Stop Street Harassment

Making Public Spaces Safe and Welcoming

Archives for January 2013

“These guys were prevented from groping passengers”

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I’m a middle-aged man who lives in Antwerp, Belgium (EU). Today I experienced first-hand what street harassment is all about and it’s an ugly experience.

Coming of my commuter train at about 7:30 PM accompanied by a female colleague we entered an elevator with an odd 10 other people, to bring us up to street level.

When we wanted to get out of the elevator four brash youths aged between 15-17 years old were waiting for the elevator, and were standing in the doorway pressing themselves in against the flow as all passengers were pressing to get out of the elevator so that people had to press trough them. Together with a male colleagues we told the youths to get out of the doorway and reprimanded them on their behaviour. One of the youths addressed very improperly our female colleague and again we intervened.

The youths made lots of noise and were insulting us when suddenly one of them attacked me. However he hit his nose onto my fist so as he darted back he undid his belt to attack me again. In the meantime security guards had shown up that herded them away from us. They kept shouting abuse. Until the police showed up and they legged it.

I was lucky security staff were quickly on the scene, and my female colleague wasn’t too shocked about the matter, but this could have turned nasty.

I’m sure these guys were prevented from groping passengers in the doorway, perhaps stealing a wallet, which is why they made such a fuss.

– Derek

Location: Antwerp, Belgium

 

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USA: Surviving a Night Out as a Woman

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By Natasha Vianna, SSH Correspondent

A few nights ago, I went to a club to meet friends. After a guy friend had a few drinks, he walked over to dance with me. I was happy to dance with him. It was fun, until he decided to slap my ass. Immediately, my heart sank and I turned to him in anger and that moment of fun was ruined. I was embarrassed, offended, and upset.

When I told him to keep his hands off me, he laughed and told me he was “just dancing”. Here I was, in a situation where I had to not only teach this guy to keep his hands to himself (something we learn in the first grade) but I also had to define for him what is dancing and that slapping me did not fall in that category.

Why? Why am I left with this responsibility?

Trying to explain how disrespected I felt is something I can’t put into words. If I want to shake my ass, if I want to wear a tight dress, if I want to wiggle around to my favorite music, I should be able to do so without worrying whether some guy will have enough self-control to respect my body. Unfortunately, I do have to worry. I have to worry that if I’m having too much fun, I’m sending some creep the nonexistent signal.

Once upon a time, I was eager to turn 21 so I could go to clubs, bars, and lounges. Having drinks with friends in cool places was something I looked forward to, and when I imagined having cocktails in my little black dress, I couldn’t wait for a giggly girls-night-out.

After I turned 21, I learned that a girls-night-out at a club was never really just that. While I started off planning what I would wear and what color lipstick to put on, when my first club experience included lots of tugging on the arm, boners on my back, and strange men giving me pet nicknames, I quickly realized there was much more planning involved in a night out that I ever imagined.

In the beginning, I assumed this was just how men behaved. Was this the norm? As a young woman, was this just how we were supposed to be approached?

From their behavior, I learned that whenever I decide to wear a dress and heels, I am instantly telling male strangers that:

  1. I am here for your visual pleasure.
  2. I want my arm tugged on until I turn my head.
  3. I need new pet nicknames.
  4. I enjoy stiff boners rubbing against my back.

Gosh. It’s sad that I now have to prepare how I will maneuver through crowds of men or plan witty responses for new nicknames or discover how to remove the erection from my spine.

I’ve been out to clubs many times in the past few years and I’ve learned what does and doesn’t work. Sadly, some men won’t take no as an answer and attempt to aggressively persuade you into giving them a chance. I’ve discovered that making them feel awkward without offending them is the safest method for me to remove myself from these situations. Yes, safest. So I resort to pretending I know them from long ago or I do strange things that make them lose interest.

If guys would respectfully approach women, accept “NO” when they hear it, and never put their hands on us unless we allowed it, I would be able to enjoy my nights without paranoia. Since this still isn’t a universal understanding amongst men, I decided to speak out and share my stories.

Natasha Vianna, a fearless activist and young feminist, is a freelance writer and blogger based out of Boston, MA. Follow her on twitter!

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Imagine Egypt Without Sexual Harassment Campaign

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Via the Facebook Event Page from Op Anti-Sexual Harassment/Assault:

TWO DAYS OF BLOGGING & TWEETING FOR HUMAN DIGNITY, JAN 23 & 24

“In light of the 2nd anniversary of the Egyptian revolution, let us remember those first 18 days in Tahrir. Do you remember that feeling of safety, dignity and mutual respect?

Compare this to today, where sexual harassment and sexual violence exist everywhere in Egypt..

– 2005 sexual harassment of female journalists
– 2006 mob sexual harassment downtown during Eid, and has been a “tradition” ever since
– 2011 “Aggressions referred to as “virginity tests
– 2012 Eman, the sexual harassment martyr
– Mob sexual assault/rape incidents in Tahrir

These are a small handful of examples to what happens to women in Egypt, on a daily basis.

And just last week, as we’re approaching the second anniversary to the Egyptian revolution, a women was raped at the Diabetes Institute while under anesthesia, and there were several other similar cases in the same institute.

Blog, tweet and post on Facebook for 48 hours and before we hit Tahrir Square on Jan 25 to face and fight organized mob sexual assault and harassment. The hashtag will be announced at the beginning of day one, stay posted.
تخيل/ي مصر من غير تحرش

بعد سنتين من ثورة ٢٥ يناير خلينا نفتكر ال ١٨ يوم في الميدان

فاكرين الإحساس بالأمان والكرامة

قارن/ي ده بالنهاردة والتحرش والعنف اللي لسه موجودين في كل مكان

– ٢٠٠٥ الأربعاء الأسود التحرش بالصحفيات
– ٢٠٠٦ التحرش الجماعي في وسط البلد في العيد اللي بقى بيحصل كل عيد من ساعتها
– ٢٠١١ الاعتداء المعروف بـ “كشوف العذرية”
– ٢٠١٢ إيمان شهيدة التحرش
– التحرشات والإغتصابات الجماعية في الميدان واللي حصلوا اكتر من مرة

ده غير التحرش الفردي واليومي اللي بتواجه النساء في مصر كل يوم وكل لحظة وفكل مكان

ومش بس كده، ده قبل أسبوع من الذكرى التانية للثورة نساء يتم إغتصابهن في معهد السكر وهم تحت تأثير التخدير

مش هنسكت

زقزق/ي ودون/ي واحكي على الفيسبوك لمدة ٤٨ ساعة، يومين من الصوت العالي ضد التحرش، وقبل ما ننزل الشارع كلنا يوم ٢٥ في الميدان نواجه اعتداءات التحرش
المنظمة! شاركونا!

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“It’s forty years later and I’m still planning escape routes”

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This is cross-posted with permission from author Beckie Weinheimer’s blog.

A few weeks ago when I was walking near my apartment in the well lit bike trail in Forest Hills Park, in Kew Gardens, Queens, NYC, a slight boy of maybe 15, dressed in nice school clothes, carrying a typical school backpack tapped on my shoulder a little after dusk, and interrupted my tranquil walk with an, “Excuse me ma’am.”

I took out my headphones and paused the audio book I was listening to. “Yes?” I thought he probably needed directions, or needed to borrow my phone to call a parent to pick him up.

The very last thing I expected was what followed. “Will you give me a blow job?”

I stood back, frowned, sure I had misunderstood. “What?” I asked.

“Please, Ma’am can you give me a blow job?” This kid, shorter than me repeated. He looked scared. Desperate.

“Please?”

I was horrified. “No. I. Will. Not.” I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket. “You better leave right now or I will call the police and take your picture and post it on line. Do you want that?”

He took steps backwards still facing me. “Leave.” I pointed. “Go.”

And he did.

Of course the rest of my walk was ruined. I wasn’t frightened. I could have taken on this kid. And I was close to the road and cars and people. But I was upset.

As I walked home, I called my daughter. The more we talked, the more I decided, this kid was being initiated, given a dare, and perhaps he was more frightened of the guys waiting in the bushes than he was of me. I actually began to feel badly for him. I even said a prayer to the universe asking that this kid wouldn’t get beaten up just because I said no. But what kind of universe do we live in, when this is initiation, or bullying? And why is it that so many males see nothing wrong harassing an unknown female they come across in public?

A few days later, I was dressed to the hilt, faux ankle length fur coat, dressy boots, nice jewelery, walking in Manhattan with my husband on Fifth Avenue heading toward a concert of Handel’s Messiah. As we walked and talked a street vender we were passing called out to us, “You have a beautiful wife, sir.” My husband and I were in the middle of a conversation and he didn’t even blink. I stopped several feet past the vendor and faced my husband. “Did you just hear that man? That was street harassment.”

“He just wanted to sell us something,” my husband replied. And then went on with our conversation.

“Are you not hearing me?” I stood in front of him so he couldn’t walk. “That is street harassment. He is objectifying me. He didn’t say, ‘Ma’am what a fine looking husband you have there,’ did he?”

And my husband, who is a strong male ally, a suporter of equal rights for women, and wants to stop street harassment, finally got it. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I’ve heard men say, “I’d be happy if a female stopped to tell me I was good looking.” But because that rarely if ever happens, and it almost never turns into something more dangerous, like groping or rape, they have no clue. Really no clue.

Fast forward to this morning. I find myself in Palm Beach, Florida. Its beautiful. My husband and I drove to the beach at sunrise. He ran on the sidewalk above the beach, I walked barefoot on the sand letting the crashing waves wash over my feet. I walked past the public beach to the un-lifeguarded beach where the road above is so high up that there is a 25 ft cement retaining wall, with steps down every so often from the private homes above. I was walking along enjoying the waves, the sun dancing on the navy blue water of early morning when I felt more than heard something. I was alone on the beach. I looked up to the wall, and there at the top of one of the stairways stood a man. He stared down at me. He waved. I looked around. Totally alone. Not another person in sight.  I had two choices. One turn around and race down the sand the five or ten minutes it would take to the public more populated beach. Two, I could jump into the water.

Should I try to save my iphone in my pocket or just race into the water? I knew the water was my best option. The man still watching me was fully clothed, long pants, shoes and a hoodie, all things that would weight him down in the water. I was dressed in only a tank top and shorts. The waves were wild. I am an avid swimmer, but I’ve had a few close calls in tidal waters with undertow and waves, so I had opted for a walk rather than a swim this morning. But the thought of that man coming for me, alone on the sand, was much more scary than the thought of plunging into the ripping ferocious waves.

In the end the man didn’t come down. Maybe the rod iron gate he stood at was locked. Maybe he too was simply out enjoying the sunrise and waved to be friendly.

The point is I didn’t know.

The point is females never do know when it will escalate.

My husband, running on the street above had no clue. He never will know the fear most of us females who dare to walk alone face every single day.  He doesn’t have to plan escape routes whenever he ventures off the beaten path. I envy him and every other male that privilege. I hate it that I have to plan. I hate it that because a man waved to me my calm morning was sent into a frenzy.

Because yes, in my past, once on a quiet morning when I was fourteen, and a boy from my high school who I only knew by sight asked if he could walk with me on the shortcut through the fields to school tried to rape me. I didn’t have an escape plan that day, but I shoved him away as he reached around me and unzipped my dress. I shoved him and ran-the fastest run of my life.

I ran for three minutes, through sagebrush that scratched at my legs, over boulders and stones and finally skid down a steep grassy hill wet with morning dew where a neighborhood began. People were out walking their dogs and up retrieving their morning papers. Lovely, wonderful people. Gasping for air I turned back to see him at the top of the hill bent over hands on knees watching me and gasping for air too.

It never occurred to me to tell one of these blessed strangers what had just happened or to call the police. I told my mother that night. She said, “But you got away, you are fine.”

And that was the thought in that day and age. In today’s world I know my mother would call the police, call the school, fight for me. But back then we as women had so little voice to speak out.

It’s forty years later and I’m still planning escape routes. Still on the watch for a stray male who may be eying me. People who say a strange man complimenting a woman in public is nothing, haven’t had a past like mine, or sadly like most females.

I will always be planning an escape route. I’ve taught my daughters to plan for their safety in public places. My hope is that one day that if l have a grand daughter maybe she will be able to walk off the beaten path without fear, without planning an escape route. Maybe things will change. I believe they can change if we continue to share our stories, to support each other and to stand up to harassers when safety allows.

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USA: Not just an 8 on a Scale from 1 to 10

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By Lauren Duhon, SSH Correspondent

Recently, it came to my attention that there is an unofficial blog at my university called “Greeks That Matter,” designed to rank the attractiveness of students from various sororities and a few fraternities.

Now, I don’t know who is behind the infamous blog, but to my understanding, it seems to be a bored freshman fraternity brother who has nothing better to do with his time. . My university’s student newspaper The Daily Reveille wrote an article and a column about the blog if you would like to read more

Needless to say, when I found out about the blog I was more than displeased. Not only did most of the young women not know that their photos were being displayed on a website seen by thousands of people, but countless guys saw it is as a joke. One of my co-workers looked at the photos and made comments like, “She is hot,“ or, “She’s alright.” I told him to stop, but he replied with, “What? Don’t tell me if your face was on this website that you wouldn’t think of it as a compliment.”

This is the typical response I hear when things like this arise. No thanks.

I kept thinking to myself, “I know these girls. I went to high school with some of them.” If I wouldn’t appreciate it, I knew they wouldn’t either. And, I was right. Countless young women spoke out against the website saying it was an invasion of privacy, but unfortunately nothing can be done. The university can’t stop it

Now, I know this isn’t the first time this has happened. Countless universities have had .similar situations in the past, and in fact, the idea behind Facebook began like this.  It is a shame that young women all over the country have been exposed online without their knowledge or consent as part of a sick joke to entertain students when they are bored

When will people understand that these rating websites objectify people? Every time a young woman is belittled and seen as just a number, it justifies someone’s actions of doing so in real life, not just online. Allowing this behavior tells people that it is okay to harass someone. It cultivates a society where men feel like they can pick apart women’s appearances and one where men feel like they can catcall and harass a woman because she is attractive and then make her think it was a compliment.

I was proud to hear about guys who spoke out against this website, including countless fraternity brothers and Chandler Rome, who wrote the column in the newspaper. These are the young men who can help shape a society where women are seen as equals and not just an 8 on a scale from 1 to 10.

Lauren Duhon is a student journalist from LSU in Baton Rouge, La.

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