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I stopped at the gas station midday this past summer and as I was walking back to my car an older man (probably well into his 70’s) had backed into the spot beside my car and was directly beside my drivers side door. Well as I’m getting into my car he asks me how much? I said excuse me and he had the nerve to actually say how much for that pu$$y and said he needed some young white lady in his life. Said he needed what I could give him and I should stop looking at him like I’m disgusted. I was floored, never have I had someone speak to me that way! I wasn’t in revealing clothing at all either, I had on jeans and a regular t shirt (work attire).
I have just moved to a new city, Richmond Virginia and have been working remotely for my job so I went to the public library to work on my lap top. I was seated in a large room with small square tables in sets of two with long rows of book shelves in between them. I had a small table to myself and the table next to me there was a man seated alone. I was deep in my work when I could feel the man next to me starring at me. I decided to ignore him and keep working but I soon could sense out of the corner of my eye that he was moving his body now to face me. I immediately started to feel uncomfortable. Then I realized that he was moving his had across his groin area while starring at me, he just continued to rub himself and watch me. I was terrified, I have been sexually assaulted in a public place once before and I immediately froze, my heart was racing and I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to make eye contact, I wanted to shout at him and expose him for what he was doing, I wanted to run over and attack him. Instead I got out of my seat and went to the information desk, the desk was empty. I slowly went back to my seat and I think he must have gotten scared seeing me leave and took off. I was so angry at myself for not reporting him or shouting at him but I am also tired of blaming myself. I had done nothing wrong. I went home and decided to share the story with my husband even though I didn’t really want to because I felt so disgusted by the experience. I had a good cry and promised myself next time to speak up for me any every other woman. Thank you for listening.
See that snot mark dripping down my shirt in the attached photograph? It is a crying booger. It came from my nose and landed on my $4 turtleneck from Rainbow. I tried to hold the darn thing in, but alas, it got the best of me with all of the Sprint store on 5th Avenue and 22nd Street to witness the snottage action.
Today is November 11th, 2014. Veteran’s Day. Around 2 o’clock PM, I was on my way to the Sprint store. I happened to be in the Madison Square Park area where all of the excitement surrounding the Veteran’s Day parade was happening. I removed my giant, retro headphones that I wear every day for a specific reason so that I may hear the joyous “sounds of the streets” (I rarely listen to music; I usually just tuck the cord into my pocket, not hooked up to any sort of device).
I’m sure you know what is coming next. I’m a female in my 20’s writing an entry in my blog with a sad-faced photo attached, so of course it is about street harassment (or what some people may not categorize as “harassment”). Typical.
It will never end. People will never agree on the topic, or most topics in general (to be very vague and non-descriptive), and that is okay. Bad things in the world will never end, because not everybody views them as bad things. But, referring to this pathetic picture of myself, the aggression shown towards me and my body did indeed evoke negative emotions in me. It made me uncomfortable, and the comments were unwanted. It plain-old ruined my day. I have lived in this city for almost 6 years, and I try not to let these comments mean more to me than the $USD worth of a processed-cheese sandwich; I have a wonderful family, and my career involves me getting paid to run around in fields like a forest elf; But, some days I break. If this picture is not proof that “street comments” are unwanted and fall into the category of harassment, then I do not know what is.
That pasty sliver of skin where my pants meet my $5 turtleneck from Rainbow was me “asking for it”, according to my assaulter, who was working crowd control at the parade (the turtleneck got more expensive as this entry continues). He didn’t think that stepping in front of my path in an intimidating and aggressive manner and commenting on my belly was disrespectful and wrong. He is entitled to his opinion. And that’s why things will never fully-change in the way that many of us dream of, despite the recent, valiant efforts by “Hollaback!”.
That catcalling video with the modestly dressed woman walking around New York for 10 hours was made by “Hollaback!” for a reason, educational I’m guessing, and I am truly sorry that the response to it included parody videos about NY Jets fans. People love their parody videos. Come up with your own goddamn ideas.
My main reason in writing this entry is to thank the people that stood up for me today. Thank you to the man in the white button-down that took off his headphones and yelled with me. “Good for you!”, he said. And thank you to the woman in the Sprint store that consoled me after 5 minutes of me poorly pretending that I wasn’t super sad and angry. “Stay strong, girl.”
I now feel ridiculous and selfish posting this sappy picture of myself on Veteran’s Day, but I am doing it anyway because today I decided to speak (and write). Thank you for listening.
I need to stop having meltdowns in Sprint stores.
A few days ago, I was walking off of the subway heading to a friend’s apartment. As I approached the stairs to head toward the exit of the station, a tall man walked past me and I felt his hand on my butt. Yep, he grabbed me inappropriately and kept walking. By the time I realized what had just happened, turned around to call him a disgusting pig, he was already on the subway. Shocked and disgusted, I ran upstairs to alert a police officer or MTA employee (as they encourage you to do) yet not one single employee or officer could be found in the entire subway station. There is even a police office located within the station, but the lights were out and no one was there. I was horrified to realize that I could not immediately report this and there was absolutely no one to help me. What if this had been a more serious case? What if I had been injured? It’s very disappointing to realize the lack of support I felt that day and I’m sure I don’t stand alone as a victim of inappropriate and unwanted sexual touching. So I called MTA and they deferred me to the police. The police offered to send someone to the station, but the man was far gone by then. Even more disappointing is the fact that when you try to submit a complaint on MTA’s website, you receive an email saying that someone will respond to you “within 15 business days”. This isn’t exactly what women want to hear after they just experienced something like this.
I plan to make a police report, but unfortunately I am just one of the countless women who experienced this and will probably not see any justice.
Here’s to ending street harassment, bringing awareness to the issue and supporting women.
I attended college in a different county back in 2008, Miami Dade College. I would take the Miami bus then I would transfer and take a Broward county bus. When I first got on the Miami bus to go home I was with my bestfriend. As we got to our seats and sat down, she told me that this old man keeps staring at her. She got off her stop first, and then I later got off to walk to my next bus stop. That same man got off and started to talk to me in a very low voice. He had brown rotten teeth and messed up dirty hair. He looked like he was in his 50’s and was around 6ft tall. I’m only 5’3 and was 22 years old at that time. The man asked me, what was the next bus I was going to take? He then said how I look good, while sizing me from the back. The man also kept asking me for my number. Bus number 2 came and I quickly got on and sat next to a young man, so that the older guy won’t sit next to me. That young man eventually got off the bus and that old man sat down right next to me. The old guy again kept asking me for my number. My stop eventually came and I quickly got off that bus. Now I was a 40 minute walk from my house which is about 2 miles. I could easily take a third bus home or walk, but since I just missed the third bus I decided to walk. I didn’t know I was being followed at that time. I called my bestfriend and then all of a sudden the old guy started walking behind me. He walked so close to me that he was brushing up against my back. He kept saying, “Take my number or I will follow you home.” A lady around my age watched from behind along with a middle aged man. They kept saying out loud, “He is following her.” I yelled at the old man that was following me to leave me alone please. He walked away from me and turn back around. I was still jumpy so I walked to the McDonalds since it was right there. I stayed there for 20 minutes until I felt safe enough to walk home.
I’ve been followed a few times after that incident, but never again to that extreme. Now I have pepper spray and a stun gun.
Buffalo, especially the west side, is a breeding ground for sexual predators. I go to a local college in this area called D’youville and all the young women who go here are subjected to harassment daily. It’s so regular for us that it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore. Every day when walking home or around campus men openly stop their cars to stare at us, whistle at us to get our attention, stop in their tracks to turn around and stare, and yell “compliments” it needs to stop.
I was recovering from a painful/traumatic medical procedure, wearing a baggy sweater, loose coat, sunglasses and hat, not in the mood to be bothered. I came to Coney Island to volunteer with an elderly man who lives there, as I do every week. The man pictured here was hanging out outside where I parked my car and began loudly commenting on my appearance as I fed the meter. I really wasn’t in the mood, and just ignored him, going about my business. When I came back to leave, he was still there and continued where he left off, but when I didn’t acknowledge him, he began angrily shouting for me to “have a nice day.” Finally he yelled “don’t suck too much cock!” as I was getting in to my car. I snapped at that point, flipped him off and said fuck you, took this picture and drove away.
Happy Friday Holla’backers!
Despite fielding a tremendous increase in press attention, Hollaback! sites around the world have been super busy! We can’t thank you enough for your hard work during this time.
If you haven’t already had a chance to look at it, here is the Mothership’s latest statement on the viral video and and a preview our upcoming response project.
Hollaback! Croatia will conduct a workshop for high school students as part of a teen section/program of a feminist festival that will take place next week in Zagreb. There is even a televised opportunity! We look forward to hearing, and seeing, how it goes.
The first time a man exposed himself to me I was 11 years old in Cinncinnati, Ohio.
I am now nearly 50 and I have gotten so used to ignoring street harassment that I stopped thinking about it years ago.
The list of serious street harassment experiences I have had is so long that it is pointless to list them all. Everything from the city worker in city uniform in a city truck wiggling his tongue through the crotch of his fingers, to men brazenly grabbing my ass as I walk down the sidewalk, to the every day “you’d look good on me”, and nowadays:”You still lookin’ good for an old lady, you a cougar baby?”….and the kissing sounds, those are the most revolting.
I’ve learned to ignore them, stay aware from those parts of town, and not to use the train or bus because of the harassment. It’s just not worth it to deal with it.
Sadly: it is just become a background factor in my life. I just live accepting that this is the way it has always been and will always be: no one has ever done anything about it, bystanders often laugh or jump in and join the harasser. You can call the cops, but they do not take reports. I have even had them say “Why do you want to report this and ruin the poor guy’s life?” or some other version of “boys will be boys.”
Now I watch the same thing happening to my daughter and I am furious.