Archives for June 2013

When I was twelve years old, I was a bit of a latchkey child and I didn’t have much to wear. I would sometimes wear a tank top of my older sister’s on hot days that I didn’t realize in my innocence was a bit tight and just a bit sheer. I was developing breasts and didn’t know how to handle them yet, and the tank top had built-in support that wasn’t quite adequate, but I didn’t know. I remember getting shouted at by men in cars on my way to school and feeling so ashamed and dirty, feeling like nothing I did was right, like I was being suffocated by this awful world.

I didn’t know how to dress, I didn’t have any options, and no matter what I did I was always being watched, watched, watched.

I have an hereditary problem with stomach pain, and sometimes I have to concentrate very hard in public because my stomach is hurting so badly. When I’m shouted at, I lose my concentration and the public harassment gives me physical pain. But I think perhaps that this physical pain is just a symptom of the stress that every single woman feels; they just don’t have the searing pain to alert them to it every time it happens. This stress builds and builds, in all women.

Most mornings, mostly because of the neighborhood I live in where men linger outside of stores it seems just to ogle the women going past, I still have an overwhelming feeling of suffocation when I decide what to wear. Can I wear a short dress if I wear leggings underneath, or will I still be shouted at or whispered at or addressed on the subway? Can I wear these shorts, or am I too curvy for them and will people get the wrong idea? I find myself hiding, every day.

But recently, I’ve had enough. I find myself gaining small victories. A young boy said, “Hey baby,” to me in the street. He was about twelve years old, the age I was when I started getting harassed.

I flipped around on him and scolded him, right there in the street in front of his friends. He was a child, and I just wasn’t taking it from a child.

Then, a few days later at a train station a man said, “Hello beautiful”. There were lots of people around, men and women, and police officers in the distance. (I’m not making police officers out to be white knights, but usually when they’re visible people tend to behave themselves better just in case.) I whipped around and simply said, “Excuse me?” and made him repeat what he said. Then I said it again. “Excuse me?” He started backing off, saying, “Alright, alright, lady.’

I said, “You don’t know me,” in such a withering way that he was visibly uncomfortable.

It felt so good, and I’m getting up the courage to speak out more, and in less safe situations. I really believe that we have to fight back, and we have to risk a bit of our safety to do so. It’s the only way any freedoms have ever been gained. It’s the only way they’ll listen.

Do you have any suggestions for dealing with harassers and/or ending street harassment in general?

Encourage women to speak up at any opportunity: if there is a crowd of people nearby, if there are police nearby, if you are in a group, speak out. Carry pepper spray to protect yourself, and rehearse a short phrase that you can say to an harasser to make your voice heard. No war has ever been won without risk or danger. We need to start believing in our freedom, our right to a place in society, above all else. It’s dangerous enough just walking after dark, and that isn’t going to change without brave souls willing to put themselves in the face of danger and shout it down.

– Sara

Location: Everywhere

Share your street harassment story for the blog.

I have just come through the front door and straight to my macbook, this is the only thing I could think to do.

I am so mad. I feel powerless and this infuriates me further.

I just want to share this because I know reading the stories that others share makes me feel as though I’m not so alone when this happens.

I am a New Zealander and have been in California for a little over a month. Today I cycled in to the city with my hair out.

As far as I can see this is the only thing that made today any different. I will often tie it up because it seems to attract unwanted attention. This alone is a ridiculous thing and I’m a little ashamed to admit I do it. I went blonde 6 months ago and apparently being blonde means you’re handing out licenses to men in public to treat you even worse than before.

I had just said goodbye to my partner as he started work and walked all of 30 ft from him around a corner and a guy with a back-pack says, “You’re looking beautiful today.”

I say, “Thanks.”

My skin crawls but honestly, I hope that having responded politely is enough to make him keep walking.

“What’s your name?”

Damn. I keep walking.

“Hey, where you from? You got an accent” “Hey”

“You from England?”

I keep walking, it’s daylight, it’s public, as soon as I round this corner he’ll be gone. Safe.

Sure enough, he heads in the direction I came from and I keep on to where I’m going.

I pick up our bikes from a cafe a couple of blocks away and walk back to lock my partner’s bike up outside work for him before I head home. As I’m heading back to his workplace it occurs to me that this guy was heading in that direction but I think surely not. He’ll be gone by now.

No, sure enough there he is on the end of the block on a bike of his own as I round the corner.

I pretend I didn’t see him and walk to the bike lock and begin quickly shuffling the bikes into position, trying to get it done as quickly as possible. Hurrying, hoping it’s done before the creep makes it over.

Too late, he’s there sitting on his bike leaning on the power pole just in front of me. I’m trapped, I can’t seem to make the bikes fit because I’m starting to stress about the situation and he starts.

You know he’s gonna start and you know where this is going because being a woman means you’ve been here countless times before. Each time it makes me angrier. Each time I am more infuriated about the sense of powerlessness that this other human being can make me feel.

“Where you from? Hey where you from?”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re from here”

“No,” I reply, trying to sound annoyed and not fearful, “I’m from New Zealand.”

“I’ve been to Australia, you been to Australia?” “You like Australians?” “Hey you like Aussie boys?”

“No. What I’d like is to be left alone.”

Bike is locked and he cycles off. Thank god.

There’s an older couple (mid 60’s) less than 15ft from all of this, isn’t it weird that initially I felt a little embarrassed and that in my head I was hoping for their sake that he didn’t cause a scene?

In hindsight, why didn’t they say something? They were watching and it was clear that I didn’t know him. This guy was clearly harassing me and I couldn’t immediately get away from him.

The guy circles back and starts yelling at me, circling on the street on his bike

“F***ing bitch.” “F***ing kiwi bitch, huh? You f***ing kiwi bitch”

He pulls the fingers.

I pull them back and yell, “F*** off”

So angry now. What the hell could I have done to make that situation any better?

I look at the older couple and they’re glaring at me!?

Like I’m the one who’s somehow behaved inappropriately?

Sorry guys, polite, evidently, wasn’t getting the message across either. How about, “Are you okay?” or “That was so rude” or something, yeah?

My partner was just as angry as I was, “I’m so sorry that happened to you” “Where did he go?” “Are you okay?”

Still, as I cycle home I’m looking over my shoulder, worried that he’s going to follow me or see me again and get even more aggressive. Why should I have to bear the weight of feeling unsafe in a space I have a right to be in?

I read some really great stories of how people have retaliated and every time one of these situations occurs I always regret not having thought of something quicker! I wish I’d pulled my phone out and taken a photo of him or something.

And have others experienced the same frustration towards silent bystanders? ? ?

Do you have any suggestions for dealing with harassers and/or ending street harassment in general?

I truly believe that this issue needs to be taken more seriously by society. It should be talked about in schools, it should be campaigned about by government like drunk driving.

It’s interesting when you explain to someone that this kind of behavior is actually harassment and a violation of your human rights. There are a lot of people who simply haven’t thought of it that way. I find that you can usually see something change over and a real “oh yeah, it’s really wrong” moment happen. I remember when a close friend had me experience that moment, suddenly all of these horrible and uncomfortable memories since about age 9 made a lot more sense. They felt wrong because they were wrong. How can we make that happen globally!?

– Samantha R

Location: Palm Street, San Luis Obispo, CA

Share your street harassment story for the blog.

I lived for five years in Milwaukee, near a men’s homeless shelter. Here’s a little bit of background on me- I am a skinny white girl with a very big booty, so catcalls are nearly constant. This is my favorite story:

One day in January I was walking home, and happened to be in front of a few African American men I recognized as being residents of the shelter. One called out to me, “Hey! White girl! Anyone ever tell you you got a body of a sista’?”

Actually, yes.

So I stopped, turned around, calmly said, “Actually, yes. I have been told that before.”

The men stopped, looked at me, looked at each other, and then finally one yelled back, “Oh. Well, uh, have a happy Martin Luther King Day!”

This instance was more humorous than anything to me. I get cat called as much as any other girl. I don’t let it get to me. I think I have been conditioned to equate getting cat called with being attractive, or desirable. I make sure to always feel that I am in control of the situation. I interact with the cat callers, cat call them back, etc. I don’t EVER let them make me feel inferior or ashamed. No one can make you feel inferior without your consent…which is truly one of my favorite quotes.

– Anna W.

Location: Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Share your street harassment story for the blog.