Dear Cousin,

I cried in the shower this morning, same as yesterday, and the day before. I’m hurt. Badly bruised by your words. I know your words weren’t intended to wound me, but they did.

It was a beautifully hot day in Oakland, and I decided to wear a dress; not to look cute, not to catch anyone’s eye, but because it was hot. I was headed to an event to celebrate mamas, all kinds of families, and life. I tweeted on my phone, smiling to myself, and then it happened. This man in blue walked up close to me and whispered, “Hey Girl, you’re beautiful”, then blew a kiss in my left ear. I could feel the saliva from his kiss land on my earlobe and hair. And like that, he was gone.

It startled me. I wiped my ear clean, several times, but still felt the stinging of his voice in my head. My ear still feels hot and wet from his kiss. There wasn’t enough time for me to yell to tell him to stop, or to ask for help from a passerby. So, I did what most people do these days, I took to Facebook to shout my anger.

‘Really? More street harassment?’ I wrote. ‘Can’t I just wear a dress in 90 degree heat in peace?’ It was the fourth time that day that I had endured harassment while walking around town. Car honks, shouts asking for my number, but this one really got to me. He invaded my personal space, put his face over my shoulder and his lips to my ear. He left me feeling violated.

You responded to my post; I assume to try to make me see the glass half full and feel better. You reminded me that cat callings on the street aren’t a bad thing. “It lets you know that YOU GOT IT!” You told me that I was a ‘walking exhibit’, one that men on the street ‘can look at, but not touch’. When I saw this I froze. Is this what one of my closest cousins thinks of me? All of my hard work and education amounts to a walking exhibit, not even a person.

I cried. I’m embarrassed.

Am I a fool for hoping that you would see me as more than that? I thought you were one of the ‘good’ guys – one of those stand-up men that most people dream about. I have always been so proud to share how amazing you are; a teacher, a man who never spoke ill of his girlfriends, a man with whom I could have an honest and loving conversation. You were supposed to have my back. I chose to stand up at your wedding, not because you and your wonderful wife asked me, but because I wanted to stand and support you, as you had throughout my life. I wanted to honor you the way you have always honored the women in our family. Was I wrong?

I cried in the shower this morning. As I lather my body, I can’t help but be mad at it. Mad at my curves. Mad at my skin. Mad at my face. I scrub my ear over and over again. It still feels dirty. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make it as clean as my other one.

I need you on my team, cousin. I need you to understand why the behavior of your friends is not okay. It isn’t simple appreciation of my looks; it’s harassment. I need you to support me and understand why women like me should be free to walk down the street without men invading our space, yelling at us, honking at us. We need to be seen as people in public spaces, not exhibits for men to vote on with cheers as we walk by. I need you to support me and tell your friends that the way to approach me for a date is to tell me how smart I am, engage me in a conversation, ask me how my day is going – all before telling me that I’m pretty. You need to help stop this culture of degradation of women that leads to violence, rape, and death. One in three women will be abused at some point in her life. It has happened in our family, and it starts with this culture. When you stand by and let your friends do this to me, you’re hurting me too.

I’m tired of being told I look like Halle Berry, Beyoncé, Alicia Keys, Mariah Carey, and any other light-skinned celebrity out there – because let’s be honest, I don’t. At all. Every time someone says that to me, I know it’s because they didn’t take 30 seconds to look at my face, just the 10 it takes to compare my measurements to Beyoncé’s. Next time your friends want to compliment me, have them tell me I remind them of Angela Davis’ spirit or Audre Lorde’s courage. Try, “Damn lady, you seem like you could be our next senator! Can I take you out?” They’d have my number in seconds.

Cousin, I love you. You’re a thoughtful teacher, a wonderful uncle, respectful husband, a strong Black role model, and will one day be a father. In your students, I hope that you will instill the radical ideas that not only are girls and women people who deserve equality, but they are of value beyond their curves. We deserve to be judged on the content of our character, not on the beauty of our face.

I want to know that when I walk down the street or in to a boardroom, people aren’t judging whether my skirt fits well around my ‘booty’, but how much my words will inspire them to create change. I can’t do this alone. I need you and other ‘good’ men like you to be my allies. I need you to stand up and call out injustices when I am not in the room. I need you to echo my voice when others won’t hear me. I need you to help make that change.

The next time you hear that I am upset for how I was treated on the street, don’t just offer up words that say it’s okay. Get angry like I am and vow to help change our society. And next time you see a guy shouting at a woman on the street, turn to him and tell him to stop, because she is your cousin.

– Renee Bracey Sherman

Location: Oakland, CA

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I was driving with my sister on I-55 to Midway airport to pick up my grandparents. We had the windows down because it was the first beautiful day we had seen this spring in Chicago, and we were enjoying ourselves. Traffic was at a near-standstill when I heard noises coming from the white van next to us. Two men in a van were cat calling my sister and I. They were complete idiots; they whistled and kept hollering at us for well over 40 minutes in this traffic. I was concerned that traffic was moving so slow that they might try to exit their vehicle and approach.

I told my sister to ignore it and I also attempted to ignore it as best I could. I didn’t turn my head to look at them a single time, but they hollered at us for 40+ minutes.

It was demeaning, annoying, and incredibly rude. I didn’t want to roll the window up because why should I have to do such a thing on a beautiful day? Certainly not because of two jerks.

– Katrina

Location: Chicago, IL, USA (on I-55 WB before Cicero)

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As I passed two guys on the sidewalk, one started to shout, “Giddy up!” repeatedly. I found it really unpleasant, but I didn’t say anything at the time.

A little later, I was walking back that way and I asked the man whether he’d been shouting that at me. He had, but said he was “only joking”, which is a pathetic excuse, but he also said twice that he was “really sorry”. I was pleased to think he’d realized that it had been unpleasant for me—but that was just wishful thinking on my part, as he followed up the second apology almost immediately by asking, “Can I have a kiss?”

I was furious and swore at him as I walked off, but he just kept on screaming, “Can I have a kiss?” after me, over and over again. Once I was about half a block away he resorted to ear-piercing whistles instead.

Another guy, walking by me, remarked that I shouldn’t take any notice of him, that he was just a jerk. It wasn’t the ideal response, but I still appreciated the sentiment. I just wish decent men like that would publicly call out the harasser instead.

I’m 35 years old and 6’1″, and I’ve been cat called with varying frequency for 20 or so years, but these very explicit exercises of male power over me still make me feel intensely frustrated, unsettled, and belittled. I so wish there was something, anything I could do in the moment that would shift the power dynamic in these situations, so that I wasn’t left feeling so damn powerless.

– Monique

Location: 110th St. and Lexington Ave., New York, NY

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I have been a victim of this for a very long time. I have had to leave town only to have this issue follow me. I have had guys to yell out very explicit things to me and call me derogatory names. I’ve had them invade my personal space and make kissing noises and when I told them to go away they wouldn’t. They just would continue and the public doesn’t respond to it very well. The police also don’t take it seriously.

– Anonymous

Location: on the bus, standing at a bus stop, walking down the streets

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When I lived in Old Hull (Quebec, Canada), I experienced a lot of street harassment. In the summer, it was a nightly occurrence. It became normal to me. I realize that there is prostitution there. The only time it bothered me was when I was threatened or followed. This was one of those times —

I worked 3 to 11 p.m. in the east end of Ottawa and took the bus home. I would get back to Hull around midnight every night. I would have to walk from Promenade du Portage and Eddy Street to Charlevoix. It was no surprise that when I began my walk home that some guy shouted, ‘Hey, you working?” I ignored it and continued working. I heard the same voice. “Hey bitch, you working?” I turned my head and saw four men in a car. I yelled, “NO” and walked faster.

They drove off. I thought they left. They just circled the block and approached me again. “Wanna party with us?” I yelled “NO.” They drove away again. I hope that they were going to leave me alone. I felt frightened and unsure what I would do if they stopped the car. How could I defend myself against four men?

They came back. This is the basic conversation that followed, “Why don’t you wanna party with us?”
“I don’t know you.”
“So what we just wanna have some fun?”
“I’m not going to get into a car with four men that I don’t know.”

This is when they stopped the car. One of the opened the back passenger door and yelled, “Get in the car b***h.” I was terrified. I froze. I screamed, “NO!” They left again. I walked even faster. Then I started to run. I thought they finally left. I turned left onto Charlevoix. That’s when the car reappeared. They stopped again. Again there was an argument.

“What’s your problem? Just get in the car!” Again I say that I am not getting in the car and would just like to be left alone.

“Well we aren’t doing anything wrong. You’re just a loud mouth b***h.”

I said “You’re right I’m a loud mouth b***h.” I then began screaming, “I bet that I’m so loud that the cop at the lights can hear me.”

“We ain’t doing nothing wrong b***h.”

“Tell it to the cop.”

They left. I could feel my bones shake, but I made it home safely.

I have had many reactions to this story. Many reactions were to blame me.

One woman behaved as though I should be ashamed. “Oh my god, I hope that you don’t tell this story to anyone?”

Many questioned me. “What were you wearing? Why were walking alone? Why were you walking at night? Only w****s walk alone, especially at night”

Some even blamed where I lived. “What do expect living there? If you want respect, move to a good neighborhood. You can’t blame those poor boys. All the broads in Hull are either selling it or giving it away. Why else would anyone go to Hull?”

When I was asked “what I expected?”, I answered, “I expect to be treated with respect. This being failed, I expect people to F*** OFF the first time I tell them.”

– Jennifer

Location: Eddy Street, Gatineau, Quebec, Canada

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