Melissa Febos’s Girlhood book has been covered by the New York Times and Atlantic for its incisive and original cultural criticism. Febos takes a deeper and original look at slut-shaming, the subtle and not-so-subtle violations young girls begin to experience once they enter puberty, and the self-alienation of early sexual experience. What has flown under the radar in virtually all reviews is Febos’s apt insight into the way policing in America repeatedly fails women. In the wake of George Floyd’s murder, and now, more recently, after the murder of Daunte Wright, we have rightfully arrived again at a national reckoning about the many ways policing fails Black communities and people of color. But policing also fails women. We cannot talk about police reform without talking about race and police brutality. But we also cannot talk about police reform without talking about the police’s willful failure to protect women. We cannot talk about police reform without talking about how police are quick to use excessive police force against people of color while failing to adequately direct resources of the police force to protect women from sexual violence and violence in general.
In “Intrusions” an essay about peeping Toms and stalkers, Febos’s book, Girlhood interrogates the various ways the police fail to protect women, particularly in the realm of domestic violence and the violation of women’s private space. The peeping Tom is often used as a cultural joke or plot line in film and television, but the psychological and financial cost of the crime is high. “Every woman in New York, and perhaps any city, knows her bodily relief after the apartment door is shut and locked behind her.” Febos writes of a man who catcalled her from her window. She explains: “The violation of that sanctity filled me with panic.”
Febos doesn’t immediately call the police. She writes: “My instinct was to blame myself, and I assumed that they would too. They would say I was overacting…” I know many women who share this skepticism. I too have been sexually assaulted. When I told my brother what happened to me, he asked me why I didn’t call the police. A woman knows why. Even when women report incidents to the police, police often fail to do anything about them.
Febos writes about a woman who was stalked by a man who put sexually explicit and sexually violent notes notes on her door. I won’t repeat the horrifying contents of the notes here, only that the notes let the woman know she was being watched and that she was a target for sexual assault. When the woman called the police, the officer asked her “What do you want us to do?” He explained that he could drive by the house, but couldn’t monitor the house. The police told the woman that she could expect the notes and stalking to get worse. When the woman asked the officer what he would do, he advised her to move. She moved.
The police know what to do when they see someone speeding. They know what to do when they get a report that a convenience store clerk has received a fake $20. They know what to do when they suspect Black and Latino kids might have weed in their backpacks. Why don’t they know what to do when a woman reports that she’s been stalked? Why don’t they know what to do when a woman reports that she’s being menaced, threatened, followed?
We live in a society where there are enough police to wander up and down the streets every morning in New York and other cities giving tickets to people who park in the wrong place. Why won’t police marshal these resources to patrol streets where women have reported sexual harassment, where women have reported being stalked? There are places in our communities where assault is more likely to happen: certain parking garages at night, subways, parks.
Febos eventually reported her stalker to the police. Predictably, there was nothing they could do. The officer asked her if she knew the man. She didn’t know him. Because she didn’t know him, she couldn’t file a restraining order. When Febos asked if the police officer could send someone to watch over her home, the cop almost laughed.
Women who are stalked are often left with no other option but to move, and often the police will even advise that women move in such situations. Not all women have the option to move. Moving is expensive. Breaking a lease can have financial consequences. It can cost several thousand dollars just to put together a deposit payment on a new apartment and hire movers, not to mention the time cost of trying to find a new place to live. If a woman lives in public housing, moving may not be an option. If a woman owns her own home, moving may not be an option.
In the early days of the pandemic thieves broke into my condo garage and stole things from my car. Then they kept breaking in. Over and over. Video in the garage even captured a thief in my car, doing nothing at all, just sitting in the driver’s seat staring over my steering wheel. It was alarming. I’d leave my condo in the dark early mornings to surf with the sunrise (one of the few remaining joys I had in lockdown life), but I encountered strangers lurking in the garage. It was terrifying. I called the police repeatedly. There was nothing they could do. They advised me to move. I explained, as calmly as I could muster, that it was unlikely I’d be able to sell my condo during the height of a global pandemic.
According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, 10 million adults experience domestic violence annually in the United States. Domestic violence takes on many forms. It takes the form of sexual assault, rape, murder, stalking, threats, and economic or emotional or psychological abuse. The cost to society is high. The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence reports that intimate partner violence cost the U.S. economy anywhere between $5.8 billion and $12.6 billion annually. I wonder whether moving costs are factored in.
Stalking doesn’t just harm women financially, or psychologically, it is often the first sign of real and present danger. Febos writes: “Homicide Studies reports that 89 percent of murdered women were also stalked within twelve months of their killing, and 54 percent of murdered women reported stalking to the police beforehand.” Where were the police?
When I first moved to Waikiki, I woke one morning to hear shouting coming from a parking lot downstairs. A man yelled aggressively at a woman. Then he hit her. I called the police. The dispatcher told me someone was on their way. The man chased the woman through the parking lot. People in their balconies watched on in horror. We shouted at him, telling him to leave her alone, letting him know he had been seen. I was shocked at how long the police took to arrive. By the time they arrived, the man had run away. I don’t know if they caught him.
This is not an isolated incident. Febos writes about reporting a rape to the police and being “amazed by how long they took to arrive.”
According to the BBC, an employee at Cup Foods called the police on George Floyd at 20:01. Six minutes later at 20:08, police arrived. Derek Chauvin was one of those officers. Six minutes to arrive. When it takes longer for police to arrive at the scene of a sexual assault or domestic violence than it takes them to make it to the scene for an alleged counterfeit twenty, we have a problem.
And then, Derek Chauvin pressed his knee to George Floyd’s neck for nine and a half minutes.
I’ve had trouble watching the trial of Derek Chauvin for the murder of George Floyd. After hearing the witness testimony, it’s just too painful. In the opening days of the trial, I watched the witnesses take the stand, and repeatedly tell the courtroom about how helpless they felt in the face of what was unfolding before them: a police officer killing a man, holding his knee to George Floyd’s neck for nine and a half minutes. Frank Bruni of the New York Times has written brilliantly about the trauma the bystanders suffered. Bystanders even tried calling the police on the police.
Hearing the testimony reminded me of a time I had also felt helpless standing right in front of police. Years ago, my friend and I were holding up a protest sign at Occupy Wallstreet. Half a dozen police officers stood in front of us, a mere six feet away. We were peaceful. Then, a white man dressed in black holding a tiny American flag came up to me from behind and pressed himself into my body. He did the same thing to my friend. He grabbed at us. The police were only feet away, right in front of us. We cried out for help. They saw it. They looked us in the eye. They did nothing. Men nearby tried to pull the man off us, but the man resisted. When the man looked like he was going to turn violent, I somehow made my way up to the police. I asked them for help. They stared at me impassively. They still did nothing. I had to literally turn around and run for my life, my safety.
Who were the police protecting that day? Who was Derek Chauvin protecting when he pressed his knee to the neck of George Floyd for nine and a half minutes? Who are the police protecting when they fail to take women seriously when they report stalking? When they report intimate partner violence? When women ask for someone to watch over their house, and the police refuse, where are the resources being used? Over and over policing in America protects the police and white men. It priviledges the protection of white men over Black people, brown people, and women.
Melissa Febos’s Girlhood book is a statement of the many violations women suffer. It is also an important commentary on the way those who have been charged to protect us fail to do so every day. It goes beyond victim blaming (she was dressed provocatively, what did you say to him, do you know him). It goes beyond minimizing women’s fear. The conversation about policing in America has just begun. We need to talk about the ways police fail women, and misuse their resources in Black and brown communities while ignoring women’s cries for help.
About the Writer
Janice Greenwood is a writer, surfer, and poet. She holds an M.F.A. in poetry and creative writing from Columbia University.