Archives for May 2015

NCCWSL and Awesome Con

May 31, 2015 By HKearl

On Friday, I co-presented with Collective Action for Safe Spaces (CASS) at the AAUW/NASPA National Conference for College Women Student Leaders at the University of Maryland College Park. We talked to 25 college women from across the nation about street harassment and how they can use activism, teaching, and writing to make concrete change and sway opinions.

There was a portion of time for people to share stories and it ran over because so many people wanted to share recent experiences they’d had on and around campus. The most heartbreaking story came from a transwoman of color who was followed by men to her campus and they would not leave until she and several other students came out to confront them. She said she felt lucky she had back up. Her concern for her safety is very justified and she talked about thinking regularly about transwomen who are attacked and killed in public spaces simply for being their authentic self.

On Saturday and Sunday, I assisted Feminist Public Works/Geeks for Consent and CASS in tabling at Awesome Con in Washington, DC. Those organizations have done a lot of work to help the conference organizers address harassment (e.g. training volunteers to assist those who have been harassed, posting signs about consent and no harassment, etc). I spoke with many people who said they felt there was a better culture of respect this year and that they felt safe etc.

On Saturday as we were wrapping up, a man stopped by to say he had stopped 8 people from taking photos of others without first seeking consent to do so.

Today, two people who stood out to me the most were a mom who stopped by with her 13ish-year-old son and took lots of materials about consent and told him he should talk to his friends about consent (yes!) and the mom who stopped by with her three daughters who looked like they were all under 12. She also grabbed a lot of materials and said to them, “You haven’t been harassed yet but you will be soon enough.” It’s good she’s thinking about how to help them when the inevitable happens… but how said that it is inevitable.

All told, both events were a great opportunity to talk one-on-one about street harassment with people from all over the country and learn about their experiences and offer them support.

France/Brazil: “The only curse is society itself”

May 31, 2015 By Correspondent

Luiza Pougy Magalhaes, France/Brazil, SSH Blog Correspondent

I am very mouthy and outspoken, so I find it very difficult to keep my mouth shut when I am catcalled. However, I know from experience, that a smart-reply can put me in a dangerous situation, so I usually don’t say anything. Instead, I rely on my friends to listen to my rants regarding the issue. Often, I’m told to just ignore it. Well, I wish I could. Unfortunately, I have always been very bothered by what people have to say about me.

As a child, I was a late bloomer. I was also an awkward little girl with pale skin, big round glasses, frizzy hair and a shy personality. Of course, people loved to point that out. They made me believe that these were not just insecurities of mine, but actual flaws. I felt ugly, and therefore, I was unworthy.

Then, puberty finally caught up with me. My unkempt hair turned into flowy and wavy locks, contact lenses replaced my glasses, and my white skin and slim frame suddenly became charming. There was a new found attention on me. I finally felt beautiful and that made me feel like I owned the world.

I made the streets my catwalk. My clothes became shorter, tighter and there was make-up on my face. That shy girl had emerged into a young woman with overflowing self-confidence, a handful of sass, and a hint of superiority.

However, I soon came to realize that not all attention is positive. You see, a lot of it was unwanted and unflattering. Strangers were shouting at me, cars were honking and men were staring. There was whistling, glaring and catcalling. Just like that, I no longer felt beautiful and wonderful, but instead, dirty and disgusted.

I was no longer a girl, or a woman, not even a human being. I was an object of sexual desire. It was repugnant, and it was exhausting. My confidence changed into fear and my walk became uncomfortable. My routes were no longer determined by convenience, but by likelihood of harassment. My sass and superiority developed into anger and revolt. It was beyond me how such repulsing words could be masked as compliments.

One day when I’d had enough, I decided to swap my short skirts for sweat pants, and to ditch my make-up and contact lenses. Surely enough that would stop them. If only I was right.

As a child, I felt cursed for not being beautiful, but as time passed, I had begun to feel that beauty was the actual curse. However, that day I understood that actually, the only curse is society itself.

It saddens me to say that I was, and still am, a victim of the hideousness that is today’s society. One that is capable of making a little girl feel unworthy and a young woman demeaned. All because of her looks.

And there’s so little I can do about it.

Harassment has nothing to do with beauty or choice of clothing. Harassment is never the fault of the victim, and unfortunately, can’t be avoided in any way. The same applies for any kind of violence against women, for that matter.

Unfortunately, the ones who hold all the power are those who choose to harass. And I don’t know why they do it either. Maybe to feel in control and dominant, to disempower women, to reassure their masculinity or maybe, it’s just sexual frustration. For whatever reason it may be, it needs to stop. Harassment has impacted me greatly, and it continues to everyday.

The saddest part for me is knowing fully well that I have had it easy. There is an abundance of girls and women out there fighting much harder battles than mine. When will society realize that these battles are all of ours to fight? When will the urgency of this issue sink in? I hope, for me and all girls and women out there, soon.

Luiza is a 20-year-old from Brazil who considers herself a citizen of the world. As a teenager she moved to Singapore and now she studies International Business in France.

USA: “The clothes we wear are not for you”

May 29, 2015 By Correspondent

Liz Merino, Massachusetts, USA, SSH Blog Correspondent

Nothing makes me happier than the time surrounding dusk on a summer night. Though quick to set, walking under the sun and into the stars is both a beautiful and humbling experience.

I walk my dog, Clancy, down a main street and into the surrounding neighborhood in Dedham, MA. One street in particular is my favorite, with a winding curve, a canopy of trees and the Charles River along its edges.

What I don’t enjoy, though, is the street harassment that accompanies my nightly walks. Beeping car horns, tires slowing down and yelling out of windows is not what I want, or need, when I leave my home. And I know I’m not alone.

“Everyone seems to go crazy in the summer… When I lived Downtown there was one day I got hit on 13 times, just wearing a white tank top and shorts. Half of the men were yelling at me from across the street, yelling ‘hey baby’…. after an hour and a half I just went home. Later on I changed my outfit,” said Boston resident Stephanie Pan.

According to 2014 Stop Street Harassment statistics, 65 percent of women have suffered from street harassment in the U.S.

Maybe I should just suck it up and ignore it. It becomes so routine that most of the time I do. But my mother always worries, and in that, I suppose I should remain aware. If I’m staring at the vivid blue sky as I leave my office in Boston for too long or gaze into the accompanying woods along my Dedham walk, who will be staring back unbeknownst to me? A stare? A long look of undressing, stripping layer of layer of my clothes off my body, is more what I should call it.

“When walking through Boston, I find ignoring it to be the best solution, but it’s not a panacea. The anxiety reverberates. I always have a plan of escape ready, and think of what items in my bag are easily accessible and can double as self-defense weapons. I understand that sometimes it’s meant to be harmless or a compliment, but that does nothing to pacify the fear because letting your guard down means being more vulnerable than you already are,” said Rachael Durant, a Framingham resident interning in Boston for the summer.

I don’t want to be called baby or sexy when I’m walking anywhere during my day or night. I definitely don’t need to be told to come over and f*** you either, because you’re sitting in the safety of your car, and the traffic light is turning green, and you’re gone but your words are still echoing around my ears.

I didn’t leave my house for you.

I walk three blocks on my way to work in the financial district. Some mornings are great, the sun shines and with an iced coffee in hand I enjoy a quiet walk before my day begins. Other days though, are not as pretty.

Instead of the beeping horns as in my walks in Dedham, I am accompanied by close, under the breath remarks and whistles I wouldn’t even use on my dog. It comes from all types of men, some my age, some old enough to be my father.

I usually return a hard stare, a few choice words of ‘don’t talk to me like that,” or ‘who do you think you are?’.

“I logically know that not every person I pass, specifically a man, is looking to attack me… I shouldn’t walk with headphones in so I can hear if someone’s coming up behind me. If I walk closer to the street, it’s easier to get away,” said Berklee College of Music student Kathlynn Sell about an area of Boston near her school.

I actually had a man almost follow me my whole way to work last week. I noticed him staring at me on the subway. After we made eye contact he looked away, but throughout the ride I could feel his eyes on me as I read my book. As I left the subway station and looked back he was there, and again when I looked back at the next corner. I walked into a Dunkin Donuts and prayed that when I came out, he would be gone. He was.

A million thoughts ran through my head. What if it wasn’t bustling Boston rush hour? Would someone have helped me if I screamed or caused a scene? What if it was night and I was alone?

“Before I left for college, my dad wanted me to take a self-defense class. I didn’t. But when I moved into my first apartment, he made me bring an aluminum bat that I kept near the door – so that should give you an idea of what he’s told me over the years: ‘Don’t throw the first punch, but come back swinging,’ said Boston resident Alex Lane.

As summer sets in, please remember that bare arms, naked legs and pretty dresses are not an invitation to make comments at me, or about me, or any other women you may see.

The clothes we wear are not for you. Like most people, I’m just trying to get to my job, back to my house, and enjoy my walk along the way.

When does street harassment start? Who does it happen to? Why does it happen?

In reality, it knows no age, color or sexual preference.

“My mother is very paranoid, she was so paranoid that when I was younger she made me take Tai Kwon Do classes, she made me carry an umbrella, knives. When I turned 16, my dad bought me a Taser,” said Pan.

The list of reasons why street harassment happens would be exhaustive to write, and for you to read. But the fact that it happens, I think, is enough to reflect on for now, and how you will challenge it next time it appears in front of your eyes, because it will.

Liz is a recent graduate of Hofstra University with a Bachelor of Arts Journalism degree. She is currently a staff writer for a marketing agency in Boston. Follow her on Twitter @slizmerino and Instagram @elizabethmerino93.

USA: “Holding a man accountable for street harassment can be a dangerous game”

May 27, 2015 By Correspondent

Shyeta Williams, California, USA, SSH Blog Correspondent

Despite the raising awareness of street harassment, it is so unbelievably prominent in this urban jungle I call home. One contributing factor could be the striation of wealth, with many homeless and impoverished people being on the street at all times of the day. This is also an area with plenty of options for public transport, so many of us are walking at some point en route to our destinations. Between BART, Ac Transit, MUNI, Lyft, Uber, Leap, there is no shortage of opportunities for a catcaller to come into contact with anyone who dare cross them on the street. This is not to say that the area is any more prone than any other, but to illustrate the ways in which we are vulnerable to street harassment.

I’ve had this conversation many times with many friends and colleagues. Recently, a friend of mine, whom I’ll call Rona, decided for one week she would pull out her phone and take a photo of every man who catcalled her. She was interested to find out how men would react to her taking photos of them as they were harassing her. I had read about women doing this, to varied responses. Rona employed this technique for one week and was shocked at how quickly men attempted to remove themselves from the situation. She described men peeling out in their cars, and hiding behind friends. Essentially after having the gall to harass her in public places, men were quick to retreat at the threat of being photographed.

Rona expressed that this caused a palpable shift in dynamics. It made her feel powerful. Her description was vivid and revealing. “Well it’s a pretty conscious effort, keeping your phone in hand to ward off creeps, so I don’t do it all the time, [but] it’s so noticeable how different you feel. When I’m doing it I walk taller. When I don’t I’m so scared of men walking past me. It’s only words but it’s so violating.”

Despite how powerful she felt, Rona was aware that this reaction was problematic. These men weren’t leaving her alone out of some sudden respect or realization of her personhood. They were doing it out of what she described as, “fear of repercussion, or fear of humiliation.” These men were looking to cover their own asses, removing themselves as a precaution not out of a sense of humanity. In fact it had very little to do with Rona as a person. They are much more concerned with their image being soiled, no matter how justly, than how they are treating another human.

After Rona told me the story, I called her a superhero. Holding a man accountable for street harassment can be a dangerous game. I’ve experienced and heard many stories about what can happen if dare to confront a man who is harassing you or someone in your vicinity. It is downright dangerous thing to do. It often shifts the focus to you, your vulnerability, and personally I’ve been completely verbally berated for it, only to have no one stand up for me for fear of the same. It’s saddening but this is part of why Rona had to try this tactic to begin with.

Women are being forced to come up with imaginative ways to combat their own harassment, and really just having to hope for the best in terms of outcomes. As often as we are on the sidewalk, our safety may be encroached upon, otherwise easy targets at their discretion.

Shyeta discovered her voice loud and clear amid the redwoods and fog at UC Santa Cruz, where she earned her BA in Politics. She’s currently enjoying the sound her pen makes against the wind chill in Oakland, CA.

Spain: On Travelling Alone

May 26, 2015 By Correspondent

Rebecca Smyth, Spain, SSH Blog Correspondent

It is an immense pleasure and privilege to be able to travel, and it was all the more so in a country as wonderful as Portugal. I don’t know why everyone doesn’t bang on about Portugal all the time. I’m probably going to be That Person now. Sorry.

Travelling alone, and travelling alone as a woman, provides ample opportunity to think, untangle and unravel all sorts. So let’s dive in, shall we?

Street harassment seems to exist in a delightful array of regional variations. In Ireland I’ve found it’s mostly the drunken yelling, in Paris it was the stalking and propositioning on traffic islands, in Italy it’s, well, it’s pretty much everything you can think of – maybe they invented it? – and in Barcelona it’s mostly the good old-fashioned wolf whistle. In Portugal they seemed to be big fans of the lip smacking. LIP SMACKING. I wonder if they realise it makes them look like especially creepy orang-utans. I doubt they care. Their aim, whether they are conscious of it or not, is to re-assert their dominance of public space and of women moving through it.

Speaking of, I don’t think I’ll ever fully know just how much I limit myself and my movements because of my gender. I’ll never forget having a chat with a lovely guy I met on Erasmus. We were talking about how much we loved to wander the city. This is something that has a historical precedent, if you can believe it: flânerie. The French would have a word for it, wouldn’t they? I like to translate it to ‘flanning’ because it makes me imagine a flan happily bobbing about, probably humming to itself. And it totally wears a top hat and monocle.

But I digress. Flânerie became a thing in 19^th-century Paris and it’s bound up with the birth of the modern city and capitalism and stuff. Well worth reading about, honest. Significantly, those who flanned, les flâneurs, were wealthy young white men. What was their female counterpart? La flâneuse? Nope, the prostitute. Because a woman loitering or wandering aimlessly in public must be sexually available.

This is something I often reflect on as I flan about. And if there’s one thing I love to do, it’s to flan. For one thing, I keep moving as much as I can. I love to walk, and I love to walk about a new place and discover as much of it as I can, but that’s only part of it. The other, possibly bigger part of it is an awareness that I need to keep moving, because as soon as I sit down for whatever reason there is a significant likelihood that I will be on the receiving end of Unwanted Male Attention. Do any of you feel like that too?

One of the easier ways to combat this is to always have a book handy, although it is certainly not a failsafe measure. It worked really well in a restaurant my first evening in Porto though. I felt kind of bad about it – “Is this seat taken?” “Nope” *sits down expectantly* *I keep reading* *he shuffles on* *I eat my delicious dinner* *I leave*

This probably makes me sound like a big ol’ grump – Ah here Rebecca, what’s the harm in having a chat? Chats are great! Oh I know, I know. Striking up conversations, making small talk, bit of chit chat – I am a fan. Apparently as a toddler one of my catch phrases was, “What’ll we talk about now?” So interacting with other humans is not the issue.

The issue is I clearly want to be left alone but because I am out and about in public there is an assumption that I am desirous of your company, that you are entitled to my energy and focus and attention. And I’m not. Nothing personal, just having some alone time with a good book and a delicious pastry. Go away.

So that’s the first limit – I can’t loiter quite as much as perhaps I might like to. And when I do loiter, I need to at least look like I’m busy.

The second limit is the space itself. I am far from being alone in being safety-conscious, and I am acutely aware that as a straight, white, fully-able cisgender individual I don’t face half the limits far too many other people do in negotiating public space and their place in it. I probably don’t feel anywhere near as hemmed in and unsafe. But I have felt both those things when travelling. And it angers me that that’s the case, and that it’s exponentially worse for so many others.

The final limit, and in some ways the one that gets to me most and I don’t know why, is time. Back to Rémi (sound lad, hello if you’re reading) and our chat about wandering Paris. I can’t remember it word for word because it was three years ago, but I think we were talking about our favourite parts of Paris to wander about. He mentioned how atmospheric it is around Notre Dame at night.

“At night?!” I exclaimed. “Around what time?”
“Three, four in the morning.”
“And you’re not scared?”
“No, why would I be scared?”

I would be bricking it. Maybe I’m just especially nervy, but there is no way I would even wander my hometown alone at three in the morning. And I can’t tell you how much I yearn, how much I ACHE, to wander a big city late at night. But I know it’s just not a good idea. Because I’ve been told it and witnessed it enough to know that.

And look, I know in the great scheme of things there are much MUCH worse challenges facing women and other minority groups. And I care about those too, a great deal. But until the day any of us can walk out the door without feeling the need to take just those extra few precautions, even just in our heads, I don’t think we’ll ever really be free.

Rebecca is currently living, working and stumbling through ballet classes in Barcelona. Originally from Kilkenny, she has a degree in European Studies and a Master’s in Gender and Women’s Studies from Trinity College Dublin, and will be doing an LLM in Human Rights Law in Edinburgh this fall.