I’m going to retell a story I’ve written about before. A few years back some friends of mine dragged me to a feminist meeting at the house of a woman I didn’t know, although I realised when I got there that I’d seen her around.<\/p>\n
Her face was all bruised, she had a broken nose and a black eye. She said it had happened in a play-fight with her boyfriend and that he didn’t know his own strength. She hadn’t left the house since it happened. She wanted to spend the meeting talking about men’s violence against women.<\/p>\n
I don’t know about the other women at that meeting, but I knew, with absolute certainty, that there was no play-fight, that it hadn’t been an accident. Everything she did, and said, told me that her relationship was abusive.<\/p>\n
I didn’t say anything. None of us said anything. It was a feminist meeting and none of us said anything.<\/p>\n
I tried, I wanted to, I spent the evening searching for words and couldn’t find them. Gaps in the conversation came and went, and I left, having said nothing. I knew I was doing the wrong thing, that my silence was wrong, as I was doing it.<\/p>\n
What I could have said, what I should have said, was really simple: “Just so you know, I don’t think he should treat you like that. If you ever need anything you can give me a call, here’s my number.”<\/p>\n
Please don’t make my mistake. Practice a phrase in your head, have the words ready, use them.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I’m going to retell a story I’ve written about before. A few years back some friends of mine dragged me to a feminist meeting at the house of a woman I didn’t know, although I realised when I got there … Continue reading