Stop Street Harassment

Making Public Spaces Safe and Welcoming

Attacked While Jogging

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The New York Times reports that a woman was jogging in a park in NYC on Sunday when a man slashed her forehead with a knife and then walked away. It sounds like she went into shock and then was taken to the hospital. No one saw the attack happen and the assailant is still at large.

What a horrific experience! And all it takes is one attack like that to scare other women from going to that park or going running alone, especially since he hasn’t been caught yet. To naysayers, street harassment can be very insidious and does impact women – directly and indirectly – in the choices they make.

Also worth noting, women are much more likely to be attacked or hurt by someone they know (not true for men), but, random acts of violence against women by strangers in public like this obviously happen. The randomness does a great job of scaring women into trying to avoid places they think they will be more vulnerable (when in actuality, many of them are safer on the street than in their own home).

Will women who read this story be advised by concerned friends & family to not run alone or decide themselves not to go running alone? Probably. Will any men be advised or feel the need not to go running alone because of this story? Probably not, yet statistically, they’re more at risk of stranger attacks than women. Funny, huh?

Anyway, I hope the woman who was attacked will be okay and that the  man will not attack anyone else!

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Got a Harasser Kicked Off the Bus

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I’ve had some pretty horrible experiences even in my (relatively) nice neighborhood. This one isn’t too bad, but it ended especially well. Once I was wearing a strapless dress on the bus. The guy behind me was obviously drooling over me and he kept saying, “boy is it ever HOT in here, WOW!” while blowing on the back of my neck. After the 3rd time (3 times too many) I turned around, smacked him across the face and told him to keep his distance. The bus driver noticed the commotion, and stopped the bus to ask us what was going on. I told him, and he took down the guy’s information, kicked him off the bus, and told me he’d report him. Yay!

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Privilege and Street Harassment

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Yesterday I went for a run after work in downtown Washington, DC. As I left my office, I had a feeling that I was going to get street harassed and so as I ran, I thought up things I could say when it happened (despite all my work on street harassment, I have yet to do anything more revolutionary at the time of harassment than ignore or glare at them). And I was right, I got harassed.

As I ran down the dirt path of the mall, a man who was walking in the same direction I was running turned around, saw me, waited until I was next to him, and then went “mm-mm-mm” at me as I ran by. It wasn’t the worst harassment I’ve had by a long shot but it is humiliating to be treated like I’m not a person to respect but one to objectify and infuriating knowing that if I had been a man, I could have done my run in peace.

Instead of saying something though, my immediate thought was about how if this were a few decades ago, he could have been attacked, jailed, or lynched for just looking at me for a second too long because he is black and I am white. The high number of lynchings has particularly been on my mind after recently reading: Freedom’s Daughters: The Unsung Heroines of the Civil Rights movement from 1830 to 1970.

So I didn’t say anything to him because I felt my race privilege – yes we will have a black president but racism isn’t over! – and the shameful history of race/gender/violence in American and I kept on running. (Though given my track record of not ever saying anything, I may have done that had he been a man of any race).

Similarly, sometimes I don’t feel it would be fair to call out a harasser who is clearly of a lower socioeconomic status than myself. I immediately think about my privilege of class (and race if both come into play) and I can’t bring myself to call them out for exerting their gender privilege. Does one privilege trump another? Should I just call out all men on their behavior?

What are your thoughts?

(Note: I don’t think one race harasses women more than another. In particular, given how often black men have been falsely portrayed as preying on white women to justify murdering, assaulting, and discriminating against them by white people, I don’t want to perpetuate that in any way… The most offensive street harassment comments I’ve received were from groups of white young men and the scariest experiences occurred when various white men followed me either on foot (2xs) or in their car (1x). Oh and yesterday I got leered at by an older white man on the metro on my ride home from work/running. He finally looked and turned away when I met his stare and I was determined to say something if he turned around to look at me again but he didn’t.)

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Drive By Masturbator

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My freshmen year of college, I joined a sorority. Every week, the new members would have a meeting at the house where we would get to know each other and learn about our chapter. One of the girls in my pledge class had a car, and would pick a few of us up each week and give us a ride to the house. We often had to park on the next street over, and walk a block.

One evening, three of us were walking. It was about 8 o’clock at night, and pitch black. We were laughing and joking; we were all excited about the meeting. We heard a car coming up from behind us. We didn’t think anything about it, because we were on a residential street with many houses. Then we realized the car was driving extremely slow and keeping up with our walking pace. We looked over, and saw a man in the car. He had his dome light on so we could see inside the car. The man had one hand on the wheel, and was masturbating. He made eye contact with us and then looked down at his penis, so we would be sure of what he was doing. His car was about three feet from us. I can’t remember ever being so shocked in my life. I froze, I didn’t know what to do. One of the other girls yelled something at him; I can’t remember what. He sped up and drove away.

Everybody started to laugh and make jokes about the “pervert”. I laughed too; but inside I was shocked and hurt. Why would someone do that? Had he done that before? Was this a daily thing for him? We came to the house and went inside. We never really talked about it. I know that it’s something that I will always remember. I’ve been vocally harassed before. But this was something completely different. I remember wondering if this was something he did to other girls on our campus. He could have just as easily stopped the car and assaulted us. I’ve shared this story with only my boyfriend. I’m embarrassed to tell anyone else.

-Kristen

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Reflections on a lifetime of harassment

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I grew up in Wisconsin. In high school I ran every night at 10pm. Summers I would ride my bike up and down rolling hills, past beautiful corn fields and red barns. Then little by little things changed.

I wouldn’t dream of doing those things now. Little by little my freedom is slipping away from me.

I remember clearly the anger I felt when I realized just how much freedom I had lost. It is a day that sits firmly in my memory. Not because anything monumental happened, but rather because that day, for whatever reason, I understood how quickly things were changing.

It was a beautiful autumn day. I was 25. I had graduated University, and had landed my dream job in beautiful Williamsburg, Virginia. I drove to a near-by park; ready to breathe in the crisp fall air and
admire the golden colors around me. Maybe I’d jog a bit. Feels good. But, as soon as I stepped onto the trail instead of continuing to feel happy, relaxed and carefree, my heart began to race. Why can I no longer go out to breathe the fresh air? It’s not allergies. Why instead of feeling the peace I used to feel, do I feel my heart race at the risk I take just to be in nature? My eyes dart side to side, surveying the scene. Planning escape routes. Which way is best to run? It’s not worth it. I turn around, walk back to my car and drive home.

The “smile. what’s a pretty girl like you frowning for?” (which I found belittling and rude) had turned into men wiggling their tongues between the V made by their fingers (even worse). Maybe it’s because I have shoulder length hair. After all I was blonde. Maybe it’s because I’m further south. Nope. I cut my hair, but even after several moves north and south, it seemed the men were
getting worse! Little by little the small changes were hard to ignore.

Eventually I got married, and wound up in Missouri for a while. We had a great little condo, and only a 10 minutes walk from work! I’d cross the street, walk through a large open parking lot, cross one
more street and enter via the back door. That’s when I started counting. The average was 10. Ten! That’s one every minute! Five car horns, two oral sex gestures plus three heads hanging out the window staring viciously, daring me,” come on. Make eye contact.” Equals ten! That’s one every minute! Ten sexual bullies Invading my ears, invading my eyes, invading my thoughts, crushing my spirits, swashing me, ruining my mood. Surely I should be able to walk this short distance to work, in broad daylight, alone and still feel safe.

Nope.

I began wearing big bulky jogging suits and tops. No bright colors. Especially no pink. (Which I didn’t own anyways) Did I receive fewer harassing looks or gestures? Nope. My husband liked my hair longer. It was chin length now, so I tucked it up under my hat. No help. I even tried to carry myself like a boy. My boobs aren’t that big. If the sweatshirt’s bulky enough, and I have my hat pulled down low, maybe they’ll think I’m a boy! No luck. I sat down on the cement curb and cried. I was 29. I called the only man I knew that loved, cherished and valued me, my Dad.

Later I phone my husband, but now that he is back in Virginia for a few months work, and needs the car, I’d have to make do. I tell him I hope he’s not doing what I was so upset about to anyone. Years later I’m in for more surprises. But back here in Missouri, at my happiest, and healthiest time ever, I am struggling. What is happening? I left the house happy, what happened?! I was often described as “happy-go-lucky”. A few people even found my positivity annoying. I couldn’t
understand being “dark” and jaded. But little by little, over time that was changing.

Little by little I have lost my freedom to just be. Little by little I have became angrier and angrier. I feel humiliated! I feel disgusted! I’m tired of being harassed! And I’m tired of feeling threatened! I saw on the news how all those women were raped in Central Park by swarms of men in broad daylight and no one, not ONE person did a thing.

My husband finally came home. The same roads were very different if he was walking beside me. I’d say,” I’m going to put a video camera in my bag and tape how different walking down the road with you and without you can be. I’ll wear the same outfits, go out at the same time of day…etc.” But “they” still found a way to get at me, even when he was walking beside me, holding my hand, they would stare at me in the side mirror after driving by. I guess for some reason it’s important to look at a woman’s face after sizing up her ass. My husband didn’t always notice, but I saw them. Sometimes they would even offer a look of defiance. Is that what it is? I don’t understand what it means; or what is being accomplished by this interaction, but I do know none of it feels good to me. It’s like a
look that says, “gotcha” or “you’re not safe just because you’re walking with him” or “you exist only to be used by me. you’re only worth in the world is for me to f* you and if you die i could care less. you are not human, you are a wo-man”

How am I supposed to handle this? It happens EVERY time I leave my house alone. Being with other women is no safer either. Sometimes that just makes things worse.

So, the disguises don’t work. What else can I do if clearly I cannot stop the insults from coming. Well I guess my first instincts were to ignore it. “Don’t flinch Angie, don’t break stride and whatever you do, don’t look up. Just pretend you didn’t hear it.” I hate walking around everywhere with my head down. It’s like I’m giving into them. I have a scowl on my face. I’m tense. I’m not taking in the flowers or the beautiful trees around me. If “they” see me happy it somehow gives them some sort of satisfaction that I cannot understand, and they are even more interested in invading my day! Ignoring this isn’t helping me! And there is nothing complimentary about this behavior so don’t even go there! Doing nothing has left me with a sore neck, feeling frustrated and defeated! After a while this “just ignore it” approach has just left me feeling like a victim.

I’m not a victim! I’m a human being! I’m an American! I’m a sister, a wife, a friend. A college graduate! An oboe player! An athlete! A caring person! A hard worker! I’m friendly! I love being
outside! I’m adventurous! I’m intelligent! I’m modest! I don’t “flaunt it”! I share my body with my husband! Aren’t these men somebody else’s husbands!!!! Do these poor women know that their
husbands are gawking at me!!!!

I start flicking them off. Still this seems to satisfy them as well, or they then I have to hear them yell, “bitch” or “you know you like it”, or “tight bitch”, or “you’re ugly anyway”. So that doesn’t last
long.

Maybe I need to change my reactions inside. Maybe I should feel happy. Feel flattered that I am attractive. Bullshit. I’m still repulsed.

“Take it as a compliment” some men say. Bullshit, I know I am being insulted. I still feel repulsed. I hardly think harrassing men would be so thrilled if the shoe was on the other foot. What if the world
was filled with men afraid to go anywhere without their wives because women would constantly be making sexual advances at them?

Ok…I let you go with that for a second. Great, you think, they would love it! But let’s put it in perspective. Give it a dose of reality. After all none of the men bullying me look like Brad Pitt.
In fact, even if I wasn’t married, I find none of them attractive. Quite the opposite. No Densell Washington has ever made inappropriate sexual gestures at me. It’s ALWAYS someone repulsive or clearly not age appropriate.

So when I say “women” harrassing helpless men, I don’t mean the models from the hair commercials. I don’t mean the classy “older” ladies selling the anti-wrinkle cream. (personally if that’s an older
woman, no one must live past 35) I’m talking about sexually aggressive women who are less physically
attractive and at an age that these male “victims” not only don’t desire, but feel repulsed at the thought of doing anything sexual with. Perhaps they have black teeth, dry dirty hair, dirty fingernails and filthy mouths. None of the pretty ladies he may see on the street give him anything but a conservative hello. Yet every woman he finds repulsive is making remarks about his penis being
somewhere he’s never want it to be, or better yet, she solicits him to perform favors for her by voicing them aloud as he innocently walks by. I hardly think he’d take it as a compliment.

As for me, I’m now 36. No kids yet. Scared to have a little girl. Praying a little boy doesn’t grow up to behave this way.

From the time I was 16 until age 30 the men that “harassed” me were mostly 18-35. Mind you, The thought of a 35 year old man being interested in me even when I was 25 grossed me out. Media and movies portray it all the time, but to me the thought was disgusting.

Now that I’m 36, I’ve noticed less attention. And if I do get it, now the men are 45-60. Yeah.

Maybe I get less attention because I’m older. Awesome! I can’t wait till men think I’m an old bag, a smelly old woman worth nothing. Then I won’t have to put up with their disgusting sexual invasions. Or maybe I get less attention because I rarely go anywhere without my husband now. Maybe I’ve altered my behavior and didn’t even realize it. I have to admit, it sure has been a challenge. Looking good enough for my husband to notice, but not good enough for any perv to see. Really really difficult.

So, anyways…yesterday I decide to walk to the store. Brown full length pants, not tight, geeky brown sandals and a turquoise blue v-neck t-shirt. No necklace, small earrings. I only had to go 10
minutes through my friendly Canadian neighbourhood to get to the store. Surely now that I’m back up north, way north, now that I’m older, and with what I’m wearing, nothing will come of this…. I
only made it two blocks.

They were sitting in their dump trucks. Road construction down a nearby street. Great. One of them hung his head out the window like a dog gasping for air; the other honked his horn. Why?! Why did he
feel the need to do this?! I was instantly angry!!

My emotions in check I immediately do what I always do…analyze my feelings. What’s the matter with me?! Why am I angry? I’m not an angry person!!! At least I didn’t used to be!! Is it because my
bruises never get a chance to heal? Does any woman bruises ever get a chance to heal? Why do they keeping poking me hitting my bruises? I want to scream “Stop it!” I want them to understand how horrible it feels. It’s insulting! Like how you might feel if someone peed on you! Stop pissing all over me! Now what…

I decide to turn around. I walk back to the lot where they’re parked. I stand on the sidewalk in front of the two men propped up high, sitting like kings in their dump trucks. I look hopelessly up at them, ten feet higher than me, protected by their steel trucks, and their sunglasses, and the fact that they’re men.

One just stares. The other offers the all too familiar dainty wave. The wave that belittles and maddens at the same time. That patronizing little wave has a way of getting into the pit of your
stomach I ask, “Did you honk?” Nothing. “Why did you honk your horn?” Continues wiggling his fingers at me with a cheshire cat grin. “Did you need something?” Notta. I yell, “Well, don’t honk at people who are just trying to walk down the street!”

Boy oh boy did I let him have it. Way to tell him off. I walked away. Now on top of everything else, I feel like a dork. Can’t really tell if I felt any better than if I’d said nothing, maybe even felt a little worse.

Perhaps if I cursed at him. Oh! they were black! Maybe I should have called them a derogatory name like n*****. Maybe then they’d feel something akin to the shame and disgust and inequality that they pressed on me.

There are sexual harrassment laws for the workplace. Why can’t they be for the street? Can I somehow stop this unwanted behavior by reporting them to their workplace. Hardly see anyone giving a shit. Probably just laugh and call me an uptight bitch. Please. PLEASE just leave me alone. Just leave women alone!

I believe all people matter. All of us all equal under the law, and under God. I have forgiven my uncle who molested me and all the young, and I mean YOUNG girls in his family including his granddaughter whom he also molested. I forgive Pete L. who took me to Bull Durham for my first date, and told me I “owed him” because he bought me a pop, and tried to rape me at the park.

Forgiven the guy who raped my best friend Jane, and the one who raped my other friend Machelle. For my classmates who pulled my friend Laura’s pants down, rolled her down the stairs and gang raped her in her own home because she was young and dumb enough to have a party when her parents were out of town. For the uncle who molested my friend Krissy. For the father who molested my friend Johanne; having sex with her from the time she was 3 or 4 throughout her teens. For
the brother who molested my best friend Jessie. For all the men who jack off to pornography despite the fact that they have beautiful loving wives and children, and for not understanding that not only are these women girls, and that they are old enough to be their fathers, but for not understanding that strippers and woman who do porn are usually victims of sexual abuse in the home, or drug addicts
supporting their addiction, or even women grabbing at some way to take back their sexuality but giving it away. For my husband who not only became a computer sex addict, but never wore a condom when he cheated on me, even when I was reading pregnancy how to books.

Why can’t men treat strangers with the same care and consideration they give, or pretend to give, their loved ones at home. I have theories on why this change has been happening. Little by little.
Taking unbelievable momentum. We talk about how much better it is here than it is in Africa and India. I hear the stories of how girls are raped on their way to school. How girls of 12 and 13 are
literally locked up until they mature and then forced into prostitution as CHILDREN! If we have this awareness. If we have sexual harassment laws for the workplace. If we are more socially aware, and better educated. If we live in a country of freedom, and equality. Then WHY CAN’T I BE FREE?!

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