I will write, confidently, that if you are reading this as it is published, on the 13th March 2021, that this will not be the first you’ve heard of Sarah Everard.
The first I heard that name was at the start of this week, seeing her face circulating in MISSING pictures across social media. Throughout the week, it became apparent that this was far more severe than simply, ‘MISSING’. Sarah had been walking home, at around 9pm in the evening, having bid her friend goodbye and calling her boyfriend on the phone, a 15 minute talk that concluded with them arranging to see one another the following day.
Except, the following day, nobody had heard from Sarah.
Each time after that, I, and every woman I know, became increasingly concerned with the story. Where is she?
As the days and hours crawled by, and developments in the case went to press, that question become one of many. It wasn’t simply; where is she? any more. It was what has happened to her? Who has done this?
By now, we know that a serving MET police officer has been charged with Sarah’s kidnap and murder, after her remains were found inside a bag, discarded in an area of woodland.
As the true horror of what happened to Sarah unravelled, women across the country have been grieving. (Of course, this grief is absolutely incomparable to that of Sarah’s friends, family, boyfriend and everyone who knew her, but it is grief nonetheless.)
We are grieving for the loss of human life in the most terrible way possible. We are grieving for a woman who we saw as one of us. She was just walking home.
When we hear bad news, we tend to distance ourselves from it. We hear dreadful stories every day, to the point of being desensitised, because there’s a degree of separation. It seems far removed from our lives, that it could never happen to us, that it’s ‘outside’ our realities.
With Sarah, her disappearance and death has struck right to the heart of women because we see ourselves in her. We saw our friends in her. Sarah Everard could have been any of us. She was just walking home.
I don’t know a woman who hasn’t been affected by this. Who hasn’t cried over this news, over this bright and beautiful woman that none of us knew, who hasn’t been desperately, fervently angry that this is the reality that we live in.
In plain terms, we have to live under an unofficial curfew, for the rest of our lives. And that has been deemed to be ‘normal.’ That we cannot go out, especially alone, after dark. And if we do, if we break this curfew, for any reason – to exercise, to buy groceries, to see a friend, to walk home… we could die. We could never be seen again, and the question ringing in the ears of our loved ones would be ‘well why she was walking alone, in the dark, by herself?’
There are more of those, too. Those inane, parroted phrases that absolve all responsibility from the predators, the killers, the rapists, that walk among us, indistinguishable among the ‘good men’. What was she wearing? Why didn’t she take a taxi? Had she been drinking?
Reality as a woman is that dangerous encounters are inevitable and that you should prepare yourself as such. We are born knowing nothing of our futures – if we’ll go to university, if we’ll marry, if we’ll have children, if we’ll travel the world, what our careers will be, but we are taught to acknowledge that with absolute certainty – we will be subjected to at least one, or more, of the following;
Being touched without consent. Being followed. Being catcalled. Being threatened. Being sexually assaulted. Being harassed. Being a victim of indecent exposure. Or worse.
Every single woman I know has experienced at least one of those. Every. Single. One. I need you, if you’re a man, to really sit with that fact for a moment – that almost (if not all) every woman you know has a story. Has felt that fear. Has briefly wondered if this is it – if this is the moment. If their face will be on the posters the next day. If their family will have to receive that phone call. If they’ll ever even be found.
The severity of this permeates every aspect of our lives.
The way we dress. We can’t be too provocative, can’t attract attention, must wear flat shoes walking home if we need to run.
The way we reject unwanted attention. We can’t be too polite, or they’ll think you’re flirting. Can’t be too aggressive, because they could get violent.
The way we look at love. We have to arrange dates in public places, so there are witnesses. We share our locations with friends and tell them to call the police if we stop responding. We give names, photos, addresses. We send regular updates so they know we’re still alive.
The way we travel. Solo-travelling women ‘should have known better’ – just ask Grace Millane. We have to plan our routes along brightly lit streets, headphones out so we can hear footsteps, watching shadows and shop windows for any trace of a figure behind us. We hold our keys in our fists as weapons, and so we can open our front doors with no hesitation – because hesitation could cost you your life.
We think about our own mortality because we are forced to. We leave fingerprints and hair behind deliberately, in taxis and at his place, so the police might be able to catch our killers. We set up emergency apps in our phones. We are given rape alarms during Fresher’s Week at university ‘just in case’. We’re reminded never to go out at night, never be alone, never get in a cab you didn’t book yourself, never leave a drink unattended on a night out. Give fake names, fake numbers. Politely nod and smile. Invent a boyfriend or a husband because they will respect a fictional man more than they respect your ‘no’.
That is life, as a woman.
And then, of course, come the devil’s advocates and the ‘but what about’ers.
“But what about me? I’m not like that!” Is that the hill to die on? Stamping your foot and demanding praise for not being a predator, a rapist, a murderer?
“Men are scared to go out at night too!” That may be the case. But who are they afraid of? Men. And are you wearing a target on your back simply for being a man? No.
“But murder is so rare!” Two women per week are killed by a former or current partner in England & Wales alone.
And the classic “NOT ALL MEN.” If you were offered a bowl of cherries, and told one of them was poisonous to the point that it could kill you, would you risk it? Or would you assume every cherry was the poisoned one?
Still not convinced? Okay. If 97% of men had experienced being poisoned, would you still risk it?
And that. Is. Our. Reality. A recent YouGov survey found that 97% of young women in the UK had been sexually harassed. Is it a surprise that we are angry? That we are scared? That we are tired of this?
Men – please do not think this is just strangers in alleyways. It is not. It wasn’t for me. It was my teacher at secondary school. It was the man on the train. It was the massage therapist at the spa. It was the senior director of a women’s magazine. It was the countless men in clubs and bars. It was the married manager at an agency I worked for. It was the flasher in the park. They felt entitled, so they acted on that entitlement. They weren’t faceless shadows, monsters lurking in the dark. They were men with friends and families.
That’s the point – we can’t distinguish between the ‘not all men’ and the ‘men who could kill you.’ You all look like a threat to us, and we have to consider you as such, because if we don’t, we could die. That’s the bottom line.
It’s not enough to not be a killer. Not be a sexual predator. We need you to be more than that. We need you to take accountability for your actions. We need you to call out your mate’s misogynistic, sexist jokes. We need you to intervene when you witness harassment. We need you to stop defending your friends who target drunk girls or grope us in nightclubs. We need you to be better, do better. Hear us. LISTEN.
The responsibility can’t always lie with us. We already take every precaution available and it isn’t enough. Sarah plotted a bright, busy route home. She called her boyfriend. She was wearing bright, ‘unsexy’ clothing. She wore flat shoes. She knew where she was going. And she was still killed.
She was just…walking…home.
Resources and ways you can help;
– REFUGE
– WOMEN’S AID
– RECLAIM THESE STREETS
