Safety Committee

I’ve been working on a mystery set in 1849 San Francisco. According to the histories I’ve read of that period, there were “safety committees” who would escort women about on the street whether they liked it or not. The heroine of my story finds this infuriating. After a week in Kabul, I sympathize.

I’m not asking to run topless through a mosque. All I want to do is walk down the street when I want to walk down the street. Just to GO OUTDOORS. But here the simplest excursion becomes an exercise in logistics. Is there a man available to go along? When? Who? Does he speak English? Oh wait, you want to go too? Okay, when are we all available? You want to go where now?

But more than the logistics, it’s the sheer unfairness of it all that drives me bananas. I seethe with envy when I see western men walk down the streets alone. It’s wrong! WRONG!