Electric Fence Zine: Mauritius

In spite of all of the recent chaos, I feel more secure than ever about being away from home and living in Mauritius.

Although there are many reasons for this newfound reassurance, prominent among them are my friends and family. Foremost, since going public about my attack, I have received a tremendous outpouring of concern from folks back home. To all of you who got in touch this past week, read my blog or just listened, thanks so much for being there... I can't express how much you mean to me, or how much your support matters.

Also heartening are the responses of my Mauritian friends, who have truly been amazing. Since Tuesday, I have been treated to bouquets of flowers, chocolate bars, telephone calls and impromptu visits. My Mauritian colleagues have also mobilized around the issue of my personal safety. When I notified the U.S. Embassy of what transpired, two consulars immediately came to check up on me, and they also accompanied me to the police station to make a statement. Similarly, when I informed my host NGO about what happened, they began compiling a list of trustworthy taxi drivers I can call in the evenings.

Since Tuesday, my Mauritian friends have also give me several tutorials on personal self defense, which have been at the very least wholly entertaining. Among other things, I have been advised to carry switchblades, screw drivers, metal pipes, and aerosol cans, and been given demonstrations on how to kick men in the groin (incidentally, this is the first piece of advice that my male friends volunteer), snap wrists, and break people's noses with my forehead. While some of these suggestions are more recommended than others, one thing is certain: my Mauritian friends are incredibly resourceful.

One particularly inventive Mauritian family has even offered to stakeout my neighborhood deliver my assailant to the police if he passes by. The way the plan has been described to me (stock the car with fast food and movies, plant a male friend in a skirt on the road as a decoy), it sounds like vigilante justice meets drag show meets pizza party, adding up to a grand ol' time.

While this and other responses to my attack have been pretty spirited, they give me a compelling reason why i should stay on for the rest of my grant: namely, Ile Maurice counts among its inhabitants lots and lots of kind, thoughtful and generous people. However, as it turns out, nice Mauritians simply aren't the people who loiter the streets at night.

Which brings me to my next point: based on last week's experience, I have resolved to stop walking alone after sunset (read 6pm) as had been my custom because of Tae Kwon Do, French class, and research. Although it pains me to surrender my rights of travel and transit, I think doing so will make me much safer. Daytime street harassment does not carry the same threat of violence as nighttime harassment. During the day there are eyes on the street, and that enforces a certain type of order... what Foucault's Discipline and punish terms "the panopticon."

Given that I want to be here and am planing on staying, I guess my challenge is to devise creative means to beat immobility. One possibility is taking taxis daily.. However, I've also been thinking about acquiring my own motor vehicle... anything from a vespa to a mini cooper would do (Oh what fun!). Alas, here's to looking on the bright side...

Labels: women's issues

Posted by east of madagascar at 12:40 AM | Permalink | Comments

For those of you who haven't received the memo, street harassment is both pervasive and incessant in Mauritius.

Apart from the daily dose of hissing and leering that I am exposed to, I've been groped by a bus driver, harassed over the telephone by police officers, followed from the market, flashed at a dance club, and most recently, attacked and very nearly sexually assaulted. In a span of 5 months, I have had more experiences of sexual assault than most women accumulate over a lifetime and nothing prepared me for this.. not the Fulbright Foundation, not the Embassy, and not even my experiences of being harassed back home.

The cast of characters are partially new as well as partially old and familiar. They include construction workers, street corner drunks, curmudgeons, as well as motorists (sometimes driving with their children in the rear), married professionals, men on bicycles, doctors, bus conductors, as well as young persons still in their 20s.

One of the things that has unified all of my street-harassers up to date is the fact that all of them have been Indo-Mauritians. Coincidental? Hardly.

My theory on street harassment in Mauritius is a cultural one, concerning in-group and out-group dynamics on the Isle. Namely, I believe men abide by limited rules of decorum when dealing with women from their own ethnic communities, but behave lawlessly when interacting with women of different origins... particularly Black-African and Creole women.

How else to explain the fact that the same Hindu men who leer, stalk, and hiss at me and my White roommate allow sari-clad women pass by totally unperturbed? Or the fact that not a single one of my three dozen harassers has been a Black man?

What is important to note about this hypothesis is that it stops short of indicting Indo-Mauritian culture as being defective in and of itself. Instead, my contention is that the tenants of respect which govern interactions between Indian persons typically are not applied to interactions between Indians and non-Indians.

As a result of all this, the streets and sidewalks of Mauritius are lawless. Indo-Mauritians articulate their desire for non-Indian women crudely and brazenly ... whether it be hissing at them, soliciting them for sex, grabbing at their bodies or, at worst, tearing their clothes off in the middle of the street.

My second cultural explanation for harassment in Mauritius is that racist and misogynistic stereotypes about black women are pervasive. The one time that I was foolhardy enough to invite a male acquaintance over to watch a movie on a Friday evening, the night ended with him begging to stay the night and looking surprised when I turned him down flat. Mind you, he's Muslim, and prior to soliciting me for sex, he explained that Muslim dating in Mauritius is more or less a formal courtship supervised by parents, where hand-holding is about as intimate as things get. Hmm... makes you wonder why with me, he practically came with his bathtowel and toothbrush.

I will allow that some of this is a problem of nationality, and the way that American women are cast in the blockbuster films that are bootlegged and viewed by Mauritians at a dizzying rate. Apparently, we are ravenous consumers of sex, and there's simply no such thing as "not interested" or "not now." However, the perceptions of Americans that exist in so-called socially conservative countries like Mauritius hardly displace race from its place of prominence in my thesis.

If we erase race as an explanatory factor, how do we explain the statements of the law enforcement officers who handled my case? Consider the following exchanges:

(Police Officer speaking in regards to the bus-driver who groped me)
Officer: "Oh, he probably just thought you were Malagasy. You know, a lot of them are prostitutes"
Me: "Actually, he knew I was American."
Officer: "Oh geez, what a monster!"

And how about this one? (said after my latest case-- essentially an attempted rape)
Officer: "Oh you know, he probably thought you were Creole."

Whatever the intent of these statements, they imply that Black and African-descendant women (sex worker or otherwise) are incapable of being sexually assaulted because they are naturally promiscuous. Thus, we (here I include myself) consent to sex, groping, and unsolicited touching by mere fact of our race. Even whilst putting up a fight...

According to the police, the problem isn't that Black women in Mauritius are systematically denied the right to refuse sex like their Indian, White, and Chinese counterparts, the problem is that I am being misread as one of them.

Thinking about all this has me thoroughly exhausted, so that's all for now. However, more commentary to come. Stay tuned...

Labels: assault, street harassment, women's issues

Posted by east of madagascar at 8:07 PM | Permalink | Comments

Around 9pm as I was walking home, a man on a bicycle rode up beside me and started making unwanted advances. He was Indian, in his 20s, medium-height and slight-build, and spoke only Creole.

I tried to ditch this man several ways... including saying goodnight, turning off the street, and quickening my pace, but to no avail. The man kept following me and asking me to invite him come over, and when I said no, he got physical and used his bicycle to try and pin me against a row of bushes. When I escaped this trap and began to run, he grabbed the drawstring of my hoodie which allowed him to effectively begin chocking me. While he had me by the neck and collar, he balanced his bicycle against his torso and used his other hand to grope me, grab my privates and tear at my clothes.

Needless to say, I fought back like hell and used tactics as various as flinging an entire bottle of water in his face, screaming and shouting "help" "emergency" in French and English (pointedly, no one came out of their houses), and back pedaling at full speed whenever I was able to disorient him.

After my assailant managed to grab me by the neck for a third time, I escaped by clawing him in the eyes and running to the first lit house that I came across. It ended up being he home of a Muslim family, and no less than 6 members of the family came out to check on me, including a girl in her teens and a women in her 60s. They sat me down and called the police, who came by shortly after and drove me home at my request.

I hate that for every pleasant day I spend in Mauritius, something like this happens to remind me that I'm not safe here, that I cannot feel at ease as a woman... never mind as a black woman. Va te faire foutre, Ile Maurice, for denying me even basic peace of mind.

However, I must extend a big thank you to Erica C, for reminding me of my middle school glory days and the time I beat up a certain locker room menace. I honestly think you helped me drum up the confidence I need to kick my would-be rapist's sorry ass.

Going to the precinct tomorrow to file Police Case Number 3. Anyone else think that this is getting a little bit redundant?

Labels: assault, street harassment, women's issues

Posted by east of madagascar at 11:31 PM | Permalink