In this cultural moment, a lot of my focus has turned to speaking up for racial equity, towards learning how to become a better ally and hot to use my white privilege to effect as much change as I can. Last week the media I consumed both visual with a couple Netflix documentaries and written with a memoir on the SCLA young adult award nominee list primed me to react when the Greenville Track Club sent out an email advertising their upcoming race, one with multiple sessions to conform with social distancing guidelines.
Backing up a bit, a week after Ahmaud Aubrey’s birthday, when so many people posted runs with #IRunwithMaud, mom and I experienced one of the most egregious examples of objectification aimed towards us. As these men drove in the lane right next to us they honked, laying on the horn, and shouted at us as they passed. The horn alone sent my heart rate sky high, not to mention their immediate proximity. This infuriated me and I posted about it on Instagram.
I cannot enumerate the number of times that men have honked at me as they passed by or stared at me when I stood at an intersection waiting to cross. Mom and I even once got a wolf whistle from an old man in a pick up truck. Every time it makes me feel angry and creeped out. Mom and I should not have to deal with this. No woman should have to deal with this much less the actual attacks that have been perpetrated on women out for a run.
That brings me next to the media I have consumed recently, “Audrie and Daisy,” a documentary on the fallout of bullying girls who had been sexually assaulted, “The Mysterious Mister Epstein,” another documentary on Netflix, and I Have the Right To, the memoir of Chessy Prout, a sexual assault survivor who battled the misogynistic culture of the boarding school she attended at the time of the assault. I actually was reading this book when the marketing email from the Greenville Track Club hit my email.
My jaw dropped when I saw those first two cartoons. They infuriated me but I deleted the email, completely uninterested in the race series. Moments after I clicked the delete button, I knew I had to say something. I had to speak up and call attention to this egregious “joke.” I had just read about the silence of so many at the above referenced boarding school that allowed that terrible culture to fester for years. I did not think that something of similar severity was going on with this email. Rather, I believe that this idea, this type of joking, can dull the senses and acculturate people to this sort of view.
So, I took screenshots of the cartoon and wrote a post. I also made a separate short post directly on the Greenville Track Club’s page. Within minutes, a running friend of mine commented on the post equally outraged and asked if I had replied to the email. I told her that I had not because the email came from a no-reply address; I had posted a comment directly to their page in addition to the one on my timeline. As soon as I wrote that, I had a suspicion that I confirmed when I pulled up the page. Within twenty minutes, someone monitoring the page had already deleted it.
I then found out that the same friend I mentioned above had messaged the group. She received a message back that both dismissed her and characterized me as someone holding a grudge. I will let the conversation speak for itself.
This makes my heart heavy. I messaged the group myself and offered to discuss and meet him halfway like he accused me of not doing. Eventually, he got back to me and I gave him my email address. He promised to send me an email some time this past weekend. I knew, based on the above pictured Facebook conversation and quasi-apology sent out that same evening with much the same language, that I would likely receive an email with similar sentiment. I could feel myself bracing the moment I realized that more words that mischaracterize my motives and make light of the things that hurt. This is why so few victims speak, why mistreatment so often continues. Making these changes takes effort, emotional and psychological. That’s why coming alongside and providing support becomes so meaningful. That’s why I choose to speak.