The Apples and Oranges of Social Injustice

I’ve been having a problem ever since I moved to New Haven. I work out of the city, and in an effort to spare my old (and beloved) car the mileage, I take public transport. At one particular corner, the corner where I happen to get off the Yale Shuttle to walk the half mile to my apartment, a homeless man sits on a bench. He’s there almost every evening. He’s not a novelty in New Haven – the city has no shortage of poverty – but he tries to make himself one.

Every time I see him, without fail, he calls out to me. Unless, of course, he’s calling out to other women. Now, I get it (or at least, I assume I do). He wants his humanity recognized. I’m totally fine with saying “hello” or “good afternoon” or exchanging any other pleasantries. And we did that, this man and I, for the first week or so. But it didn’t stay that way.

He began commenting on my appearance. “Nice dress, honey.” “Looking good today, sweetheart.” “Man, that ass.” (The last one, I think, he believed I couldn’t hear.) That is where I draw the line.

Here’s a fact about me: I hate conflict. I started ignoring him – which earned me more comments about how rude I am. Then, when I wouldn’t respond, he would move onto whatever other woman happened to be walking near me. I’ve seen this guy nearly every day for two months, and he has never said anything to another man. Or, to a woman walking with a man.

So, loathing conflict as I do, I began calling my husband while on the shuttle, so that I would have the protection of a man in voice, if not in person, when I got off at the homeless man’s corner. Guess what? It worked. He’s never said anything to me when I’m on the phone. Maybe he’s just being polite, or maybe it just makes for a target less likely to respond. Or maybe, he respects another man’s ownership of me more than my right to not be objectified.

And all this time, I feel guilty. I mean, this man has obviously had a difficult life. He lives on the street. God knows when he eats or bathes or has any basic comforts. I’ve got it way easier. I should just let him make comments at me. Hell, maybe I should even say, “thank you” (as he points out, it wouldn’t kill me), if it would bring a little triumph to his day.

Then I remember, I’m a feminist. This man’s apparent need to harass me is not my fault, nor my problem. It’s his. My body, my words, my smiles, my very presence are not currency he can use to buy himself happiness or relief or whatever he thinks my reaction would give him. I deserve respect and just because my socioeconomic status is above his, that doesn’t mean I have to accept his sexism. We’re both humans, and we both have the right to be treated with dignity and respect in every capacity of our lives.

My conclusion? Social injustices are just shit, no matter which way you spin them. He gets the orange of homelessness. I receive the apple of misogyny. They’re totally different problems, sewed on totally different patches of our society’s quilt of ills. All I can do is be respectful and hope for the same in return. Maybe he’ll come around, maybe he won’t. Either way, I’m learning to accept that this “problem” isn’t really mine.

Filed under: Musings and Fun Things Tagged: culture, feminism, homelessness, misogyny, sexism, social injustice, sociology