Often enough to be considered a pattern, the men in the operating room chose to discuss the annoyance of the hospital’s anti-harassment yearly training videos and anti-harassment policies when I was the only female in the operating room with them or when it was just an older female nurse, them, and me. And while I also find the hospital’s anti-harassment training videos frustrating (for entirely different reasons than my male counterparts), I did not appreciate when a surgeon said he could get tips from the scenarios in the video. I did not appreciate his comment (despite his humorous tone) because the truth is that harassment doesn’t just occur in training videos. It occurs all the time and in all settings of women’s lives.
And I found it interesting that these men were complaining when most of them are fathers of daughters, and many are fathers of young daughters. And if the risks weren’t so high for me, I would have asked them the questions I pose now, “How old do you think your daughter will be when she first gets cat-called so badly she feels unsafe? How long riding public transportation will it take before she has a set of rules she follows because of the physical and verbal harassment she experienced from male passengers?” The use of “when” and not “if” is intentional.
You see, women close to me have been strangled and shoved into walls. I’ve sat by as a younger woman asked for advice from an older woman about what to do because her husband raped her every night. I’ve been called by friends in tears because they were cat-called so badly they were shaken. I’ve sat with women as they hid behind dark glasses waiting to get photos of their bruises to use in court. On my first day of one of my first jobs, my preceptor told me how to use the printer and warned me to be careful of our male boss. He left the company before I had to worry about exactly how careful I had to be. By the time I’d worked in healthcare two years, two of my female friends had been groped by male patients. I’ve only been training in the hospital as a medical student for six months and already two female physicians have taken time out of their busy schedules to have lengthy conversations about how to keep my head up and build my career despite disrespect from male colleagues and male patients.
And the reason I would ask the fathers of young daughters the questions above is because I know they love their daughters. And I know they can’t fathom that they are being exactly the type of men who will get in their daughters’ way as they reach for their dreams. And I would ask the fathers of young daughters these questions to remind them that they cannot protect their daughters from the future. And, truth be told, they will likely never know the harassment episodes of their daughters’ life. And I would ask these questions to recommend that they learn how to respect women so that they can set an example for their daughters of what it’s like to be respected. That way, when their daughters do experience disrespect, they know it is not their shortcomings but the shortcomings of the disrespectful one. In other words, it’s worse to be a daughter of a father who doesn’t know how to respect women because he sets a poor example of the male gender. And the behavior of these men in the operating room made it clear that they still had much to learn about respect despite surgeons being among the most highly educated people around. What an unsettling reality to have so many years of education and still lack competency in a basic principle like respecting all humans.
You can look up the statistics in the US for harassment and rape of women (and other demographics) if you’re curious. It’s an easy Google and the numbers are almost as bad as the news that makes the front page of the newspaper. If you want to get really dark, look up statistics related to intimate partner violence. The numbers are horrific. And the numbers always surprise me because all women are daughters and perhaps sisters, mothers, and partners. Fathers and mothers see the statistics and are inclined to tell their daughters to be careful. To not drink too much. To not wear too revealing clothing. To never set down their drink. To not walk alone at night. To not live on the first floor. To lock their windows and doors. To always go out with friends….the list goes on. But the question I always wonder when I hear these statements of warning is why don’t parents just tell and teach their sons that “no” means “no,” “stop” means “stop,” respect applies to all people regardless of genitalia, and that drunk or not you are responsible for your actions? Because all men are sons, and many are brothers, fathers, and partners. It would seem more helpful to prevent the problem of people harassing others, than react to the problem by telling the victims to avoid harassment.
I also find parents’ lectures of caution stifling because they do not address so many of the manifestations of sexism their daughters will experiences. Yes, there is the risk of rape and physical abuse. But for those women going into competitive or historically male professions many of the troubles we face as women are more subtle and persistent than acts of violence. The times we’re told we’re mean or bossy when a male counterpart with the same behavior is considered strong. The times we’re ignored, spoken over, interrupted, and discredited despite consistently being correct. The times (like in the operating room when men decided to complain about harassment protection for women) when we’re othered and made to feel like demanding respect isn’t a right, but a burden we place on our male counterparts. The times we’re underpromoted, underpaid, and passed over simply because we are women. The times we must dig deeper than our male counterparts not because of shortcomings but because our parents taught their daughter to be cautious and taught their sons to be bold.
And as these fathers of daughters discussed sexual harassment policies as an annoying restraint placed on them, I thought about their daughters. I knew when they’d be cat-called. I knew how long it would take on public transportation before they developed their safety rules. And I hoped for those daughters’ sake that they would have men that set an example of what it’s like to be mutually respected. It had made such a difference for me to coexist with many men who looked at me as a person and not some different creature. You see, it’s helpful to know respect is possible because at times it seems like a fictional concept. I thought about those young daughters one day standing where I was. I sent them strength. As much as I hoped the world would change in the years between us, I wasn’t sure it would because these men I stood with in the operating room would still be here. And their sons who had them as role models would be here too.
And I was once again weary, not so much because of the long hours I was spending studying or the fact that I was scoring equal or better to many of my male counterparts in medical school while also getting cat-called and navigating colleague and patient sexism, but I was weary because these men in the operating room, like so many others, stood in the way of my father’s daughter. They stood in my way because they made things more difficult for me than my brothers simply because of my genitalia. None of this was new or surprising, but it did make the hours in the operating room seem especially long. And if the operating room had been a safer place for me, I would have told these fathers the reason I didn’t like the hospital’s anti-harassment videos was because they were triggering for those of us who have been sexually harassed and spoke of a justice system that I have not found anywhere I’ve worked. And I’ve worked in many places.