By: Molly Redding, San Francisco, CA, USA, SSH Correspondent
I love Saturday mornings. No alarm, no obligations, and 48 hours of freedom to look forward to. After a large cup of coffee and some quality time with the San Francisco Chronicle online, I head outside to walk to my favorite yoga class.
I started walking to this class awhile back since other transportation options didn’t work, but now I’ve come to really enjoy it. After 8 years of residency I still love San Francisco as much as the day I moved, and this walk allows me to experience different neighborhoods and the richness of diversity that exists in this city.
But not this morning. As I made my way down to the gym, I walked down a street that isn’t part of my normal route, and spotted two men talking to one another. I feel like as a woman sometimes you sense these things are going to happen before they do. It must be a look or something you get that you just know, the next 30 seconds or so are just going to suck. You might take a second to hope you’re wrong, only to be proven right. Here’s what they said to one another as they leered at me:
“Hold on a second. I want to check out this pretty thing walking by.”
“Mmmmhmmm. That is nice.”
“Yes, those pants fit her WELL!”
They literally stopped their conversation so they could watch me walk by and comment. Their opinion of my body, my body, was so pressing that they had to stop what they were doing just to express it. As I walked past and knew they were staring at my ass, I felt completely naked. I had an urge to cover my butt with my hands so they couldn’t stare at it, even though I knew that wouldn’t help.
In a flash, I felt the heat of shame rising to my face. At being leered at yes, but also at my reaction. I just kept walking. I’ve written an entire dissertation about street harassment., I write a monthly blog post, and I didn’t have a good comeback or witty comment? I know the dangers of taking action against harassers, but this was a bright Saturday morning with tons of people milling about. I felt like I had let everyone down, by not reacting quick enough, by not trying to stop it. If I, an anti-street harassment activist, can’t even react the right way when I get harassed in my own neighborhood, how can I preach to others to do the same?
As I crossed the street and made my way to the gym, I realized that by putting pressure on myself, I was only making the situation worse. Harassment is designed (whether harassers know it or not) to make the victim feel exposed, on display, ashamed. I could choose to feel that way, or I could choose to acknowledge my feelings of shame, anger and frustration, recognize that we still have a lot of work to do, and go on my way. And so I did. I reclaimed the street by reclaiming my feelings, by not letting anyone monopolize what I think and how I feel.
I realize this won’t work in every situation. Trust me, I’m still disturbed by the guy who exposed himself to me outside my apartment as I was coming home from a wonderful night at my best friend’s wedding. Harassment is a form of trauma that can stay with us for a long time.
Luckily, I know I have a community that will share their stories and support me no matter how I react to a harasser. Writing my story helps, but so does just telling people around me – my roommate, coworkers, family. Sharing stories will not only help us heal, it will help the rest of the world know we won’t tolerate this behavior anymore. So keep sharing your stories!
Molly received a graduate degree in International Development and Gender from the London School of Economics in 2011, where her dissertation focused on websites allowing victims of harassment to post about their experiences. She has worked in the non-profit sector for over 10 years. You can follow her on Twitter, @perfeminist.
