I have had to put up with quite a bit in this field.  Every now and then, there is the odd man who makes the genuine mistake of thinking I might work more comfortably, figuratively and very literally, on my back.

I’d call up for a simple piece of information and the invitations to lunch, brunch, dinner, and maybe “something more” would flow. I remember being a 19 or 20 years old hard news reporter attempting to acquire a photo for a particular article. The “high-ranking” civil servant was adamant that he would not send the photo, though it was his duty to do so, if I didn’t accept his invitation for lunch or dinner.

I faced the same as a features writer.  I once interviewed a prominent local businessman who delighted in asking whether I was fond of travelling. This very married and prominent businessman made me understand that my answer to this question was rather important since “Antiguan people” gossiped too much and we would need to meet on another island for any trysts we’d inevitably plan.

Thankfully, the men like this- be they the odd male media worker, politician, prominent businessman, civil servant or just random male interviewees- have not been too numerous. And usually, except in one or two instances, they back off, after I assure them with words and actions that working girls like me don’t need or want their attentions or any of the things they offer.

Journalism is still very much a man’s world. It matters little that here on this island the women outnumber the men in the field.  Indeed, the only thing worse than being propositioned by men who should know better is the underlying sexism at work in the field. I’ve seen it up close and personal while working for the R. Allen Stanford newspaper company. 

Male managers/supervisors would pit female employees against female employees.  Small favours would be extended and the female employee would get ecstatic and unable to see the sun for the shadow of her male superior. She'd turn spy, harbour ill-will against her female coworkers, confident that she will be protected forever. And the particular manager would keep her as a favourite and treat her right until he moved to another. It's not as if she's so innocent…she understands the rules of the game. She also understands that if she won't play, some other girl will....

When the comments and calls began, sure there was the scent of male cologne. But right there along with it was evidence of perfume.  One spray of perfume launched a subtle attack- or what it called subtle anyway.  It would call to me quite frequently to let me know that it was hard being a working girl. It looked out for me by notifying me whenever some odd disparaging comment was made on a story of mine. It would tell me the latest being done to wrong it. And, I would make calculated inputs. For, I was sure that anything I said would be repeated at some later time- with embellishments or an altering of my original tone.

The calls kept coming from this and various sprays of perfume until one day came the call that topped them all.  It was a call as ludicrous as that I’d received from that male writer at one of the new places for which I now freelanced. This time it was from a female counterpart working for a media house with which I had no affiliation….

Next Tuesday: #24 Wars and Rumours of Wars…