The promised second part.
Disclaimer: in this story I deliberately put on the worldview of someone with a very wild moral system. This doesn’t mean I agree with it; it doesn’t mean that at any point I assume I’m “at fault.” I’m strongly against victim-blaming. This perspective simply turned out to be a useful tool for looking at the situation differently and regaining a sense of control — and living without that sense is much harder.
If yesterday I told you about November 28, and you might have thought that my “victory’’ was about handling a conflict, then no — the real victory begins with a story from January 2020. Back then Anya and I got off a bus when suddenly four teenagers caught up to us, started harassing me for “looking at them the wrong way” on the bus, and pushed me to the ground.
I was scared out of my mind, and I’m deeply grateful to Anya, who understood that the best option was to shout and call for help. And grateful to the man who came over and acted as a “judge,” allowing Anya and me to leave safely. Until I left Moscow (February 18, 2020), I was afraid to step outside my building and tried to travel only by taxi. For a long time I blamed myself for not being able to force myself outside with our cat to reach the vet — maybe it could have helped her survive. I’m sharing this so you understand how intense the experience was for me.
My victory is that on the same November 28 of this year, I finally found the courage to say what I had done “wrong” that day. I really had looked at them the wrong way. They were a loud group of teenagers, and I expressed my discomfort in the socially acceptable way for my culture — with a disapproving look. Of course, I still believe they are responsible for choosing to attack a man and a woman as a group of four. But now I can at least understand their side.
They’re loud, unfiltered, they don’t hold back emotions. Imagine that in their cultural environment, holding emotions back is considered bad manners. They don’t feel hostility toward others. And then they see a restrained, disapproving stare. In their culture, passive aggression (and a disapproving look is passive aggression) is no different from active aggression — because suppressing emotions makes no sense. They don’t know how to work through their emotions and dump that burden on whoever happens to be nearby — in this case, me. Meanwhile, I — from my culture of emotional restraint — already feel attacked, and obviously cannot help them with their emotional workload.
See?
In their world, they didn’t start a conflict by harassing a passerby. The passerby started the conflict — and they were defending their boundaries.
What would the “me of today” do if I saw such loud teenagers?
First, I’d ask myself: “What exactly is upsetting me?” In 95% of cases I’d realize I don’t have any real claims — it’s just fear: they broke the status quo, and such people feel dangerous.
Second, if I still felt discomfort, what would I do?
If the discomfort was strong, I’d get off the bus. If I couldn’t get off — I’d simply ask politely if they could be quieter. Being ready to hear “no,” so they understand it’s not a command, not a “parental” scolding, but a request from one adult to another.
My victory is that after almost six years I can forgive those boys for how they terrified me back then. I can now look at the situation through their eyes — and I suspect they’ll never be able to look at it through mine, simply because very few people are this reflective.
And I don’t feel triumphant about that — I feel a little sad for them.
Because they’ll never be able to forgive me for looking at them sideways.