believe me, I wish I did. What I can tell you is that, despite what many of our media outlets are saying, this is not some kind of us and them, women vs. men issue. Far from it. If anything, it is as much a men’s issue as a women’s issue. And with everything that has happened since the tail end of last week, and in light of some irresponsible and intentionally divisive coverage from several major newspapers here in the UK, I feel I need to make one thing clear: men, we do not hate you, not even close, but we do need you to work with us on this one. And it isn’t just about crossing the road to signal to a lone woman that you’re not following her — as grateful as we are for this — it needs to go much, much further.
It’s about raising sons to respect women and to see them as people, actual multi-dimensional people, as opposed to just objects or bit players. It’s about calling out misogyny, whether at the bar (in non-COVID times) or in the group chat, and it’s about telling your mate that, actually, it’s 2021, and it’s probably time that his copy of Neil Strauss’s The Game went in the bin once and for all. And, most importantly, it’s about calling out and exposing abusive behaviour even when the person responsible is a close friend. I’m tired of seeing men who have sexually assaulted and/or beaten up women going unchallenged years after the fact, simply because they’ve surrounded themselves with yes men, and the inevitable chorus of “but he’s such a nice guy, he wouldn’t do that!” They’re all nice guys until, suddenly, they aren’t anymore.
“Men, we do not hate you, not even close, but we do need you to work with us on this one.”
With the fallout from Ms Everard’s death, and the collective soul-searching, demonstrating, and outpouring of emotion it has sparked, it can be all too easy to forget that, while to many of us she is primarily a name and a selection of pictures, for her family and friends, it is an altogether different story. For them, she is the daughter, sister and friend who will never be seen or heard from again, the empty chair at family gatherings, the one who was there for thirty-three years and now, because some grotesque individual felt entitled to do whatever it is he did to her, she just…isn’t. Although I believe we’ve every right to be angry, and I personally am more angry than I have been in a while, we must remember that she was a real person, one with hopes and dreams and adventures in the pipeline, none of which will now be realised.
For Sarah, and for every woman who deserved to get home safely, we must press on.
This piece was originally published on alisonlaurabell.com in 2021.