面對地鐵“咸豬手”，勇敢說No！

Almost two years ago， I was groped1） on a New York City subway for the first time. Many of the details are now long gone—I couldnt tell you what train I was on， or where I was going—but I can tell you I was wearing shorts， because I can also tell you exactly the way his hands cupped the backs of my bare upper thighs， grazing my bottom and then moving inward and down to my inner knees. I can tell you all the thoughts that flashed through my mind as it happened， and how not one of them allowed me to actually acknowledge what was going on.

I thought， “this must be someone I know just messing with me” as I turned around， expecting to see a familiar face sitting in the seat I was standing in front of. I thought surely it would be a girlfriend， despite the thick calloused2） hands I felt finally leaving my skin. But I didnt recognize the face. I thought surely it cant be this strange man， who is looking back at me as he walks off the train. But there was no one else. I thought， theres no way I can accuse a stranger.

I cant tell you why I was filled with such self-doubt， when there was zero doubt he was my molester3）. But I can tell you the exact words I managed to half-heartedly call out as he stepped through the now open doors and onto the platform： “Excuse me. Thats not how you touch a stranger.” As if I were scolding a small child for pulling a dogs tail. As if I were too afraid to offend anyone， despite the 0% chance that I misunderstood the intention of his touch. As if I might be to blame. He stands on the platform， still holding me with his gaze as the doors close and I finally yell out loud， “That man just groped me.” I frantically look to others around me—for help， for comfort， for acknowledgement—but I get nothing but averted4） eyes and a small shrug from a woman who clearly does not want me to involve her. It was awful—I was ashamed that I could barely find my voice to confront my offender. I was embarrassed when the people who witnessed it couldnt find their voice at all. Id never felt so violated and alone as I did riding those next few stops.

When I got off the train， I approached two officers on the platform， telling them I had been groped and that I didnt know what to do. I remember asking myself why I sounded like I was apologizing for it. I remember them unemotionally telling me that unless I knew who the man was， there was nothing they could do about it. That I could file a report “if I felt like it，” but that nothing would come of it. So I didnt.endprint

Since then， I have many times recited in my head all the things I would say the next time this happened. I promised that next time， I wouldnt second-guess myself. I wouldnt assume I was wrong in what I felt. I wouldnt wait until it was too late. I wouldnt let this happen again. I would speak up.

And then yesterday happened. Yesterday， I was on a crowded L train from Union Square to Bedford Avenue during an early afternoon rush. The train was crowded—not so crowded that we were sardines5） packed together， but crowded like a puzzle， with each person perfectly positioned in their own personal， albeit6） tiny， bubble. Then I felt him behind me. I felt him pushing closer and closer into that bubble， against me. I moved forward what precious centimeters I could and placated myself with the following thoughts： “The train must just be more crowded than I realize” and “Someone must be pushing him into me， hes not doing this on purpose” and then， finally， as I could feel his shoes now inch onto the heels of my sandals and his body continuing to press against mine， “There is no way you are right in what you are feeling. Stop assuming the worst. He is innocent. You are overreacting.”

In this same moment， the woman next to me shifts in her bubble and offers me sanctuary7）. I dont know if she understood what was happening， but she graciously gave me a few inches that felt like a mile. But soon I feel him turn toward me once again. More cautiously this time， as there is more space between us to make up for. He shifts toward me once more. And still， my self-doubt persists： “he just wants a piece of the newly created room” and “hes just an inconsiderate jerk that doesnt care about peoples space” and “you cannot accuse him of anything.”

And then I hear it. The entire train car hears it. A man just a couple feet away yelling angrily， “Hey man！ I see you！ I see what youre trying to do to her and you better knock it off8）！ I see you！”

From that point on， my memory is fuzzy. Theres yelling. Theres confusion. There are a lot of blank faces and averting eyes from people not wanting to get involved. Only now am I realizing that I am， in fact， the victim. That someone else saw what I was too afraid to acknowledge. I mouth the words “thank you” to him. I wish I shouted them. Theres more yelling. Theres a threat to get the police involved. Then suddenly the doors open and people flood away， including myself.

All morning long， Ive been replaying the scene in my head—trying to better understand how Ive found myself in this situation again. How I failed to trust my instincts. How， once again， I failed to find my voice. And how I am so grateful that this time， someone else did. I write this because its important to speak up. To speak up in your own head， and listen to the voice that is telling you something is wrong， because its probably right. To speak up if something like this does happen to you， because staying quiet only empowers predators to victimize others. To speak up for others， because they may not be able to. And to speak up after， in hopes that it might encourage others to speak up too.endprint

The unfortunate truth that motivated me to write this piece in the first place was realizing that had that man not spoken up for me， I would have dismissed the incident altogether. I wouldve called the voice in my head “crazy” and “overly sensitive，” adjectives that we， as women， are callously9） called far too frequently， and thus conditioned to avoid at what can be a very high cost. Thats not okay. We need to be sensitive. We need to not develop such a thick skin that we dont allow ourselves to own our own voices. We need to speak up.

Standing on the platform after the train doors closed to whisk10） my predator deeper into Brooklyn， I see the guy who spoke up for me already halfway up the stairs. I wish Id run after him to thank him out loud. Even more， I wish Id spoken up for myself so he didnt have to. Next time， I hope I will. And I hope that in reading this， you will too.

大約兩年前，我在紐約的地鐵上第一次遭遇了咸豬手。如今很多細節我已經記不清了——我無法說出當時乘坐的是哪趟車，或者那時我要去哪里——但我可以告訴你，當時我穿著短褲，因為我還清楚地記得那人的手是怎樣從后面覆上我裸露的大腿，擦過我的臀部，繼而向里向下移到我兩膝之間。我能告訴你當這一切發生時，我腦海中閃過的所有念頭，以及為什么沒有哪個念頭允許我承認到底發生了什么。

我想，“一定是某個認識的人在跟我開玩笑?！边@么想著，我轉過身，期待我所站之處后面的座位上出現一張熟悉的臉。那時我以為肯定是哪個女性朋友，盡管離開我皮膚的那雙手上覆著厚繭。然而，那張臉我并不認識。當他走下車，回過頭來看我時，我還在想不可能是這個陌生的男人。但是沒有別人。我想，我總不能指控一個陌生人吧？

我不知道那時自己為何對這個無疑是騷擾者的家伙有那么不確定。但我確切地記得，當車門打開，他走到站臺上時，我心不在焉地大聲說道：“請等一下。你不該這么摸一個陌生人?！蹦菚r我覺得就好像我在責備一個孩子扯了狗尾巴；就好像我明知道自己不可能誤會他碰我的意圖，卻太過害怕冒犯他人；就好像這一切都是我的錯。那個陌生男人立在站臺上，直到車門合上時仍在盯著我。就在那時，我終于大喊道：“那個男的剛才摸我了！”我瘋狂地看向周圍的人——尋求幫助、安慰和認同——但除了躲避的眼神和一個明顯不想和我扯上關系的女人微微地聳了聳肩，什么回應也沒有。當時場面難堪——我居然不敢質問冒犯我的人，這令我羞愧難當。而那些目擊者都默不作聲，這令我尷尬不已。在之后的幾站路上，我從未感到像這樣受到侵犯和如此孤獨。

下了地鐵，我找到站臺上的兩個警察，并告訴他們我被性騷擾了，不知道該怎么辦。我還記得那時我暗自問自己為什么說話的語氣像是在道歉。我也記得他們非常漠然，告訴我除非知道那個人是誰，不然他們也愛莫能助。他們還說，“如果我愿意的話”，可以填一個報告，但不會有什么結果。因此我并沒有填。

在那之后，我許多次在腦海中重復下次遇到這種情況時會說的話。我暗自保證下次我絕不會懷疑自己。我不會懷疑自己是不是感覺錯了。我不會等到為時已晚。我絕不會讓這種事再發生。我會大聲說出來。

然而，昨天我又遭到了騷擾。昨天下午出行高峰時，我乘坐一輛擁擠的L線地鐵從聯合廣場到貝德福德大道。車廂非常擠——乘客雖沒有擠到像罐頭里的沙丁魚人疊人的程度，也像拼圖一樣，一個挨一個地站著，但周身稀薄的“保護罩”還在。就在那時，我感覺到有個人在我身后。我感到他越擠越近，漸漸擠進我的保護層，靠著我。我向前挪了寶貴的幾厘米，還在想：“車里一定是比我想的要擠”以及“一定是有人把他往我這邊推，他不是故意要這么做的”。然而，當我感覺到他的鞋已經踩在我涼鞋的后跟上、他的身體繼續貼向我時，我想：“不可能是你感覺的那樣。別總往壞處想。他不是故意的。你反應過度了?！?/p>

也就在這時，我旁邊的一位女士在她的保護罩里挪了挪位置，給我騰出了一點躲避的空間。我不確定她是不是知道發生了什么，但她高尚地讓出的那幾英寸對我來講像是一英里那么寬。然而，很快我就感覺到那個人又靠了過來。這次他更加小心了，因為我們兩人間多出來了一些空間。那人又一次向我靠過來。但是，我仍不確定：“他只是想占點新騰出來的空地兒”“他只是一個不在乎別人空間的混蛋”“你無法指責他”。

然后，我聽到了，整節車廂都聽到了。離我兩英尺遠的一個男人憤怒地喊道：“喂，我看到你了。我看到你想對那個女孩做什么。你省省吧。我看見你了?！?/p>

那個時刻開始，我的記憶開始有些模糊。記憶里有喊叫，有混亂，有一張張面無表情的臉和不想牽扯進來的人們回避的眼神。直到此刻，我才意識到，事實上，我是受害者。我意識到有人看見了我害怕承認的那事情。我對他道了聲謝。我希望自己大聲感謝了他。記憶里還有很多的叫喊和找警察介入的威脅。然后，門突然間開了，人們涌了出去，也包括我自己。

整個上午，我都在腦海中回放那個場景——試圖弄明白自己為何又陷入那樣的境地，為何不相信自己的直覺，為何我又一次不發聲，以及我有多感激這次有人幫我說話。我寫這篇文章是因為大聲說出來很重要。在自己腦海里，說出來，傾聽內心的聲音告訴你那是錯的，因為這個聲音很可能是對的。如果這種事發生在你身上，說出來，因為保持沉默只會放任施害者騷擾其他人。為了他人說出來，因為他們自己可能不敢說。事情發生之后，說出來，希望能鼓勵其他人說出來。

促使我寫下這篇文章的不幸真相使我首先意識到的是：如果那位男士沒有出來為我說話，我會讓整件事情不了了之。我會認為自己腦子里的聲音是“瘋狂的”“過于敏感”。這些形容詞常常被冷酷地用來形容女性，而作為女性，我們也習慣性地回避這些詞，卻往往導致高昂的代價。這樣不行。我們需要敏感。我們不能讓自己的臉皮變厚，以至于不允許自己發出自己的聲音。我們要說出來。

列車關門，載著那個騷擾我的人飛馳向布魯克林后，我站在站臺上，看著那個為我說話的人已經走上樓梯了。我希望自己跑過去，大聲對他道謝。我甚至希望當時自己能說出來，這樣他就不用說了。下一次，我希望我能說出來。我也希望，讀過這篇文章的你也能說出來。endprint