You would think there would be a limitation on how many times your body can get violated. Wishful thinking.
I was on my way to my best friend's house, in relatively good spirits. A woman sat down next to me on the train. I wasn't paying a lot of attention to her, but noticed she carried herself around with a fatalistic self-stigma. It vaguely occurred to me she belonged to some kind of marginalised group when my gaze wandered over to my left. Instinctively I worked on looking anonymous, unremarkable, but when I couldn't see which station we had arrived at, I blurted out: "Excuse me, is this Town Hall?" She turned her head and her gaze landed on me. Her face had a haunted look, and I noticed she was trans. There was something else in her look, which my unconscious registered as entitled, but I had a script for trans women, and I wanted this interaction to be made happy with my apt response. I thanked her for her surly answer, and wondered why it came out a bit like "I'm sorry."
A trans woman! Surely all trans women are loveable, deep down! That was what part of me was thinking. The other part recognised that I might not be entirely safe as I passed by her on the way out. I visualised myself shuffling past, facing her disconcerting presence, hands over my crotch. I dismissed this. I didn't want to seem like I was afraid. Besides, what were the chances that a woman would assault me in a carriage full of people, where there would be dozens of witnesses? It seemed like the situation called for a kind of self-assurance I hadn't had to exercise for a long time. I couldn't summon it. I didn't want to believe that I was in this situation. I wanted to think about happy things.
As we arrived in Central I turned my back to her and turned into the aisle, and just when I thought everything was alright I felt my pad pressing up into my nether regions. It lasted maybe 5-10 seconds, until I walked away, and I couldn't believe that a *woman* would molest me in plain view of all the people on that train, so I started imagining it was something unlikely: my pad had scrunched up uncomfortably while I was sitting, and had temporarily caused me discomfort. The other option was to look back, look at her, witness her extended limb, witness her face. What could I do? Stop in my tracks and yell at her, humiliating her in public? "How dare you violate me, you fucking asshole?" But I would miss my stop (which would further ruin my day). Should I head directly for the closest police station? I knew that I would not. Even though there was probably camera footage of the event. (Hmm.) At the time I thought the odds of her getting caught were very slim. I have already reported a rape to the police, and they weren't able to help me. More recently, I had written to a police department in the US, trying to give them enough information to do a raid on my pedophile ex-boyfriend's computer. It didn't work. I didn't want to have to think of my history of dealing with the police. I didn't want to have to think of my #MeToo history. I had the right to be safe from malicious practices, after all I've been through. My weight should be enough to deter those who prey on women (or people who can pass for them). But I wasn't, and it wasn't. So, here we are.
So maybe I *will* go to the police. Next time I get up the nerve.
*
Writing this out has helped me clarify some things. I deserve to fight for my right to access justice. If you're reading this and have your own #MeToo story, you deserve justice too. You deserve to live without anyone crossing your boundaries. So if they won't let you live in peace, give 'em hell. Speak up. You will encourage the rest of us to do speak up in turn. Together, we can overthrow the power imbalances that lead to sexual assault. Anything is possible in this world. We would do well to awaken the possibilities within. <3
Finally, just because my abuser was a trans woman, doesn't say anything about trans women in general. Most of the trans women I know are loveable. My generalisation (about their lovability) was the thing that kept me from processing the full weight of my perception of her as predatory. If there's something to be learnt from this, it's to refrain from generalisation. (Not that her behaviour is in any way my fault.) But anyway, I will continue to fight for trans rights, because one bad apple doesn't speak for the rest. Trans people are a disadvantaged group that are worthy of our empathy, inclusion and protection - just like anybody else in this world.
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