Safety is a Right

Yesterday, I had to take a bus home at night. I had to take an auto (tuk-tuk) to the bus station. I, too, like many women out there, had to call a friend and ask him to stay on the call until I reached the bus stop.

It was a small little thing that has honestly become normalized today. Women do it unconsciously, hoping that it will help them stay safe.

But I did think of this.

In light of the Cornell 7 tragedy and a bunch of similar things happening in India, my Instagram feed has been full of tragedies. There are countless posts telling women how to stay safe: stay alert, don't walk alone at night, share your location, call someone while travelling, keep your keys between your fingers, carry pepper spray, watch your surroundings, don't trust strangers.

And, of course, women should be taught to protect themselves. Our daughters should know how to recognise danger. They should know what to do when something feels wrong. They should be aware of their surroundings and have the confidence to get themselves out of unsafe situations.

But somewhere along the way, we have accepted something deeply uncomfortable as normal: that a woman must constantly prepare herself for the possibility that someone might hurt her.

What does it say about the world we live in if women have to constantly look over their shoulder?

Why is she the one who has to look over her shoulder? Why does she have to call someone and make sure he stays on the phone until she reaches her destination, so that anyone watching knows she is not alone? Why does she have to keep her keys between her fingers? Why does she have to carry pepper spray in the most accessible pocket of her bag? Why does getting home safely feel like something she has to plan for as carefully as the journey itself?

Safety should be a basic right. It should not be a skill women are expected to master simply because they are women.

Yes, our daughters should be careful. They should be taught to be alert and that their instincts matter. They shouldn’t have to stay in a situation that makes them uncomfortable.

But we should teach our sons something too. Teach them that a woman walking alone at night is not an opportunity. Teach them to recognise when someone is being harassed. Teach them that watching someone being hurt and doing nothing is not the same as staying out of trouble. Teach them to speak up when their friends cross a line. Teach them that consent matters, that boundaries matter, and that another person's safety is not someone else's problem.

Our daughters should not have to spend their entire lives learning how to avoid dangerous men. Our sons should grow up learning how to make sure they are never one of them, and how to refuse to stand silently by when someone else is being harmed.

Maybe that is what safety should eventually mean: not that every woman knows how to protect herself from the world, but that she can move through it without constantly having to protect herself from other people.