I'm Afraid of Men.

by Vivek Shraya

Exclamation marks soften my message, modifying my tone so that my words convey the requisite submissiveness to communicate effectively with a man, to avoid agitating or offending him. I am not allowed to be assertive or direct.

The only time I can make choices about how I want to look, act, communicate is when I’m inside my apartment, at the end of the day. Often exhausted, I try my best not to think about how I will have to do it all over again tomorrow. The weight of these minute-to-minute compromises is compounded by the fact that because of my fear of violence from men, I seldom dress the way I want to in public and wear makeup only on weekends or when I’m performing. This means I’m often still seen as a man. As painful as it is to be seen as the embodiment of my fears, the real agony comes from feeling that I am to blame because I don’t look feminine enough.

Your fluffy, curly brown hair hints at tenderness, as do your hands, ever full of books. Also, like me, most of your friends are girls. Cautiously coming into my queerness, I am learning the necessity of collecting and interpreting meagre clues of acceptance as a form of survival. I’m also looking for signs and studying behaviours to determine if there are others like me. Might you be attracted to boys, too? Maybe I’m not the only one?

What would my body look like if I didn’t want affection from gay men and protection from straight men? What would my body look and feel like if I didn’t have to mould it into both a shield and an ornament? How do I love a body that was never fully my own?

Over the years, I’ve come to expect being groped in gay bars. Complaining about this unwanted touching is often deemed sex-negative, un-queer, or even homophobic. Touching in gay bars is generally seen as an acceptable form of cruising and supposedly pushes against the repressiveness enforced by heterosexism. I’ve also witnessed gay men grabbing women’s breasts many times on the dance floor. When asked to stop, some have responded, “Don’t worry, I’m gay. I’m not into girls.” Not being into girls, however, is sometimes less about sexual preference and more about disdain. Is grabbing women’s breasts a way to make women feel unsafe and therefore keep them out of gay bars? When gay men have discovered I was dating a woman, many have declared how repulsive they find vaginas. Where is the line between supposed “playful touching” and grabbing women’s body parts as a manifestation of hatred, if not exclusion? Why is this different or more acceptable than violence enacted by straight men?

You lift yourself off me. “Oh. I didn’t say ‘I love you’ because I wanted you to say it back.” “You didn’t?” “No. It kind of bothers me that ‘I love you’ is treated like the destination in a relationship. I told you because that’s how I feel and I wanted you to know.

I’M AFRAID OF MEN not because of any singular encounter with a man. I’m afraid of men because of the cumulative damage caused by the everyday experiences I’ve recounted here, and by those untold, and by those I continue to face. None of these stories are exceptional. I’m afraid of how common, if not mild, my experiences are. Many people have endured more savage forms of violence inflicted by men. I’m also afraid that the most prevalent response these stories will elicit is pity. Even worse, I’m afraid of the necessity of eliciting pity in order to generate concern or to galvanize change.

Why is my humanity only seen or cared about when I share the ways in which I have been victimized and violated?