Tag Archives: stalking

The Venus Flytrap: Compliments For The Crime

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It’s a truth universally acknowledged that not only do you never get the one apology you deserve while it still matters, but in the meanwhile, all manner of crooks and creeps you stopped caring about will keep trying to get a foot beyond the padlocked door. Last week, Hawaiian judge Rhonda Loo delivered a sentence to one such super-persistent villain. Daren Young couldn’t take a hint, which led to his ex-girlfriend having to get a restraining order – which he then violated by sending her 144 nasty text messages and calls in under three hours one day this May. He served a prison sentence of a few months before this trial, where a Maui newspaper reported that Judge Loo minced no words, saying: “It’s so childish to think a grown man can be so thumb-happy.”

She went on, mincing even fewer words, “I don’t know whether I should cut off your fingers or take away your phone to get you to stop texting.” Instead of either the inhumane first option or the insipid second one, she devised an unconventional punishment. In addition to fines, a probation period following his prison sentence and community service, Young was also instructed to write 144 compliments to his ex-girlfriend. One for each text or call that had harassed her. The extra catch (I like this judge!) was that he could not repeat any words while doing so. What fun – like something in a creative writing class! He has 144 days to complete this punishment. Imagine – a haiku a day keeps the handcuffs away.

I can’t speak for the ex-girlfriend, but I’d have absolutely no interest in the wordplay of someone with no respect for boundaries or for why people even set them. The criminal in this case has promised the court that he will stay away from the woman in question in future, and I hope he does. This would be a more sordid story if it wasn’t for Judge Loo, and I hope she gets a good chuckle from his list of compliments. She deserves it, for the levity she’s brought briefly to the very sinister, extremely common crime of stalking.

Most of our stalkers don’t wind up in court. It’s easy to say more of them should – but inherent in that expectation is an increase in the trauma we must first go through. It’s easier to use the block function, easier even to change our numbers than to take something to a justice system. This is all the more challenging when one has had a personal relationship or friendship with the stalker at any point, and private or intimate communications become legal evidence. That’s why I haven’t named the ex-girlfriend in Young’s case, although the news reports have. She doesn’t need to be permanently associated with a protective order she was forced to take out. Only the potential employers and future dates of the man she had to protect herself from need to know about it.

If Young happens to Google himself and see this, he could definitely use this as one of his 144 court-ordained compliments: “You, woman whom I hurt and harassed, are so very brave.”

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express on November 9th 2017. “The Venus Flytrap” appears on Thursdays in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

The Venus Flytrap: Cassandra In The Kingdom Of Closed Eyes

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A boy is knifed in a train and bleeds to death on his brother’s lap on a station platform and no one sees. A young woman is stabbed and bleeds to death on another station platform and no one sees, but someone covers her with a shawl so that her womanly shape isn’t visible, for that is all they can see of her. Something cold sits on my heart, listening to them; how do they do it, looking me straight in the eyes and blithely revealing that they are among the unseeing?

They don’t register the headlines, the statistics, the faces, the stories. They demand proof even as it plays out before them. They claim blips and skewings, and when faced with facts, claim conspiracy. Last weekend I saw someone carrying a poster with a version of Bob Dylan’s words: “How many deaths will it take till we know that too many people have died?” Some – no, many – deaths don’t count because some (many) lives matter less than others. There’s a quota that can never be filled enough for them to say “Enough”. That’s not a riot, they say. And a riot’s not a holocaust. And at least a holocaust is not… well, no one will be left to finish that sentence.

And someone will ask me (I know the script) – how can you connect them, the boy with the skull cap and the girl with the stalker – and like a fabulist I will have to try to prove a theory of invisibility. About how there are reasons why some people can only see some things and not others. And I will play right into their hands when I tell them: when a girl was raped on a bus five years ago, you lit candles and raged, when the same thing happened to another girl in Salem a month ago, you scrolled past her, just like you did the one whose body was towed in a garbage truck, the pregnant one found brutalised at the bottom of a well, the one who was never written about at all but whom you would have ignored anyway.

Then they’ll say: where were you when the earth first wept (not yet born), or when that other silence stuck like tar (raising my voice, then as now, but it didn’t carry in the wind) or when those other dead were named (I hadn’t known then – but you had). As though their wilful, obstinate unseeingness is vindicated because of my not being omniscient. And they never turn the same question on themselves: where are you now, as this unfolds, and why do you justify it? And if you ask, they say flatly, “But there is nothing happening.”

They cannot see the forest burning for all the ashes in the trees. Cannot see structure, system, sense. Cannot see anything beyond their own noses, even as they fill with noxious smoke.

Here’s what I see then, if you can tolerate a Cassandra in the kingdom of closed eyes: nothing we have not already seen. Nothing humanity does not already know. Nothing humanity can forget – unless humanity has forgotten the meaning of itself.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express on July 6th 2017. “The Venus Flytrap” appears on Thursdays in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

The Venus Flytrap: The Illusion Of Safety Is A Highly Gendered Phenomenon

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Some years ago, a spectacularly acrimonious argument with an auto driver had me racing up several flights of stairs, palms sweating, ears ringing with filthy curses, desperately seeking the reassurance of the friend who opened the door. Shaken, I recounted the incident: the driver knew where I lived, I was at the drop-off location frequently, it was a long ride, he knew what I looked like, what if, what if…?

“Don’t be silly,” said my friend. “How many times a day do you think he has a fight? Do you think he keeps accounts of each one?”

His logic was so beautiful, so collected, that for a few moments relief washed over me. I was just being paranoid, I agreed. I mean, why would I think that… And then the genderedness of our perspectives clicked into place. My male friend lived in a city in which he could unzip his trousers by a random wall if the bathroom queues were too long, and no matter how many women dropped by, his neighbours still said friendly hellos to him. I lived in a city in which I never left a party without someone asking me to text when I got home, and none of those same neighbours ever looked me in the eye. Both these cities share the same name and map coordinates, and vastly different emotional echolocations.

Which city did the murder of S. Swathi at the busy Nungambakkam railway station happen in last week: his or mine? Entitlement or vulnerability? Both, as it happens, which is why the reactions to it have been so shameful and so confused.

Chennai is not any more dangerous than it ever was, so let’s drop that sensationalist line of thinking. Ask a college student, ask a transwoman, ask every person wrapping a dupatta on her body as though it was made of chainmail. If you hear women themselves saying that the city has “become unsafe”, what’s between the lines is this: if someone chooses to kill me publicly, they may just get away with it. The psychological stakes have been raised from eyes averted from slaps in parking lots and ears plugged to screams in the adjacent building to even greater non-involvement.

The need to categorise the murder as only an issue of urban safety is an act of obfuscation. True, we should be able to take for granted working CCTV surveillance and prompt responses from authorities, as well as protection for those who come forward as witnesses. But to ignore the larger picture of public indifference and poor socialisation means changing nothing about how things really are. We can talk about these things while still honouring Swathi’s family’s request to not speculate on her case.

We cannot address women’s safety without talking about stalking, specifically how treating love as a dinner table taboo and allowing misogynistic cinema to teach its ways instead has destroyed its spirit. Modern Indian culture does not empower people with respectful courtship etiquette, but neither does it empower them with the skills to handle rejection. And when a person confides that someone makes them feel afraid, how seriously do we take them?

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express on June 30th. “The Venus Flytrap” appears on Thursdays in Chennai’s City Express supplement.