Waging Joyfare Part 2: The Dark Side
About a day after I wrote THIS1 piece a few weeks ago, I was faced with an unfortunate collision of intent vs. reality, where my desires for peaceful connection with the universal in others was met with the painful truth of identity and conditioning.
It was an incredible day in Brooklyn - low 70s, dry, breezy, sunny but with the occasional protection of clouds. Most importantly it was the height of Spring Migration. If you’re a birder, that’s basically Mardi Gras. Northern Parulas were everywhere, I saw two male Scarlet Tanagers (the impossibly red passerine which is the only bird I’ve ever considered tattooing on my body), and The Vale of Cashmere in Prospect Park was an absolute feasting party. There were about 10 of us - all strangers - nerding out with binocs and cameras, announcing identifications and pointing out new arrivals to one another.
I had intended to just pass through there on my way home - I stayed for about two hours. When I did finally leave, I was glowing, not only from seeing so many species, but from the incredible pleasantry of spending friendly time with new people in a way that makes me feel comfortable. I don’t often feel great in open ended social situations, I’ve learned I connect best when there is structure around me, whether that is work, classes, some sort of parallel activity, or, in this case, birding. These scenarios give me the chance to be fed and not drained by socializing, which I know I need even as an introvert, but can not always find.
I headed out toward home, and, thinking about the piece I had just written, was making a point to make eye contact with those I passed and smile. Alone on a quiet path in the Prospect Park Woodlands, I came upon a man going the opposite way.
Now, I wonder, Reader, if you move through or have ever moved through the world coded as female, if you know exactly where this story is about to head. I wonder, if you do not, or have not ever, if you do not know. Maybe in this pause you can posit a guess.
Once I made eye contact and smiled, the man grabbed his genitals and mumbled something I didn’t quite catch, but which I can promise had something to do with my corresponding parts.
I walked away as fast as I could. I tried not to let it get to me. I tried to keep smiling at strangers, but now I found myself playing an unfortunate game of profiling. Who was “safe,” and who would make me feel like prey?
It happened again the next day.
It happened again yesterday.
Not exactly the same thing, but the same genre of threat, same flavor of misogyny.
I actually have compassion for these men: we have a broken world where certain humans can not distinguish between friendliness and sexuality, and/or they believe, perhaps unconsciously, that they have a modicum of power in a helpless, Samsaric existence, when they treat others in this objectified way. They were failed in their upbringing, and now they are failing me. Gendered, toxically oversexualized society has failed us all. But mostly I’m angry. I’m angry that I will never be treated as just a neutral human with a warm smile, before I am treated as a series of holes designed for their pleasure.
It’s a graphic image, I know, but it’s what they make me feel like.
I tell this story because as much as I stand by my original piece, it did not address in it the intersectional layers that make “waging joyfare” more or less possible depending on who you are and where you are - and there are numerous identity locations I possess that make for a less unsafe situation than someone else who may occupy more marginalized identities.
It is a lovely ideal, but the reality of the world is that waging joyfare is not always in the best interest of your safety. And it is a reminder to me that toxicity is a virus: these men behaving toxically to me, create a situation in which I then engage in toxicity (profiling) to those around me. The practice is to witness these arising events, forgive myself and others when I can, and move on to the next moment - the next smile - as best I can.
I can’t figure out how to open up all my previously paywalled pieces without bombarding your inboxes with “republished” emails. If there’s any previous piece you would like to read, but is blocked by a paywall, please reach out and I will send it to you!