He even offers tips! Did you know, for example, that if you’re going out to harass women with your friends it’s always best to carry some hockey sticks in your car? After all, you never know if some man who’s got his head screwed on right is going to attempt to help out a woman being surrounded and grabbed by thugs. That way, you can both enjoy tormenting the woman and indulging in a casual bit of street violence!

I’d like to be a mother some day, and I always think about just how I would react if I knew that the son I raised and presumably loved has grown into a misogynist little goon who enjoys the thrill of ganging up on a defenseless woman with other misogynist little goons. So I wonder – what kind of mother does Gaurav have? Is she the type who’ll roll her eyes and mutter “boys will be boys”? Or is she the type to smack him upside the head and tell him never to darken her doorstep again – until he’s learned how to behave himself as an actual member of society, that is…?

God, I hope she’s the latter. I know that for most decent women – finding something like this out about your son means instant heartbreak. And taking out at least some of that heartbreak on the ungrateful little brat’s hide is the least that can be done.

That’s right, Gaurav. You are an ungrateful, snorting pig. A woman brought you into this world – and this is how you have repaid women everywhere.

Don’t give me any excuses about how it’s a bit of harmless fun. This phenomenon is bad enough – but plenty of men don’t stop at it either. Today you encourage unwanted grabbing. Tomorrow, you’re going to realize how powerful it makes you feel, and go farther. Your friends will egg you on. And it will go farther. And farther. You are a rapist-in-training. You need to grow the hell up before it’s too late.

Exploring this meatsack’s blog – you come upon this little tidbit – he’s never had sex with anyone. I’m not going to hold anyone’s virginal status against them. I was a virgin until I was 18, which is already quite late in some circles, and I know what it’s like to be made fun of for one’s inexperience, and I can tell you that it’s rather unfair and unpleasant. However, this revelation on his part did make me think. Supposing one day, some woman is actually dumb enough, or naive enough, to enter into a relationship with this shriveled up little toadstool.

Now imagine that she calls him one day, crying, because here she was – walking home to the store, from a party, a class, a meeting or whatever – and a group of drooling little bastards surrounded her and grabbed her body, HER body, which also happens to be the body he adores, the body she shares with him. What would this pathetic excuse for a human being feel? Would he draw the connection between his own cowardly exploits and the pain and humiliation visited upon the woman that he, in some dim little capacity of his, actually cares for…? Or is he too intellectually limited to ever understand that HE, in fact, was part of the problem all along?

You know, I’m tired. I am actually contemplating not coming back to Amman, just digging my heels in and staying put, because of how tired I am. I am tired of words like “slut” and “whore.” I’m tired of the grabbing hands that reach out from cars. I’m tired of wrapping myself up in layers only for a man to start making suggestive comments about my eyes, moving closer and closer, close enough so that I can smell his rank breath and unwashed body, as I contemplate breaking into a run. I’m tired of the whole idea that my body doesn’t belong to me. That legs that I’m proud of are shameful parts of myself, to be hidden lest some man decides to get ideas. I’m tired of the fact that my breasts are an excuse to try to look down my shirt even when I’m not showing an inch of flesh below my throat. I’m tired of the salivating and the comments about my goddamn ankles. I’m tired of the threats and indignation when I rebuff said comments. I’m tired of no longer being comfortable in my body, the body that I like owning and inhabiting.

I’m contemplating a long separation from the man I am in love with, because I can no longer handle being treated like a piece of scum. I can no longer handle seeing the naked enjoyment in their eyes, their joy at reminding me of my place.

Having to convince every other man you come across that you are not, in fact, a life-size doll created for the sole purpose of molestation gets to be exhausting. “Excuse me. I’m a human being. Oh, you didn’t realize? How odd.” Having this little drama play out on most days you go outside does something to you – something ugly. It’s like having your soul scooped out, until there’s nothing left.

And you know, in many ways, Kiev isn’t that much different. I’ve had it happen to me here, and as much as I’ve tried to laugh it off, I still have flash-backs. But the thing about Kiev, I guess, is that it doesn’t seem to happen every goddamn day. And bystanders do, in fact, get involved with some regularity. And… well… not sticking out as a foreigner in Kiev certainly helps out.

But the thing is – it’s a global problem, as little Gaurav has so helpfully reminded me.

Hey Gaurav? An uncivilized part of me hopes that the next time you and your scummy friends decide to grab a woman, very bad things happen to you. I hope the woman is a black belt in karate, and that her Bruce Lee-like friends also just happen to wander by. Though perhaps it’s naive of me to think that if you will learn anything if you get stuck scraping your face off the sidewalk the next time you try to torment a woman. If the only thing you understand is the language of force, then you may be too far gone already.

See Blank Noise for resource information.