I was walking home from school and a car followed alongside me for about 10 minutes, constantly asking me if I wanted a ride several times. The last time he asked I looked him in the eye and said, “You’re obviously not going any faster than I am, so why would I want a ride?” He sped away.

Another time I was walking the same route and a man sitting on a bench asked me to come over and talk to him. I ignored him and kept walking. He shouted at me, “You’re not pretty enough to ignore me.”

The worst story I have was the time my female roommate and I met up with a boy in a public place to sell him her bike. He gave us cash, we gave him the bike, and we went our separate ways. As we were heading home, a man who had been sitting nearby asked my roommate how much money she got from the sale. She told him that it wasn’t any of his business and we continued walking home. He ran into his car and started driving alongside us, screaming profanities at us, namely calling us cunts. When it came time for us to cross the street, he attempted to run us over. We jumped out of the way and he sped off. I wasn’t able to remember his plates.

All three of these events left me shaken up and angry. We don’t owe anything to these strange men and I don’t know where they get the idea that we do.

– Jackie

Location: Savannah, GA

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It was around 10 p.m. and I was walking home from a friend’s house. My friend lived a little less than a mile away from me. Walking past a bodega, a tall man spoke and immediately asked for my number. I replied, “No thank you” and I kept walking.

About five blocks later, this same man pulls up in a car. A woman was driving. the man motioned me to come closer to the car, kind of like a, “Hey come over here” wave. Frustrated, I told him to fuck off.

Next thing I know, this man gets out the car and starts following me. It was the weirdest thing. Once I started walking faster, he started running towards me. Then I took off running. The man chased me and I finally got to the main street (at the time I lived right on 7th Ave) and didn’t see him behind me.

Once I put my key in the door, I looked over my shoulder and saw him in the car pointing at me and they drove off. what the fuck was that? I’m still confused about the whole thing. It happened 3 years ago. What was this man trying to do? Was he trying to heal a bruised ego by harassing someone who turned him down? How could a woman take place in the harassment?

What hurt the most was when I called two of my closest friends (roommates who are both male) to come by and just hang with me until I felt safe and they chose to stay at some party. Was I wrong to think that I needed a trustworthy man around to help the situation? Or is it wrong for men and women alike to think that the only time a woman is in danger is AFTER she’s been physically violated? I guess it’s wrong for both.

– Anonymous

Location: Harlem, NY

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Although I certainly have direct experiences with street harassment, this story is a little different — but still very upsetting. Last night, an acquaintance/former classmate posted this status on Facebook: “Ladies: I honked because you’re hot, no need to flip me off.” In the few minutes between reading this and deleting this person, it had already accumulated 12 “likes”, from both men and women. Perhaps the most bewildering part of this is that the status was actually posted by a woman.

Regardless of the sex of the poster, however, such a public endorsement of street harassment is sickening to me. The worst part is that all of those people “liking” and commenting on the status about how “funny” it is most likely don’t even know that what they’re making jokes about and encouraging is a very real problem; a problem that is part of the even bigger issue of how women are seen and treated all over the world. It’s beyond sad to know we can barely walk down the street without being honked at, catcalled, or followed. It’s terrible that we’re expected to take it as a compliment. Even worse, it’s such a common part of society that many women can’t even see what’s happening.

– Anonymous

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I went out for a low-key night with a friend in a relatively safe, family friendly area of D.C. We bought ice cream and were enjoying eating and walking down the street, until a group of men (you know the type: reclining, legs spread apart, hands on their crotches, basking in their privilege) began shouting “howyoudoins” and commenting lewdly on how I was eating my ice cream. We rolled our eyes and kept walking, albeit more quickly.

Hardly a block further down, we encountered another group of men, one member of which swaggered very close to me and mumbled something vaguely suggestive and obnoxious. Later when we passed the same block, I put on a hooded sweatshirt, hoping that I wouldn’t be recognized and that if perhaps I was showing less skin, I would be left alone. As I got on the metro, the same man got on and began harassing almost every young woman he passed. After he got off, we all shared a collective sigh of relief and a laugh or two, but the general tone was that, as women, it’s exhausting to constantly have to be on edge – calculating escape routes, preparing firm (yet not “over-dramatic”) rejections, tensing our bodies just in case, considering what readily available object works best as a self-defense weapon, wondering if it’s our fault – our clothing, our make-up, our demeanor – and if other people see it that way.

We would love to be able to feel at home in our own city.

– E. Richardson

Location: 601 F Street NW Washington, D.C.

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