An open letter to the stranger who exposed himself to me

& why we still need feminism right here, right now

It was a pleasant, mild evening in May 2014, and I was running in my quiet rural-suburban neighborhood, flanked on either side by towering trees and intermittent houses. I was jogging at a light pace, my heart pumping to the upbeat tempo of Foster the People, my favorite music for exercising.

About a mile in, your beige SUV approached me, slowing down until it came to a complete stop. I assumed you were a friendly neighbor stopping to say hello. You rolled down the window and asked for directions. I spent 20 seconds explaining how to get out of the neighborhood when I realized that you had one hand on the steering wheel and the other stroking your exposed genitals. I refused to give you the satisfaction of my acknowledgement, so I masked my surprise and embarrassment by quickly wishing you good luck and running away.

I was light-headed, my mind was racing, and my stomach felt strangely hollow. I first determined to go home, but I feared that you would be waiting for me at the top of the hill on the way. I ran to the closest house and explained what had happened in between heavy breaths from sprinting and the lump in my throat from my own disgust.

When the police arrived at my house, I explained what had happened once again, mortified at the lewd questions being asked by the young police officer. Flaccid or erect? According to the officer, this type of occurrence is far from uncommon even in our community, which has been nationally recognized as one of the best places to raise a family.

I’m lucky that my first encounter with sexual harassment was a mild one. But because I am a woman, I cannot expect this to be my last.

• 65% of all women report having experienced street harassment, 23% had been sexually touched, 20% had been followed, and 9% had been forced to do something sexual. (Stop Street Harassment, 2014)
• 79% of sexual harassment victims in the workplace are women (International Labor Organization, 2008)
• 99.3% of women in Egypt report having experienced sexual harassment (UN Women, 2013)

The most important thing to take away from these statistics is the disparity between the prevalence of sexual harassment in developed vs. under-developed countries. While sexual harassment happens too often to be taken lightly in any corner of the world, it is most severe outside of the Western Hemisphere.

One of the most common arguments I’ve heard against feminism is that it’s not needed in the United States. But while the gender wage gap exists and domestic violence and sexual harassment are limited almost exclusively to women, it cannot be argued that our society is fair. And as a nation that sees significantly more gender equality than others (like Egypt), we are called to be leaders — to facilitate change so that women all over the world can live without the fear of being sexually or physically abused, the assumption that that they are inferior (either explicitly or implicitly), and the expectation that they are to be submissive and docile rather than strong and independent.

Many roll their eyes at American feminists’ “petty” complaints about sandwich jokes, public breast-feeding, and dress codes. And admittedly, compared to the brutal misogyny outside of this country, which prevents women from receiving education, thinking freely, or even living past infancy, our discussion may seem trivial. But while these “lesser” feminist issues do not pose a direct threat to female livelihood, they are symptoms of an overarching issue of patriarchal power. And furthermore, even though feminism started in Western society, its aim is to promote justice for women all over the world — and especially for those who do not have the privilege of voicing their perspectives and experiences without persecution.

Upon reflecting on that day in May, I now recognize that my main emotion until now towards my experience has been shame, even though I had done absolutely nothing wrong. And this sentiment is beginning to allow me to empathize, at least on a small scale, with victims of rape who open up about their experiences and meet criticism and judgment.

So, Mr. Beige SUV, thank you for proving to me that the need for feminism in this world is relevant no matter where we live, for giving me an experience that allows me to empathize with women whose struggles far surpass my own, and for giving me a reason to be passionate about women’s rights. Oh, and by the way, Happy International Women’s Day.