Stop Street Harassment

Making Public Spaces Safe and Welcoming

Five joggers, one was a groper

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I was queueing at a cashpoint with a couple of friends in a busy part of town one Friday night after work. It was cold so I was wrapped up warm, with a long thick coat on, which was just as well because a group of 5 men came jogging past us and one of them forcefully grabbed at my backside as he went by.

It all happened so quickly, I didn’t see which one it was and they were out of sight by the time I’d told the people around me what had happened. It made me feel angry and vulnerable.

– Natalie

Location: Fore Street, Exeter, Devon, United Kingdom

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Why many women are suspicious of men who really do just need directions

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I was in my neighbourhood, walking home from an appointment at around 10.30 in the morning. A man in a car pulled over and asked me for directions to a street, but I explained I didn’t know where it was. He then proceeded to follow me in his car while saying the most disgusting things about my body and what he wanted to do to me. I wasn’t far from home but I didn’t want to lead him right to my front door.

There was a fork in the road with a small strip of houses in the middle, and I went down the one opposite to where his car was heading and hid in the wheelie bin area as I was terrified. I thought he was going to bundle me into his car. I heard his car back-up and assessed my options. I was already ringing my housemates but there was no reply. I scanned the area and saw a young man in the distance and bolted towards him. As I reached him and began to explain what was happening, I heard the car screech away into the distance.

I reported the situation to the police but nothing ever came of it. I felt it necessary to explain myself to the police: I was only wearing jeans and t-shirt at the time (i.e. nothing provocative), although the police officer made it clear that this was irrelevant.

This was not the first or last time something like this had happened to me. To a large extent these incidents of harassment dictate to me what I leave the house wearing, particularly if I am on my own, but I generally find that it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing. I still get unwanted vulgar remarks, horns honked at me and sometimes even followed while being jeered at. It has definitely shaken my confidence in going anywhere alone, even in the day time, and makes me feel disgusting and inferior to be objectified.

– Anonymous

Location: Leeds, United Kingdom

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“I felt my skirt being lifted…”

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I was walking down my street, only perhaps 30 metres from my home. Two men were stood talking and one of them moved across to the other side of the pavement so I would have to pass between the two of them. As I got closer they both stopped talking and looked at me. It wasn’t a glance, it was about 7-10 seconds.

When I was in the middle of them I felt my skirt being lifted and one of them said, “Oh, nice”. There was a pull on my skirt but I kept walking. I walked past my house and round the corner at the bottom of the street because I didn’t want them to know where I lived.

It was ridiculous. I was actually frightened to go into my own home.

– Anonymous

Location: Middlesbrough, United Kingdom

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“This entry is a snapshot from one evening when I’d had enough”

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This is a excerpt from my online diary about the constant harassment I faced in a neighborhood I lived in in Oakland. I literally couldn’t step out of my door at any time of day or night and walk a block without being harassed or threatened.

This entry is a snapshot from one evening when I’d had enough.

_______________________________

halloween

2001-10-31 – 9:39 p.m.

I tried to get to the bus. The 57. The same route, the same way I went the day I was mugged. The bus that used to take me to work before the day things blew-up and I collapsed into a ball and never went to work again.

It’s Halloween, my favorite holiday ever. The trick-or-treaters are smart not to walk on my street. I was wearing a 50’s housewife dress with my black beehive wig. The higher the hair the closer to god. I was trying to get to the bus to meet Prem and go to a party in San Francisco.

Slowly I opened my front door and looked out, a bus wizzed by and my gut clenched. My hand shook as I turned the little lock on my screen door. I stepped over the dead matted dirt grass we call a lawn, and San Pablo stretched out in front of me, all shady streetlights and anonymous cars. Five blocks to the bus stop. You can make it. Prem said you would be okay.

Block one, a red truck whirls down the street in front of me, does a quick u-turn, and stops in a near-by driveway. I can faintly hear the dark-haired man asking me if I need a ride. I pretend I don’t hear him, I keep walking. This happens all the time on this street. It’s going to be okay, just 4 more blocks, you’ll be safe.

Block two, a group of kids at a bus stop, they seem harmless. I listen for footsteps behind me, I make sure each car that rolls by doesn’t come too close. My eyes are panoramic. I try to see, anticipate anything.

Block three, black and orange balloons are tied to the fence of Phat Beats. The same fence I was looking at in september when I heard footsteps run-up behind me. It was daylight, 8 am on labor day and I was walking to the 57 to go to work. A man ran-up behind me, I knew from the sound of his footsteps what he was about to do, but even that knowledge gave me nothing to stop it. He put his arm around my neck, I screamed. He said: Give me your purse or I’ll hurt you. (how many times have I recalled this story? I remember one of the symptoms of PTSD is to constantly talk of what happened)There was another man waiting for him in a faded grey car. I was lucky they just wanted my money. If they’d wanted to hurt me, kidnap me, they could have.

Walking by Phat Beats in my 50’s housewife dress on Halloween.

Do I look like a hooker to you? It’s fucking Halloween, can’t I be left alone just one night of the year?

An old truck pulls up to the curb next to me. My radar sounds. The face peering out of the passenger window is an ragged middle-aged man. As he leers at me his eyes– hungry and glassed-over, are inhuman. That’s it. no more.

I turned and walked as fast as I could away from the truck, past the kids again, heading towards home. My hand shook as I put the key in my front door. No one was behind me, no one had followed me.

I ripped-off my wig and threw it on the kitchen table.

– D

Location: Oakland, CA

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Verbally harassed almost daily in Buenos Aires

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There are many stories I can tell, because where I come from street harassment is a very common thing. I could say that every day, or at least every week to be precise I had to face a form of street harassment in Argentina, Buenos Aires. I could name two that I remember very clearly:

  • In a train, being touched by a guy standing behind me as I was getting off the train. My reaction was aggressive, I hit the guy. He shouted that I was a crazy bitch.
  • Walking on the street, a guy walking on the opposite direction, touched me as he was walking by my side. I didn’t react immediately. He didn’t even say anything… he just grabbed me.

Those were, as far as I remember the ones where there was contact. But I could say that me and my friends were practically every day verbally harassed by men on the streets.

– Anonymous

Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina

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