LETTER | I was 18 when a passenger sexually assaulted me on a public bus. Many things enabled his actions: the crowded bus beyond capacity, the unmaintained “STOP” button facilities, and the lack of emergency buttons within reach.
Yet in the few times I recounted this experience, the only question asked was, “why didn’t you scream or do anything?” All opinions seemed to say that I allowed this man to behave the way he did. It became a belief that would take years to shed.
Last November, I was sexually harassed by a man in public at one of the busiest streets in Penang. Even as he stood in the middle of the road blocking oncoming traffic while exhibiting sexual gestures and shouting crude remarks in Tamil, people remained indifferent.
But this time, I knew what to do. I managed to get photos of the perpetrator’s public indecency and contacted the nearest police station two minutes away to inform them of what happened.
The call left me with much frustration. After explaining what sexual harassment meant to the personnel, she asked, “Jadi, apa nak buat?”. I told her I was making a complaint and asked whether they could send some police officers around to get him off the streets. The response was discouraging - “We’ll see what we can do.”
Problems in the reporting system
There are many reasons why cases go unreported, including fear of repercussions and the feeling that no one will come to the survivor’s aid.
Hannah Yeoh, the Segambut MP and former deputy women, family, and community development minister, asserted that one of the reasons lies in the faults within reporting mechanisms.
This includes the attitudes of law enforcers who question to the point of placing doubt, thereby re-victimising survivors, and the heavy burden of proof placed on the survivor.
One example was a case in Penang two weeks before mine when police personnel refused to take a victim’s report, stating that lodging one would be a “waste of time.”
Personally, if being publicly sexually harassed was humiliating and disturbing, the experience of reporting and seeing it through was another traumatic ordeal altogether.
It revealed indifference, inefficiency, and a complete lack of empathy in handling the situation.
Six out of the seven personnel I interacted with on the first day doubted my experience. Their response(s) included, “He is probably mentally ill,” “This happens all the time,” and my personal favourite, “At least he didn’t follow you home.”
I felt like they treated the whole thing as a joke, that this was a small, irrelevant case compared to more severe accounts of sexual violence. I was made to feel guilty - that if only I had given the perpetrator money, he would not have reacted the way he did.
After providing my witness statement at the police headquarters in the evening, I was asked to return at 10pm to describe the perpetrator to the police sketch artist. I found this odd since I had already provided them with clear photographic evidence earlier. Forty minutes later, they apologised and explained that it was a miscommunication.
Meanwhile, others informed me that the perpetrator had previously been reported to the police for public indecency and stalking. The authorities were aware of his behaviour and movements around the city. However, none enforced any action to remove him from the streets.
Even more appalling was the swift change in attitude by police personnel the moment they heard I came with a man who carried a title. It became clear that adequate help or attention is not given unless you are so and so or that a prominent member of society comes to your aid.
It made me angry that the privilege of a title afforded the repetitive apologies and head bows. It made me lament for those who have had to, and will have to, deal with such unsupportive and inconducive environments because we do not share the same privilege.
There is no scale to determine the severity of sexual harassment; neither can we measure its repercussions on the victim-survivor. But we know that many, most of whom are women, remain silent because all too often, between the approaches by the police, the burden of proof on victims, and other obstacles they may face, it is simply easier to try and forget, to try and survive.
The Penang state government and its inspiring agenda
When dealing with the nitty-gritty and the ugly, victim-survivors are primarily dependent on women’s NGOs like the Women’s Centre for Change (WCC) for support, counselling, and legal advice.
In 2018 Chong Eng, Penang executive councillor for Social Development and Non-Islamic Religious Affairs, declared that the state had established a working group to enact a Sexual Harassment Act, beginning with an upcoming round table discussion.
There have been no updates or developments to date, and the parties involved had no comment when questioned.
Last year, the Sidang Wanita Pulau Pinang tabled a motion urging the federal government to table the Anti-Sexual Harassment Bill (which had not yet taken place). It was an attempt to make a mark and advance a much-needed reform.
Off-camera, I questioned what would happen to the motion, saying it would be a disappointment if it did not go any farther from this “simulation”. The response received was shocking: 1) I shouldn’t hope this would make any difference and that our efforts will not go anywhere; 2) the best they could do would be to publish a press statement.
In the months which have passed, the Anti-Sexual Harassment Bill has had its first reading in Parliament. While it is a good start, there is a crucial need for a review.
Advocates and activists from NGOs have put together a petition and a memorandum with proposed amendments to create a more victim-centric and compressive Bill that empowers survivors.
Yet those in the state government, who were all vigour and determination just four months ago, cannot be heard. Not because a sea of press statements drowned their voices, but because they have chosen the path of silence.
I am inclined to believe it was all a ruse to make headlines, leaving the sole responsibility of creating safe environments free of sexual harassment left in the hands of the federal government. At least, that was what a YB tried to teach me.
It shows that beyond the frills of press statements and short-term annual awareness campaigns, the state government shows no eagerness and little commitment in making tangible, practical endeavours to create safer public spaces for all.
With both experiences one decade apart, I wonder how best to fight the plague of sexual harassment. Since advocacy seems to be the best way to move forward, perhaps the one thing we can do is look out for one another.
It may not be the complete answer, but it is a start to fighting the war on sexual harassment, together.
The views expressed here are those of the author/contributor and do not necessarily represent the views of Malaysiakini.
