Stop Street Harassment

Making Public Spaces Safe and Welcoming

“You’ll like me. I got eleven inches”

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Over the course of an average week in Brooklyn (where I live) and Manhattan (where I go to school and work), I experience some variation of the following:

I walk past a group of six men who work at a bakery between my Williamsburg, Brooklyn apartment and the subway station. They don’t know I understand Spanish, so after they say, “Hey, baby,” they proceed to discuss my ass.

The man who hands out newspapers on 6th Ave. calls me “sweetheart” and tells me my legs look good this morning.

If it’s warm out, and I’m wearing sandals, a man walking down 13th St. will examine my toes as I wait for the light to turn green, and he will say, “Girl, you’ve got the sexiest toes I’ve ever seen!”

On the train to work after class, a homeless man asks if I have any change to spare. If I don’t, he says “That’s okay, baby, I’ll take some of that instead.”

A man selling homemade rap CDs in SOHO tells me he likes my rack. When I look away, he says, “Don’t you know how to take a compliment?”

At the bank near Union Square, an older man behind me in line asks, “Why don’t you smile, little lady?”

At Papaya Dog in the East Village, the man who hands me my cheese fries says he likes my dress and asks if I want to take him back to my apartment. “I get great reviews,” he adds.

While waiting for my boyfriend outside of a restaurant in the West Village, I write a text message. A man walks by and asks me how I am. I pretend not to hear. He keeps walking for a second and then doubles back. “Don’t you wanna add my number into your phone, sweetie? You’ll like me. I got eleven inches.”

I am tired of having to say and think: No, I don’t want to take you home. No, I don’t want to see your bedroom. No, I don’t want to add your number to my phone. No, I don’t want to take off my glasses for you. No, I don’t want to sit a little closer to you. No, I don’t want to let you take pictures of my feet. No, I don’t want you to touch/kiss/lick/fuck me. No, I don’t want to see/touch/lick/suck your dick. No, I don’t want to meet you later tonight to go to the club. No, I don’t want to see what you taste like. No, I don’t want you to buy me a drink. Leave me alone. I am not interested. Fuck off.

In response, I usually stay still. I try to look calm. Occasionally, if I’ve really had enough, I’ll tell the guy off. They don’t expect it, so they tend to drop it. Regardless of how I react in response, I worry that they’ll follow me off the train and back to my apartment. I am often so concerned about it that, before I get off the train, I plan out escape routes. I am tired of being paranoid, and of feeling like I don’t have any choice but to be paranoid.

– CJ

Location: Brooklyn and Manhattan

Share your street harassment story today and help raise awareness about the problem. Include your location and it will be added to the Street Harassment Map.

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“I’m not your babygirl!”

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It seems like the warm weather has brought these harassing-cretins out of hiding!

I was walking to pick up my lunch and I walk past this worker standing by a truck. This fool leans back on his truck and watches me walk! It was disgusting. He didn’t care that he was on the clock!

I decided to snap as many photos as possible—one of the “How’s my driving?” tracking number, one of his truck’s license plate, and another of him (and he actually posed for the photo—LOSER!).

And now that I know about the new YouTube channel, I decided to get a video of him as well.

The quality of the video’s not great and you can hear me more than you can hear him, but I pretty much tell him that what he did was tacky and that I was reporting him. He didn’t care! He said to go ahead and report him and he couldn’t stop smiling. Unbelievable. You can tell by my voice that I was incensed.

***

The second incident was after I picked up my lunch. I was heading back to work and this loser with three teeth in his mouth who was smoking a cigarette and walking his bike referred to me as “Babygirl” like it’s my damn name. When I told him “I’m not your babygirl!” he got aggressive.

“I don’t give a FUCK what your name is!” he snapped.
“And I don’t give a FUCK that you want to talk to me!” I snapped back.

I then decided to catch him on my cell phone with a video, and followed him as he continued to call me names and kept telling me to “go FUCK yourself! Fuck you, bitch!” People who watched this happening thought it was funny and laughed. Yeah, sure. It’s your entertainment but it’s my agony.

He then hops on his bike and rides off, with me yelling “Don’t worry, I got you on video!” Well, I had him on video. I pressed the “BACK” button on my phone instead of the “OK” button, which cancels the filming. So I erased that toothless harasser’s video, feeling completely stupid. The back-to-back harassment had me so riled up that I couldn’t think straight.

I’m shaking at my desk back at work as I type this, with no way to release the anger and stress I feel. (My co-workers are looking at me as if I’ve lost it. They don’t know what I constantly go through.)

I am tired of these men reducing me to an object to leer at. I’ve had it.

– Anonymous

Locations: Incident 1: Wisconsin Avenue, Washington, DC
Incident 2: Canal Street & Thomas Jefferson Street

Share your street harassment story today and help raise awareness about the problem. Include your location and it will be added to the Street Harassment Map.

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“My name is not ‘Dreads’!”

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Friday evening after work I decided to walk home. On the route home I bought a nice little cactus from a florist in Rosslyn.

On the street was a disheveled-looking guy. His hair was a mess and he had on a bright yellow shirt that looked covered in stains. He ignores everyone else but had to say “How ya doin’, baby?” to me. (Why me?) After what seemed to be a week free from any type of harassment or commentary, this annoyed me.

“I’m not your baby!” I snapped.

“Sorry, ‘Dreads’,” this loser then said, as if that were my name. I hate these men who reduce me to my hair and my body parts!

“My name is not ‘Dreads’!” I replied. “Leave women you don’t know alone! Don’t say a word to them!”

He mumbled something but I didn’t stop to find out what that was. I didn’t bother to take a photo either because I wasn’t in the mood. The nice weather somewhat kept me from losing it altogether, because if it didn’t I would’ve smashed that cactus in his ugly face!

– anonymous

Location: Wilson Blvd at N. Nash Street, Arlington, VA

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Share your videos

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There are a growing number of anti-street harassment vidoes and documentaries out there. They are powerful in showing the faces and voices of both perpetrators and targets of street harassment.

One of my friends and loyal blog readers set up a Stop Street Harassment YouTube channel over the weekend. She’s marked several street harassment video clips as “favorites” and did the leg work to make it look nice. (Thanks!)

Now, we’d love for you all to add your videos about street harassment. The video clip could be you sharing your thoughts/experiences about street harassment, it could be a harasser you captured on video, or it could be a clip of a documentary or PSA you’re creating on the topic. And if you know about any street harassment video clips not included in the favorite section, let me know!

Because I don’t want trolls and haters to be able to post videos, please contact me if you have one to post and I’ll give you the info on how.

Let’s articulate and show why street harassment is demeaning, disrespectful, annoying and scary!

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“Yet again. It never f***ing stops.”

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I was walking in the early evening in the east village of Manhattan, on an upscale, populated street. In my usual defensive street manner, I was walking quickly, I was not smiling, and I was not making eye contact with anyone on the street.

I passed a man who I didn’t look at and then heard from behind me, “Hey, you got a nice ass.” I stopped and turned around, I had  enough that day. This happens everyday, sometimes twice or three times a day. This comment was particularly rude and blatantly disrespectful, and I didn’t want to ignore it anymore.

I yelled at him and told him to shut up and that he was being disrespectful, he yelled at me and called me a bitch, saying “I got a right to like a big fat ass.”

I took the high road on the fat ass comment, and said, “Some women may have been sexually assaulted or raped, and they don’t like being talked to like that.” (I have been sexually assaulted).

He said, “All you gotta do is tell me that.”

Oh, so my preemptive opener for any man should be, “I’ve been assaulted, do not talk to me.”

Yes, I was upset and yelling at him, but I was trying to explain something too, that he could have learned something from. Clearly I had no effect on him whatsoever, since when I turned around and walked away, he said, “You still got a nice ass though.”

He had to have the last word, didn’t he. One more time to assert his power, knowing that I was visibly upset and could not turn around again.

Evey day [I am harassed]. Every single day without fail. I’m so tired of it. I don’t know what I can do. I feel totally helpless and unable to enjoy being outside. I am afraid when I see men coming toward me on the street. I am afraid they are going to touch me or speak to me. When they’re walking toward me I am saying to myself “please don’t look at me, please don’t say anything.” This is no way to live! I am worried about how this is really affecting me. Any advice on how to deal with this or what I can do would be appreciated.

– Amie B.

Location: East Village, NYC

Share your street harassment story today and help raise awareness about the problem. Include your location and it will be added to the Street Harassment Map.

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