Street Harassment

Hannah

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I was walking through my estate in London at around 10am. I was struggling with heavy bags I had to carry to take to a charity shop. As I was walking, I got to a road I needed to cross, there was no one around except a man who was driving a van across that road. I signalled that I would wait for him to pass but he went out of his way to stop to let me cross. I smiled and thanked him as he drove away. Pretty average thing to happen except as I continued walking, the driver turned back, pulled up to where I was walking and rolled down his window. He then beckoned me to come closer, so I did as at this point (I thought he may be telling me there was a problem further up the road.) Once I was closer he said to me, “you have a pretty face, a pretty shape, make sure you have a pretty attitude to go with it”, presumably in response to the way I had thanked him earlier. I was too shocked that anyone could be this audaciously sexist and feel the sense of entitlement to my body and character he did, I stood open mouthed and silent as he waved goodbye and shouted “God Bless”, promptly speeding off down the road before I could even collect the words to argue. This man had outwardly condemned me against gender stereotypical ideals of what is expected of women in being “pretty”. He also expected over appreciation of what he perceived to be a ‘kind’ gesture I never asked for. Reflective of society as a whole isn’t it?

Penny

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Me and my friend (we’re 16) walk down the street. A man (about 30) drives past, slows down, rolls down his window and wolf whistles. We walk further down to a quieter area. Two boys about our age starts yelling stuff at us. I didn’t hear most of it but I did hear them calling us “whores”. Get home, told I should take it as a compliment because I’m pretty

Martina

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Some four years ago, I was going to Tuscany to pay a visit to a dear friend of mine. It was the beginning of September and the weather was still very hot. It was 4 pm, I had just spent the last four hours and a half on a train and I was sweaty and a bit tired. I was wearing shorts and a light top, my usual outfit for summertime. I remember I was waiting for my friend outside of the railway station, sitting on my trolley. It was a very nice day, there were loads of people walking past me and I was feeling happy at the idea of seeing my friend again after such a long time. I noticed an old man who was definitely more than 80 years old; he had a walking stick and looked very fragile. He had a friendly and nice look. He saw me sitting on my trolley by myself, so he decided that I needed some company. “It’s hot today, isn’t it?” he asked. “Indeed”, I replied with a smile. He started with small talk, describing the weather and talking about summertime in Arezzo. Being a polite person, I listened to him and replied in order to maintain the conversation on a friendly level. He looked almost cute, just like any other grandad. “What is a pretty young lady like you doing here all alone?” he asked. “I’m waiting for a friend”, I answered. It sounded like an innocent compliment and I appreciated it. “Ahhh, your boyfriend?” he asked again. “No, he’s just a friend”. I took my phone and texted my friend: “A cute old man has just welcomed me to Arezzo with his adorable Tuscan accent!” However, my appreciation didn’t last. The old man started to come too close to me. I began to feel a little bit uncomfortable. I told myself that I was acting silly; he was old, hence innocent and harmless. My uncomfort kept growing, until I just shut my mouth. I didn’t know how to react: was that man trying to flirt with me or is it just me being paranoid?! I got the answer straight away: he was not only trying to flirt with me, he was trying to touch me. He was basically right in front of me, something like 30 centimetres away from my face. I froze and I decided that I would stare at the phone screen in order not to give him a reason to go further. His voice changed. It lowered and it became really weird, as if he were getting sexually excited. I shiver every time I recollect this memory. I heard him murmur something like: “Such a pretty girl… But she won’t look at me! Why isn’t this pretty girl looking at me? Very pretty…” His leg was now brushing against my knee. I didn’t have the courage to look at him. I was paralysed and ashamed because I couldn’t believe that I, a 19-year-old girl, was being molested by a 80-year-old man. Fortunately, after half a couple of minutes of shock and disbelief, I heard my friend’s voice calling my name. His voice took me out of that powerless state and brought me back to myself. I got up and ran towards him, leaving the slobbery old man by himself.

AngerLady

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So many of these, in so many places. Some guy grabbed me and put his arms around me in a busy street the other day. I was too shocked to do anything, continued on my way and went into the supermarket a block away. When I came back out, the same guy attempted to do it again, but I yelled “you don’t f**ing tocuh people you don’t know!” Smirks from random people. I live in a beautiful city in Western Europe, and this man was local. I’m also 45 years old. I thought this crap would be over by now.

Kathryn

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I was walking along an alleyway near where I live with two men walking behind me, They started making kissy noises at me and shouting for me to turn round, and shouting “hey sexy” at me. It was dark and I was a bit intimidated so I kept walking. They then started talking loudly between them about me saying “she has an ok ass, her tits are probably alright as well… but her face looks like it is a problem…that’s alright we would do her from behind anyway…ok.. I get first dibs, you hold her down… ” and continuing to make “jokes” about raping me. I didn’t really think they would act on it but I was still frightened so walked really quickly and got on to the main road. I felt so angry and powerless about it. I really wanted to challenge them but couldn’t because I was scared.

Sophie

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I was walking home tonight from the train station (10 minutes away from my flat, in an area I moved to a couple of weeks ago). I was already feeling jumpy because a man had catcalled me from his car as I was crossing the road – although he hadn’t said anything offensive, it was still unpleasant, especially when I was on my own at night. As I started to question whether I was safe walking home, a man walked deliberately towards me, staring at me. He came up as if to block my way, and when I obviously looked frightened, he looked at me and laughed as if it was all a big joke. I walked the rest of the way home with jelly legs and cried when I got into my flat. I feel incredibly lucky that nothing worse happened, but also angry. Angry that something so small could make me feel so unsafe; angry that, as a trauma survivor, this has put me back a few steps from the really good progress I was making; angry that my first thought was “is it because I’m wearing shorts and my legs are bare?”; angry that this happens every day to so many women and is so rarely taken seriously.

Amber

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I hate my area. I don’t feel safe or comfortable walking down the road I live on, or down the high street to meet a friend for lunch. Today, on a warm summer’s day, I left the house wearing trousers and a vest top. Within a couple of minutes of leaving my house and getting to the main road, I was being stared at by men on the street, beeped at by passing cars, and called sexy by passers by. I immediately regretted wearing a vest top, and wished I’d worn something that didn’t expose as much skin, but why?? I felt that I’d be judged for being a slut for wearing something which would lead to men staring at my breasts, as if it was my fault if this happened. I’d love to just think you know what, I can wear what I want, screw this sexist bullshit!! But those thoughts still linger in the back of my mind and it bothers me that we live in a society where I’m even thinking that, and where I feel uncomfortable and self conscious for wearing what I want as a woman. I hate that women’s bodies are always sexualised, that if you’re not covered from head to toe in clothing, any skin exposed or boobs on show slightly is seen as sexual. Boobs are not objects, women’s bodies are not objects – things like this that happen on a regular basis, whenever I want to go and buy milk or bread or a magazine, remind me of the sexism that exists in society today, and remind me of the power that men still have in society.

againstsexism

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I was cycling home from work at 5 pm. As I went through a city park, three young male teenagers shouted at me, saying “whoo” and “wow” and “hey look at that,” “nice tits,” etc. It was scary because it is a large park, and we were the only people in it. It shook me to the core, especially as I’m probably 3 times their age. Not only have I stopped cycling to work and started driving, I have also – upon reflection – started wondering about those boys’ fathers. Who taught them those things? How do these same fathers teach their daughters?

Anonymous

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Walking the dog in a hoodie and joggers… shouted and whistled at by men in a van.

Alice

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I was studying abroad in Spain and decided to go for a walk one Sunday afternoon to clear my head as I’d been cooped up inside writing an essay all day. I walked to an area on the map I’d never been to before and soon realised that it was a pretty dodgy end of town. Having been catcalled by men driving by in cars 4 times, I decided it was time to make my way back home sharpish. As I was walking back I suddenly heard a voice behind me calling several times (in Spanish) ‘Bonita!’, ‘Do you want to be my best friend?’ and finally, ‘Don’t you speak Spanish?’ (as if that would be the only reason stopping me from replying!) I turned round briefly to see how close he was and realised it was one of the men who had called from his car a little earlier and that he had been driving in the opposite direction which means he not only turned his car around but also parked it and got out in order to follow me. I didn’t reply and practically ran back to my flat, fortunately he stopped following me after about 100m. I was so shaken up for the week that followed and asked my Spanish friend whether she’d experienced anything similiar: she explained ‘You have to go into a shop or a bar when that happens’, I told her that it was a Sunday so nothing was open and she just said ‘Oh, that’s too bad’.