Reflections on a lifelong journey of reclaiming the street

It's Thursday evening and I just got back from a run. It’s just before 6pm; still light but getting dark. I’ve had my head in Twitter for the past 24 hours, absorbing post after post of women sharing their lived experience of walking alone on streets (and some posts from men offering ally support). I find myself contemplating the route I just chose to run. I tend to change my running routes often and I don’t put a lot of thought into them beyond distance, so they tend to include ‘following my nose’ to a certain extent. This evening’s run took me through a fairly large, post-industrial wasteland-cum-park in north Glasgow, followed by streets in a local neighbourhood with one of the highest general crime rates in Glasgow. I often run here - I don’t think i’ve ever seen anyone else running in either the neighbourhood or the park. But they’re just streets - ordinary people’s neighbourhoods. 

The route wasn’t deliberate, exactly. But actually maybe on some subconscious level it was. A reaction, at least, to everything i’ve been reading all day. Woman after woman pointing out the steps they have to take every single day to make themselves slightly safer and asking others [men] to be aware of their impact in public space. So many things I can identify with. 

I spend a lot of my time out walking, running and cycling alone on urban streets. I research streets. My professional life revolves around advising on the safe design of streets. Urban space is a significant part of my emotional and physical life. I have been aware for a long time (perhaps because of this work) that I occupy and embody public space differently to most women (and indeed, most men) that I know. The “reclaim the street” movement has always been hugely important to me and I see my role in that as one of enabling, trailblazing perhaps. I go out walking, running, cycling - I confidently occupy physical urban space - in part so I can empower others [women] to do so. 

And what’s my main tool for doing that - for assertively reclaiming the street? Actually, it’s smiling at people. I pretty much always, when passing someone coming towards me, make deliberate eye contact and smile at them. It sounds odd but on reflection, this is the way I assert my confidence. It unnerves people sometimes; it gently tells them i’ve clocked them; it transmits to them that I am aware of, and in control of, my situation. Some smile back, which is nice. Many don’t. But it takes out the opportunity for people [men] to make comments at me. It’s a subtle, gentle way of going on the offensive. 

But I need to be very clear that I do this despite fear. When i’m out walking or running, i’m constantly risk assessing, constantly playing scenarios in my mind about being attacked so I can be as ready as possible with my physical response. I was mugged at gunpoint when I was 20, along with two friends - proper up against the wall with a shotgun in the back of my neck type stuff. I think this event probably shaped my fear response over the years, in that it galvanised my belief in my right to reclaim the street. In the days after that event, when I was paralysed with fear, I really had to make myself go back out at night and i’m so glad 20-year-old me did. (Interestingly, i’m terrified of taxis - I wouldn’t get in a taxi on my own if you paid me.) 

The truth is, I simply cannot afford to allow fear to change my behaviour. If on any tiny level I had changed my running route this evening ‘because of Sarah Everard’ (and/or any other of the thousands of women in her position), that would have been the start of an undermining of my ability to go out and do what I do: occupy public streets when and how I want to. In a sense, every solo walk, every solo run, every solo cycle is a small protest. I simply refuse to give in. Whilst also noting that this very sentiment is indicative of the fear-induced scenario that I and so many other women live with daily. I’m just able/choosing perhaps to deal with it slightly differently - this is not intended to sound in any way arrogant. 

And I have huge privilege within this. I’m relatively tall, for a woman, relatively fit and strong, and practised at being confident on my own. I practised this over the years because it matters to me. Which is not to say i’m not careful. Of course I am. I take the same precautions anyone [any man] would take when going out - this is not me wishing to belittle or undermine anyone else’s experiences.  

Lastly, to speak briefly to the ‘not all men’ response: I hear you and yes, this is important. (I am often “not all women”.) I want you to feel heard. But we all have to examine our privilege, me included. As a woman, I am rarely (if ever, I think) a threat to other women. I can make eye contact, pass without having to cross the road etc - although I often do if i’m coming up behind a woman at night, as men are being asked to do. I could even walk a woman home without it being creepy. But I am also careful in some areas about running behind people, men included. The sound of running feet is very different in a lycra-clad, middle class community compared to the fear response it might trigger in an area with higher street crime rates. I am also white, therefore inheriting all the inherent privilege of being white in public space, most of which i’m sure i’m not even aware of. We all have to be aware of our impact on others in public space, however inadvertent it might. 

I weep with Sarah’s family and friends, as I weep with [female] friends who constantly alter and limit their lives to account for the toxic effects of gender-based violence. I will continue to do what I can to resist in my personal life. And to try to bring about liberation and change through my professional work. Let’s not fail to recognise these issues for the desperately difficult things that they are. But let’s also recognise our individual propensity to effect change and make sure there are safe channels for [men] to understand how they can also help to do that.