My (male) companion on one of the public busses we used while in Morocco. In at least 110 degree heat.
While in Morocco, I stumbled unknowingly into a situation that continues to bewilder me.
I was on a bus with my (male) friend, sitting in the aisle seat toward the back. Across the aisle was the only other non-Moroccan on the bus–a boisterous Polish man with a flask full of whiskey. He babbled away to me in English, grateful that someone spoke a language other than French and Berber. I nodded, trying to be polite, but also trying to make it clear that I did not know this man–his drinking was offending those around him, and his loquacious monologue was irritating.
In the course of his monologue, in his drunken carelessness, he made a sexual gesture. Big mistake.
Seconds later, the people that I thought were trying to ignore him had surrounded him, placing a barrier between the two of us. In broken English, they told him that it was time for him to get up out of his seat. He reminded them that the bus was full. They said they had a seat reserved for him in the front. He told them his ticket was for this particular seat. They said they were changing his ticket.
Meanwhile, the women of the bus were moving like clockwork. Women in headscarves were popping up, finding a seat toward the back, and hastily sitting down. They moved the Polish man to the front of the bus, far away from all of the women. Someone leaned over my seat and indicated that I should switch places with my (again, male) companion, so that he was the one on the aisle. Finally, they directed my offender to the wrong stop, preventing him from getting to his final destination (which, incidentally, was mine).
I felt: bewildered, scared, protected, silenced, bound, grateful and crazy. Bewildered because it was difficult to figure out what exactly was happening. Scared because what if they thought we were with him? Protected because if something more had happened I would have been safe. Silenced because no one asked me, the victim, what my opinion was. Bound because I was powerless to act. Grateful because I did not have to deal with a drunk Polish man any more. And crazy because seriously, who does this?
I think of this situation, though, compared to a Western court of law–where does this differ, and why do I cringe when I think of it? I think part of it was that the jury in this case was all men, and the women were silent. But beyond that, how is a controlled “jury of peers” so different than a jury of bus passengers? Perhaps it was because I, the victim, was not given a voice. Is the unwritten rule of law on a bus so different than the documented rule of law in a constitution? Was it just culture shock or was this situation objectively objectionable?
Finally, I often think back and wonder, who was the victim here?
fascinating!