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BY KATE reposted from Kate Runs.
I woke up this morning with summer weighing heavily on my mind – thoughts of camping, hiking, biking, running, beaches, lakes, kayaking and general frolicking have me distracted. Today was a perfect summer morning, with bright sunlight and a slight breeze, forecasted highs in the low 80′s. I’m ready for next week’s break (Jack and I both have the week off), even if it means insanity today and tomorrow trying to tie up loose ends ahead of my absence.
I wasn’t quite ready to write about yesterday’s run when I returned. The run itself was a lovely, 68-degree 5.5 miles around the Greenway and the Esplanade (isn’t that view such an improvement from this?), and started out innocuously enough with my pondering once again the reasons some object to slower runners in their midst; perhaps I’ll share some additional theories here at a later date.
The infuriating part of my lunchtime run yesterday came in the form of several unrelated catcalling incidents.
Men of the World: STOP IT.
“Mami,” “Baby,” “Honey,” “Wow,” “Damn,” “That’s the stuff,” “Why you jogging? Keep that ass!” and “Oh, shit!” are all unacceptable ways to address me, or my backside as I pass you. Do not whistle. Do not hiss. Do not pull up alongside me and ask me for my number.
None of these things are compliments. They are not funny. They are not acceptable, and certainly they are not endearing. I do not run for your amusement or your approval, and I did not ask for your feedback. It is insulting, it is threatening, it is exhausting to ignore and it is harassment.
I should mention that this is not an isolated or unusual occurrence, and certainly not something that impacts only me. Some days, I find myself almost amused; almost always, I find the behavior pathetic. Yesterday, I was not in the mood, and found myself particularly enraged.
To those who will suggest that I run in a different neighborhood – I certainly wish that I could say that running in my tiny hometown in rural PA (or, as yesterday, along the Esplanade) didn’t involve similar perils.
To those who will argue that short shorts and sports bras are bound to attract attention (what kind of blame-the-victim pig are you?), I will note that I, firstly, don’t believe that that should make it acceptable to comment at will on a stranger’s physical appearance, and secondly that I seldom run in anything above the knee or with bare shoulders (let alone midriff), for personal comfort and sun protection reasons.
To those who will insist that I am a humorless crank who can’t take a joke or a compliment, I suggest you pay a bit more attention to your surroundings the next time you’re out with your girlfriend, your daughter or your sister. Behavior like this is certainly not aimed solely at runners – it just happens to be the time when I find it most frustrating. (I’m sweaty. I’m salt-stained. I smell a little. I’m panting and focusing on my stride and trying to finish my last mile and I would like very much not to hear from you.) Keep your eyes and ears open, and see if you don’t find yourself appalled.
Most importantly, if you happen to be reading this and thinking that any of those tactics I listed above sound like good fun and why didn’t you think of that – STOP IT. If you wouldn’t say it to your mother, don’t say it to me when you eat my dust.
SUBMITTED BY BRITTANY, reposted from Service Women’s Action Network.
Every day, I walk 8 blocks down Fifth Avenue to work and then back again. Now that the weather is getting nicer in New York, I especially look forward to these walks when I can sip on my latte, do some window shopping, and bask in the sun before August rolls around and the hot air suffocates so much that it is unpleasant to be outside for a minute, let alone walk ten to work. However, there are often days that—weather problems aside— this walk turns from a pleasant moment of serenity to a time that ranges from annoying to scary. Sexual harassment is what I’m talking about, and there have been times when I’ve been harassed by five different men in the course of 10 minutes, or these 8 blocks to and from work. The type of harassment and specific remarks or actions vary—sometimes men whisper things like “sexy legs” or “nice ass” as we’re passing each other on the street. Other times the harassment is more threatening. I’ve had men follow me a few blocks before, and once even saw a man masturbating in his car while staring at me and saying things to get me to look over at him. While some of these incidents are obviously more dangerous than others, the collective effect makes me feel degraded, objectified, and many times, straight up scared. Even in my own neighborhood oftentimes in the middle of the day, my feelings range from annoyed at best to extremely fearful at worst. After these incidents occur, I find myself wishing I could disappear, that I could walk up and down Fifth Avenue completely unnoticed. But this thought itself is enraging—shouldn’t I have a fundamental right to walk to and from work without the constant fear of physical or verbal sexual assault?
The title of this post is something that male sexual harassers often say to women—“Hey baby, let me see a smile!” or some related version. Men say this to me, and to many of my colleagues and friends, as we’re going about our business—walking to work, waiting in line at the grocery store, on the subway. I don’t know about you, but I rarely have a smile plastered to my face at all times while I’m just living my daily life. Men seem to expect me to, however, and this expectation undoubtedly is related to their view of women and their gender roles. Women exist for men’s pleasure and use, whether it is functional, aesthetic, or sexual. Related, some men feel entitled to expect and demand women to act a certain way, and think nothing of trying to enforce these roles via sexually explicit suggestions, remarks, or gestures. This dynamic is pervasive, and can just as easily happen on Fifth Avenue as in a work environment.
Fortunately, as a civilian I am protected by equal opportunity policies and anti-sexual harassment laws that permit me to sue my employer for sexual harassment and have access to other forms of redress should this kind of thing happen in the workplace. I can also choose to leave my job, to quit at the drop of the hat. Many women are not afforded this luxury, however, if quitting a job because of sexual harassment means descending into poverty. Yet, despite how imperfect civilian workplace sexual harassment policies may be, they provide a lot more protections and forms of redress than the sexual harassment and equal opportunity policies in the U.S. military. Rape and sexual assault survivors in the military also find themselves in precarious positions, and are often left vulnerable and hopeless. Imagine being raped by your commander (boss/employer) and then being forced to work with him, in close, intimate quarters, every day! While I can easily choose to avoid Fifth Avenue or even duck into a public place for refuge, military women are forced to walk the equivalent of Fifth Avenue every day. And forget privacy protections—even though in recent years the military introduced a “restricted” reporting option that allows sexual assault survivors to receive healthcare and treatment without having to name their assailant, anonymity is unlikely to be preserved in practice. In fact, the DOD recently found that over half of sexual assault survivors who didn’t report the incident chose not to because of fear of retaliation or reprisal.
SWAN has been instrumental in persuading members of Congress to introduce legislation that would fill some of these gaps in military policy and ensure survivors of rape and sexual assault in the military are protected. Hopefully one day soon servicemen and women will have the same options I have to escape and address rape, sexual assault, and sexual harassment. But the underlying cause of sexual violence—an infectious combination of power, misogyny, and sexism—needs to be eradicated before women in both the civilian and military worlds can walk to work without fearing physical or verbal sexual assault.
I think Hollaback Israel works not only because it gives access to these representations, but also because it doesn’t immediately solve them with a narrative/imagery/story/myth. There are a lot of representations we give home to, but we hardly sort them into a single imagery. And that decision creates a lot of tension, which in turn, translates into action. Because we don’t tell people how to read these representations. We just offer access to them, and let people decide for themselves what to do with them. And the ripples and collaborations we made are the efforts of energy of trying to frame these representations into a new story and into a better society.
For the full story, click here.
Visit Hollaback Israel here.
BY KIMBERLYNN ACEVEDO
This is one fine piece of work right here. Why? Because the creator was able to create a montage of ordinary folks sharing their opinions and experiences with street harassment without having to sell you the idea that street harassment blows. You can see it for yourself….this stuff sucks. From the ever so creepy dude in the beginning who very proudly admits to yelling obnoxiously to get women’s attention to the young woman who believes street harassment is a confusing form of flattery…a backhanded compliment, if you will. This documentary shows how women are objectified through everyday interactions on the streets. It provides insight into various experiences– from perpetrator to “victim”– we see the consequences of how viewing women as objects and not human beings is manifested, interpreted, and experienced. I say it’s worth the watch and definitely worth sharing.
Click here to watch!
I was visiting St. Louis for an interview and caught the metro from the airport to where I was staying that night. Across the car from me was this man, who ignored my headphones being in and my lack of attention to him and started touching my foot and pulling at my shoe and leg. I pulled one earphone out to ask what he wanted, still having trouble hearing from the flight, but got the gist that he was hitting on me and then I very clearly heard him say I should take him home with me. I kept saying no and, when he asked where I was going, I said I didn’t know. Another man on the train sitting behind holla-er (and was slightly bigger than him but also a little older) told him to leave me alone and put up with a tirade for the rest of his metro ride so the guy would leave me alone (I’m pretty sure the holla-er was intoxicated in someway). The good guy kept saying okay to everything the holla-er said and avoided antagonizing him further while keeping the attention away from me. I felt terrified of the holla-er but I so, so happy that the good guy was there and that people exist who will counter harassment and protect others, even when it could be dangerous for them and easier to stay quiet.
I was driving slowly down a narrow street near Puffer’s Pond (a local summer time hang out) in Amherst, MA where I was heading to meet my boyfriend and a couple friends after I got out of work at 5pm.
As I drove slowly past all the parked cars on the road I slowed down at a curve in the road where there was a group of 3 young men standing by a car. As I approached one of them put his arm up in the air and began humping the air suggestively and
Looking right at me. I tried to ignore him and as I passed with my windows open presumably the same young man, or a friend, said very loudly “Eh she’s a tramp!”
Completely uncalled for. I do not deserve to be called a tramp simply for being a woman driving alone in a car past a group of men.
I’m 23, I’d estimate the young men were between 20 and 25.
Thanks for all that you do!
I was walking to my bus stop, after work but in broad daylight, when a car with three young men drove past. They laid on the car horn and one leaned out the window, mouth open, tongue hanging out, making growling noises. They got to the bottom of the street and turned around for another go. I gave them the finger. They drove past again anyway, honking and shouting out the windows. As I sat waiting for my bus, they went past again, waving and grinning. I was glad when the bus came and I could just disappear.
Have you ever felt like you were being window-shopped? Like you were being full out inspected by eyes that wanted to try you on?
Have you ever changed your outfit five times for fear that someone was going to say something inappropriate to you the moment you walked outside?
“You should smile with that pretty face.” Excuse you? Who are you to tell me what I should do with my face?
It’s happened to me far too many times (ummm, every day…) and while most just accept it as par for the course of being a woman, particularly one living in an urban area, I’m not one to just accept it and move along. Absolutely not. I’m the one who HAS to say something.
I needed to say something, and by say, I also mean create something, dance something. I needed a way to not only figure out how to manage and combat street harassment in my every day life, but also to hear from other women. I want to know their stories so we can support one another in the daily fight to get from point A to point B with out being spoken to, looked at, and at its worse, touched inappropriately. That’s how The Window Sex Project was born. No woman is a display that exists simply for men to harass.
Through community workshops and choreographed performance, The Window Sex Project gives voice to these concerns and restores agency to women by equipping them to manage street harassment, celebrating their bodies and creating a public artwork, specifically a dance performance which takes place in an art gallery. I mean what better tool to respond to this issue than our bodies? – the very object of the harassment.
I am calling EVERY ONE in New York City, but particularly those in my neighborhood of Harlem, to be a part of this work. Here’s how you can get involved:
I look forward to what the months ahead will bring as this project comes to fruition, and many women come together to say something.
I was drunk and fell asleep on the bus and missed my stop. I live in a really residential quiet area. On my walk home, I walk down the street and I see a person. I keep walking and then I start screaming. I apoligize to the guy, because I think that I’m just overreacting. And then he grabs me and is jerking off. I scream, “don’t fucking touch me,” and run towards my apartment. I don’t think he’s followed me, but I just feel so stupid and scared. Like I walked into his private moment and it was opportunitistic. But at the same time, I should be able to walk home in peace.
I left my house to go to the shop down the road and there were two women jogging, a white van then drives by, toots them with two men leering over them whilst they were just trying to exercise. So I hollabacked “perverts” at the men in the van. It’s sad that society tries to teach women that this kind of behaviour is a compliment.