Jessie Koerner, Denver, Colorado, USA, SSH Blog Correspondent
Some days the patriarchy slaps me in the face: the recent Hobby Lobby decision in the Supreme Court, the fact that Hollywood refuses to acknowledge the results of years of Bechdel Test results, the *minor* issue that rape offenders are so often excused and so rarely prosecuted. Some days the fact that society wants me to be a living, breathing mannequin creeps up on me.
In June, I wrote about how the city of Denver must have agreed to take a time out from harassing women on the street. I’ve been travelling between Colorado, North Dakota and Montana for work ever since, and to be honest, haven’t spent much time outside the office, a car, airport, or rural oil pads. It wasn’t until I was playing blackjack in a Dickinson, North Dakota, hotel that I had a thought so out of left field, I blamed it on the SoCo and 7s I’d been drinking at the table. Why is no one hitting on me?
There’s some context here that I should probably fill you in on that has nothing to do with my inflated ego. The Bakken oil field, which spans eastern Montana, to southern Alberta, and western North Dakota is the place to be if you’re in oil and gas. The addition of its one million barrels (42 gallons in a barrel) a day is what’s catapulting the United States to the top of the oil producing nations list. The Bakken boom is also responsible for a huge influx of people to western North Dakota, and at least initially, most of that population consisted of men.
If you’re reading this blog, I’m assuming you have some idea of what happens when you combine a male population influx, and money – think Super Bowl, World Cup, etc. Prostitution. And if the FBI, and human rights organizations are to be believed (obviously), around 75-80% – conservative estimates – of those prostitutes are trafficked. So this is a problem in the Bakken. A huge problem. In addition, I’ve talked with multiple people, including a police investigator in Dickinson, who say that girls who live in the western North Dakota area refuse to go to bars any more because they’re sick of being hit on and harassed.
So this detour in information has brought us back around to that night at the blackjack table, where I lost five whole dollars to Dickinson charities (I’m a conservative and blasé gambler… what can I say). Why are none of these douchecanoes hitting on me? Nevermind the fact that I was with my (dude) boss, another (guy) coworker, and kept yelling at every guy who sat down to “stop telling me how to bet, dear God, I will do what I want!” because, shocker, all these strange men wanted to impart their knowledge of a game of randomness.
In and of itself, this can be chalked up to a bruised ego and a bad hair day. However, I’ve been back to running around Denver for a couple of weeks now after that night, and I find that same thought creeping into my head: Why isn’t anyone harassing me? I signed up for this blogging position because I was harassed in the worst ways prior to this. Am I not pretty any more? OMG is this why I’m still single?
These ridiculous (and they are absolutely, utterly ridiculous) thoughts crept into my head, uninvited and completely automatically. Why is my subconscious whining about NOT being harassed on my daily walk from my parked car to Starbucks to the office? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!
Sneaky, sneaky patriarchy, I have internalized you, despite all the feminist bones in my body, and my empowering upbringing, and my long-time mantra of “leave me alone, I will do what I want!” When and if this happens to you, I’ll be here in my own little support group, and while I hope not to have other members, the door is always open.
This is, to me, the most insidious part of street harassment. The fear, the anxiety, the utter frustration with the situation, the split second inner debate of “should I/shouldn’t I confront this douchecanoe?” can, in most cases, be left on the street – until the next time. The unexpected self-objectification that results from the constant barrage of catcalls and objectification by men when going about our every day lives reminds me of a Sally Kempton quote that has long been accurate for me: “It’s hard to fight an enemy that has outposts in your head.”
Women alter every day behavior to avoid the experience of being harassed. Changing routes; planning ahead for the experience – “I will walk past my final destination so this harasser doesn’t know where I’m going”; avoiding working out in public, and joining a gym; changing outfits to avoid the catcalls, these are just a few examples. The constant imposition of a flight-or-fight response for walking down the street is stressful enough. Then, after so much of this, the normalization of being harassed, and the societal expectation that victims should just deal with it quietly as a part of the social compact, we get to take it home. We get to deal with the internalization of yet another message that we are an object in the world rather than a person. AND we get told to take it as a compliment.
Even after the immediate threat has passed, the reverberations lay in wait, and reveal themselves to all of us who’ve experienced street harassment when we least expect it. They show up when we think we’ve finally gotten a reprieve from the exhausting spectacle that is being a woman in public.
Jessie is a longtime human rights activist with a feminist focus. She founded the Amnesty International chapter in college, is an active participant in JustWorld International, and manages the social media accounts for the Global Women’s Network and winnovating.com, where she also blogs. Find her on Twitter and Instagram, @pearlsandspurs.
