I was on holiday in Morroco with my friends. As we walked through the busy square, we realised some boys were following us. We tried to lose them but they approached us and started to touch and say things that made us uncomfortable.

Having enough of this sort of behaviour from the men there, I started shouting at the boys, making a big scene to attract attention and pushed one away. They kept yelling obscenities but in the end ran away. Morocco isn’t the place to go if you hate street abuse!

– Anonymous

Location: Marrakesh

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Several weeks ago I was seated in the window aisle of a bus heading to work. A young man I’ve seen on multiple occasions on this bus sits next to me. The bus is crowded, as this bus drops off many of its passengers at the nearby community college, so I’m used to being shoulder-to-shoulder with many people. In this instance, this young man sits with a large backpack on his lap, and then appears to nod off. Suddenly, I feel something only hip/butt area, look down, and his hand is sort of…limply resting on it. I instinctively grabbed his hand and jerked it away, and he sleepily apologized. I should not have given him the benefit of the doubt, thinking he’d nodded off and his hand had rested there on accident. Two minutes later his hand was hovering over my thigh. I did not react the way I wanted to. I got up in a panic and sat up in the front, not fully processing until I arrived at work that I had been violated. I was disgusted, agitated, most of all, ANGRY.

I did not see this man for another few weeks. He brazenly sat across from me next to another girl in a window aisle. As he pretended to nod off, I snapped a picture of him. Shortly thereafter, the girl abruptly sat up and found her way near me, the seat next to mine being the closest available. I asked her if he had done something to make her uncomfortable, and she relayed to me the same exact scenario I had been in a few weeks prior. As we went up to inform the driver at the nearest stop, he ran off.

I’ve since then filed a police report with a photo of this young man. The police officer says he’s already received another report from another young woman: same description, same M.O. Luckily, as I’d seen him many times before, I knew what his usual stop was, and the officer confirmed this was where the other young woman said he got off the bus.

Ladies, be very very careful and do not be afraid to approach someone in this situation. A case is now being built against this man, and if I see him again, I can report to the driver and he’ll call the authorities to take him in for sexual battery, a misdemeanor. I only made sure to take a photo when I knew he wasn’t looking at me or wasn’t aware. If you cannot immediately tell someone, burn this person’s face into your skull so you can identify him. These sickos have a pattern, an M.O., and if they don’t get caught, they’ll simply become more confident and do much worse.

– Leticia

Location: California, Norwalk Green Line Station. Long Beach Line#173, depart time 7:25 a.m.

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Dear Cousin,

I cried in the shower this morning, same as yesterday, and the day before. I’m hurt. Badly bruised by your words. I know your words weren’t intended to wound me, but they did.

It was a beautifully hot day in Oakland, and I decided to wear a dress; not to look cute, not to catch anyone’s eye, but because it was hot. I was headed to an event to celebrate mamas, all kinds of families, and life. I tweeted on my phone, smiling to myself, and then it happened. This man in blue walked up close to me and whispered, “Hey Girl, you’re beautiful”, then blew a kiss in my left ear. I could feel the saliva from his kiss land on my earlobe and hair. And like that, he was gone.

It startled me. I wiped my ear clean, several times, but still felt the stinging of his voice in my head. My ear still feels hot and wet from his kiss. There wasn’t enough time for me to yell to tell him to stop, or to ask for help from a passerby. So, I did what most people do these days, I took to Facebook to shout my anger.

‘Really? More street harassment?’ I wrote. ‘Can’t I just wear a dress in 90 degree heat in peace?’ It was the fourth time that day that I had endured harassment while walking around town. Car honks, shouts asking for my number, but this one really got to me. He invaded my personal space, put his face over my shoulder and his lips to my ear. He left me feeling violated.

You responded to my post; I assume to try to make me see the glass half full and feel better. You reminded me that cat callings on the street aren’t a bad thing. “It lets you know that YOU GOT IT!” You told me that I was a ‘walking exhibit’, one that men on the street ‘can look at, but not touch’. When I saw this I froze. Is this what one of my closest cousins thinks of me? All of my hard work and education amounts to a walking exhibit, not even a person.

I cried. I’m embarrassed.

Am I a fool for hoping that you would see me as more than that? I thought you were one of the ‘good’ guys – one of those stand-up men that most people dream about. I have always been so proud to share how amazing you are; a teacher, a man who never spoke ill of his girlfriends, a man with whom I could have an honest and loving conversation. You were supposed to have my back. I chose to stand up at your wedding, not because you and your wonderful wife asked me, but because I wanted to stand and support you, as you had throughout my life. I wanted to honor you the way you have always honored the women in our family. Was I wrong?

I cried in the shower this morning. As I lather my body, I can’t help but be mad at it. Mad at my curves. Mad at my skin. Mad at my face. I scrub my ear over and over again. It still feels dirty. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make it as clean as my other one.

I need you on my team, cousin. I need you to understand why the behavior of your friends is not okay. It isn’t simple appreciation of my looks; it’s harassment. I need you to support me and understand why women like me should be free to walk down the street without men invading our space, yelling at us, honking at us. We need to be seen as people in public spaces, not exhibits for men to vote on with cheers as we walk by. I need you to support me and tell your friends that the way to approach me for a date is to tell me how smart I am, engage me in a conversation, ask me how my day is going – all before telling me that I’m pretty. You need to help stop this culture of degradation of women that leads to violence, rape, and death. One in three women will be abused at some point in her life. It has happened in our family, and it starts with this culture. When you stand by and let your friends do this to me, you’re hurting me too.

I’m tired of being told I look like Halle Berry, Beyoncé, Alicia Keys, Mariah Carey, and any other light-skinned celebrity out there – because let’s be honest, I don’t. At all. Every time someone says that to me, I know it’s because they didn’t take 30 seconds to look at my face, just the 10 it takes to compare my measurements to Beyoncé’s. Next time your friends want to compliment me, have them tell me I remind them of Angela Davis’ spirit or Audre Lorde’s courage. Try, “Damn lady, you seem like you could be our next senator! Can I take you out?” They’d have my number in seconds.

Cousin, I love you. You’re a thoughtful teacher, a wonderful uncle, respectful husband, a strong Black role model, and will one day be a father. In your students, I hope that you will instill the radical ideas that not only are girls and women people who deserve equality, but they are of value beyond their curves. We deserve to be judged on the content of our character, not on the beauty of our face.

I want to know that when I walk down the street or in to a boardroom, people aren’t judging whether my skirt fits well around my ‘booty’, but how much my words will inspire them to create change. I can’t do this alone. I need you and other ‘good’ men like you to be my allies. I need you to stand up and call out injustices when I am not in the room. I need you to echo my voice when others won’t hear me. I need you to help make that change.

The next time you hear that I am upset for how I was treated on the street, don’t just offer up words that say it’s okay. Get angry like I am and vow to help change our society. And next time you see a guy shouting at a woman on the street, turn to him and tell him to stop, because she is your cousin.

– Renee Bracey Sherman

Location: Oakland, CA

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I was driving with my sister on I-55 to Midway airport to pick up my grandparents. We had the windows down because it was the first beautiful day we had seen this spring in Chicago, and we were enjoying ourselves. Traffic was at a near-standstill when I heard noises coming from the white van next to us. Two men in a van were cat calling my sister and I. They were complete idiots; they whistled and kept hollering at us for well over 40 minutes in this traffic. I was concerned that traffic was moving so slow that they might try to exit their vehicle and approach.

I told my sister to ignore it and I also attempted to ignore it as best I could. I didn’t turn my head to look at them a single time, but they hollered at us for 40+ minutes.

It was demeaning, annoying, and incredibly rude. I didn’t want to roll the window up because why should I have to do such a thing on a beautiful day? Certainly not because of two jerks.

– Katrina

Location: Chicago, IL, USA (on I-55 WB before Cicero)

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A little over a month ago I was on my way to meet a friend for drinks when a man boarded the nearly empty bus that I was riding and took the seat next to me. His approach in taking that seat had been very aggressive, to the point that he almost sat on my leg. That, coupled with the fact that he smelled strongly of alcohol, immediately made me feel very uncomfortable. He turned to me and asked if spoke Spanish. Spanish is my first language and I speak it quite well; however, and very much to my disappointment because it makes me feel like I’m putting down my culture, I’ve learned to answer no when I’m asked that question by men or groups of men because it’s usually followed with unwanted comments about my breasts, butt, lips, face, or whatever body part they feel that they are complimenting. As such, I responded with a terse “no” and continued to look directly ahead of me, hoping that he’d get the hint and move to one of the many open seats on the bus. But he persisted and asked me again, adding that I looked like I would be able to speak and understand Spanish.

I didn’t respond and he unleashed a barrage of explicit descriptions of the things that he wanted to do to me. I turned to him and said, “Please move,” but he refused to move and continued his verbal abuse. I stood up and began to step over him so I could go to the front of the bus to alert the driver and he asked me, “Where do you think you’re going?” and tried to jerk me back down into the seat.

I broke his grip and was able to get away, but what happened next was truly awful. The entire incident had been witnessed by a woman who was sitting at a couple of rows behind me at the very back of the bus. As soon as I got away from the guy and began walking to the front of the bus he began loudly calling me a stuck-up bitch and a whore and the woman who’d seen it all actually chimed in and said, in Spanish, “I don’t know who she thinks she is.” On top of feeling completely violated and frightened, the fact that a woman watched it all happen without intervening was incredibly disheartening. The creep got off the bus before the driver had a chance to do anything, but I felt horrible and embarrassed by what had happened.

And then it happened again, and it was even more terrifying than the first incident. It happened this morning as I was on my way to work. Clearly, this man lives in my neighborhood, but I’d never seen him on this particular bus route before. Despite there being some open seats available that were not close to me, he took a standing spot right in front of where I was sitting and next to the rear exit door of the bus. He must’ve been a lot less drunk than his smell indicated when the first incident happened, because when he saw me he winked at me and asked me in Spanish if I remembered him. I didn’t respond and rode for what seemed like an eternity hoping that he wouldn’t say anything else to me, and it seemed like he wouldn’t until the bus was approaching his stop. He turned, looked at me and said in Spanish, “The next time I see you I’m going to put you in your place.”

I’ve spent most of the day kicking myself for not saying something or for not pulling out my phone and snapping a picture of the guy, but I was so shocked by how menacing his comment was that I was only able to react when I got to work and had to duck into the bathroom to cry. As I said before, it’s obvious that this guy lives in my neighborhood, maybe even as close as two blocks away from me. I walk a lot and take the bus a lot and I’m always vigilant of my surroundings and will go out of my way to avoid groups of men when I’m by myself. To say that this makes me never want to leave my house is an understatement. I’ve since reported the incident to the police and to the CTA, though there really is nothing they can do with just a physical description of the guy and nothing else.

I’ve been dealing with street harassment since I was 12, but none of it has been as terrifying as the two encounters I’ve had with this guy. I’m 35 years-old now, and every time I’m subjected to comments by strangers about my appearance or my body, be it from men or women, it makes me feel as scared and uncomfortable as it did when I was 12. I freeze up and want to disappear.

– NS

Location: Chicago, IL – 151 and 135 bus routes