"Well, how does this look?" I asked as I paced around my cluttered room trying to find the perfect outfit. My friend, Delaney, looked at me carefully and gave her opinion but ultimately left it up to me. I eventually decided on a lace-up bodysuit with short black shorts. As we took the bus down to the quad my mind raced and my legs bounced with excitement. I'd been waiting for this event since my freshman year but was unable to participate until my junior. I could feel eyes looking at my outfit and almost laughed at the sheer irony of it all. We arrived at the bus stop and I ran towards the crowd.
The Slut Walk started in on April 3rd, 2011 in Toronto, Canada. The walk was a protest to the comment of a Toronto policeman who told women that they should avoid "dressing like sluts" if they did not want to get sexually assaulted. According to Time, approximately 3,000 women and men marched the streets to protest the victim-blaming and slut-shaming that occurs to survivors of sexual assault, women,and people everywhere. This protest has been replicated and redone in countless cities, countries, and college campus. Celebrity Amber Rose even has her own Slut Walk which is a day-long event "filled with all types of cool activities,... sign making, education booths,... free breast cancer exams, HIV testing and much more."
Ball State University had it's annual Slut Walk on September 23rd, 2016. This was the first one I was able to participate in. I grabbed a marker and made a sign and listened to tearful speeches about why this walk was still relevant five years later.
We began walking. Walking towards the hate preacher on the corner of the scramble light and ignoring his pleas for attention. Walking by groups of people cheering and laughing. We passed people video-taping us and standing confused and dumbfounded. We were shouting phrases like, "my body, my rules" and "Yes means yes and no means no. However we dress and wherever we go" and people I watched as strangers joined our group.
We stopped at the bell tower and listened. I listened to people share their stories. I listened to them describe the hell they had been through and how many of them never received the justice they deserve. I watched my friend and total strangers share their stories. I watched and I got pissed. I got pissed and sad and heartbroken that these stories are not getting the endings they deserve.
As we marched back I grabbed Delaney's hand. I felt the human connection between us and wondered how anyone could dare take away the one thing in this world that is truly ours: our bodies. I wondered how people could proclaim themselves "meninists" or try to deny that there is something very troubling going on within our police departments. Black men are being murdered on the streets and a rapist is being set free after three months of jail time.
As I drove Delaney home I thought about my life. I thought about the first time I noticed my gender, my skin color, and all other uncontrollable facets of life that affect each and every one of us differently. I thought about the men who cat-called me on the streets at age 18 and threatened to chase me and "teach me a lesson" after I flipped them off. I thought of the boy who called me an attention whore in the back of his bus days before breaking up with me. I thought of my friends who had their bodies violated and survived and still have to deal with the repercussions from something that was out of their control.
My first Slut Walk will sadly not be the last. Five years later the same things are being said. I don't have a way to fix this problem and, man, do I wish I did. I don't have solutions but I have a fistful of anger and a heart filled with sorrow. I have a voice and I'll be damned if I don't use it.
