I Said “No!”: Sharing Her Story to Put an End to Victim Shaming

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After the worst, darkest moment I experienced in my teens, the words I heard the most were: “If you refused him at the very beginning, it wouldn’t have happened,” and “saying ‘no’ is an ability that needs to be cultivated.”

People said these things easily, as if I never refused my harasser, as if I did not have the natural instinct to reject what I did not want. They implied that if I had refused, this really would not have happened and that I would not be unhappy or hopeless. They made me blame myself over and over again – like I was the one at fault.

But now, years after the traumatic incident in which I was harassed and threatened at school, I can see this behavior for what it is: victim-blaming.  

Anna Ren

When I was in middle school a boy in my class began to approach me in a way that made me uncomfortable. In the beginning, he would cover my hand with his when I picked up and dropped the eraser, and I would withdraw it. I felt embarrassed but dared not let others know. He often approached me and got in my personal space in front of others. I ran away every time and tried to convince myself that our interactions were just spontaneous. At the same time, the more that this went on, the more uncomfortable and regretful I became. I felt that I should say no to him and that putting a stop to the situation was my responsibility alone.

While leaving for an overnight field trip to another city, my best friends warned me that I should not let the boy get too close to me. They described my actions as indiscrete, self-indulgent, even irresponsible. I was confused. I thought that he was the one who was crossing the line, not me. Was this my fault?

Listening to the advice of my friends, I intentionally avoided talking to the boy; taking pains to always walk with girls, and not let him approach me. He, of course, kept following me and even began to ask me why I was ignoring him.

That night, the landline phone in my hotel room rang. I thought it was my teacher since no one else should know my room number. But it was the boy. He said he wanted to come to my room right away. My heart sank. I was scared and I told him that the teachers were in the room next to me (which was a lie) and I reminded him that teachers would not let us go to each other’s rooms. He insisted that it was okay. I squeezed the phone hard, told him that I was not feeling well, and I was going to bed soon. Shaking, I hung up the phone.

I turned off the lights and went to bed. In the darkness, my roommate, who had heard the entire conversation murmured: “You should have rejected him sooner.” I stared at the ceiling for hours, unable to sleep, with one thought running through my mind: He knows my room number! Sure enough, sometime later I heard knocks at the door. I pretended to be asleep and did not open the door, and mercifully, they did not continue.

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The next day, the boy continued to ask me why I was ignoring him. After a fierce internal struggle, I spoke up. “Um, I’m sorry… but I think I’m not quite ready to let our relationship develop to the next step. I’m not very comfortable with it,” Of course, I didn’t want to be friends with him at all, but I was just too scared so I tried to sugar coat my words.

I do not remember what he said, but I clearly remember his face suddenly turning dark and feeling scared. He finally said, “Then you mean to tell me to go away, to f* off?” His face was grim, and his eyes were like knives. If I’d had any doubt, at that moment, I knew for sure that he was not the kind of person I wanted around me. Trembling, I responded, “If you say so, something like… this.” Judging by his expression and clenched muscles I felt sure that if I said outright “Yes that’s exactly what I mean,” he would punch me in the face.

For a moment, everything was silent, then he suddenly jumped up, threw a stool on the ground, grabbed the door, kicked it fiercely, and left. The floor seemed to shake when he dropped the stool and again when he kicked that door, and everyone stopped what they were doing to stare after him. To this day, his behavior still seems unimaginable, but although I wish to forget it ever happened, three years later I still remember every detail vividly.

Yet this was only the start of an even bigger nightmare. On the train back to Beijing, I sat quietly in my seat, unable to find calm. This violent incident had happened in front of all of the other kids in my class, but they regarded it as nothing more than a joke, a source of gossip. Checking my phone, I saw that he had posted a long, profane WeChat Moment in which he cursed me and my family. I read every character quietly, and did not shed a tear, but felt like my heart was being stabbed. I stared at the phone screen with my shaking hands and felt sick. Within moments, he had received at least fifteen “likes” from my classmates. I looked at the scenery zooming past the train window and kept silent. Everyone had told me to stay strong. They had told me I should refuse him, yet when I did, instead of praising me for it, they turned on me.

It seems like everyone in our grade felt the need to comment on his post. Those who commented the most were the class monitors and the most popular girls in the grade, who said that I had ‘played him like a puppet,’ that when I saw him my eyes lit up, even that they had seen me holding his hand, trying to kiss him, and that they had heard I had gone to his room with a gift. Some of my classmates, the very same kids talking and laughing around me on the train, called me a bitch, and even said that I should die. They didn’t even bother to mention my name. They just called me “bitch” instead.

People say that internet drama can only last for a short period of time, and indeed, few people mentioned the incident again in the following months. However, even though I transferred schools many times and years passed, the scars left on my heart did not disappear. They grew even deeper. Because of the absurd stories they fabricated, the Moments they sent out, and the “like” they clicked I lost almost everything – my friends, my trust in others, and most importantly, I lost myself.

My only good friend said: “I told you already, rejecting others is a learned ability. If you had refused him earlier, it wouldn’t have happened later.” Even my mother and teachers doubted me, saying: “If everyone has a bad relationship with you, then it is obvious that you need to find the problem in yourself.” I trusted them unconditionally and believed that I had caused the incident. I believed that my pain was punishment, designed to let me know that I should learn to refuse others correctly.

Later on, in high school, my interest in psychology and gender equality led me to do some more research and allowed me to reflect on this experience. Did I really never reject him, as my friends said? What exactly count as a real refusal? Does withdrawing my hands and refusing to have intimate physical contact count? Or does only telling him to f* off count? How do you avoid physical violence when you’ve rejected a boy and he is embarrassed?

No more staying silent

Now I know that I’m not the only person who has struggled with these questions. According to my research, girls may only show subtle and non-verbal rejection, and boys certainly can detect it, but it is a common phenomenon in Beijing that boys selectively ignore that rejection. Even worse, they will use this to their advantage, telling girls that “You didn’t object very much, so you must have enjoyed this as well.” In the end, it all becomes the victim’s problem.

After sharing my story with Dr. Elly Wong, a psychologist at Oasis International Hospital, I got some expert insight on the subject. She emphasizes that schools and parents should pay more attention to the topic of harassment and consent, and educate children accordingly so that they know both how to protect themselves and how to respect others. She also recommends discussing the topic of harassment and cyberbullying with children from a young age, in order to prevent such incidences from happening. Furthermore, she says that it is important to have a professional psychologist available to help victims of harassment and bullying to support victims after these incidences.

Girls like me have spent too much time blaming ourselves and have spent too much energy trying to stay polite to those who try to invade our space or hurt us. I was harassed and cyberbullied, and blamed myself for what happened to me for more than three years. But I‘m glad that I can now share this incident with others, and I hope that other girls will not have to live through the same experiences that I did. The message parents and teachers should send their sons and daughters is not one of victim-blaming. It’s time to change.

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Photos: Uni You

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