Why I Rise - Part 12

 

16 December 2012.  9:30pm.  New Delhi, India.

A 23-year-old female physioteraphy student and a male companion were kidnapped, beaten and robbed in New Delhi.  She was raped by six men in a moving bus, who also used a rusted iron rod to penetrate her, then they were both thrown to the side of the road naked.  They were found around 11pm.  During the following days, she was in and out of coma, and in severe shock whenever she opened her eyes.  Thirteen days later, she died of multiple organ failure. He survived.

I was in India when this happened.  The country is angry, and the population is asking for the abusers, of which one is a minor, to be hung. A few days after the rape, there were student protests in New Delhi demanding changes in the law and security to women in India.  My desire to go was strong, but not as strong as the fear to be out at night in New Delhi, an unfamiliar place, known for its crimes towards women.  My partner, also female, and I felt a deeper interpretation of fear these days we were there.  We felt insecure, angry and hopeless.  And we are strong, daring and adventurous women. At that moment, that didn't matter. I even had the thought of how my fear would change if I had my best friend, a male, traveling with us.  It would.  Not much, as we learned from the case above, but it would.  One of the days we went to visit a garden with beautiful plant sculptures of Buddah.  I had been looking forward to it since before leaving home.  We got lost and arrived there a little before sunset.  When we entered, we had about 50 eyes on us.  All men.  We hesitated for a second, then we ran and got into a rickshaw who charged us about ten times what the ride was worth.  What money is worth the risk of being touched, abused, or violated by a stranger? None. Were we overreacting? Maybe, but no reasonable thought would make me walk into that gated garden. On our way back home in the metro, I felt something I never felt before, and I believe it is something close to a panic attack.  There were about sixty men, and three women in our cart.  Nothing happened, only constant staring for about 30 minutes.  Still, the consistent thought of what had happened to that girl a few nights before, who was still struggling for her life at that time, and that the small knife I had in my pocket couldn't do anything if two, or fifty men decided to hurt us.  That was when I realized how unreasonably unfair and violent this world can be.  That moment I decided to rise.

I disagree with execution of the offenders.  I agree with education.  We, women and men, from any and all backgrounds, languages and cultures, must rise to educate, to inform, and to serve as examples of change.  Change happens when we fight for it.  People rising and speaking up has been the only means by which society changed, has been changing and will change.  In April 2011, Toronto's chief police officer, when approached regarding increasing numbers of rape in universities, requested women to dress less like sluts in order to not be victimized. The Slut Walk, everywhere in the world, started, and it has taught me valuable lessons, as I hope it has others.

It saddens me to see friends about my age undergo the pressure of a sexist society, where the women believe they are less powerful, less intelligent, less human, weaker and shallow individuals and that male dominance, including any form of abuse is acceptable. It frustrates me to think that my 4-year-old niece and 8 year-old brother will grow up in such a world.  It brings tears to my eyes to even think of possibility of them being victims of behaviors from such society that has yet to understand fairness, human rights, equality, and justice.  

It is my duty to fight for change. 

That is why I rise.

Submitted by the amazing Carla Locatelli of both Salt Lake City, Utah and São Paulo Brazil