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I decided to go on a run one night along the well-lit path beside Campbell Avenue, so I put on my usual running outfit (shorts and one of my “Legalize Gay” shirts). It was a nice night, and plenty of other runners and bikers were out enjoying the warm weather. About 15 minutes into my run, two bikers came up beside me and matched my pace. I smiled at them as they got closer to me, and I noticed them talking though I couldn’t hear them over the traffic. Once they were beside me, I could hear, “Hey bitch, slow down.” I sped up and moved away from the street. They continued to follow me to the end of the block, repeating, “Get back here, whore!” I was coming up on a gravely hill that I planned on detouring to in order to avoid their bikes, and they continued: “Fucking dyke, maybe if you suck my dick, you won’t be so stupid.” I finally got to the hill and began sprinting, and one of them threw a bottle that hit my head. They didn’t follow me any longer as I made my way back to the emergency room.
If this story makes you as angry as it makes us, consider being productive with your anger and donating to the “I’ve got your back” campaign.
After spending a half an hour or so reading the stories on the Holla Back website and watching the videos (“and that’s why I Holla Back”) earlier today, my boyfriend and I went to the park. We were sitting on a blanket in the grass reading our respective books and eating food. I was laying down on the blanket wearing a knee-length summer dress when my boyfriend moved over and asked me to switch sides of the blanket with him. He whispered that the man eating his food about ten feet away from us was staring at me and he wanted to block the guy’s view. I thought he was exaggerating a little, but I felt relieved when the man left. Another 20-30 minutes later, he came back. He was wearing a backpack and had stringy blondish hair. I felt him looking at me, but kept my head down and continued reading. When I got up and walked across the park to get some water from the water fountain and walked back to the blanket, I realized he never took his eyes off of me. He even changed his seating positions to get a better view of me. It was enough, I told my boyfriend that I felt uncomfortable and he agreed that it was time to go, but I couldn’t stop thinking about this website. I stood up and looked him right in the eyes. “Will you please stop staring at me?!” I purposely said it in a loud voice so the couple sitting on the blanket near us and the mothers playing with their children nearby could hear me. He said “I wasn’t staring at you.” My boyfriend and I packed up our stuff to go, but before we left I turned around and told the creep “There’s a whole fucking park, stare somewhere else!” My boyfriend flicked him off and the jerk yelled back “Stop being so self-conscious!” I was being self-conscious? He was way more conscious of my ‘self’ than I was. As we left, a man laying on the grass said “Don’t worry about him, he’s always here. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
Yes, he was only looking at me. Yes, it’s a public place and he is allowed to be there just as much as I am. But my gender is not an invitation to stare, to evaluate, to fantasize, to fetishize, to stare at my body. As we left the park, my boyfriend told me to stop talking about the incident, not to let that pervert ruin my whole day. But I said no. I want to talk about it, I want to discuss how to deal with a situation like the one we experienced. Is it better to ignore the harasser, allowing them to continue their creepy little game but not giving them the attention they so desperately want? Or is it better to do what I did, calling out their inappropriate behavior to bystanders but giving them more attention than they actually deserve? This website has taught me that the calling them out is more empowering, more influential, it proves that we are not the passive objects that these street harassers think we are. And the fact that he’s ALWAYS there? The fact that the women walking their dogs and little girls running through the water park area in their bathing suits in this park every day are doing so under the watchful eye of a strange staring man DOES NOT make me feel better. It doesn’t make me feel better. It doesn’t make me stop worrying. It makes me want to do more. So thank you, considerate bystander. Thank you for doing nothing, and for proving to me that I must do twice as much, ten times as much, because I live in a world where the only way to stop street harassment is to Holla Back!
To help build a world where the may laying in the grass would have said, “I’m so sorry that happened to you, is there anything I can do?” instead of minimizing the situation by saying, “he didn’t mean anything by it,” donate to the “I’ve got your back” campaign today. We’ve only got 11 days to go!
I was uptown alone, waiting in front of a movie theatre for a movie to start, when I noticed an old man staring at me. This continued for a few moment, so I decided to walk past him in order to walk to a nearby store. When I passed, he touched my shoulder and said that I looked pretty, in what seemed to be the creepiest voice he could muster. I decided to ignore him and walk away.
He followed me down the street to the store I was going to, and he waited outside while I browsed. I ended up calling a friend to come to the store and walk out with me, so I wouldn’t pass by him alone.
I hope it doesn’t happen again.
To help build a world where this truly doesn’t happen again, donate to the “I’ve got your back” campaign. Only 11 days to go!
I was in the bedding aisle of Target when a large, tall man starting coming down the aisle. I moved my cart so he could pass by and as he did I heard him say something. The only word I can make out was “attractive”. I said, “Excuse me?” and he, unabashedly yet creepily, repeated himself, “You are a VERY attractive woman”. I responded, “I find that VERY offensive”. He began to apologize as he shuffled down the aisle (it was apparent he was not actually shopping for anything), and I decided to give him more of a piece of my mind. I told him that women don’t appreciate those comments, that my husband wouldn’t either, and that it was highly inappropriate. I quickly walked away and found a Target employee who, thankfully, responded quickly and sympathized with my distress. He called a security officer. The verified that the man left the store and offered to stay with me while I shopped and to walk me to my car.
What enraged me about this is that men are able to shop without being approached or made to feel uncomfortable. But because I am a woman, I cannot shop in peace.
To help build a world where more stories end with bystanders as supportive as this Target employee, donate to the “I’ve got your back” campaign. Only 11 days to go!
My story is not as traumatic as some of the others, but it affected me greatly in two ways. First, we live in a small town, where, mostly, people are friendly and polite. More importantly, my young daughters and their friend witnessed it – not the way I want them to know the world.
We often ride bikes to a local convenience store to get some exercise and a frozen drink. The girls (ages 10 and 13) and I like to sit in front of the store to rest and watch cars go by. We each pick a color of a car and count the passing cars to see who tallies the most. Innocent summer evening fun. Since it’s a friendly community, the girls often wave to cars and vice versa.
One day the girls waved to a pickup truck with a young couple inside. The male driver yelled “Slut” at them. The girls looked at me and asked what he said. I told them he yelled “Squirt”, but they didn’t believe me.
The incident came up quite a few times over the next week. They don’t understand why somebody could say something so hurtful to them. I said that he was probably hurtful and rude to many people. My youngest daughter said “he wouldn’t have yelled at a boy. And if he did, if we were boys, he would have picked a different word. Boys can’t be sluts.”
It upset me that in this crucial phase when they are learning what it will mean to be a young woman, instead of a little girl, that they already have encountered a man who is disrespectful to women.
To help build a world where being a woman isn’t defined by being yelled some rude thing by some drive-by creep, donate to the “I’ve got your back” campaign.
In 2010 I studied at TAFE NSW, the port macquarie campus, I was 22 years old. The year began with one student commenting constantly that ‘he is a man and I am a woman’ so he could ‘have me’. I quickly explained my sexuality to him and thought that was that. A few months went by and he started harassing me shockingly, yelling “You are a sin against god.” across the science lab at me while the teacher was in the room. She somehow seemed to miss these comments.
He would follow me to the carpark asking me to dinner and always offering to help, trying to get me to come over to his house. It got worse as he made comments like, “so that’s where you live” and “Is your little sister as hot as you?” and at one point he cornered me in the carpark and pulled out live ammunition, saying he had the gun in the glovebox of his car, his car was parked 3 spaces away from mine. I felt threatened, he was physically bigger and constantly spoke of how many people he had killed when he served in the armed forces.
When he was angry he punched objects and made dents so everyone could see, he threw tables and chairs when the teachers were not around and other students just ignored him, when searching for witnesses, nobody spoke up, I was all alone.
At my breaking point with the only advice given by my mother to “Ignore him”, I listened to my partner instead and filed the complaint. When I did, they ignored the harassment and focused on the live ammunition he had brought onto the campus. The police took him from class and searched his car and he was kicked out for 2 weeks but upon returning, the barrage of hateful comments returned with him.
By this time I had befriended members of his group and found out he had been harassing other students and they didn’t like him anyway. As a group we ignored everything he said, gave no sympathy and did not invite him when we went on trips together, we openly excluded him because of his behaviour.
By the end of the year I found out he had moved on to another girl and is stalking/harassing her. He hasn’t learnt and is still in the area.
I’m forever watching out when I hang with my little sister, I’ve changed my look in the hopes he won’t recognise me at a glance. I don’t want him to know what she looks like just in case he starts harassing her.
If you believe in a person’s right to chose their sexuality without the threat of violence and are tired of “just ignoring” creeps like this, please help us by donating now.
I was grabbing takeout with my boyfriend and decided to wait outside the cramped store and get some air. I had just sat down on a bench when an old man approached, staring at me the whole time. I assumed he would lumber past, but he changed his direction at the last minute to stand right in front of me and asked “Are you alone?” I surprised the creep and myself with a strong NO and walked quickly towards a group of people until he passed.
What upset me most was that I could not feel safe at 7 p.m. on a busy street simply because I am female and by myself. The creep’s question captured perfectly what feels threatening about being harassed on the street, the feeling that there’s no one there to help. THANK YOU, Hollaback, for your work to empower girls to stick up for themselves and for each other!
Early this spring, I was running with other members of my high school girls track team. We were waiting for our coach, and we decided to stretch in an empty driveway along the street. Suddenly, one of us noticed a man in another driveway nearby, holding up a cell phone towards us and apparently taking a picture of us with it. A similar incident happened another day, when a man in a car photographed us as we were running. Both perpetrators left immediately after the incidents.
A few months after both of those incidents, I was running with a few other girls around the downtown area of our town. As we were standing at a corner and waiting for the light to change so we could cross, a man happened to walk towards us along the sidewalk. He appeared to be in his 40s or 50s, had apparently not shaved in a few days, and was wearing dark sunglasses that hid his face. As he passed us, he appeared to be looking at our legs, and we did not realize until he was past us that he had said ‘beautiful’ as he walked by us, quietly. This shocked all of us, and we were not sure it had happened until we looked at each others’ faces and knew all of us had heard it. He walked away as if he hadn’t just harassed us, and we pretended the same for the rest of our run.
We have also been yelled at by kids our age or younger. Once kids in a restaurant we ran past yelled “work those thighs!” repeatedly at us, and both the first time we ran past and as we ran back the same way. A few times, boys who were still in middle school yelled at us, talked about us, or even briefly tried to block or follow us as we were running.
Female athletes have the right to exercise in public (even in short running shorts) without being harassed and objectified! The fact that we happen to be wearing shorts does not remove our right to exercise, and our right to be treated like human beings, not pieces of meat. We did not react to these incidents and call out the perpetrators, and just put up with it, even though maybe we should have done something. This is a way that society treats female bodies as things to be looked at, while male bodies belong to those who inhabit them and are for their own use. (Often shirtless) male runners never worry about things like this; it is immediately accepted that they are not showing off their bodies, so that they can be objectified, but instead that they are running to become faster, and that their small amount of clothing is nothing more than a necessity for running in hot weather.
BY EMMA reposted from: Elephant Journal
Last weekend led me to a family reunion halfway across the country. Travel can feel un-grounding for me, and so, with yoga mat in tow I prepared to carry deep breaths cross-country via plane.
The slow spring sunshine finally pulled me outside to the lawn to stretch and practice on the second day of the trip. I felt grateful for the fresh air, warm grass and sun. I had convinced my cousin, a “yoga-virgin” to join me in practice. With each breath the sun came out further and I felt my body finding a new sense of grounding and expansion amidst the busyness of a family reunited.
Cars had been driving past our lawn-turned-yoga-studio throughout our practice and so the sound of engines provided more of a consistent sound track than an annoyance. There was one car, however, that stood out from the rest. From the front seats of the indistinguishable black sedan peered two men, presumably college students from the local state university.
First I returned their gaze, becoming aware of their eyes as I melted forward into a seated forward bend. I quickly regretted my decision to look to my right when my eyes were met by the abrasive sounds of catcalls hollering out into the stalled traffic.
I glanced to my right to make sure I was getting this image right. Were these guys for real?
As if looking for some sort of understanding I stifled a groan, turning to my cousin for validation in my disgust. I could feel the frustration bumbling up inside of me. I felt shocked and conflicted. Taking a deep breath in and out I reflected in my forward fold. My practice is about compassion and patience, I reminded myself and yet in the midst of it I had the urge to yell back, to stick up for myself, and reassure these catcalling men that blatant objectification of women is never OK.
Rather than yell back, I breathed another dirgha (three-part yogic) breath and after a second catcall, the light changed and the car pulled forward into the intersection. I felt myself rolling my decision to remain silent over and over again in my mind. This time I chose understanding, I told myself.
My cousin didn’t understand, he had never witnessed or been victim to a similar instance. I wish I could say that this sort of act is an anomaly but unfortunately, it isn’t. Earlier that week my sister had been catcalled and photographed while biking by a passing group of construction workers in their truck—not cool.
I am not trying to suggest that only men are catcalling—I have definitely witnessed women falling guilty of the same act. Nor am I suggesting that only women are victims to the calls or that all guys catcall. But, I am saying that with each utterance of a catcall, hurt is felt. Whether you think we can hear your call or not, take a second and realize what you’re doing by yelling out.
Sure you may think I look pretty awesome in my forward fold but that’s not the point. Please resist the urge to holler and instead send out some love. Yogis and bicyclists alike much appreciate the respect.
Once I found Hollaback, I started thinking of my experiences and found quite a few. There was one that I didn’t even see as harassment but now I see it has always stayed with me in the most negative of ways. This was very long ago but I feel this is the perfect way to talk about it. I was about 10 years old and was sent to a nearby store to get something needed to cook. As I walked, this guy on a bike stopped me and asked if I knew where a certain street was, I said “No, sorry” and continued on. He did this about 4 more times until I reached the store. Once I got out I took a different route home because of the fear he might catch up with me again–I felt very uncomfortable. Once I was pretty close to my house I thought I was free but he called out once again and said “Hey, look at this…” I looked toward him and realized he was flashing me—I couldn’t move, I felt horrible and though he did not approach me further I felt dirty. I finally got home and didn’t even know what to do–I knew something was wrong. I hated how he made me feel and now I hate that he specifically targeted me and went out of his way to make me feel that way. It has been 10 years since it happened but I still feel glad I found somewhere safe to say, “fuck you!”