The first time I was harassed on the street I was only 12. My friends and I were walking down a busy street, I was wearing a sun dress and my friends were in shorts. All of the sudden we hear two old men in a truck whistling at us, calling us baby. I was horrified, and on the brink of tears. I turned to my friends for some comfort or anything that could help and all they did was shrug. When we finally got to the restaurant, I broke down into tears. All I could think was, “How could they even do that!! Couldn’t they tell I was only 12?” The saddest part was that the girls who were with me were younger, and even they knew we couldn’t do much.

– Anonymous

Location: Colorado Blv. Denver, CO

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I was around 10 years old when my Aunt and I were going to the mall. But then while I was walking, I saw a group of old people winking at me or like whistling I guess. But during that time, everything around me slowed and I really can’t forget their faces. Then I noticed my aunt was so ahead of me so I ran towards her and told her about it. She said that I shouldn’t mind them and stay strong. I was wearing simple clothes during that time. Just a t-shirt and jeans. I don’t get why would they do that to me, I was just 10 years old during that time. But I am actually starting to wonder if that was because of my necklace. I don’t really know.

Writing this, I am now 14 yrs. old. When I heard about this blog, I remembered the first time I was harassed. I don’t think I remember being harassed after that. But hopefully I wouldn’t be harassed again.

– Anonymous

Location: Singapore

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My body always reacts first. My stomach muscles tighten, my fists clench, my heart races. My muscles and organs register the stares before my mind catches on. They recognize the calls before my ears can hear them.

“Hey gorgeous,” the calls say.

“Smile, pretty.”

“Wanna come home with me?”

“I can tie you up real tight.”

Eventually, my mind sets in, and I’m angry, because I have a woman’s body, and for that, I’m unwelcome in public spaces. If I leave my apartment unaccompanied by a man, I’m reminded time and again by men on the street and in the subways that their bodies carry power over mine. The power, which is socially induced and reinforced every generation, allows them to walk alone comfortably at night, and wait for the 2 train unencumbered by sexual harassment poorly masked as a compliment. They remind me that their bodies can intimidate my body. Their bodies can rape my body.

The anger swells as thoughts and feelings of violation and injustice cycle in my mind. I’m angry that I’m sexually harassed by strangers at least once a day. I’m angry that these strangers don’t know or care that their words are degrading, and not flattering. I’m angry that everyone else seems to accept street harassment as an inevitability, and something to work around. Who decided it’s women’s job to work around men’s ignorance? Is teaching men not to catcall even an option?

I’ve become accustomed to responding to my catcallers. Only, in the heat of the moment, my responses are, admittedly, never constructive. I yell back, usually cursing.

“That’s sexual harassment, not a compliment, motherf***er.”

Or, the classic, “Go f*** yourself, asshole.”

The recipients of my wrath don’t seem impressed by my indignation. They walk or bike away, unscathed. The most frustrating part of being catcalled is the anger I’m left with after the moment passes. Even when I respond, the satisfaction of speaking up for myself is diluted by the frustration of knowing these men will never take me seriously.  Maybe it’s because I’m cursing at them. Maybe it’s because I’m a woman, so expressing anger conveys mental imbalance. Either way, I’m dismissed.

I’m fairly convinced that the only way street harassment will ever change is if governments pay attention to the problem. There should be government sponsored signs in public spaces – on the streets, in subway cars, on buses, even in public schools – specifically targeting men who publicly sexually harass women, telling them that their actions are insulting and unacceptable. I’ve started writing to the NYC Mayor’s office every day, explaining the issue and advocating for my campaign idea. Maybe one of these days, the summer intern who reads my emails will pass one of them along.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to endure the blatant stares and presumptuous comments or commands. I don’t have a choice.

Eva Bilick is a proud feminist living in New York City. You can follow her on Twitter @evabilick.

I was at Queen Street with my friends and this old man was following us and winking at us.I personally wasn’t scared because he was very old and it was hard for him to walk. Then we went into the store and came back and we had to cross the street and he was also there trying to cross the street and he was winking at us. It was pretty creepy.

– Hafsa

Location: Canada

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
See the book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers for more idea