Say Yes

Visual by Savanna Chada

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault, Harassment, Toxic Masculinity

I’ve had many friends with bad boyfriends. They don’t like it when I plaster that title on his memory. That’s love for them. They love so much that even when he slowly disappeared from their relationship, they kept the lights on, dusted the floors, and waited for him to come back. It’s not that they didn’t like loving him. It was just that there was a time when they didn’t want to and he forced them to stay put, to stay attached to his body, to give life to his body. When they told me, I did not think. I just said it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. Please remember that. You said Yes to the relationship. You said Yes to loving him. He did not wait for your Yes this time. He assumed it. Loving means giving, so giving should mean Yes, right?

This is not a hate letter. Maybe, in some ways it is. Because I don’t understand how my friends were the only ones who knew that they were assaulted. I don’t understand why it was instinctual of him to cage her, to pluck his pleasure from her body, teeth by teeth, nail by nail. I don’t understand how he didn’t feel her fear. How can you not know when someone isafraid of you? How can you just take and take and take for it not to matter to you? How can he just walk away and decide to be the good guy?

They were charismatic, lovable, so harmless when they smiled. I’ve witnessed so many instances where the friend group shuns the ex-girlfriend. Pinned her as controlling, as not right for him. They knew him the longest, of course, everything should be her fault. When you’re friends with someone, it’s easy to accept that they’re good, to be blind with the bro code. Bros before hoes, right? Just because someone isa good friend that doesn’t make them a good person. It reminds me of this boy who asked for a picture on the first day of class, got his friends to ask me if I was interested in him. I was the new girl, I couldn’t say No. He tried to get to know me, I ended up telling him abouta boy I dated and that I just wasn’t looking for a relationship. He told his friends that I was still hung up over another guy and that’s why I won’t give him a chance. It boggles my mind on how he spun the narrative to soften the fall of his pride. Maybe, it’s my fault for not spelling out “No” on my forehead, made a collage of it on Picsart,and slid it into his locker. He madea poem about it. Performed in front of everyone, suddenly I was the girl who said No to a guy who overflowed his tears into words and served them on a bloody silver platter. I was forced into a position where I had to accept or at least consider his affection. I was the bad guy, the one who wasn’t nice enough to say Yes.

Once, I told a boy I dated about how afraid I was of walking alone outside. He counters this by saying that he’s afraid of walking out at night too. No. You don’t understand. I’m alwaysafraid. The fear doesn’t go away just because the sun can see everything. It doesn’t protect me from the boldness of predators who thrive in the shadows they’ve turned into spotlights. Look at her. See how she tempts me. Look at me, see how I’m vulnerable to her. You don’t understand because I don’t know if you’ ve ever been afraid of being a man. I’ve been fed fat by fear my whole life. Keep your spine straight so they'll respect you more. Keep your legs crossed so you won’t invite them in. Keep your face pleasant, you don’t want to scare them away. When my cousin squeezed my thighs, No did not arrive instinctually. She was stuck in traffic and laughter had to stall for her. I laughed as I pushed his handsaway. My laughter must have meant Yes. I must have served my body on a silver platter as he tested the quality of this meat. Never say No. You don’t know what they’ll do if you say No. Protect yourself from saying No. Who is going to protect me?

These men get to decide to be heroes. And we’ve got no choice but to be their victims. They get to post slogans online about how women should cover themselves up, lesser clothing made them lesser. Coming from men who measure the worth of women by the skin they can see. They tell us to avoid being targets. Prevention is always better than a cure. They’ve misdiagnosed the situation. No amount of clothing, training our eyes to the ground, molding smallnessand obedience into our bones will ever make these men respect us. To earn their respect isajob women have been trained their whole lives to do. Men aren’t asked the same. They were born with respect, and so it is their God-given mission to teach us about it? This isa hate letter to all the men who are offended by this. This isa hate letter to all the men who protect predators in groups, chalking it up as friendship. Who see my words, and label them as hormonal, as overreacting, as a man-hater. They will build a glass castle of excuses. We’re only trying to protect you. Why are you so angry? We see the world for what it is, as dangerous, you’re naive to think that this will end. Eradicating the criminals will not take away crime, it’s an ever-present reality. Prevention is key. Just stop being so angry. I don’t understand why they’re more afraid of our anger than they are of this reality. If prevention is key then stop being something worthy of our fear.

This is not a hate letter to men. It is a hate letter to this system, this culture, that doesn’t care for scared girls and women. That teaches us from a young age to lessen our Nos, make them uncomfortable in our mouths, force them down our throats, let it tumble in our stomachsas we smile when a man asks us to. They will build a house of cardsand decorate it with their excuses. It wasn’t our intention to make you feel scared. It wasn’t our intention to make you uncomfortable. We just wanted to remind you that you look prettier when you smile. We just wanted to show the other guys who you belonged to. We just wanted to tell you how hot your legs look. Take a compliment. If it wasn’t your intention to be the bad guy then why are you making it seem as if it’s our fault instead? Don’tassume that it’s okay to shout at me from across the street. Don’t assume that I asked for your touch. Don’t assume that I care about your ego or whether you think you deserve my attention. Don’tassume that you have my respect. Earn it.

This is a letter to my friends’ ex-boyfriends. You are not the heroes of this story. I am not saying that you cannot change. It’s been years since I’ve seen you. You might know better now. But it doesn’t make you the good guy. This is a letter to all the men who are allies at face-value, who talk about equality and who degrade predatory men but believe that this privilege, this protection, is only for “upstanding” women. The women they like, the women they choose to see as people as if it was something you can decide for someone else. You are not special for not seeing their worth. You are not special for not hurting women. You are not special for seeing their worth. This is a letter to all the women who make other women small, who have placed themselves on pedestals to be emulated by the women who deserve every bad thing that happens to them because they were not “smart” enough to be safe. This system has failed all of you. This system is monstrous. We keep counting bodies because this is just another scared little girl, another battered woman, another victim. This is all we’ve known.

This is a letter to all those who recognize my words the way they recognize their limbs. This is a letter to my friends. To deal with it isa muscle-reflex. You’ve been carrying this for too long. I see you. It was never your fault. It was never your fault. Please remember that. Iam sorry that we will know each other through these shared experiences, these aggressions, these microaggressions, and the internalized misogyny born from them. Know that I will keep my hands outstretched, they are here when it gets too heavy. Iam sorry that this letter isall I have for you. Reality has given us no choice but to survive. You are doing your best. I’m so proud of you. They cannot take this from you. This is nota pretty struggle. This is not a happy story. It’s a real one.

This is an open letter. Help us make a better story. Please, this time, we are asking for you to be the ones to say Yes.

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673