Mi nombre es Keyla, hoy tengo 22, a penas tenía 13 cuando regresaba de la casa de un amiga … era invierno … no estaba descubierta ni provocativa como suelen aludir a veces para justificar el problema. En la Lima gris (Lima, Perú), de aquella época, caminaba hacia mi casa, pase por la esquina de siempre cuando regresaba del colegio, estaba un anciano sentado aparentemente durmiendo, pase por su lado y me golpeó las nalgas … solo atiné a decirle una grosería pero nadie no me hizo caso, la calle era solitaria y fue la primer experiencia que tuve, tenía mucho miedo y asco. Le comente a mis padres y me dijeron que intentará no pasar por allí en las tardes ni noches, que la calle era solitaria y oscura y que evitara esas situaciones. Hoy tengo 22 años y subo al bus todos los días para ir a la universidad (estudio sociología) y sucede lo mismo, los roces y las m iradas incómodas … el hey nena! hola muñeca! … no faltan en mi rutina diaria, pero hoy con más conocimiento y mas herramientas puedo defenderme y poner un stop a este problema social que es invisibilizado por la gran mayoría.

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

Prevención y tratar el tema como lo que es un problema, no exageraciones de un grupo de feministas, no exageraciones de un grupo de resentidas … no es así. Trata el tema como un problema real, no de hoy pero tomado con mayor relevancia hoy en día. Construir una bese legislativa adecuada, en mi país se evalúa aún el hecho de penalizar esta situación. Educar a las mujeres, dotarlas de herramientas para enfrentar la situación, empoderarlas!!! Hacerles saber que no son ellas las culpables, que no es provocación. Hacer visible el problema en las escuelas y la comunidad.

– Kly

Location: En la calle, Lima, Peru

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
See the book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers for more idea

The first time I was harassed on the street I was only 12. My friends and I were walking down a busy street, I was wearing a sun dress and my friends were in shorts. All of the sudden we hear two old men in a truck whistling at us, calling us baby. I was horrified, and on the brink of tears. I turned to my friends for some comfort or anything that could help and all they did was shrug. When we finally got to the restaurant, I broke down into tears. All I could think was, “How could they even do that!! Couldn’t they tell I was only 12?” The saddest part was that the girls who were with me were younger, and even they knew we couldn’t do much.

– Anonymous

Location: Colorado Blv. Denver, CO

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
See the book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers for more idea

I was around 10 years old when my Aunt and I were going to the mall. But then while I was walking, I saw a group of old people winking at me or like whistling I guess. But during that time, everything around me slowed and I really can’t forget their faces. Then I noticed my aunt was so ahead of me so I ran towards her and told her about it. She said that I shouldn’t mind them and stay strong. I was wearing simple clothes during that time. Just a t-shirt and jeans. I don’t get why would they do that to me, I was just 10 years old during that time. But I am actually starting to wonder if that was because of my necklace. I don’t really know.

Writing this, I am now 14 yrs. old. When I heard about this blog, I remembered the first time I was harassed. I don’t think I remember being harassed after that. But hopefully I wouldn’t be harassed again.

– Anonymous

Location: Singapore

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
See the book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers for more idea

My body always reacts first. My stomach muscles tighten, my fists clench, my heart races. My muscles and organs register the stares before my mind catches on. They recognize the calls before my ears can hear them.

“Hey gorgeous,” the calls say.

“Smile, pretty.”

“Wanna come home with me?”

“I can tie you up real tight.”

Eventually, my mind sets in, and I’m angry, because I have a woman’s body, and for that, I’m unwelcome in public spaces. If I leave my apartment unaccompanied by a man, I’m reminded time and again by men on the street and in the subways that their bodies carry power over mine. The power, which is socially induced and reinforced every generation, allows them to walk alone comfortably at night, and wait for the 2 train unencumbered by sexual harassment poorly masked as a compliment. They remind me that their bodies can intimidate my body. Their bodies can rape my body.

The anger swells as thoughts and feelings of violation and injustice cycle in my mind. I’m angry that I’m sexually harassed by strangers at least once a day. I’m angry that these strangers don’t know or care that their words are degrading, and not flattering. I’m angry that everyone else seems to accept street harassment as an inevitability, and something to work around. Who decided it’s women’s job to work around men’s ignorance? Is teaching men not to catcall even an option?

I’ve become accustomed to responding to my catcallers. Only, in the heat of the moment, my responses are, admittedly, never constructive. I yell back, usually cursing.

“That’s sexual harassment, not a compliment, motherf***er.”

Or, the classic, “Go f*** yourself, asshole.”

The recipients of my wrath don’t seem impressed by my indignation. They walk or bike away, unscathed. The most frustrating part of being catcalled is the anger I’m left with after the moment passes. Even when I respond, the satisfaction of speaking up for myself is diluted by the frustration of knowing these men will never take me seriously.  Maybe it’s because I’m cursing at them. Maybe it’s because I’m a woman, so expressing anger conveys mental imbalance. Either way, I’m dismissed.

I’m fairly convinced that the only way street harassment will ever change is if governments pay attention to the problem. There should be government sponsored signs in public spaces – on the streets, in subway cars, on buses, even in public schools – specifically targeting men who publicly sexually harass women, telling them that their actions are insulting and unacceptable. I’ve started writing to the NYC Mayor’s office every day, explaining the issue and advocating for my campaign idea. Maybe one of these days, the summer intern who reads my emails will pass one of them along.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to endure the blatant stares and presumptuous comments or commands. I don’t have a choice.

Eva Bilick is a proud feminist living in New York City. You can follow her on Twitter @evabilick.