I love walking. From taking in the sights and sounds around me, to feeling the fresh air on my skin, I have fond memories of my walks, both by myself and with others. I often insist on walking home from wherever I may be, even if it means walking alone. The journey itself is almost always preceded by some inner turmoil about how late it is or how safe the route to my destination is—but I am stubborn and almost always end up convincing myself that I will be alright and that there is nothing to be afraid of. Vanessa Richardson, U1 Arts, shares my love of going on walks.
“Walking around downtown Montreal was one of my favourite activities to do while I was on campus last year,” Richardson said in an interview with //The McGill Tribune//. “It was nice being able to walk from my residence to a café to study or get some fresh air to de-stress.”
When I’m alone, I listen to podcasts, my current favourite being Modern Love by //The New York Times//. Otherwise, I will shuffle a playlist that I specifically curated to boost my mood during my solitary walks. I often purposely match my steps to the rhythm of the music, feeling like the main character. When I am walking alone, I usually start off feeling calm. Unfortunately, this feeling does not last long.
The decision to walk alone triggers a recurring cycle most women and female-presenting individuals experience on a regular basis: We overthink our actions out of a need to ensure our safety in a time where gender-based violence continues to skyrocket. While Montreal is fairly safe compared to other major cities, women’s safety is a perpetual predicament. In the past eight weeks, eight women have been killed in Montreal.
Stage 2: The onset of fear
It is usually when I look around and notice that there are few pedestrians that I become painfully aware of my vulnerability. As a 5-foot-2 woman of colour, it does not take much to feel unsafe on the street whether it be a car slowing down near me or a group of men that are on my path. Richardson noted that she was taught to expect the worst from a young age.
“I have always been concerned about safety while travelling as a woman,” Richardson said. “I was taught to keep my guard up at night, so that is what I did. Knowing [that] cases [of gendered violence] are even more common for women of colour has amplified my own fears.”
As I continue on my way, I feel my adrenaline building, the sun has set and my mind is suddenly occupied by statistics and stories. One in three women in Canada experience unwanted sexual advances in public, and in Montreal, several women have been assaulted while walking in the Plateau. I tell myself I should have taken the bus, yet buses are enclosed spaces and even waiting at a bus stop can be dangerous. Taking an Uber also does not comfort me: The company’s own 2019 safety report included over 3,000 claims of sexual assault from clients.
This is where the regret sets in. All the joy and excitement I felt before embarking on my journey home dissipates, and in its place is a feeling of dread. I wonder if anyone will be around to help me if something awful were to happen. The recent case of Sarah Everard, a U.K. woman killed by a police officer on a walk home in March, plagues my mind. For students like Sophie Arsenault, U1 Arts, Sarah’s story is just the latest reminder of the constant threats women face today, when even those who are supposed to keep us safe can harm us.
“Sarah Everard’s story is one which depicts an abuse of power,” said Arsenault “It is difficult not to assume the fear of repetition in incidents when women are found missing on such a regular basis.”
By the time I realize that no mode of transportation can assure me, the pedestrians who initially prompted my anxieties have long passed by. The looming feeling of discomfort, however, does not fade until I arrive home. The cyclical nature of this feeling on every walk is a reflection of what women are taught to deal with from a young age: Discomfort is expected.
Stage 3: Contingency planning
Plagued with horror stories about the dangers of being a female-passing person out and about, we are often taught to plan ahead to avoid the worst. Richardson stays in contact with friends so they know her whereabouts—a practice often foreign to men.
“I [make] sure to text my friends my location,” Richardson said. “[I] let them know how I’m doing throughout the night, and let them know [when] I got home safely.”
I, on the other hand, usually forget to do so until I am prompted by a message. I scan my brain, trying to remember who I shared my location with. The list includes my sister, my boyfriend, and my roommates, but I am not sure if they would check my location if I did not let them know in advance that I was walking home.
I regret laughing off a self-defense course offered in middle school, realizing I would not know what to do if I was confronted by harm.
Stage 4: Self-soothing
Eventually, my walk brings me to campus. Even if it means taking the long way home, arriving in the area always makes me feel better. The familiarity of the fairly-lit Y intersection and the sight of the Arts building brings a sense of comfort I do not feel on Parc or Sherbrooke. Many women, including Arsenault, consider McGill’s campus to be safe.


