Stalking

Would you want a stalker?

I hardly ever spoke of being stalked. Why? Because it sounds like you’re full of yourself, conceited, and unbearable to those listening. Probably even as someone who isn’t telling the truth. “I have stalkers - it’s so scary,” doesn’t garner the sympathy the victims of stalking think it does.

When I told some people, they thought it was flattering. “Wow, I can’t imagine having a stalker.” Maybe if I hadn’t been stalked myself, I would think that way, too. But the experience will likely change your mind. Nothing feels more violating than someone invading your most basic sense of autonomy, especially when that person is a stranger, and nothing, paradoxically, will make you feel more alone.

As male loneliness is on the rise (not to fall on the usual cliché, but this issue has not been addressed and is instead being normalized), stalking is certainly getting worse. I’m not saying female stalkers don’t exist. A woman who is determined to discover whether her man is cheating is probably more effective than a CIA agent at discovering the truth, but by nature, women tend to engage in covert stalking out of pride. They (usually) don’t engage in stalking to hunt a man down and force him to be with her, because women tend to enjoy being pursued.

Regardless of who decides to stalk, when you’re on the receiving end, it makes you feel deeply unprotected, and it activates your alertness as if you were alone in a forest in the dark, hearing growling noises. If you think about it, in nature, predators stalk their prey before attacking them, waiting for them to be isolated and off guard to pounce.

However, modern society often conflates stalking with romantic interest or even passion, and this hurts those victims. Being pursued, sometimes intensely, in a relationship isn’t the same as stalking. If your boyfriend starts ringing your doorbell non-stop (this happened) after an argument, it doesn’t constitute stalking to me, so long as there’s no violence involved. I would never have dreamed of reporting these cases; in fact, I tried to calm the situation. Whenever I see someone I care about “lose it”, I feel empathy and a sense of responsibility. Likewise, if you’ve done something like this yourself, while not ideal and probably a sign of a not-so-healthy relationship, it doesn’t constitute stalking because it’s devoid of the basic requirement that stalking entails - violating someone’s freedom of choice. Modern society has destroyed romance for failing to make this basic distinction. Now men are afraid to show interest in a woman without fearing the label “creep”.

I’ve never reported a stalker or anyone to the authorities, including for sexual assault, even though I could have. The reason is because of how I was raised; I try to deal with issues myself as much as I can because I thought my issues were not that important. But in retrospect, that was a risk that I would strongly discourage anyone from taking. A stalker can turn your life upside down quickly.

TV series like You have romanticized a phenomenon that is relatively modern in nature, borne out of a sense of male alienation from the advances of technology. Desiring to feel connected to someone you barely even know, whom you’ve idealized virtually, so much that you get angry if they don’t reciprocate, and genuinely want to harm them for it, is not something that took place for most of human history, if not for some outcasts. These outcasts have multiplied and intensified because they can access your profile instantaneously; they create a fantasy of who you are through this online prism, and if you’re not careful enough, they can track you down to make their fantasy a reality.

My first experiences with stalking were mundane: guys on the internet messaging me in admiration and then getting upset because I happened to post something they disagreed with, as if they owned my opinions. This is why I don’t view most right-wing online women favorably - I’m referring to those who post viral - “this is what women should do to make men happy” - content, because, for the most part, they create propaganda for the male gaze as a way to attract a companion. They would hardly say anything that might risk offending men's opinions, and, as such, they lack integrity or originality. This causes men to lash out when they feel they don’t have control over the female mind. And I’m particularly allergic to control, so much that when I was a child, my father would tell me not to put my hand on the fire or I would get hurt, and I would put my hand on the fire on purpose. Of course, this kind of provocation infuriates a stalker who feels they have a monopoly over your life.

I would easily block these men as soon as they started insulting me for the crime of not sharing their opinions. This was not hard to deal with. One time, however, I was in a relationship with an influential political figure I’d rather not mention here, and despite keeping a private profile, I would receive different kinds of messages from accounts that thought they knew what our relationship was about. This was harmless, though still annoying, until someone sent him a photo of a woman who looked like me with another man in bed, kissing, saying: “Your girlfriend with my friend.” He believed I was cheating on him, despite my best efforts to convince him otherwise. I had attended the police station alone to understand what I could do because, in this case, my relationship was at stake. He eventually did believe me, but at that point, the trust on my side was broken: He left me alone when I was falsely accused of cheating by an unknown account online. I did not feel protected by him, and our relationship suffered irreparably because of it. To this day, I sometimes think I should have been more understanding. But that’s how online obsession over internet personalities affects your life, which is why I believe only one of the two in a couple should have a public profile.

The first time real, more nefarious stalking occurred was after this, however, when I was going through a challenging moment in my life, and I sometimes reflect on how that attracted dark forces, with actual, predatory stalkers. I believe in energetic pulses. I was about to move to America for a fellowship prize in journalism when I received the first threatening email. A list of nudes to send him, some image of me in deep-fake porn, and blackmailing me to release them, and that he knew where my family lived if I didn’t send them to him. I didn’t feel threatened because the photos he had of me were fake, but it definitely made me feel the first sense of disconcertment, though one of my friends said I should laugh about it. The list of requested nudes was particularly odd. One from the front, one from the side, and one from behind (not particularly artistic). I did not answer; he sent me another deadline via Instagram with an anonymous account. Eventually, I posted on my social media that I would report him to the FBI. That made him stop. I would like to make clear to anyone going through something like this: what stopped him was the idea that he could be found by the authorities. It was me reacting to shut him down, not ignoring him. This is what you should do if you ever receive an email of this sort (obscenities redacted):

Only a few weeks later, another man (I don’t think it was the same one, only because of his writing style) started sending me romantic poems on Instagram, but he was mostly following my Twitter. I know because he would download and read every book, every philosopher I would post about, and share his thoughts as if we were having a conversation. His obsession certainly wasn’t initially physical; it was mostly psychological. But men don’t easily separate these realms. His poems turned from romantic to sexual, telling me he wanted to “drip sweat on your beautiful face”. He sent me a video asking me to marry him. I noticed how handsome this young man was and asked myself how he could turn out this way. But mostly, I could see how deranged he was through his stare. This was the first time I felt more unsettled. I still have the video, but I prefer not to share it out of decency. He was, to put it bluntly, insane. There was no self-awareness in his behavior. I never accepted his chat request, just continued to ignore it while monitoring, hoping I would tire him out by never responding. That was a mistake.

When I landed in New York during lockdown, he booked his flight ticket from Germany. At the time, I kept a screenshot of his ticket so I would have his name in case something more serious happened. But managing a new job at a large newspaper and the responsibilities of moving to a new country, I did not have the time or energy to report him. Because of the lockdown, he was stuck in Mexico for a few weeks in quarantine before he could reach New York, so that gave me more time. He would quite strangely report to me his sexual experiences with other women in Mexico. When he landed, I had posted a story of mass at St Peter’s Cathedral, not thinking about him seeing it. He said he was rushing over to see me. That’s when I ran away from the place and stopped posting my location. That same night, he asked me to meet at a designated location. Of course, I never once accepted his chat request, I certainly wouldn’t agree to meet him. That’s when I believe he realized this romance was the fruit of his imagination, and he panicked. He started telling me that I led him on, that he couldn’t breathe, and that he wanted to die… I’m quite sensitive, so this reaction affected me; I felt responsible for his life. He sent other obscenities, and that’s when I decided to block. He disappeared, and I wondered what happened to him. As crazy as it sounds, I felt guilt.

In the same space of time, I would go to mass in Manhattan close to my apartment. As I mentioned, this all happened in the span of a few months, when I was not in a relationship, and when I was going through an incrementally more challenging and particularly hurtful time with a side of my family over an inheritance they deprived me of when one of my beloved grandparents died. I still had close relationships with other family members unrelated to that grandparent, but didn’t think about telling them about this, as my life was so hectic that this was barely a priority of mine. Almost as if the Universe conspires against you when you’re most vulnerable, and that’s when you attract the more aggressive forces: Nature abhors a vacuum.

I was going to mass on a Sunday, which would give me the only respite I could feel. I came back home once and was in the backyard of my building, outside, in a public square. This young man came up to me. “Were you at mass earlier? What a coincidence!” I said, “Yes.” We started talking. I was naive, and more than anything, I was alone in a new city during lockdown, feeling shut down by the people who were meant to protect me the most, so the kindness of strangers didn’t immediately raise suspicions and, instead, made me feel a sense of warmth. I was wounded at the time, almost like they could sense it. This wasn’t someone who knew me from the internet, but a random stranger from mass. I welcomed the conversation, but I did not have a romantic interest in him, nor did I lead him on (as far as I’m aware). I went back home thinking he was being nice and that maybe I had found a new friend.

I returned to mass the week after and planned a coffee with this girl who worked for a think tank (I was looking to make new friends). During mass, I could feel him staring, but I ignored him. I went to the bathroom afterwards, and I remember he followed me there and waited outside. That’s when I gave him the first signal to leave me alone; somehow, his physical proximity made me react more abruptly. I changed my mass time from late in the evening to early in the morning so I wouldn’t see him. But there he was, while I was working towards the Church at 7 am. At the traffic light, he turned around and said, “Hello.”

I returned home and saw him outside my apartment building. I came back from the other side, hoping he wouldn’t see me enter the building. However, he saw me walking in just a few seconds before and ran after me, but I managed to get in first and close the door. Thankfully, the building was large, in central Manhattan, with men working in the lobby who looked like security guards. That’s when I told the doormen at the building, and they told me they would keep an eye out for him. I never saw him again.

I could have told all this to my boss at work; this seems logical, but because this was an editor of a major newspaper, I didn’t want to raise a “nuisance” for him. I felt embarrassed. I had met with him and his new wife for a coffee only a few weeks prior, and I sensed his wife wasn’t keen on me, so I didn’t think it was wise to ask him for help with something like this.

However, the reason for never reporting these incidents is deeper: growing up, I was always told that something was inherently wrong with me. I never felt safe telling my family about an issue, because I remember I would be told that the fault was mine. I internalized that and reacted by dealing with issues by myself.

I barely used social media for a while as a coping mechanism. The messages continued, but these darker stalkers disappeared as soon as I found a personal haven again. When you’re more protected, the forces around you can sense that and the bigger threats subside. At least, this is what happened to me.

A couple of years ago, during another vulnerable moment as I was pursuing a legal case with that part of my family for the inheritance dispute, and I was particularly isolated, another stalker appeared with the same pattern. Idealization, telling me how much I had inspired him to change his life, but this quickly turned into extreme vitriol for the sin of not reciprocating his interest or for expressing political views that contradicted his. The obsession culminated in various blocks on my part, only for him to create new accounts. He threatened to violate me through “total humiliation”. The recent posts are:

When my art academy teacher responded, he threatened him too:

It makes me reflect on how, as women, we should try to avoid being alone. There are many like him, but there are also many good men who can protect you.

At the time, I thought the fault was mine. Did I post something too controversial? Is that photo crossing the line? Why am I posting this? As much as this may seem hard to fathom, many women feel uncomfortable reporting these issues publicly because they feel responsible. They are conditioned into thinking they are to blame for provoking male reactions. Often, this conditioning comes from our own mothers, so I don’t think men are entirely to blame.

It isn’t flattering, and it isn’t ego-centric. I won’t look back one day and think, “I wish I had more stalkers. I miss them.” It elicits the opposite of the feeling of safety from true love: fear. One piece of advice I would give: Fighting back is worth it. Reporting them is enough to give them pause. Threatening a report to the authorities will make someone think twice. Don’t let shame silence you; It’s not your fault, and don’t act as prey because that is when you will be attacked the most. Become the predator, and they will hopefully stop. Nothing is more threatening to those seeking to harm you than your courage.

However, there’s another element to this story. These men are not outliers; they are becoming the norm. They live vicariously through the internet, and they feel an energetic pulse to make their dreams come true because their virtual life doesn’t provide them with any companionship. As a result, they track down the woman they’ve idealized in their minds through social media. Isolated men are dangerous because their primary needs aren’t being met, and because of their capacity for violence when that takes place. This requires more long-term thinking in terms of how to bridge the gap of male loneliness (and loneliness in general) in modern society, and instead of stalking women, making use of that untapped potential to change the status quo.

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