The "who would you prefer to be trapped in the forest with? Man v Bear" is one of those usual shit-posts that becomes a discussion[1].
The default response for women is "bear". Partly because we recognize the value of a shit-post. But also because it's a truth.
The accurate answer is "Both can be very dangerous in different ways" or "It depends."
We grow up learning to fear boys and then men.
The first time I learned to fear the opposite sex was when I was twelve, in a classroom when the teacher wasn't there. That fear was continuous for 6 months.
We get reduced to our bodies, and we become an object in a guy's obsession. We grow up learning to navigate power dynamics. We learn diplomacy, to be nice. To not laugh at men. Men fear our anger. If we express it we're called bitches and all bets are off.
If we go outside the expected norm of soft, sweet women, then we suffer. We aren't meant to go into the forest like Red Riding Hood. There are wolves and bears. The forest is dark.
I used to like walking home at night in my quiet city in my early twenties. I'd worked to reclaim my autonomy after being stalked at school and for the first two years of uni. Plus I couldn't afford a taxi.
Sometimes I just needed to get out and just walk. In the deserted granite streets, to find space and peace when my mind was crowded after socializing. I liked walking home at night, navigating the empty streets avoiding people.
The city is our forest. Dark and peaceful.
Our forest has its own predators, and its own dangers.
On the rare times, I went up a busy street, a few times I felt the fear of someone coming up behind me. Getting my keys ready in my fist, to run. Then the bastard just ruffled my hair as he went past. I kept walking, trying to get my heart rate down. Feeling that fear and anger. Feeling very stupid for taking that risk.
Another time, I walked home from a friend's place. Opposite the street, I heard a man yelling at his girlfriend as he left her flat. I kept walking, and he crossed the road to me. The fear rose up, it engulfed me. I said little, I listened as he talked to me, and then he went up a side street. I'd been polite. Diplomatic, while wondering what would happen. Cursing my poor choice. Knowing that if anything happened, my choice to walk home in the summertime would be judged.
Like I'm a bicycle that wasn't locked. A lone woman out at night is apparently asking for it, even if she's in jeans, Doc Martens and a baggy shirt.
My father told me, "Be sure you want sex if you go to a guy's flat." Which I tried to follow. I did follow it. I was always sure and in my dating life, I followed that advice.
Sometimes there's no map for the forest.
Sometimes you're an intern on a work night out and sharing a work taxi gets you propositioned by a man in his forties. Or it's a rainy night, the taxi queue is long and another colleague who's in his forties offers the telephone at his. You're foolish enough at twenty to trust a work colleague. Both times I was fortunate.
Sometimes the predators give you a pass. Sometimes you are stalked in broad daylight for 2 years. Sometimes we're seen as a goal, sometimes we're just there. We're always objectified. We all have experiences like mine and worse. [2]
I'm so tired. I'm so angry that nothing has changed for folks.
Because privileged men's feelings seem to matter more than our bodily autonomy or our safety. You get defensive and hurt because of a meme. You belittle our knowledge because you are feeling judged. "Does every woman look at me this way? That's not fair."
Yes, we do look at you, if we don't know you. Sometimes even if we do know you, you assault us or objectify us. It's not you specifically we are judging dude. It's the society that dictates your attitude and the rules we chafe under. We see it in our replies. The need to go "But I'm not like that."
Just stop. Take a moment. You really don't need to reply. You don't need to correct our thinking. We know the bear would eat us.
Men don't seem to want to respect our boundaries[2]. Our survival happens at a whim.
Of course we're going to choose the bear.
Being mauled to death is quicker than being stalked or worse.
[2] CW: Harassment, Stalking