On Being a First-Time Defender

Hello there, my name’s Hugh, and I’m going to give you a little taster of what volunteering for RightRides means to me and what it involves, after just having volunteered for my first shift this weekend.

To start with though (and to jump in at the deep end) I think it’s worth covering the idealistic, personal bit. Why did I bother volunteering (and why should you, or anyone else?). Well, for me, the appeal of Rightrides rested in the fact that it offered a practical, simple response to the growing problem of gender-based sexual violence on New York’s streets. The issue is stark: more women, and those who identify as women, are suffering from this horrific crime. That's reason enough to volunteer.

However, I have another motivation. I'm a 21 year old heterosexual male. I do not want to preach or appear self-involved, but the fact remains that most crimes of sexual violence are committed by young, heterosexual men. By volunteering for RightRides I felt that I was combating this very real stereotype, and adding my voice to hetero men who deeply opposes violence against women.

But on to the practicalities. Volunteering for RightRides is, to put it simply, fun. You train for an evening, sign up for a Saturday shift, and pretty soon you’re on the road with a fellow volunteer from 12 -3 a.m., answering calls (and occasionally getting hopelessly lost!). On my own shift I went down to one of the operating garages in Chelsea, to meet up with my partner and find the Zipcar we were going to use. My partner turned out to be the very friendly Trin, who has the rather cool job of an ABC news producer. Out we went. New York on a summer evening is great to drive around, especially for me as a Brit- the Manhattan skyscrapers impressive as ever, twinkling in the night.

Still, there wasn’t a huge amount of time to admire the view. My job as navigator (Trin was driving) meant I had to constantly field calls from our dispatcher back at the office, so we could co-ordinate pick-ups. Taking our passengers home, we drove all over Brooklyn, chatting with our riders, and complaining about the incredibly poor quality of music on the radio on a Saturday night! Nothing but pop.

Somehow, though, we managed to survive, and soon, our time was up. Back we headed to Manhattan tired and quiet but content. RightRides also pays for a taxi ride home for its volunteers after a shift. I hopped into my taxi, little knowing that my cabbie clearly fancied himself as a Nascar champion, and drove accordingly. I clung to the strap as we raced back to my apartment, eyelids drooping. Job done, and time for bed!