Feminist Chivalry?

On a recent trip to visit a friend in DC, I came across one of those "crazies" on the Metro. Of course I am quite aware that the Metro attracts crazies like brains attract zombies, and this particular one hooted and hollered and stamped his feet and laughed his toothless laugh at 3 or 4 different women in the same car over the course of my 15 minute train ride. A few ladies just ignored him until he found another one to beleaguer, one moved to the opposite end of the car, and I pretended to stay absorbed in my book, thankful he wasn't coming anywhere near me.

Although my daydream tactics included punching him in the face, if he had confronted me I probably would have done just what the other ladies did, and looked stoically in the other direction, waiting for him to leave. He was his own endless source of humor, directing nonsensical come-ons to as many women as he could.

As I was preparing to get off at my stop, a young man behind me in a business suit and long coat asked politely if I knew the number of this train. I confessed that I did not. He said "I just want to tell the station manager that there is a crazy person on this train, in this car." I offered my testimony of having watched him travel from woman to woman, and the businessman shook his head. "Not cool," he said.

I have no idea if he was able to find the station manager, as I was already late meeting a friend for brunch and zipped on out of the station, but as I hurried I was alternately struck by feelings of gratitude and guilt. Gratitude towards the chivalrous stranger, and guilt toward myself: Why didn't I think of that?

OH, I had plenty of self-gratifying daydreams about how I would handle this crazy, and although my put-downs have never been stellar (and would have been lost on this person anyway), I was trying to form a really good zinger in my head, at the same time hoping the crazy wouldn't notice me. But I also knew that my version of self-defense would be the determined stare in the opposite direction, the mantra "woe is me for being a beautiful woman onset by a maniac stranger. how i wish society would wise up to the fact that women are people too" repeating at the same rate as the "Hey hey hey hey! *smooching sounds*" addressed to me.

But of COURSE! I could ask for help! What a great idea! Just tell someone that there was a crazy person on the train and wait for them to handle the situation.

I guarantee you none of the women in that car thought of that.

And I believe this is why: There's this strange complex I hold between being independent and self-reliant, determined to show the world that I am by no means one of those damsel-in-distress type and being open to the possibility that the other sex can help out sometimes. On the one side, the feminist in me demands that I do my part in continuing to break down the damsel-in-distress stereotype, while on the other side, my romantic desire for a knight in shining armor continuously looks for opportunities for the knight to appear in full armored form. So I would have sat silently, willing crazy-person to go away and lamenting my status in society that prevents me from confronting the crazy person.

Another reason I believe it took a man to think of notifying a station manager: women had to fight for themselves for the right to vote, are still fighting for equal wages in the workplace, and will continue to fight against the women-at-home stereotype. Some of those battles are ones waged at much with ourselves than with the manly status-quo, but history has not provided us with significant stories about men in power willing to help women gain a foothold. Men trust in the power of other men in power, and so perhaps might think of using that authority for good before a woman would.

I think that women are also conscious that men in power like to help women verbally accosted in the subway by the insane because it means that the women are still unable to help themselves and must rely on a man to fight their battles for them. So it took a guy to approach the station manager because no woman wanted to be the damsel in distress. Not even in my solidarity with those ladies who dealt with the crazy man's breath in their face, did I think to tell someone in charge that there was a crazy person making women nervous and upset on the train. We all sat in silence, mentally pushing, shoving, freeing ourselves from the small space into which we had suddenly been cornered, but keeping lips closed and eyes locked straight ahead.

I'm grateful for the chivalrous stranger, I really am. I just wish that there was a chance one of us could have stood up for the rest of us right then and there, or that I hadn't missed my opportunity to be a chivalrous stranger (albeit a somewhat divided one) to another woman, whose plight I can identify with and whose safety and stability I do honestly hold as dear.