Making Public Spaces Safe and Welcoming
TODAY, 4 p.m. EST, We End Violence is hosting their bimonthly Agents of Change Facebook discussion with SSH and Hollaback!
The discussion will cover: street harassment and how it’s NOT a compliment, how we can respond to harassers, and how to talk about it with friends.
As a Malaysian that has lived in many different countries in the past, I have found living in Italy to be rather vexing (to put it lightly) when it comes to getting unwanted attention from the local men. I get asked a lot whether I am a masseuse, whether I’m walking on the street or on the beach. Men mutter at me under their breath, shout at me from passing cars, and creeps tail me in cars. The list goes on.
I dislike the feeling of being objectified and sometimes wish I could zap them with something more than a death stare.
– Anonymous
Location: Italy
Share your street harassment story for the blog.
A few days ago, a woman in Minneapolis used Craigslist’s “Missed Connections” to tell her street harasser how his actions made her feel and why street harassment isn’t okay. She was on foot, waiting at an intersection, he was in his car.
“So, that’s where we were. Me, minding my own business. You, apparently observing my ass. At that point you had options. You could have driven past me and said nothing. You could have turned up your radio and waved, ensconcing us in some beats and camaraderie. You could have shouted out, “Happy Friday! Yeehaw!” Any of those options would have been great. I probably would have waved, smiled, and started my weekend on the same high note as you.
Instead, you chose the most pathetic option available to you: You leaned out of your window and made some ridiculous series of leering comments about whether I was wearing a thong, right as the light changed and you peeled off, pleased with yourself and saved from any consequences.
If you’d stuck around, I would have happily shouted a few things of my own at you: that it’s people like you that make women avoid walking alone or taking transit even in broad daylight in their own cities; that no matter what screwed up metric you use it’s not a “compliment” to have someone interrogate me about my underwear; that thanks to you I would spend the entire train ride home feeling scrutinized and gross because you didn’t have the willpower or maturity to keep your mouth shut; that your wife and daughters or at the very least your mother deserve better than a cowardly man who shouts at women from the safety of his car.
Let me make this abundantly clear, to you and to the other men reading this: when you comment on a woman’s appearance, you are not doing it for her. You are doing it for you. It’s not some great way to make a woman feel sexy and appreciated. It’s not flattery, even if you mean for it to be. The only thing it is is a great way for you to create a shitty power dynamic, by which you have announced yourself as the arbiter of her value, and you’ve deemed her fuckable, and she is supposed to be happy or impressed by that.
If you really find a woman beautiful, don’t choose the juvenile selfish route that makes her feel weird and you look like an asshole. Just take a deep breath, commit the image to memory, and get on with your life. Or, if it’s really that great of an ass that you can’t possibly survive without commenting on it, post about it on CL missed connections after the fact and let her decide what to do about it.”
Awesome post. What would you tell a street harasser if you could do so safely?
If you loved this story, look out for my new book, 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers, next week.
When I was in college one night, I worked late at the library and then needed to catch the last bus home. A space invader sat down next to me as I waited and began alternately making comments and inching closer and closer to me. At first I just edged away uncomfortably, but that can only go so far on a bench! I thought about going back inside the student union, but I would have had to stay all night; there was nobody to call and come get me if I missed that bus. So instead I turned to face the man.
I let my lower lip begin to tremble, and then said in a high, childish voice, “Are you a … STWANGER?”
As I continued, I kept escalating my voice until I was shouting. “My momma told me NEVER to talk to STWANGERS! If you’re a stwanger and I’m talking to you I am gonna get in so much twouble, and my momma’s gonna be mad, and you’re a STWANGER … ”
By this time, of course, the man was off the bench and backing up fast, sputtering, “Lady, I never touched you … hey, lay off, calm down …. ” I just kept on, now “blubbering” a bit (actually, trying hard not to laugh), and he turned tail and ran off.
– Aelie
Location: The corner of 24th and Guadalupe, Austin, TX.
Share your street harassment story for the blog.
By Britnae Purdy, SSH Correspondent
My boyfriend and I live near a great little college town. It’s not the party center of Virginia, but there are plenty of fun bars, unique restaurants, and quirky shops within walking distance, and one of our favorite things to do on free nights is to wander around, enjoying the warm weather and nightlife.
The last time we went out, I was feeling particularly hot – you know that feeling, when your hair is, surprisingly, just right, your outfit strikes that perfect balance, and you’ve applied your makeup without stabbing yourself in the eyeball with your mascara wand. We were going to a small show downtown, and I was happy.
As we walked, a pick-up truck pulled up beside us. A man (Boy? Guy? Dude? Man carries a connotation of respect of self and others that I typically don’t think applies in situations like this) leaned out and leered, “DAMN, girl!”
Let’s be clear here: I was feeling pretty DAMN girl! that night. My boyfriend probably agreed. Heck, in my mind everyone in town that night should have agreed. But hearing that call, in a stranger’s slightly slurring drawl, made me immediately want to go home, scrub clean, and burn my clothes.
As he drove away, my boyfriend muttered a curse, and feeling on edge already, I got angry. Why couldn’t you have said that to his face?! I thought. Throw a punch? Defend my honor (whatever that means)? Make him pay? And on that note, where were you the last time this happened to me? Why can’t you make it stop? I thought I was at least safe from getting harassed when I was with my boyfriend!
Hold up. Wait a second. What is it about street harassment that suddenly gives me princess syndrome?
As in, where is my knight in shining armor to rescue me?
No, I don’t want my boyfriend to start a fight with my harassers. I cannot react to one misplaced display of supposed hyper “masculinity” with another.
Nor am I asking my harassers to suddenly turn into the epitome of chivalry, lay down their coats so that I may walk over puddles and whatnot. But clearly something needs to change. Where can we start?
Before we had even left our apartment that night, I had brought up the problem of street harassment. I had said to my boyfriend, “I really want to wear my cute new heels. But I really don’t want to get yelled or honked at when we go out.”
He seemed very sad all of a sudden, and looked at me and said, “I really wish you didn’t have to deal with that.”
YES. That’s it. We don’t need princes. We don’t need every male to suddenly become feminist (though really, how great would that be?) What we need is for more and more men to realize, in similar moments of wrenching clarity, that their girlfriends, sisters, mothers, are facing sexually-based threats and harassment every single day, and that that simply should not happen.
For our part, women need to stop fooling themselves into thinking that street harassment, because it is so common, should be the norm, or that being sexually objectified by strangers is somehow a compliment. We need to insist on holding men to a higher standard, and we need men to rise to the occasion.
This is a united effort – no room for princesses here.
Britnae is a graduate student at George Mason University, in Virginia, where she is pursuing a Master of Arts in Global Affairs with a specialization in Security and Conflict Studies. She also writes for First Peoples Worldwide and you can read more of her writing on their blog and follow her on Twitter.