Why Sri Lankan Men Make Women Uncomfortable 

By Yudhanjaya Wijeratne –August 27, 2016

Yudhanjaya Wijeratne

If there’s one thing all my female friends have in common, it’s that all of them have been stared at, catcalled, dry-humped and masturbated at. It’s not that all of them are alluringly sexy (sorry, folks) or go out in leather and heels every day. It happens whether they’re wearing jeans, shirts, skirts, hijabs, flat, sneakers. One of them is a work colleague who helped me pick out a shirt for a wedding the other day. She could barely make it across the road to Liberty Plaza without two men following her.

As men, we don’t often see this – the moment we appear, all of this fades into the background, and we’re left to wonder what kind of peculiar first world problems women seem to have. A woman is raped every 90 minutes?

What?

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Firstly, let’s start with the obvious: Sri Lanka, if not a rape-ey culture, a very unsafe environment for women in general. To test this, a friend and I walked for about a kilometer along Thimbirigasyaya. Then we backtracked, with her walking about 50 meters ahead and me following, and I watched.

It was disturbing. This isn’t the kind of wolf-whistling you see in Hollywood movies. It’s not the damn-she’s-hot double-take of the eyes. It’s an insolent, hostile, and yet strangely curious stare; a kind of stare that not just strips down the person on the receiving end, but also makes them feel like nothing more than a piece of meat in a dress and heels. It is the look you would give when you could either eat someone or kill them, and not necessarily in that order.

It’s the kind of stare Edward Cullen would have given Bella. He’s a vampire in a badly written story. None of this is normal.

And the worst part is that this comes from not just the drug addicts and frustrated schoolboys and random seedy tuk drivers; it comes from almost everyone – from that man who looks like he stepped out of the CEB to that boy who looks like he works at a tech company.

And of course, it doesn’t stop at looks. It goes from “Psst…nangi”‘s to “Gaaana keeyada?” to all hands on deck. While my friend wasn’t touched, I think I can honestly say I’ve lost count of the times someone’s told me about being felt up under their skirt, or about being followed by a tuk, or just plain fapped at in public.

Put it this way: if it was us guys in that situation, every single street in this would have at least a couple of fights breaking out across. And while hardcore feminists will tell you that a woman can easily take on a man – I’ve met a few that could – most women aren’t going to put up a fight, especially in a skirt and heels. Most women do what they’ve been told to do: ignore it and keep walking, try not to cry – and hope they don’t touch 

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