Harassment is easy, resistance is hard

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My first experience with sexual harassment on public transport was in Beijing. In August 2006, I was looking for a job in Beijing. Beijing summers are scorching, the sun is incredibly strong, and the sky is always cloudless, a clear blue that gives a clean and refreshing illusion, yet the heat evaporates your sweat, making you feel chilled by the heat. Occasionally, a hot wind blows, stirring up dust from the ground, making me feel like I'm in a desert, constantly worried that the desert will engulf this city with its rich cultural history.

That day, I went to a job fair, and when it ended, it was rush hour. My goodness, the sheer number of Beijingers chasing after buses terrified me. To me, their chase seemed so intense, even tragic. I saw people gathered under the bus stop signs (I forget which ones). Amidst the dense crowd, people craned their necks, eagerly anticipating their bus. Whenever they saw their turn, their faces lit up with bright smiles, and they sprinted towards the bus, crowding around the doors, impatiently waiting for them to open. They dashed into the carriage, finally managing to squeeze on. Not everyone could get on; those who couldn't were the weak and short. After missing countless buses home, I finally mustered all my strength and squeezed into the carriage with a stomp. It was no easy feat!

Just as I breathed a sigh of relief, I suddenly felt a cold sensation on my lower back—it was a hand. At first, I thought it was because the bus was too crowded. The reason was... but slowly I noticed that dirty, cold hand roaming over my waist. God! I'm going to break down. Three words flashed through my mind: sexual harassment. It was sexual harassment on a public transport. Thinking about it made my vision blur, my head burned, and a fire was about to burst from my skull. But I had to restrain myself; rather than self-control, I was weak. Because of the crowded bus, I could only elbow that groping hand hard. But that hand was too persistent and continued. God, forgive me, I'm about to explode. I want to turn around and give the owner of that hand a resounding slap. But I found that even the space to turn around was squeezed out. What should I do? Am I just going to...? I saw... not far from me... There was just a tiny space, barely enough for one foot to fit. This discovery felt like finding a new continent, yet tinged with sadness, a feeling of surviving in a crevice. To think that I, from the great nation of China, with its vast land, was overjoyed to find a tiny spot to stand—how ironic! Yet, amidst the angry, disdainful stares of those around me, I struggled to squeeze into that minuscule space. I finally escaped that clutches.

This incident fueled my anger for a long time. I regretted not slapping that person, not yelling at him, not simply running away. Running away is escapism. I am cowardly, because I lack the courage to face the filth of this society, the courage to confront despicable people. I hate myself.

[The End]

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Harassment is easy, resistance is hard

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