When I was 15, I was walking about 500 meters from a concert venue (around 11 p.m.) with my friend towards my friend’s parent’s car, when a group of middle-aged men, who I believe were drunk, began to follow us, leering at us. We picked up the pace and ignored them. They then started shouting comments about my ‘sexy arse’ in those ‘tight and sexy’ jeans I was wearing (my friend was wearing a knee length dress).

Upon hearing no response, the slurs became progressively worse, culminating in them screaming vulgarities about wanting to have anal sex with me. Although it was not my first experience of street harassment, it is certainly the one that has been embedded in my mind.

– Anonymous

Location: Manchester, UK

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I was walking home at about 7 p.m. on a Friday. I walked past two men and a woman who were drinking on the street, very smartly dressed. As I went past, one of the men started to follow me and yelled that he was going to “shag me in the arse.”

– JS

Location: Surbiton, UK

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A man had asked my grandfather for money so he could get onto the subway. We had no change, so we apologized and said no. Minutes later, while stepping into the subway, the same man walked by, and slapped my ass.

I can deal with cat-calls, wolf whistles, whatever. It’s annoying, and disrespectful, but it’s not going to ruin my day. However, once you touch me without my consent, boundaries are crossed. As a result of childhood rape, I don’t like being touched by anyone, even (especially?) family.

All I had time for after this man slapped me was a gasp. I didn’t get to tell him “hands off,” or “get the fuck away from me,” or “back off, asshole!” Just a gasp, and I think the fact that I was too shocked to tell him off makes me angrier than anything.

– SF

Location: Washington, DC’s metro system

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I took self defense classes and taught Jasmine, my girlchild, what I learned. On an early evening we were walking on SE 14th St. in Springfield Oregon. To increase her independence, Jasmine, then 11 years old, was allowed to walk about a hundred feet ahead of me as long as she stayed in my sight.

A man on a ten speed bike was riding in our direction and I was surprised to see him stop, incline his head closely into my daughter’s face. It happened suddenly and I felt freaked out. All of a sudden Jasmine snapped back away from him, turned on her heel and sprinted back toward me yelling at the top of her lungs, “MOM, MOM, HE’S TRYING TO GET ME! HE’S TRYING TO GET ME MOM!” She continued yelling and I tore into him, also yelling, “HOW DARE YOU, BASTARD SON OF A BITCH, SICK EFFING FREAK STAY AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!”

I wondered for a moment “what if nothing happened,” but my instincts told me otherwise, and I remembered the warm breath of Tess Wiseheart, former director of Portland Womens Crisis line, when she was reassuring me about telling my story during my self produced workshop “little experiments, yes we exist.” Tess breathed words of life into me, “what if you’re RIGHT.”

In this moment with my daughter, I innately knew we were right, though pushing though the internalized oppression caused the old fears that I was “bad, stupid, ugly or crazy.”

What mattered most was my daughter felt safe enough in her own skin, and from the inside out, to immediately take steps for her own protection. As a mother breaking generational cycles of the silent acceptance of harassment and myriad abuses, I felt great! Girlchild knew she could come to me and that I would support and believe her. And across 4 lanes of traffic and two turn lanes, I saw people stop in their tracks, stare across the street in wonder at what our noise was all about.

– Rachel and Jasmine Cerise

Location: SE 14th St. in Springfield, OR

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