Sexual misconduct is a deeply personal experience. But as Savala Trepczynski says, it’s also part of a larger system.
I was 21 in Florence, Italy, loving the simple food and ancient architecture, the warm swing of Italian language, and the chic and sunny Italians themselves.
One night, my girlfriends and I went to a club. Walking downstairs we passed a group of guys. One whistled and lunged at me, shoving his hand up my skirt. I remember his unfamiliar fingers gnawing my inner thighs as he tried to grab my underwear, and the laugh he tossed his friends when I panicked.
I knew his behavior was wrong but I chafed at calling it “sexual assault.” I knew it was common, but I felt alone. I knew it might have been about race — I’m black, he was white — but it was unquestionably about gender. And I didn’t see the sum of these odd parts until years later, during #MeToo, when the essential feminist insight snapped into focus with joyful, raging clarity: The personal is political.