I was living and working in Oak Cliff, a rough area of Dallas, Texas, for about a year. It wasn’t uncommon to have cat-calls or people whistle as you walked down the street. But one time it went too far.

One day I was walking home from work and a truck passed by, rolled down the window, and cat-called. I ignored it and kept walking. The truck decided to take a spin around the block, pull up in a parking lot directly in my path, and the man rolled down his window and beckoned me over. He called, “You need a ride?”

I said no thanks and tried to walk around his truck which was blocking the sidewalk in the parking lot. It was a manual transmission so he could roll backwards and keep me where I was. He then said, “How about I take you out? Why are you by yourself, you’re too pretty to be out on your own. Hop in.”

I looked through the window and said in the best bold faced lie I could come up with, “My fiance wouldn’t exactly take it lightly if I jumped in a car with a random stranger. Excuse Me.”

The man called out again as I walked away. I hurriedly went behind his truck and ducked down the next block and through a few alleys to try and stay off the street in fear that the man was going to follow and continue his approaches. I wouldn’t walk around the neighborhood anymore by myself which now, looking back, was such a shame.

I allowed someone to take control over my life, a person I never saw again, but he had put so much doubt and fear in my mind that I just didn’t feel safe walking alone.

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

I’ve finally found a voice and now speak up, calling the perpetrators out on their actions.

– Anonymous

Location: Dallas, Texas

 

I am 56 years old and I am harassed by thugs in the street EVERY DAY. Some of these men are young enough to be my son. As soon as I have the unmitigated gall to step out of my house, it begins. Men calling me Beyoncé, for some odd reason. Men following me. Men hooting and hollering after me. I go to the grocery store, and I am followed and stalked at the grocery store. There is no escape.

I go to work and am followed and terrorized by a custodian. My health has suffered SEVERLY because of this. A person should not have to go to work every day and put up with sexual harassment on the job after being sexually harassed in the street. I AM 56 YEARS OLD. WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE THEY LOOKING AT. To all of these men, ESPECIALLY the one at work, I say to you: YOU ARE NOT IN CONTROL OF MY LIFE. NO WEAPON FORMED AGAINST ME SHALL PROSPER. YOU THINK I DON’T HAVE A SUPPORT SYSTEM? THINK AGAIN.

– Iris D. Rice

Location: Everywhere I go

Cross-posted with permission from Zine Nineteen

This Sunday my friends and I went to see Lady Gaga at the Roseland Ballroom. There was talk of whether or not we’d dress up in Gaga-esque outfits, but since we knew we’d be standing in line for hours and the weather was pretty rainy and cold, we went for being ourselves.

I decided to wear a v-neck tee, a sweater, cut off Levi jean shorts with stockings, thigh high socks, and boots because despite not dressing this way anymore, the community at a concert (especially a Gaga concert) is a safe space to dress however you’d like. Two years ago, this was my staple outfit, but I’m at a weird fashion period in my life right now. Dressing as “edgy” as I used to feels slightly sophomoric to me–it makes me feel like people take me less seriously. Or maybe it just makes me feel uncomfortable because I feel exposed when men stare and make comments when I dress like that. I used to accept it as fact and simply ask, “Have you never seen legs before?” but now I’d rather not be put in the position of having to ask.

Sunday was a mild day in street harassment. A few men broke their necks to turn around, a few others stared, and on the way to the subway platform, two men turned around and made an “mmm” comment (one that makes me the most uncomfortable of all). *By the way, none of these comments happened AT the concert.* Even before the comment and the looks, with just four inches of my stocking-clad thigh sticking out, I wished I had covered up more.  I wished I had looked less “sexy.” It wasn’t that I felt more insecure than I would have two years ago, it was that I felt unsafe in my clothes.

The more engrossed in feminism I become, the more aware I am of my own safety and place in the world. Men are taught that they “deserve” women and the less a woman wears, the more she is asking for him. It’s brushed off as something that women have to deal with. It’s just a fact of life that we should be afraid to walk home at night and we especially have to fear it if we are wearing something that brings attention to us. Women are taught that if the harassment continues into our thirties and forties that we should feel flattered, like we’ve “still got it.”

I’m not flattered, I’m furious. It is a legitimate safety concern and it does not start with me changing my clothing, it starts with men changing their thinking. Why do men assume that a woman wearing clothes that show her shape want their stares, their comments, their sex? Not one woman is actually flattered when you break your neck to check out her butt. Not one woman is going to sleep with you when you tell her you want to have sex with her as she walks by you. Not one woman is going to give you her number because you saw her texting and said “Text me instead, girl.” Not one woman needs to smile because you think she should. We are not here for you to observe, to touch, or to speak to unsolicited and I’m not sure who gave you the idea that we are, but it needs to change.

Luckily(?), all of these feelings happened to me on International Anti-Street Harassment Week, so I have an outlet. If you’re interested in getting involved, check out events in your area this week here: http://www.meetusonthestreet.org/action/ and join the conversation on Twitter with the hashtag #EndSH.

Leash is the Co-Founder of Zine Nineteen. She is a New York based feminist who spends her free time arguing her point, devouring cheese plates, and talking about her cat.

Aged only 13, while travelling with a younger friend in broad daylight. No one did anything about it even though many could see what was going on. I thought quickly, resulting in a prison sentence for the guy. I’m glad to have sent a message that SH is utterly unacceptable yet while mulling over the issue of SH earlier today, I came to an alarming conclusion; if I experience SH in such a way again I don’t think I would report it to the police due to the time and effort required from me following the incident.

How are we to stop SH if there is a fundamental issue with the way we can end it? Unsafe disturbed and horrible are just a few of the ways I have felt afterwards and similarly to other women who have endured SH, I find myself unwittingly blaming myself; was my skirt too short?

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

Education is key as boys currently learn from a young age that it is acceptable. We need to change this. The media and its blatant objectification of women is partly to blame too as it creates a society in which men feel the need to exert their power over the ‘objects’ and deem it acceptable to get their kicks from the degradation of women.This is unacceptable and needs to change. In schools girls ought to learn how to cope with SH but I would advise making a scene even if you feel embarrassed or wonder how you are going to show your face ever again.

– Anonymous