I am a 26 year old Canadian woman, currently in my second year as an English teacher in Incheon, South Korea. There are many reasons why I love living in this country, but I have found that street harassment is a huge issue here. I feel that it is important to talk about a couple of my experiences, as more and more young women come to this country to teach.

Simply being a foreign woman seems to be an invitation for unwelcome comments or attention, especially in smaller towns where foreigners are rare. I have discussed this with Korean friends, and I have been told that many of the sex workers in South Korea come from Eastern European countries, and also a lot of the pornography that circulates is imported from Japan, Europe or North America (making, selling, and distributing pornography is illegal in South Korea). This perpetuates a certain reputation that foreign women are all sex workers and “sluts”. Men will make these comments or advances hoping that the woman is either a prostitute, or is “easy” like the women in the pornography they’ve seen. Or perhaps they just look at foreign women as easy targets – we can’t speak Korean so we can’t do anything about the comments, right?

In groups, and in the daytime, I feel very safe in Korea. However when I am alone, especially at night, I walk the streets with my head down and do not make eye contact with any man I pass. I have been catcalled by men young and old on the street, in restaurants, and even in the hallways of my own apartment building. Sometimes it is in English (“Wow, sexy! Are you Russian?” – which essentially means, “Are you a prostitute?”) and other times it is in Korean (“Olma-eyo?” which means, “How much is it?”). It is not always just words, either.

Three weeks ago I was in Hongdae, which is a popular area in Seoul for younger people to dance and drink on weekends. I was at one of my favourite clubs with a group of friends – men and women, Koreans and foreigners. While we were dancing, a young Korean man walked by and lifted up the back of my skirt, showing my underwear to whoever was behind me. I tried to grab the man’s wrist and yelled out at him, but he kept walking. I don’t think he realized we had Koreans with us, because he was extremely taken aback when one of our friends followed him and confronted him in Korean. He pretended he didn’t know what we were talking about, but I could tell he was mortified that he got caught. Even though I was glad the guy didn’t get away with it, I was extremely shaken up and embarrassed by what happened, and left immediately.
There was another incident in March of last year, as well. I kept this to myself for a very long time, because I find it difficult to talk about.
I had only been in Korea for three months at the time. It was a Friday night, about midnight, and I had been out for dinner and drinks with my co-workers. They made sure our taxi dropped me off right on the corner of my block so I wouldn’t have to walk far by myself. I literally had a two minute walk to my apartment.

As I was on my way, a drunk old Korean man stumbled past me and called out to me. He seemed lost and confused. I stopped, thinking he might need help. He kept trying to talk to me in Korean, but I held out my hands, trying to signal that I didn’t know any Korean. He stumbled forward and hooked his arm through mine, and leaned on me as if he couldn’t walk any further by himself. I was taken aback, but unsure as to what to do. At the time I was just learning about Korean culture, and I had been told respecting your elders is extremely important. There was a convenience store a little ways away, so I thought I should walk him to the store where he could use their phone or talk to the cashier in his own language. I took a few steps with him in that direction, when suddenly he turned and grabbed me close. He was a lot stronger than I would have guessed, and his breath reeked of Soju. He grabbed at my breasts and butt through my winter coat, so hard that he was hurting me even through al the layers of clothing. He was trying to open-mouth kiss me, so I put my hand over his face and shoved him away. He kept coming at me and grabbing me and wouldn’t let me go. At this point I was crying and calling for help. A car drove by and pulled over, and a younger guy rolled down his window and yelled at the old man, who bolted down the street, apparently not so weak and lost after all…

For a long time I have held this memory with a lot of shame and embarrassment. I know that what happened isn’t my fault, but how could I have been so naive? I realize now that I never should have stopped, and I should have treated a creepy, drunk old man in Korea the same way that I would have treated a creepy, drunk old man in Canada – just avoid him.

I would also like to clarify that I am not trying to paint a picture of Korean men as terrible people who all harass women on the street – it is, of course, not something that every man does. However I have been the victim of street harassment more times in just over a year in South Korea than I have in my entire life back in Canada, and I am not even close to alone on this. Two of my friends were using public toilets, and looked up to see Korean men watching them over the stall walls. I’ve heard multiple stories about foreign women being groped in subways, the bus, elevators and clubs. It is clearly an issue that needs to be discussed.

– Anonymous

Location: Incheon, South Korea

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Check out the new book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers!

 

The autumn sky is turquoise, the leaves newly yellow, the air unseasonably warm. I quit work early, too nice to stay indoors; these days are fleeting in Oregon.

IT begins as I exit my neighborhood and ride past the construction site. Their cause is noble, returning a duck pond to a salmon run, but the mirrored stares of the workers follow me the length of the chain link fence. I enter a quiet side road, ride in the center of the street, eye each parked van for predators. An ajar driver’s side door sends me reeling into the oncoming lane; a factoid remembered from some cautionary tale.

The houses look empty mid day. I see the occasional grandparent walking a small child on the sidewalk, but the streets are teeming with white pickup trucks: heating/cooling, plumbing, and lawn care. They cruise the avenues, trail and startle like sharks. I am saddened by the number of times I plan my escape, reroute my direction, duck and pause to avoid the men inside. I am sickened to realize how often I envision my own rape.

An elderly man in a convertible stops to let me proceed at the intersection, then follows, races ahead and pulls over. He smiles and waves as he exits the car. I fly by without gesture, unable to trust or take chances.

The address I seek is across a small highway and I find the bike bridge that will take me over it. Gliding over the span, above the cars and semis and people caught in the grind, for a moment, I feel free.

I land on a bike path that leads east toward Mt. Hood, a dormant, snowcapped volcano. The path is lined with blood red maples and golden oaks; high clouds feather the open sky. I cannot slow to take it in. I am the only woman on the trail. I pass professional men in Lycra suits, their bikes worth more than my car. I pass men on benches with all of their belongings. A man ahead stands on a bridge overlooking the railroad tracks, mesmerized by the moving cars, until I pass. All of them stop to take me in, survey me like scenery, run their eyes over the landscape.

I just turned 46. I am wearing a helmet, sunglasses, and a windbreaker zipped up to my neck. Will it ever stop? I ride until I can no longer ignore the voice, the one that whispers always, and sometimes screams. You are not safe here. This is not safe.

I turn around. I pick up speed, downshift to maximize the power of my legs and lungs. I broaden my shoulders and put on my warrior mask. I blow past the men. Don’t even think about it.

Do you have any suggestions for dealing with harassers and/or ending street harassment in general?

A global transformation of consciousness. Women/Girls must tell their stories and media outlets must share them. Male Allies MUST teach and mentor other men/boys. We must change our cultural stories and myths to convey the totality and equality of women.

– Leigh Anne Kranz

Location: Portland, OR

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
Check out the new book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers!

I was on a packed train at about 5 p.m., rush hour in the downtown core. All of a sudden I felt someone touch my bum. My first thought was ‘this is a packed train hopefully they’ll move away’. I turned to look at him and he didn’t. I positioned my arm to create a barrier between him and me, but he just got closer. I moved away and he blocked me from moving. He then started rubbing his fingers on my bum. I managed to move away and I asked him if he was serious and to stop but he positioned his body closer to mine once again.

This whole time no one even looked up or acknowledged my suffering. I got off and he followed me and I managed to get on the train on the next platform. I cried all the way to work that night and a couple of times during.

I can’t help but think was it me? I mean was it my clothes or attitude or mannerism that invited him? I know deep inside that I did nothing to request this harassment and as a facilitator of empowerment workshops I know it’s all him not me…but I feel ashamed and dirty.

I’m writing this from a bus at 10 p.m. on my way back from work and I’m terrified. I no longer feel safe in my city or on public transit. I’m not letting him take my mobility, I know that much, I just don’t know if I’ll ever feel safe again.

– Anonymous

Location: Toronto, Ontario

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
Check out the new book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers!