Sin begets sin and victimization begets victimization. I think back to the “creep” that Kohl saw in the woods, and can’t help but wonder whether he was a potential victimizer or a victim himself. Perhaps he was a pervert eager to act out. Perhaps he was a violent offender waiting for a victim.

Aileen and I have developed a shared passion for photography, especially for landscape photography. A little while ago, she began to follow various landscape photographers on Instagram and made an interesting observation: almost all of them are men. She began to wonder why, so asked Google and found an interesting answer. In the first place, landscape photography tends to involve lugging heavy equipment far into the wilderness, a task that men typically find easier than women. Second, it often involves doing this alone, and many women judge that too great a risk. The sad fact is, men have the privilege of roaming far and wide at much less personal risk than women.

I was recently reading an article written by a woman who has a passion for running, and in it, Brianne Kohl tells how her hobby has introduced her to risks. She tells of being accosted by men and avoiding assault only because her heroic dog got involved and took a chunk out of an assailant. She tells of the fear she feels when she runs down country roads, and has a man slow down to chat or to ask a question. But there is one anecdote that I found particularly sad — the one where she tells of seeing a “creep” in the woods ahead. Here’s how she describes it:

I spot a man standing alone, off the trail just inside the tree line. I see him because the sunlight shifts in the trees. He is wearing all black in the summer. Long sleeves, long dark pants. Black ball cap. I can’t tell his age or even see clearly what he is doing. I cannot imagine a reason he could have to be there.

“Not today,” I mutter and head back toward the parking lot. I see a woman coming my way. She’s in a dress so I guess she’s out for a walk on her lunch break.

“Creep in the woods just ahead,” I say as I run past her.

“Thanks,” she says, and turns around, too.

Some days, boys, we just don’t have the energy.

Her description of the scene took me back many years, back to when I was a teenager working at Starbucks. I was the only male on staff there, and often heard from the women I worked with about some of their fears. The shop was in an out-of-the-way part of a shopping centre, and they felt some measure of fear as they walked to the restaurant in the very early morning, or when they walked away from it very late at night. They were always aware of the possibility that they might be victimized.

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