Sequim Gazette Editorial and Letters to the Editor

The city of Newburgh, N.Y., where I was a reporter for three years, was often coined as "a little city with big city problems." We had the kinds of crime the residents of Sequim would shudder at: homicides, assaults of every variety, gangs and drug rings.

It was amid this setting that I became the unwitting object of a drug-addled madman's affections.

He would stand beside my apartment and whistle up at my windows from about midnight to three o'clock in the morning, ring my doorbell incessantly, leave me poorly written poetry and stand on my stoop some mornings until I left for work.

I thought about going to the police, but what could they do, really? In a city of close to 30,000 people teeming with crime, what was a young woman being whistled at?

Thankfully it never moved past that point. My neighbor upstairs finally talked to the guy, or rather showed him the metal baseball bat he kept by the front door, and remarkably, thankfully, he left me alone. I also took the precaution of adopting about the biggest German shepherd I could find in the tri-state area. Really nothing in this world says, "Back off!" like walking around your neighborhood with what is essentially a 90-pound wolf tied to a leash.

I was lucky.

The sad fact is that women are too often on the losing end of harassment, violence and abuse - the victims of madmen. On Feb. 24 in Port Angeles, Christin Stock lost her life to a man who claimed to love her. She had planned to apply for a protection order against him. Here in Sequim, a teenage girl was terrorized by a man she'd met on the Internet.

So how do we as women avoid becoming victims? How do we stand up for ourselves when there are no snarling dogs, no officers, no kindly neighbors with metal bats? Learning self-defense is one avenue.

"I believe women have the right to, and should, defend themselves," said Jack Leonard, a certified self-defense instructor based in Pittsburgh, Pa. He was in Sequim last week to train members of the Sequim Police Department, but the evening of April 7, Leonard was scheduled to teach a women's basic self-defense class. Even though it meant missing the NCAA championships, I knew the class was something I had to participate in. Anyway, I'd already won the office pool.

There were 12 women of all ages taking the class that night. For about an hour and a half, Leonard taught us the sensitive points on a human being - the side of the neck, a mound of muscle on the outside of the leg just above the knee, the front of the ankle and, of course, the Adam's apple. Leonard even taught us the old "grab, twist, pull" and how to gouge out an attacker's eyeballs.

Although we were learning techniques to defend against an assault, including a double knee drop to an assailant's back, we were having fun. At points we were laughing hysterically and there was camaraderie in the air. Actually, now that I think about it, I have to say it was one of the more enjoyable evenings I've had since coming to Sequim.

Afterward, Leonard sat us down and fielded questions. He said more than half his job is teaching prevention.

"Don't run on the trail, don't carry a purse, never get in a vehicle. I'd much rather have you avoid a confrontation," Leonard said. "Self-defense is as simple as walking away."

This irked me and, I admit, made me a little sad.

A few weeks ago I found myself writing a short story about a basketball player. The problem, ironically, was that I knew absolutely nothing about the sport.

"Just go to a sports bar and watch a game," my friend, a sports editor in Alaska, said. "I'm sure someone there will be more than willing to explain it to you."

Right, I thought to myself, like I'm really going to a sports bar by myself and imploring some guy, some stranger, to most kindly, out of the goodness of his heart, teach me the art of basketball.

And that's what had me sad, the idea that I can't go into a bar by myself without the fear that someone will follow me to my car or stick something in my drink. And if they don't follow me, I have to check under the car and in the back seat in case someone's hiding there. When I'm home, I have to lock the doors and close the blinds. I have to keep the German shepherd sleeping at the foot of my bed because I know if there is an intruder, she'll start barking and hopefully ward him off until I can reach the phone or run to a neighbor's.

We are forced to adapt, to change our routine because it's almost certain that one day we will be attacked. It's as if no one - not even ourselves - believes it can be any other way, that there will ever be a time where violence against women will no longer exist.

I have to hope that's not true. I have to hope that one day a woman will be able to walk to her car late at night without her keys in one hand, her pepper spray in the other and a whistle around her neck. I hope that a woman will one day scream "FIRE!" and actually mean it. I hope that one day a woman can go hiking in the woods alone and have it be peaceful and tranquil and nothing else. I hope that one day she will be able to give directions, to carry a purse and watch a sports game in public with confidence, not fear.

Anna Moser is the city/health reporter for the Sequim Gazette.