I was about to turn into the driveway of my apartment parking lot when a van very nearly backed up into me. I gave a quick toot of my horn, the van stopped, then backed up more, forcing me to back up out of the way, so I didn’t get hit. The automatic gate opened, and the van went in, followed by my car. I pulled into a spot, and got out with my shopping bags.

The van pulled up to a dumpster and a large man got out and picked through the trash. I said to him, “You might want to look behind you, you almost hit me.”

He turned and said, ” What? I can’t hear you what did you say?” I repeated my statement. He began to literally charge towards me. I considered running, but stood quietly, thinking he was hard of hearing. He stopped about 6 feet away and began to yell loudly at me about how my blinker wasn’t on, do I think I own the world, I should shut up, keep my mouth shut, don’t run my mouth, who do I think I am, and… he ranted on yelling all the while.

I said, ‘ I live here in this senior citizen complex. I have a right to be here.”

He is definitely under the 55 age limit. He may live with an older adult. The rules are pretty nebulous at times, according to the whims of the HOA. I asked him to stop yelling and, “Chill out.”

He kept yelling the same things at me, repeating himself. I told him he is rude and should have been taught by his mother how to be polite and treat women with respect. Then I turned my back and walked away while he was still yelling at passersby about the bitch who thinks she knows it all, etc.

I’m 60 years old and I’ve owned my senior condo here for two years, and except for having my bicycle stolen, I’ve felt pretty safe up to now. I’m really jittery tonight. I hate being bullied by men. I’m a survivor of child sexual abuse, and domestic abuse. I have been diagnosed with PTSD, and space out easily. I really need to feel safe where I live, and I feel ok about speaking up, but not about the bullying. I hate going into hyper alert mode where I’m supposed to be safe. It’s funny, I never thought about using my pepper spray, or threatening to call the cops. If he had come closer or reached for me, I would have reacted then.

– Jasmina

Location: Outside my building. Fullerton, CA

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Yesterday, I went to the grocery store.

I was wearing tight, black skinny jeans and a white beater under a light gray zip-up hoodie and a faux leather jacket.  I was minding my own business walking home, with a leopard-print backpack full of the ingredients I’d need to make a Caprese panini when I got back to my kitchen.  I was hungry.  And I was excited.

I live in a very safe, very young neighborhood in South Philly, crawling with twenty- and thirty-something hipsters.  My street is a popular spot for nightlife on the weekends, with its multitude of bars and restaurants, and the neighborhood is extremely friendly and well-lit.  It feels less like living in a huge city, and more like living in a town.  Because of the demographics of the neighborhood, there are very few families around – which means very few kids.

As I was walking home from the grocery store, I spotted ahead of me a small group of boys who I guessed to be around twelve years old.  There were three of them sitting on a stoop, in their school uniforms, having just been dismissed.  They were singing—well, okay, maybe “singing” isn’t the right word.  They were making screeching sounds in various pitches to what one could call a melody.  I believe this constitutes “singing” to a twelve-year-old boy.  Two older boys – fourteen, maybe? – walked by then, and they stopped in front of the stoop.

“Shut up,” one of the older boys, clearly a friend, complained.

“Yeah,” said the other.  “You guys are obnoxious.  Shut up.  A girl’s coming.”

And I walked by.

“Yeah, I’d like to get that pussy.”

I stopped.  I didn’t physically stop, no.  I didn’t want them to have any indication that the catcall had fazed me.  The boy who said it, one of the younger ones on the stoop, I figured, was just trying to look cool to his friends, and my responding would only give him twelve-year-old street cred.  But in the split second after his remark, my mind stood still and my heart sank as I made the quick decision to walk on, seemingly unbothered.

The group of boys gasped, and I heard one of the older boys whisper: “Dude, what the fuck?  That’s not cool, man.”

And then, from another one of the twelve-year-olds: “Yeah, girl, you got a nice ass.”

When I stopped in my tracks, before I even turned around, I could hear the boys jump up and huddle together.  Clearly, they hadn’t thought out the aftermath.  Obviously, they didn’t think that a woman walking down the street would actually stop; an adult wouldn’t bother with their nonsense, they probably thought.

I turned on my heels, blood boiling, to find the younger boys pointing at one another, trying to convince me of who the culprits were, while the older boys hid behind them, mouths agape.

“You know what though?” I asked, clearly mad, but keeping my cool.  “When you get older, and you talk to a woman like that, it’s never going to work.”

Anger started rising in me, as I thought about all of the men in the entirety of my life who have thought it was useful or worthwhile to hurl lewd comments at me in hopes of either getting in my pants or, at the very least, getting a reaction out of me.  I thought about all of the societal pressures put on boys to posture masculinity.  I thought about all of the confusing messages in the media.  I thought about all of the grown men in those boys’ lives who would’ve slapped them– either in the face or on the back – for saying that to a woman.  And I was incensed.  Livid. Not necessarily at the words that they said to me, but at the idea that we live in a society that allows it – not just a society that is forgiving of violence against women, but a society that promotes dangerous expectations for masculinity.  Was I the victim in this situation?  Sure.  But you know who else was?  Those boys.

“You better get out of that fucking habit now,” I spat, “because that’s fucking disrespectful as shit.”

Ashamed, the offenders looked down at the sidewalk; I watched as their smiles faded into blushes as they realized that they had made a mistake (or, at the very least, that they had gotten caught).  The other boys broke out into an applause, shouting to me, “Thank you!  Thank you! Someone needed to tell them that wasn’t okay!”  And to them: “We told you.  We told you.”

And I want to be pissed off.  I do.  I felt a heaviness in my heart – a solid block for my solar plexus – for the rest of the day.  And later on, when I tried to be sexual with my boyfriend, I held back and had to shake the thoughts out of my head, because I was so affected.  But I see a glimmer of hope here.

Because they knew it was wrong.

Because the bulk of them were offended by their friends’ actions.

Because they sided with me on the issue.

Because they’re young.  And impressionable.  And I said something.

So maybe next time one of them thinks about catcalling a woman on the street, he’ll think twice.  And maybe he’ll remember what happened yesterday, and he’ll think better of it.  And maybe it’ll only ever happen that once.  But a small victory is a victory nonetheless.

So I have some hope that maybe someday, we’ll stop raising our sons to think that violence is a way to prove their worth.

– Melissa A. Fabello

L0cation: Philadelphia, PA

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I was sitting in a central line Tube train, on the way to work in the morning. It was fairly busy (usual rush hour crowds), and two men got into the carriage a stop after me.

I was sitting in one of the window seats and they came and stood by me. They weren’t speaking in English but every now and then would say the word ‘sex’ loudly and then look at me, laugh, and then carry on talking. It was plainly obvious that they were talking about me, and this coupled with their staring made me more uncomfortable than I have been in a long while (I’m afraid I’ve gotten used to the odd lingering stare on the trains).

I waited for a bit to see if they would stop. They didn’t. I then made eye contact with the man nearest, and it was fairly stern eye contact as I wasn’t very happy! This seemed to make him laugh and they carried on.

I thought about getting off the train and then decided that there was no way they were going to make me leave. I turned to the one nearest to me and asked in a strong tone what his problem was. He replied ‘nothing’ to which I said ‘good, then you can stop staring at me’. I asked the other one the same question and he too made an excuse and said he’d been staring into the carriage behind me. I asked them to stop.

They stood there for about another minute or so and then slowly shuffled away into another part of the train.

I was shaking inside, but so glad that I’d made a stand. There were a couple of men on either side who would probably have heard me but they didn’t intervene or even ask if I was okay. Oh well, I stood up for myself and of that I’m proud! Maybe they’ll think again before they start harassing someone else. I hope.

– SM

Location: Central Line tube between Gants Hill and Leytonstone, London, UK

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