Stop Street Harassment

Making Public Spaces Safe and Welcoming

“The asshole kicked a bunch of slush all up my legs and skirt.”

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I was in Herald Square and then I hear this guy behind me saying, “Mmmm what a nice ass i would love to f the s(*#t out of you..mmm you like dressing like a slut dont you.”

I was walking to work and I had my cocktail dress on because, duh, I’m a cocktail waitress.

He kept saying this stuff then I feel cold and wet all on the back of my legs and in my boots. The asshole kicked a bunch of slush all up my legs and skirt. I was freezing..I didn’t even see who exactly it was because there were like 5 people there. Didn’t anyone else see this ass do this? What the hell would make someone want to do that?

– Shelly

Location: Herald Square, New York City, New York

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Not just a sec

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One-second.

It probably took you one second to read that.  Which may be why I think one-second isn’t usually considered a long time.  It’s been ingrained so deeply in me that one-second isn’t a long time. I mean, my whole life I’ve used one-second to communicate that I would be available immediately.  When I’m on my way out the door,

“Ben, it’s time to go!”

“One-second!”

But, that’s how it has worked in my private life. Out in public, feminism has got me reconsidering how long one-second really is.  I just need a minute to explain.

To all the single folks out here, I’m not sure if you can relate to this, but do you ever have one of those moments where you end up seeing somebody who is just so dang beautiful? So amazing it kinda hurts, right? Like, “wow, that person is way out of my league.”

*Lonely sigh*

Even though I really don’t believe in the whole “league” system and I’m more of a beauty is deeper than the skin kinda guy, I end up having those moments.

But, what about those moments that last a little longer than one second? Have you ever had or noticed somebody having one of those? Maybe a couple seconds, maybe a head turn, or maybe staring.  These are the moments that feminism asks us to recognize as problematic. Feminism asks us to unravel the thread of events leading up to this and diagnose how this ends up happening. Not so surprisingly, a sex, gender, sexuality analysis ends up doing the trick.

I try to speak from my own perspective. So, I’m writing this article as a cisgender man with heterosexual privilege.  I’ve been trained to feel preeeeetty comfortable taking up a lot of space.  I’ve also been taught that “normal” sexuality for me is to be voyeuristic. Put these two together and I’m taught to stare. Which is a tidier way of being honest; it’s ogling. In a heterosexual context, I’m told women are mere objects for me to enjoy.  So, I’ve been trained to look at women. I mean LOOK. So then these seconds that last a little longer are considered ok.* I’m taught that if I’m noticed, look away. Furthermore, if I suspect they’ve turned the other direction, even slightly, then the coast is clear.

But, the coast clearly isn’t. Over time, I’ve been blessed to have been exposed to blogs like this, organizations like hollaback!, Men Can Stop Rape, and countless others that say “waaaait a minute, what you’re asked to do has serious negative repercussions”. I sincerely thank them. These organizations have given me the analysis to realize that the one-second difference between one-second and two seconds can be huge. It can be the difference in somebody’s comfort, it can be the difference in somebody wanting to go with out sunglasses on a cloudy day or having to wear them to look uninviting. It can be the difference between the fastest route home, or, the longer route to avoid more attention. Or maybe it’s the difference between somebody keeping their head up or looking at their feet.  No matter what the impact is, there still is an “is”. There’s still an impact.  One-second may not be harassment. I’m not really sure. But, I am sure that cumulatively, it is.

It has taken me a long time to realize that harassment isn’t always verbal, and it took one-second to prove that to me.

* To be clear, this post isn’t try to create a formula for what constitutes harassment. It’s not about one-second, or two-seconds. It’s not about counting seconds. It’s more about realizing that every second counts.

 

– Ben Privot
Founder, The Consensual Project
www.theconsensualproject.com

This post is part of the weekly blog series by male allies. We need men involved in the work to end the social acceptability of street harassment and to stop the practice, period. If you’d like to contribute to this weekly series, please contact me.

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Repeat harasser near Starbucks in Georgetown

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I’ve had it with this loser!

Once again, I got off the bus and was heading toward my office, when I see this guy dancing on the street, with his not-so-fly moves. I walk close to the curb to avoid having to walk directly past him, when I see it’s my “friend” who I’ve had repeated run-ins with in the past. It makes me grateful that I followed my gut feeling and avoided walking directly past him. However, he is pretty much in the faces of other women who walk past him, with his “Howya doin’?”s and this and that.

He says the same to me but I choose not to respond to him, and he then immediately says “Aw, HELL NO!” at me. He then starts with his corny dancing again.

Save for around the holiday time when he called me “baby” and wished me happy holidays, this guy has been randomly outside this Starbucks with his rude and obnoxious commentary towards me. This guy’s obviously got problems.

I pulled out my phone camera to catch him in the middle of one of his lame dance routines, but he sees me and ducks into the Starbucks. Coward.

As soon as I got to my office I called MPD. I told them I’ve reported him to them before and that I’m tired of dealing with him. If they do check up on him I want them to do something with him this time. Refer him to a shelter or something and get him off the street so he’ll stop harassing women like me who are simply trying to get to work. I don’t ever want to see him on the street again!

– Tired of Being Harassed

Location: In front of the Starbucks at M Street & Wisconsin Avenue, DC

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“What’s wrong with that? Isn’t it just a bit of spanking?”

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January 16, 2010 2: 30 a.m.

Walking down Cornmarket street in the heart of Oxford I stopped because I heard a guy shouting at a young woman, “Fuck you! You fucking bastard!” He cornered her in the entrance of Pret A Manger and when she tried to leave he hit her. In the face. Once, -twice and many times more.

I did not wait for him to stop before I turned to my friend who instinctively approached the guy but I held her back as we are two females alone. Instead, I stopped a couple who walked by and asked whether they had seen the police, at this time of night there are many of them around the town center. The helpful young man ran off and returned with two security people.

All three men walked at a leisurely pace towards the victim and perpetrator. They were clearly at loss for what to do. One of them approached the couple and asked, “Is everything alright?” The victim was now on the floor, in the corner of the entrance to the store. The man in front of her. The security person, only upon our insistence that things are not all right, called the police.

Meanwhile both my friend and I walked off to find police officers. I stopped a police car at the corner of Cornmarket and St. George Street and old the female officer that I saw a man beating up a woman. They drove the 50 meters to the incident. They did not even get out of the car, but the perpetrator came to the police car window and they talked. They drove off almost immediately.

My friend and I were still standing at the corner when we saw the guy running towards us, and we ran.

When I turned around to check whether he was still following us, we see him with the girl again. She was screaming and walking along St. George with him screaming back at her. My friend and I ran to the next police couple (always man and woman) at the corner of St. George and New Inn Hall Street. Again, I briefly told them what is up. Their response is something along these lines: Well, we know. Somebody’s already checked and things are ok.

Upon our insistence that things are not ok and he is abusing her about 80 meters up the street, the male police officer turns to us and says: So what’s wrong with that? Isn’t it just a bit of spanking?

We all walked back and saw her cornered into another entrance of yet another store. She did not attempt to fight back, she received her lot. This is clearly not the first time that she has been abused nor will it be the last time – and the police did their part to ensure this won’t be the last time…

What remains of the situation is an utter disbelief at the response of the law enforcement in this country. Is domestic violence here so pervasive that a public display of it is not of interest to four different police officers, two men and two women? Is both the security personnel and the police so badly trained that they don’t know how to interfere in this situation than to speak exclusively with the perpetrator and at best with the victim in his immediate and physical presence?

We literally had to convince all of those who were supposed to provide help and security that a crying woman in the corner is not ok. I feel helpless, angry and frustrated beyond belief that the physical and emotional abuse of this young woman tonight  was not prevented despite our best efforts. Who would have thought that the police we turned to did not even perceive hitting of women on the street as an offense???

All this is happening not in Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia or other such “misogynistic” countries but right here under our very nose in Oxford, England, in 2011. What remains for me to do other than share this event with you?

– Marcia

Location: Oxford, UK

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Volumes of unwanted attention in Invercargill, New Zealand

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Having read many of the stories in this blog it is coming back to me just how many times I was harassed while living in Invercargill, arse end of the world.

During my two years in Invercargill, I was ordered to smile on multiple occasions, once had, “SUBWAY, EAT FRESH” (?!) screamed into my ear, told I was a f**cking bitch when I didn’t respond to an obnoxious, “Hi!” (those last two were both kids under the age of 12 years, but still male). I was hassled on the street for having pink hair, or wearing unusual stockings and regularly honked at when walking home in school uniform. A bunch of obnoxious guys made clicking noises (like “giddy-up horsey” type ones at me in the supermarket (that one really pissed off my boyfriend).

I don’t remember my time in that city fondly, but not since reading this did I figure out why I had such a lasting impression of people down their as being closed minded, obnoxious and unfriendly. All your stories have made these experiences come rushing back to me. Never before or since have I experienced such a sheer volume of unwanted comments and attention as I did in that city.

– Anonymous

Location: Invercargill, NZ

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