Alicia Wallace, the Bahamas, Former SSH Blog Correspondent

It can be tough to explain to people that street harassment, though normalized, is not normal, and the practice is not linked to the culture of any country. It happens everywhere, and affects a broad spectrum of people.

Street harassment looks, sounds, and feels different depending on identity, location, time of day, and any number of other factors. The harassment I experience on a daily basis in Nassau is unlike harassment in any other place I’ve visited. I’m accustomed to the go-to names, phrases, and gestures of people in my city, but placed in an unfamiliar city, I don’t know what to expect, or how to respond. Language barriers prevent me from making assessments with the same accuracy as when I completely understand what is being said. Having limited knowledge of a place can be disempowering, changing the way I respond to harassment.

A few months ago, I went to Los Angeles for a conference. I was on a tight budget, so I stayed about 90 minutes away from the conference location and spent a lot of time walking and using public transportation. My experiences of harassment were less frequent than in Nassau, but put me on edge. I constantly thought about how desolate the bus stop near my hostel looked and felt at six o’clock every morning, and the fact that I couldn’t change my routine. Harassers could easily determine my routine the next day – or night – and find me there, alone and vulnerable. I thought about the long wait I had, every night, on the bus stop near the conference location. It didn’t get much pedestrian traffic, so even in the dark of night, I felt safer there than I did at the one near the hostel.

After the conference, I decided to visit a friend in Riverside. Everything I’d heard about Riverside suggested that it was pretty quiet, conservative, and, quite possibly, boring. I was fully prepared to wander around, aimlessly walking up and down streets, peeking into small stores, and hanging around the university area. I found that most people kept to themselves, not really bothering to pay much attention to anyone else. I was quite confident that I was in a relatively harassment-free zone. That changed on my birthday, when I decided to venture out a little further. I had to go through the main public transit hub.

As I made my way from a bus stop to the hub, I approached a group of middle-aged women who were hanging around a food truck. One was laughing and talking with the person in the truck, and the other women sat on the ground with their backs against a building on the other side of the sidewalk. As I got closer, the woman by the truck turned to face me, and looked me up and down repeatedly. She spoke rapidly in another language to the other women, making broad gestures toward me. As I walked between her and the other women, she turned the sidewalk into a catwalk. She kept saying things like, “That is nice!” and “You are so sexy!” For the first time, I felt conflicted about my response. This was a woman, clearly my senior, telling me she loved my ensemble, but what about all the other things she said? Should I smile? Say “thank you”? Pick up my pace? I didn’t know what to do, so I did all three. Even when I was well past her, she kept calling after me. It felt odd and uncomfortable.

Just when I started to feel a bit less weird, I approached a group of men in their early thirties, offloading a truck. They stopped to hoot and holler at me. Never before have I had to walk through the people who make me feel uncomfortable and at-risk of sexual assault. Generally, I can safely cross the street at any point in Nassau, but bigger cities don’t give that option. The only way was through, and I made it.

It was another twenty steps before I got to the main hub where a man in his twenties kept asking me for my number, where I’m from-from, and if he could go with me. It didn’t take long to shake him. I quick-walked to the furthest end of the station and sat on an empty bench. I put my earphones in and played an audio book.

Within a few minutes, another man – approximately 40 years old – came to the bench where I sat alone. He talked at me for about five minutes before he got angry. He aggressively questioned me about my reasons for not responding to him. He asked me if he was too ugly, or if I thought I was too good for him. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that I thought he had no money. He took out his wallet, crumpled up bills and threw them at me. He pelted me with money as no less than a dozen people looked on, silently.

In Nassau, I would have read him the riot act. I would have addressed that crowd, and told them they had just witnessed assault. I would have explained to them that they perpetuated that act of violence against me by remaining silent. I would have told them what it means to be a good bystander. I would have told that man that he should have been ashamed of himself, and that I am not object for sale. I am not a problem he could literally throw money at to solve or dissolve. Because I was in Riverside – a city I really didn’t know – and an area I had not explored before, I did none of these things. I didn’t know the culture of the place or its people. I didn’t know where the nearest police station was. I didn’t know how to call for help with internationally roaming. I was a sitting duck – the perfect target for street harassment. It was later that day that I returned to the spot with chalk. “I was harassed here. No one helped me. Don’t stand by. Stand up.”

Street harassment is a reality in every part of world, and there’s no way to identify potential harassers. They can be of any gender, race, or age, and could speak any language. They could feel deprived or entitled. They can talk at you and let you walk on, or may want to escalate the situation, causing you physical harm or public shame. These things can’t be predicted, especially if you’re in an unfamiliar space. While it’s empowering to respond, it’s important for people experiencing harassment to be mindful of cultural differences, deficiencies in knowledge of a place or people, and overall safety. Sometimes the safest thing we can do is walk away. We can always hollaback later.

Alicia is a freelance writer and public educator in Nassau, Bahamas. You can connect with her on Twitter (@_AliciaAudrey and on her blog.

Luiza Pougy Magalhaes, France/Brazil, SSH Blog Correspondent

I am very mouthy and outspoken, so I find it very difficult to keep my mouth shut when I am catcalled. However, I know from experience, that a smart-reply can put me in a dangerous situation, so I usually don’t say anything. Instead, I rely on my friends to listen to my rants regarding the issue. Often, I’m told to just ignore it. Well, I wish I could. Unfortunately, I have always been very bothered by what people have to say about me.

As a child, I was a late bloomer. I was also an awkward little girl with pale skin, big round glasses, frizzy hair and a shy personality. Of course, people loved to point that out. They made me believe that these were not just insecurities of mine, but actual flaws. I felt ugly, and therefore, I was unworthy.

Then, puberty finally caught up with me. My unkempt hair turned into flowy and wavy locks, contact lenses replaced my glasses, and my white skin and slim frame suddenly became charming. There was a new found attention on me. I finally felt beautiful and that made me feel like I owned the world.

I made the streets my catwalk. My clothes became shorter, tighter and there was make-up on my face. That shy girl had emerged into a young woman with overflowing self-confidence, a handful of sass, and a hint of superiority.

However, I soon came to realize that not all attention is positive. You see, a lot of it was unwanted and unflattering. Strangers were shouting at me, cars were honking and men were staring. There was whistling, glaring and catcalling. Just like that, I no longer felt beautiful and wonderful, but instead, dirty and disgusted.

I was no longer a girl, or a woman, not even a human being. I was an object of sexual desire. It was repugnant, and it was exhausting. My confidence changed into fear and my walk became uncomfortable. My routes were no longer determined by convenience, but by likelihood of harassment. My sass and superiority developed into anger and revolt. It was beyond me how such repulsing words could be masked as compliments.

One day when I’d had enough, I decided to swap my short skirts for sweat pants, and to ditch my make-up and contact lenses. Surely enough that would stop them. If only I was right.

As a child, I felt cursed for not being beautiful, but as time passed, I had begun to feel that beauty was the actual curse. However, that day I understood that actually, the only curse is society itself.

It saddens me to say that I was, and still am, a victim of the hideousness that is today’s society. One that is capable of making a little girl feel unworthy and a young woman demeaned. All because of her looks.

And there’s so little I can do about it.

Harassment has nothing to do with beauty or choice of clothing. Harassment is never the fault of the victim, and unfortunately, can’t be avoided in any way. The same applies for any kind of violence against women, for that matter.

Unfortunately, the ones who hold all the power are those who choose to harass. And I don’t know why they do it either. Maybe to feel in control and dominant, to disempower women, to reassure their masculinity or maybe, it’s just sexual frustration. For whatever reason it may be, it needs to stop. Harassment has impacted me greatly, and it continues to everyday.

The saddest part for me is knowing fully well that I have had it easy. There is an abundance of girls and women out there fighting much harder battles than mine. When will society realize that these battles are all of ours to fight? When will the urgency of this issue sink in? I hope, for me and all girls and women out there, soon.

Luiza is a 20-year-old from Brazil who considers herself a citizen of the world. As a teenager she moved to Singapore and now she studies International Business in France.