‘Pssst... Dahlin...’

Because I am and always have been a full figured Trini woman with “naturally curly hair” (to borrow a phrase from one of the Newsday writers), I have come to accept the fact that I am a target for hot-blooded Trini men because they love a woman with some “meat on de bone.” And because of this, I have come to accept the fact that, for example, if I am walking down Frederick Street I will inevitably get some comments, whether it be a simple “good morning,” a skin-crawling “pssst,” or a ridiculous “Oh god dahlin, yuh nice and thick like condense milk out de tin!” Now, comments like the last one I can handle because I can’t help but laugh at them. But what gets me so mad is that a woman cannot even get a moment’s peace in this country, because every man feels he has the right to say whatever the wants to you whenever he feels like it, because it has become so accepted in as something not to “take on.” Trinis may be naturally friendly and flirtatious people, but where do you cross the line between some good-natured “flirting” and downright disgusting dirty “sexual harassment”?

For example, if you are a woman at work in your office and one of your male colleagues refers to you as “sweetheart,” “dear,” “honey” or “dahlin” instead of your name, is that sexual harassment, or a term of endearment? If you are walking down the road, or driving in your car with the windows down, and a carload of snakes drives by and hisses a loud “psssssssst!” at you, is that sexual harassment, or just harmless fun? If you are in party with a friend and two sweaty men pounce out of nowhere and sandwich you in a wine, is that sexual harassment, or just wildness in a party? If you are six months pregnant and a man approaches you in the street and says, “Aye dahlin, yuh want ah nex’ one in dey or wha?” is that sexual harassment, or just a dirty joke?

Well, in my opinion, all of the examples above constitute sexual harassment, because it is all unwanted, uninvited and unwelcome. It is always insulting, embarrassing and usually very humiliating. It makes you feel about one inch tall, and totally deflates your feeling of self worth and dignity, and women feel powerless against it because for our whole lives we have been told “don’t take it on.” I can’t help but “take it on” though, because I just don’t think I can take the crude comments anymore. When I hit puberty and started looking less pre-teen and more like 16, suddenly everywhere I went I had to deal with strange men of all kinds going “psssst” or calling out to me, watching me up and down like they wanted to eat me for lunch. And do you know what my elders taught me? “Just ignore it,” they said. “Don’t make eye contact,” they said. “Don’t talk back to them,” they said. “Pretend you don’t hear them,” they said. So painfully I tried to act as though I could not hear the cat calls and the dirty comments, while the blood rushed to my face in embarrassment as I tried to walk down the road pretending couldn’t hear a group of five men laughing and yelling disgusting things at a 13-year-old girl.

Now, I am a bit older and a heck of a lot more fed up after over a decade of pretending to ignore sexual harassment. So I don’t take it anymore. I get angry and I talk back. Men expect a woman to pretend they don’t hear it, but I stop and tell them to shut up, to shut their face, to so-and-so-off, and I see them look back in confusion, not liking the unexpected confrontation. A few months ago a group of female friends from Canada came to visit, and a big lime of us went to Tobago for the weekend. Being good hosts, we took the Canadian girls on the glass bottom boat and had a wonderful time taking in the sun and the sights from the roof of the boat. When the boat returned to Store Bay to drop us off, suddenly we heard a lot of cat calling, whistling and yelling from a group of men, all with drinks in their hands, in the sea: “Aye, ah want de big one in de blue, oh gooosh she nice and fat!” “Nah nah boy, ah go take de blond one, white meat too sweet!” “Pssst, red bikini! Come nah! Come nah!” And so on. The Canadian girls obviously knew they were being sexually harassed — in fact, the whole of Store Bay knew we were being harassed because these drunken sea donkeys were braying loud enough for everyone to hear — but the Canadians (thankfully) couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Well, they obviously mistook me for a tourist too because I stood up on the roof of that glass bottom boat with my hands on my hips (like a true Trini woman about to deliver a good cuss) and cussed them left, right and centre. I was so fuming I just let them have it live. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I was so vex! The drunken sea donkeys were all shocked, they were probably wondering what the hell was wrong with this woman standing on the roof of a boat in Store Bay cussing them. It was quite a scene. As we all walked down the beach towards our hotel, one of the young men from the group got out of the water and approached me. He stopped me and said, “Listen, I am really really sorry about that. I am.” But I was too mad, and too humiliated, to accept the apology. I think there is an art to a well delivered lyric, and very few Trini men these days know this art form. Instead of a man hissing at me in the street, I would prefer it any day of the week if he actually approached me with to say something quasi-intelligent or humorous to say. For example, one night while myself and some friends — all of whom were male — were walking along Tragarete Road, we passed a tall rastaman buying a cup of corn soup, and as we passed he turned to me and said, “Oh gooosh girl, you have more form than Lara!” Well, that just sent the whole group cracking up as we walked down the street. I don’t mind lyrics like that. I’ve gotten some funny ones in my lifetime, and I’ve also gotten a number of impromptu marriage proposals, but I didn’t fancy the idea of running a parlour in Mayaro, so I respectfully turned down their kind invitation.

There certainly is a difference between good-natured and respectful flirting between a man and a woman, and there definitely is a line that gets crossed daily here in TT. I would given anything to never, ever, ever hear a man go “pssst” again, to walk the streets in peace and quiet, but it is a slow battle, and sometimes it is easier to just ignore it, because fighting sexual harassment is so damn exhausting. So, all you men out there, let me give you a little advice — don’t harass women by hissing like snakes. Grow up, be a real man and work up the courage to approach a woman and simply say “hello.” Treat her with the same respect you would like a man to treat your little sister, niece, cousin or female friend. If you have a good lyric, by all means use it — but please, get past the whole “pssst” thing. It’s time to move on.