By: Talia Weisberg, SSH Correspondent

In the typical scenario of street harassment, the perpetrator is a man. As a result, in order to end the occurrence of street harassment, men must be sensitized to this issue. It is imperative that activists make men aware of the impact their words and actions have on female passersby, as well as teach men about women’s inalienable right to walk on the street without being subjected to harassment.

I recently shared this sentiment with a few girlfriends, in context of a conversation about street harassment and activists’ efforts to encourage men not to harass women. “So should chivalry be brought back from the dead? If men begin to act chivalrously to women, won’t that be the end street harassment?” one of my friends asked.

The concept intrigued me, as I had never thought about this link before. Is chivalry the opposite of street harassment? I suppose that it is, in a way. Street harassment is when men use their words and actions to make women uncomfortable and violated; chivalry is when men go out of their way to ensure for women’s safety and do everything for her benefit.

So does that mean anti-street harassment activists should champion a return to chivalry as the solution to the issue? Personally, I don’t think that this is a wise course of action. Chivalry is a relic of the olden days, when women were considered second-class citizens that needed protection by men, the stronger sex. There’s no place for chivalry in modern society, where women are considered men’s equals.

Anyway, in almost every situation in life, I believe in the validity of the golden mean. There’s no need to go to either extreme; the middle road is often the most practical and desirable path. Chivalry is on one side of the spectrum, while rampant street harassment is on the other. The most practical, middle path is all about championing common decency. Women just want men to be polite and to respect their personal space.

Although I can’t speak for all of womankind, I know that I’m not looking to be put on a pedestal and fawned over. I don’t want men to put their coats on puddles in the street for me to cross. I’m just looking to cross the street without getting catcalled.

Talia Weisberg is a Harvard-bound feminist hoping to concentrate in Studies of Women, Gender, and Sexuality. Her work has appeared in over 40 publications and she runs the blog Star of Davida blog (starofdavida.blogspot.com).

By Lauren Duhon, SSH Correspondent

Traveling abroad can be overwhelming. Listening to foreign languages and being unable to decipher any familiar words becomes tiresome. You seek for some sort of familiarity, but you often don’t find it, especially if you are traveling alone.

Walking around by yourself as a young woman is even scarier. This is my situation this summer in Istanbul, Turkey.

I’m living here for several weeks, and I find myself fearing the unknown as I try to navigate the streets to work and other places around the city. The people I sometimes encounter add to the fear. I have had the misfortune of being harassed often since I arrived last week. I feel like a target for harassment with “I’m an American” stamped on my forehead. I receive dubious looks from passersby everywhere I go. Men mumble things to me as they stand there inspecting my every move. I don’t need to know to Turkish to know they are saying something offensive.

I’ve sat on the bus and felt my privacy diminish as men invade my space, inching closer and closer.  I’ve noticed countless guys slow down their pace as they walk by to check me out. In one instance, I even had a guy follow me to work and get in my face trying to grab my attention. The worst was when I heard him say “Masha’Allah” under his breath in a sensual tone, which literally means “God has willed it” or praise to God. Words can’t even begin to explain how wrong that is, and the sad thing is that isn’t the first time I’ve heard that used in a derogatory way.

The unfortunate truth is that more of these instances will occur during my stay. And, being unable to speak Turkish, I’m unable to verbally defend myself. The only thing I know how to say in my defense is “çok ayıp”, which is a way of harshly saying “shame on you” to my understanding. I’m forced to keep walking and feel vulnerable. I shouldn’t feel afraid to ride the bus or walk freely in public places.  I should feel comfortable with exploring a beautiful city that not everyone gets to experience.

As a foreigner, many people have welcomed me into their daily lives and routines, but the harassment I have faced is far from the hospitality I have received.

Lauren Duhon is a student journalist from LSU in Baton Rouge, La. She’s interning at Today’s Zaman this summer.

By Natasha Vianna, SSH Correspondent

I was just 12 years old when I first experienced street harassment. While on a 2-month trip to Rio de Janeiro, Brasil, I was walking down the street in shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops when I passed by an outdoor bar. The group of men, drinking in the hot sun, all put their beers down and started making comments about my cousins and me.

As a young girl, I knew this was wrong and it made me feel so unsafe and scared. It was as if we were walking by purely for their viewing pleasure. We were simply players on their field and the sport was walking. Like commentators, they began narrating our walk and highlighting every detail. “Look at how sexy she walks.” “Oh my God, what a nice ass.”

And as my heart raced in nervousness, my cousins seemed unbothered. When we turned the corner and could no longer hear the men, I asked her what the hell that was about. My oldest cousin (only 14) looked over and I repeated what those men said to us. She giggled and asked me if that was the first time I heard men catcall. I blushed thinking that I now made myself look immature and said yes. “Oh hunny. That’s normal! Men will say things to you and you just have to stare straight forward and pretend you don’t hear anything. Men like that anyway.”

They all laughed at me and I never talked brought it up again.

When I came back to America, I brought an album of pictures into school from my trip to Rio. As the girls and boys in my class flipped through the album, they began to ask me about the trip. I told them it was great, it was hot, and that the guys were creeps. I remember telling them about the constant comments the older guys would shout at girls and one of the girls looked at me and said, “Well what do you expect? If you’re gonna wear shorts that short, expect to be treated like a slut.”

And so it began.

I got so angry. I tried to explain that people in Brasil dress differently than people in America because it’s extremely hot all year round and having a tan is a universal want. The less clothes you wear, the cooler you feel and the better the tan you will have. Yet, here I was defending the way we dressed instead of talking about the real issue – street harassment. I was being driven into a rant about why I wear what I wear instead of getting closer to feeling sympathy from my peers.

Some girls rolled their eyes and told me that I wore short shorts in Rio for attention and that if I was upset because of the attention, than I should wear pants. It was a frustrating and a very nonsensical conversation that ended sourly.

It didn’t occur to me until a few years ago that the people really don’t understand street harassment and the effect it has on women and on young girls, as I was a very young girl in no way looking for attention from men.

Today, I know that whenever I am harassed, it can quickly escalate into something much worse than just “hey baby”. If I don’t respond in a way that my harasser respects, my face could be the next one to have to defend the stigma of rape and harassment. Why were you dressed that way? Why were you out at that time? Why were you alone?

And as I spend my time defending my choice of clothes, another young girl becomes a victim because she was too hot to wear pants.

Natasha Vianna, a fearless activist and young feminist, is a freelance writer and blogger based out of Boston, MA. Follow her on twitter!