I walked home alone last night, from Russell House to the Women’s Quad. The walk takes about eight minutes, tops, but when I do reach my room I breathe a sigh of exhaustion. Fear is tiring. Unfortunately, as a female student on an urban campus, fear is my life.
I remember packing for my freshman year of college: a new bed spread, pictures of family and friends, mace and the only flashlight in Walmart my father deemed heavy enough to hit someone with “just in case.” Among all the Facebook posts saying “Good Luck!” and “Proud of you” there were stony faced conversations about the dangers of walking alone as a female.
Later that year, I stood among friends and showed my baby pink canister of mace while looking through my purse. My male friends looked taken aback. “Why would you need that?” There was a general consensus that my precautions were too extreme, and either I or my parents were too afraid. However, I could not abandon that small canister. Fear held it in my hand and buried it in my purse, mentally noting its whereabouts, just in case.
Even today, fear stands beside me like a parent. When I check my phone in the morning and see alerts about armed robberies and men with bats the fear swings out its arm and claps upon my chest, pushing me backwards and taking my breath as though I were a child about to unwittingly roam into the busy street. My first thought is, “I should be more careful.”
However, as is customary in adolescence, I have grown resentful of this mothering, smothering fear. As a resident mentor, I feel a solid indignation at the fear my residents have invited to college to sit on their shoulders as they explore the campus. This fear that rushes us home at sunset, this fear that chooses our clothing and that has made sticking our keys out between our fingers an instinct.
This fear forces us into defensive stances, and we’re taught that these fight or flight instincts are not only normal, but healthy. This fear is smart. Fear is not intelligence, fear is an unfortunately logical reaction to the desensitizingly messed-up world we walk home in.
I’m not denying that the current state of affairs in downtown Columbia warrants fear, but it is worth acknowledging that we do not deserve this fear.
To “encourage caution” is not catching a criminal. “Not walking alone” is not stopping rapists and perverts from preying on young girls. Fear is a Band-Aid solution to a much bigger problem surrounding our campus, and it targets the victim, not the perpetrator.