Stop Street Harassment

Making Public Spaces Safe and Welcoming

USA: “I got a glimpse into the future. And it is beautiful.”

By

Jessie Koerner, Denver, Colorado, USA, SSH Blog Correspondent

16th Street, Denver | Via http://commons.wikimedia.org

Sunglasses? Check.

Shoulders back, head up? Check.

Bitchface on? Check.

Now I am ready to walk down the 16th Street Mall to go get my morning coffee, or lunch, or head home. This street is where tourists, businesspersons, locals on day trips, and all of Denver’s odd characters come together (ok, odd for us… nothing for me will ever beat the parrot chillin’ on a guy’s shoulder on the DC Metro). Lately, I’ve been feeling like we shouldn’t advertise 16th Street as somewhere tourists should go in our little city. Not least among the issues is the prevalence of – shocker! – degrading and insulting comments made to women on the street. None of them are new, none of them are clever, and none of them are appreciated.

However, this week has been fundamentally different. I have no idea if the men of Denver got the message finally, or if there was a secret Cotillion club I wasn’t invited to that everyone else attended.  This week, I’ve gotten multiple ‘good mornings,’ three with ma’ams attached, which to me is just awesome given that my spirit animal is Effie Trinket. Then there was that one incredibly enthusiastic, “Hello! How are you today?” that made me so cheerful the rest of my Thursday. Among the interactions, there was none of the usual “smile for me, baby” or “mmmm work that skirt, girl.” NONE. For one whole, entire week I got a glimpse into the future. And it is beautiful.

This is why we speak out. This is why we applaud those brave souls who stand up and address their harassers (sometimes to hilarious results). I am not optimistic for the continued respite on my daily walks down Denver’s busiest pedestrian thoroughfare. I will still be printing out my copies of Cards Against Harassment, and arming myself with sunglasses and my formidable bitchface that just dares anyone to speak to me. I mean, come on though, I’m a chatty person, and it kills me that I have to indicate that I am not friendly in order to walk down the street in peace.

Street harassment is one of the most unfortunate equalizers of humanity.Sixteenth Street is one of those places where it’s obvious that misogyny and street harassment permeate all classes and races. I have been harassed by the homeless dude on the corner, the slickly dressed young professional, and the teenager that should have been in school.  I have seen women who are skinny, old, dread-locked, supermodel gorgeous, and homely all harassed on the street. Most shoot a glare to the harasser, or hasten their step, embodying the intimidation and fear instilled in us by the thought of confronting the man, or men, making the comments. I love the social experiments that turn the tables on men – women creepin’ on them for once. The one element that can’t be replicated though is the fear.

My father and I recently got into a heated discussion about #yesallwomen and street harassment. After all of our talks on human trafficking and prostitution, my attempt to shock him into agreement from his ‘devil’s advocate’ position may have failed. It also may have come from the fact that he walks down the same street every day that I do, and inevitably has heard the comments made to the women around him. We are at the point that me reiterating the disgusting things said to me don’t even shock my father. We can either make the choice right now as a society that we will not allow half our population to be insulted, objectified, and intimidated out in public, or that we will expect half our population to just shut up and deal with it – like, as my dear dad compared it to, it was going on vacation in Florida, where you know it’s going to rain every day at 3 pm, and complaining about it.

His point? What are we going to do about it?

My plan is to hand out those Cards to my harassers, start a Hollaback! activism chapter here in Denver, write for Stop Street Harassment about what’s happening in Colorado, and incessantly talk with others about why this is a real, legitimate problem, and that it does NOT have to be like this.

That’s what the past week has proven to me, anyway.

What are you going to do?

 Jessie is a longtime human rights activist with a feminist focus. She founded the Amnesty International chapter in college, is an active participant in JustWorld International, and manages the social media accounts for the Global Women’s Network and winnovating.com, where she also blogs.  Find her on Twitter and Instagram, @pearlsandspurs.

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“I made a beeline for the door and booked it home”

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I was 16, maybe 17 tops, an American exchange student in Thailand. I was walking home from a friend’s house, about 7:30 or 8 p.m. The street was lit only by the lights pouring out from some bars and restaurants along the side, deserted except for one man following behind me.

He was a little too close for comfort, so I took some random corners to try to get him to stop, but he continued following me. In a pool of light up ahead, I stopped and pretended to be searching for something in my purse, allowing him to pass me and get plenty far up ahead before I started walking again. Just seconds later, HE DID THE SAME THING until I was forced to pass him. He started walking again when I was just a meter or two ahead of him.

As I got onto a slightly bigger road but just as deserted road, the beacon of a brightly lit 7-11 glowed a hundred meters ahead of me. It was in the opposite direction of home, but it was lit and guaranteed that there were people. I took the opportunity and went in, thinking I would call my host family or a friend to come pick me up if I still didn’t feel safe.

He entered the store right behind me, and I kept my eye on him from where I was pretending to look for a snack. He also pretended to be browsing, just an aisle or two away from me. I was closer to the door.

When he turned his head down to look at something, I made a beeline for the door and booked it home, not stopping running until I was at my front door, out of breath and fumbling for the keyhole.

It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened to me, and it certainly wasn’t the last.

– Anonymous

Location: Nakhon Ratchasima, Thailand

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Check out the new book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers
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“Why are you playing so hard to get?”

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Saturday, before dusk while the sun was still shining, I decided to walk home through Prospect Park, alone, like I do more often than I could ever count. I was the jerk walking the wrong way on the bike/jogger loop from Grand Army Plaza to the south east gate, because it’s quicker to get home that way.

I notice a young man giving directions to a couple. I pass them. I hear a call from the young man I passed, but assume he’s calling after the couple he just gave directions to. I keep walking. Suddenly, the man is next to me and says,“Hey.” I don’t make eye contact but mutter, “Good evening” under my breath. He falls back behind me. I can feel him walking behind me, still. He catches up again and says, “Can I get your name?” I say, “No,” keeping my head down, making no eye contact.

He walks ahead of me; I let out a sigh of relief. He stops. As soon as I pass him again, he speaks to me again, “Why are you playing so hard to get?” I look straight ahead and keep walking. He walks behind me. He keeps walking behind me. He passes me. He waits for me to pass him. He follows me again. I take out my phone and furiously text everything to Jarrod, to keep my hands busy, to call for help if it becomes necessary.

I feel the man drop space between us. I don’t dare look over my shoulder. By the time we reach the boat house, where I can hear—I shit you not—the Electric Slide from an ongoing wedding, I don’t sense his presence, and this makes me more nervous. A middle aged man with limited English approaches me on my left to say, “You know that man is following you? You must be careful.” I say, “Yes, I know he’s following me. Thank you for looking.” He says, “I think he’s gone now, but you must be very careful.” I thank him again. I call Jarrod to recount the story, now that I’m s ure the follower was out of earshot. I leave the park, hop in a cab, and don’t go home.

The sun was shining this whole time. We must have passed hundreds of people: cyclists and joggers and fellow walkers and zoo-goers and picnickers and merry-go-rounders and an entire wedding. I was on the well lit, paved path the entire time (though he walked along the wooded space above the curb). Police officers are always circling that road. That’s why I always walk that way–it’s ostensibly the safest. I refuse to not go through the world as an independent person just because I also happen to be a woman. I was wearing jeans and a tee shirt. I engaged as little as possible. I left the park when I approached a gate. I got in a cab. I didn’t go home. An official report would close with, “And then nothing happened,” simply because I eventually made it home safe.

– Anonymous

Location: Brooklyn, New York

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
Check out the new book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers
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Street Respect: You look “Fancy”

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Walking down the street Someone shouted that I looked “FANCY” and I appreciated that…because damn it, I did look fancy!

Finally a man had something to say to me that wasn’t about my body. My hair was bouncy and curled and I wore sparkly gold ballerina slippers and a loose fitting sweater… I felt fancy and I guess I looked pretty fancy too.

What can we do create more street respect?

Tell people of its importance. It needs to be engrained in society, that respect is the highest form of flattery.

– Perri

Location: Brooklyn, NY

This is part of the series “Street Respect. “Street respect” is the term for respectful, polite, and consensual interactions that happen between strangers in public spaces. It’s the opposite of “street harassment.” Share your street respect story and show the kind of interactions you’d like to have in public in place of street harassment.

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