People ask me what I think of different countries I’ve visited, and I’m always at a bit of a loss as to what to say. How to paraphrase an entire country? Even were this gargantuan feat possible I can only give my experience, which will differ greatly from everyone before me and everyone after me who has visited the same place. Usually I end up giving the only answer I feel I can honestly give: In every country there are good people and bad people, times I’ve enjoyed and ones I haven’t. This is the only truth I can offer, and the only one I sincerely believe is true. Everywhere I have been there have amazing, friendly beautiful individuals who have made my stay, and in a lot of cases my life, much much brighter. And then there have been those individuals that have made me embarrassed for humanity as a whole. This concept of good aspects/bad aspects is certainly true of American tourists I’ve met- some make me truly proud to be American when I see the way they represent our country: others have made me ashamed and disappointed that the rest of us are being given a bad name. It’s on this scale where no absolute ‘good or bad’ exists that I analyze my travels, and my interactions.
Now, for the past month or so, I’ve been reading a lot of Fugitivus. This is a blog run by the no nonsense and highly amusing Harriet, a blog that has some really insightful posts about communication between men and women, and how and why some men choose to intrude on the space of women and make them feel uncomfortable, in danger, or just plain disgusted. A decent amount of the material is pulled straight from Harriet’s life and deals with issues of rape and abuse, in a way that is well thought out and engaging without blaming all men everywhere for the horrible reality that is rape. To boot, it’s got a lovely section titled “Streetluv” where female readers post incidents in which they have been approached, in public spaces, by males and made to feel nothing but happy, beautiful, and safe. The blog and that section in particular are definitely worth a peruse.
Now, the reason that I’ve introduced both of these subjects today is that two spectacular examples of all four points (good ambassadors, bad ambassadors, men who make women feel comfortable and secure and men who don’t) have been thrown into startling 3-D Interactive Technicolor, right before my very eyes. Allow me to elaborate.
Example 1
I’ve sprained my ankle (as you know if you read here often). Before spraining my ankle, I had the good fortune of happening in to the café next to my hotel, which is run by a younger Indian man and the older American woman who rooms with his family (in a business partner kind of way). The guy’s name is Vicki (or Vikki, or Viki, or Wiki if you’ve got a German accent) and his family owns the whole two story building next door. This is the guy whose mother has been massaging my injured ankle, and he’s been up and down the three flights of stairs to my room too many times to count in the past days checking to see if I’m ok, if I need anything, and bringing me things to eat from the café. In the space of time that I’ve been here, not long, we’ve developed a nice little exchange. We’ve had long conversations, tease each other, and I’ve spent an entire day, literally, out in front of his café chatting with him. Even though there is a relationship built, when he comes down to check on me he always knocks (I’ve been leaving my door unlatched during the day as friends come and go and it’s painful to get up to unlock it each and every freaking time someone wants in), comes into my room only after being invited, and never stays in my space after he’s ascertained that I’m A) ok and B) not hungry.
To me, he is a shining example of both a good ambassador for his country, neigh, a stellar ambassador, and a considerate and polite male. He’s gotten both of these awards for the same reason; he’s gone out of his way to be helpful and he’s not expecting anything in return for it. It’s clear that he sees me as a person and himself as a person, rather than seeing me as a female body and himself as the male earning privileges to it by being nice. Never once has he ever made me feel like I owe him for any of the massive number of favors he’s done for me, and that’s the biggest feat of all; acting like a solid human being. Go Viki.
Example 2
Now, with my sprained ankle, I’ve been spending a lot of time in my room. Today, I was sitting on the stone fence of my balcony watching the sunset, when something unprecedented and irksome happened. I’m sitting on top of the very corner of this fence, with my feet over the 20 foot drop in front of me. A group of small Indian children have collected on the construction site across the way, and they’re alternating playing and asking for five rupees. The door from the stairway to the balcony opens, and I hope its Viki returning with some vegetables he’s promised, though I’m doubtful as he always knocks on my door and never uses the one that’s swinging open. Out walks an Indian man, in his boxers and a tee shirt, who proceeds to walk across the entire length of the balcony and come to stop about a foot away from me, leaning on the rail. Right off the bat I’m uncomfortable; in India, not only do you never go anywhere bearing more skin than you would in front of your grandmother and the pope (let alone pants-less!), but you certainly don’t get this close to an unknown woman (if you’re male) and then strike up a conversation. It’s just not in the culture. It’s not really in any culture, if you’re strangers. He begins to talk.
Man: What are you doing here?
Me: I’m sitting. (Already very wary, and not being very friendly) What are you doing?
Man: I’m looking at you.
Me: (Uncomfortable silence, accompanied by a shift away from the man. I can’t move much, as I’m perched on the corner over a drop, and he’s blocking the only exit.)
Man: Are you here alone? Do you have a boyfriend, fiancé?
Me: Does it matter?
Silence.
Man: Where are you from?
Me: (mentally getting ready for the leap from “I’m American” to “I’m a porn star” that some people abroad make) USA.
Man: Do you want a massage? (he has just done the mental leap in his head)
Me: No. No, I don’t want massage.
Silence.
Man: Can I see your room?
Me: No.
Man: From the outside? Look in from the doorway?
Me: No.
Silence.
Man: Can I massage your legs?
Me: No.
Man: I’ve studied. Free of charge.
Me: No.
Man: If you want massage, in the night, call me.
Me: I don’t want massage.
Man: Are you mad at me?
Me: No, I’m very uncomfortable.
Man: What is this (pointing to the mala on my wrist)?
Me: It’s a mala.
Man: (physically taking my hand) Oh really? (turns over my palm, puts it next to his, and attempts to trace the lines on my hand across to the lines on his, maybe wanting to show me that we’re actually long lost soul mates from another life and THAT’S why he’s chosen to intrude on my space and make me very uncomfortable.) You see?
Me: No. Maybe you should go back upstairs now.
Man: Ok. Bye. (takes my hand in some kind of attempt to kiss it. I want to hit him.)
When I turn to look at the stairway, he’s in it, with his boxers down. In sight of the kids. I yell and he runs up the stairs.
I should have been much more direct in turning him down, though in retrospect I can’t say it would have altered the end result. It’s difficult to get over my natural compulsion to be polite to people at all times, even when they’re being impolite to me and invading my space. I had hoped that he would get the message and leave me alone, without having to make a scene. Obviously that didn’t happen. I will not make the same mistake again, though I will be careful to not allow this incident to make me overly negative to every person who approaches me.
It’s important to examine and discuss these issues when they come up. On the one hand, to reinforce and applaud positive behavior; by placing this account on a public forum I can hope that someone somewhere will be inspired by it and act in a similar fashion. On the other hand, to make it clear that some kinds of behavior are not OK, and that these kinds of behavior in no way reflect upon the person being harassed.
In today’s society, when an individual is friendly and generous with no sexual motives whatsoever (or at least, without imposing them on the other person) I am impressed to the deepest depths of my being. It makes me feel warm, happy, and tips me off that this is a person who is good to have in my life. In fact, it makes me want to give this person my phone number.
With these contrasting points of hope and disgust, I leave you to consider the interactions in your own life, and how you react to them.
love&light
jess
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