Stop Street Harassment

Making Public Spaces Safe and Welcoming

Street Harassment During a Pandemic

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Do you have a story about street harassment during the global COVID-19 pandemic? Share it here and we’ll post it for International Anti-Street Harassment Week, April 19-25.

Today, I went for my afternoon walk in the neighborhood as usual. My eyes for a second met the eyes of a young man wearing headphones who was sitting on the stoop. I immediately thought “I hope he doesn’t think I’m interested because I glanced at him.” He stared at me hard and then jumped up from the stoop and started walking in front of me. I slowed down to put distance between us.

He turned around to face me and started walking towards me. He was acting a little off, moving erratically and pointing at me. I crossed the street instantly, he followed me, this time less than a foot behind my body. & now I was scared. He punched a sign we walked by making a large bang. He was saying something to me, but I couldn’t hear anything, just fear ringing in my ears because the streets were empty and no one was around. I was thinking about running but could I outrun him, was looking for another person walking, or an open store – but only houses.

I finally got to an open corner store a couple blocks from my house and darted inside. He did too. Then I told him to fuck off and stop following me. He slammed the iron gate in a way that shook me. I rushed in — feeling the urgency to be around another person, but the store was empty. I saw the shop owner at the back and rushed towards her, but kept my 6ft. Exchanging a look between women that we all know too well.

She had seen the man follow me in and asked if I was okay. I burst into tears. She asked where I lived, locked up her store and walked me home. I wish I could’ve hugged her in that moment.

As a woman who has lived in big cities for most of my life, I’m used to street harassment. Street harassment during this pandemic is a whole ‘nother thing — there’s the extra fear of someone getting close to you, more fear when there aren’t witnesses, more fear when you can’t rush into an open store for help because most of the stores are closed.

But today, all I’m grateful for is Nani, a shop owner in my neighborhood who was ready to protect me and showed me the kindness I needed to rule out the fear. Stay safe, ladies. XO

Location: Washington, DC

– Anonymous

Need support? Call the toll-free National Street Harassment hotline: 855-897-5910

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
See the book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers for ideas.

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Soliciting Minneapolis Street Harassment Stories

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I’m sharing this for our ally Cards Against Harassment:

“Have you ever experienced street harassment in Minnesota? A Minneapolis-based activist is gathering stories (however brief, however general) to help inform upcoming anti-harassment initiatives in Minneapolis.

If you can, please take a minute and either in the comments on this post, or in an email to cardsagainstharassment@gmail.com, describe your experience(s) with street harassment in or around Minneapolis. If you want to share details of your experiences, please do, but your post or email does not need to be specific, dramatic, or seem notable to you; a simple “this has happened to me and here is how it affected my me or my behavior” will suffice.  The preliminary goal is to simply gather samples of experiences, and ideally some detail on street harassment’s impact on people who live, work, or have visited Minneapolis.  

If you do share details, please don’t include narrative concerning perceptions concerning the economic status or racial or ethnic identity of your harasser, or coded language accomplishing the same. The goal is to help increase respect, not prejudice.”

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“I am a feminist, yet I am a victim”

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This article excerpt is cross-posted with permission from the blog Organica: The Story of an Arab American Girl.

I am writing about my everyday experiences as a single woman living in Cairo, Egypt. I travel independently, run my own life and refuse to allow harassment or male behavior hinder my life. I am writing about the price I pay for braving the road, the protests, the streets, and the sit-ins. I am writing about how my feminism feels helpless and often afraid.

Here it goes: my name is Hana and I am an empowered victim.

When I lived in the United States between 2006 and 2011, I used to dream about the day I’d move back to Egypt so that I could yell and shame every man who sexually harassed me on the street. I thought it would feel empowering. I was wrong. Not only is it extremely draining and tedious, it quite often takes a scary turn. Sexual harassers thrive on getting a rise out of their prey.

This is not an article on sexual harassment, but a glimpse of my life.

On the Road:

Everyday my mother looks at me with terror: ‘khali balak men nafsik winabi ya benti’ [take care of yourself my daughter] before I leave the house, and my response is ‘Mami haye7sali eh ya3ni? Mate2la2eesh’ [Mom, what do you think could possibly happen to me anyways? Stop worrying!]. But in reality, I’m wrong and she’s right. She should be worried for my safety. I am often instructed to reconsider my outfits when I am driving alone and I argue that I am not going to let men affect my choices.

The driver-to-driver harassment is rampant in Cairo. One time while in stagnant 6th of October bridge traffic, I was texting on my phone (traffic was at a complete standstill).

The driver in the car next to mine said: “I hope this phone falls on the car mat, so that you may bend down to get it, and I’d drive into you, ya know what I mean?”

I yelled “balash elit adab w 2araf’ [I don’t want disrespect and disgust], which he responded “ba2a keda?” [Like that, eh?] – And then he followed me to my house all while making further obscene comments.

There was nothing I could do to protect myself from this bully – I was helpless.

Protests:

I moved back to Egypt on July 5th. On July 8th there was a million man march and the beginning of a sit-in. That Friday was my first ever protest in Egypt. I dressed appropriately and took to the streets with immeasurable excitement. Given that I moved back to Egypt for the revolution, I thought nothing could taint my first experience in a protest – I was wrong.

A man approached with his three friends and asked about the color of my bra – apparently he preferred white ones. I yelled and said that I would scream if he said anything which made him and his friends laugh loudly – at me – declaring that I am crazy but a ‘hottie,’ and a crazy-hottie combo would be great in bed. I pulled out my pepper spray but it failed to reach my monsters.

The day continued along the same lines, I got groped several times, one of which was actually from the front (I did not know that was even possible), and another by a 12 year old CHILD who I caught and yelled at. I was scared and felt vulnerable although equipped with my knife and pepper spray. There was nothing I could do and it felt awful.

The Streets:

There is no ‘that street’ story because there are countless street stories. They all revolve around the same thing: being verbally and quite often physically assaulted by men. Forget the catcalls, and the comments (I was once told that I am attractive, but would be much more attractive if I lost some weight), but the physical harassment is unbearable.

My street story is by no means special. I was walking home, turning at a corner, when a man’s hand came out of a car window and groped me (it was painful). The car had 4 or 5 guys and I could hear them laugh at my humiliation. I continued walking, feeling disgusted when the car appeared again, and one of the guys in the car so kindly suggested that it was obvious that I wanted to get groped again.

Yeah, that felt awful too.

…

Reality:

The worst thing that I face as a woman who refuses to let such actions hinder or inhibit her is the feeling of helplessness. I am a feminist, yet I am a victim. I know for a fact yelling back or even screaming at harassers is effective, some do actually apologize when shamed, but I also know that NOTHING will stop these men except actual punishment. I am a woman who never uses the metro, microbuses, buses and I rarely use taxis, yet I face this much harassment. I can only imagine what the women who do use public transportation face on a daily basis. I presume I’d have to multiply my experiences by a hundred.

I do not pray often, but I pray that the day comes when I feel safe walking the streets of Egypt; I walk them now anyway, but I feel weak, vulnerable and helpless and it feels awful.

–An Egyptian Woman.

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“Suddenly he had my foot in his hand and was squeezing it in different places”

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My partner and I were on vacation in New Orleans the week after Christmas. Having left snowstorms behind us at home, we were enjoying the sunshine and wearing jeans and t-shirts.

One morning, we were sitting waiting for the street car at the stop by the French Market when a man approached me and very cordially asked me, “What type of shoes are those?”

He was about middle aged, looked clean enough, and seemed friendly. I was wearing plain black leather loafers, but the brand name escaped me. I guess I assumed he was looking for something similar for his wife or daughter. I smiled, slipped off my shoe and read him the brand. He asked if the leather was soft. Alarm bells should’ve gone off when he knelt at my side and took the shoe from my hand, but he just seemed so genuine. He noted the padded insert and asked if I had high arches.

Suddenly he had my foot in his hand and was squeezing it in different places. I was starting to get nervous, but he was calmly going on about being a reflexologist and I was caught between stunned silence and naive belief. It wasn’t until he painfully pressed down on a bone in my foot I’ve broken twice in the past that I was jolted back to my senses. With his hands still on my foot, he started asking my girlfriend about her feet. I pulled my foot away, still smiling and trying to be polite.

Then, without either of us even saying anything to him to end the encounter, he was just gone. I suppose he’s done this enough times to know when the game is over, because he completely disappeared the instant before either of us became confrontational.

In retrospect, I’m upset with myself for doing nothing. I’ve told cat-callers to fuck off more times than I can count, called supervisors of men who’ve harassed me while they were on the job, and I read blogs like this one regularly. I KNOW better. I stick up for myself and others when I see or experience street harassment. But here was a man TOUCHING me and trying to touch my girlfriend, and I smiled and nodded while it went on for several minutes. The whole experience left me feeling disgusting and was really triggering for me as a sexual assault survivor.

– mbc

Location: New Orleans, LA, near the French Market

Share your street harassment story today and help raise awareness about the problem. Find suggestions for what YOU can do about this human rights issue.

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“There is no where to go to escape it”

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I’ve been harassed nearly everywhere I’ve gone, and no matter how I was dressed. I’ve had my boobs grabbed, my ass grabbed, my crotch grabbed, and some of the most filthy and disgusting things I never wanted to hear whispered into my ears. And it doesn’t just happen in the streets. Concerts, bars (even while I was clearly talking to a boyfriend), groceries stores, malls, in the workplace, there is no where to go to escape it. No one has ever done anything to stop it. When I ignore it or give the harasser an annoyed look, they start calling me an ungrateful bitch, or a whore. When others see me being harassed, they never do anything to stop it, as if it’s only worth the trouble if things turn to violence.

It started when I was thirteen, and I enjoyed the attention of whistles and honks from the car. It didn’t take long for me to get sick of hearing it, and for more serious trespasses to start. I was never even a sexy dresser. Jeans, t-shirt, no makeup. That didn’t effect things, either. I often wore old, dirty sweatpants and a torn up flannel shirt to a job I had loading trailers in college. For some reason, that just made them like me more, especially at gas stations. For years, I quit going to bars and concerts because I was so sick of dealing with the crowd. As I’ve gotten older, I don’t get it quite so much. Oddly, the business suit seems to work better as a deterrent than the sweat pants ever did.

All that time, I just figured it was something I had to live with and work around. This website and it’s message are great, and I hope it will help change the way we deal with this issue.

– KW

Location: Everywhere

Share your street harassment story today and help raise awareness about the problem. Find suggestions for what YOU can do about this human rights issue.

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