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A group of young boys on bicycles was blocking the path where I usually run — this is a wide, safe path by a river.
As I ran by, two of them touched my butt. I turned around and yelled at them “hey! that is not acceptable. You cannot do that.” I then ran away but I still want to cry. It made me so upset and angry.
Printemps dernier. Je monte dans le bus bondé. Il pile, une main touche furtivement ma jupe au niveau de mon pubis. Je remarque que c’est celle d’un homme et place mon sac devant ma jupe, de sorte qu’il ne puisse pas réitérer -à cet instant je lui laisse encore le bénéfice du doute puisque je me dis c’est peut etre la secousse du bus qui l’a poussé contre moi. Sa main cherche mon entrejambe. Je le repousse, essaie de me dégager. Les larmes montent mais je reste muette. Il change de place.
Last spring. I get into the crowded bus. It stops suddenly, a hand touching my skirt at the level of my pubes. I notice that it is of a man and put my bag in front of my skirt, so it can not happen again -to this moment I let him have the benefit of the doubt because I think maybe the shaking bus drove him against me. His hand looking for my crotch. I push him, trying to free myself. Tears come but I remain silent. He changes position.
My roommate and I were walking, when two (drunk?) men in their twenties (we’re both 19) were being rowdy around the intersection of Tremont and Boylston. My roommate and I ignored them–city life, right? Until they started running in our direction. We huddled a little closer under her umbrella, but the footsteps got closer and then began slowing down. She stood in front of me, since I’d had trouble with harassment in the past, and shot them a look.
“Hey,” the guys said. “So, what’s up?”
“Are you drunk?” she asked.
“We’re not weirdos,” they said, out of breath, looking us up and down.
“So,” one said. “What’re your names?”
“Nope!” my roommate said, grabbing my hand. We immediately ducked into Piano Row, since it’s an Emerson building and we’re both Emerson students. We were safe there, since the doors lock unless you have an Emerson pass key. We decided to stay there for a few minutes before continuing our journey home.
Two minutes later, the men were at the door, pressing their faces against it and looking at us. The security guard looked to us and asked if they were students.
“No,” I said. “They’re drunk, I think, and were harassing us on the street earlier.”
The security guard told them non-students weren’t allowed in the building, especially not at this hour (it was about 11, 12 at night). The men went away for awhile. My roommate and I had to get home to our room down the road, but were sure they were still outside.
A group of Emerson students, all female, approached the door, with the guys following them. The guys are telling them they are students and to let them in. My roommate yells to the girls, “Don’t let them in!” One girl actually has to push one back with her elbow to get him to back off. The guard calls for backup and two of them go out to really get rid of them. The group of upperclassmen girls walked us home.
The worst thing is that this happened on my campus. In my home. Where I live.
It is not an isolated incident.
Man walking by makes kissing sound I flipped him off.
I was on the PATH train home during my daily commute from work in NYC to NJ. The train lurched quite a bit and people were jostling. At first, I did not think the man meant to be so close to me or that he meant to touch my butt. I inched closer to the bar I was holding away from him.
A couple of stops later, the ride was smoother, and the touch was unmistakably real. I turned around to see a man twice my size. I frowned and move even closer to the bar. I only had one more stop before I could get off the train. He did not stop getting closer to me. Then, another man said, “How about you stand over here? I notice it too.” This man helped me move away from him in the crowded train, and I knew I was not imagining it.
I took a photo of him from behind and tried to catch a photo of him as I got off the train. He got off too. He lives in my city. I took another photo of him from behind with a PATH camera that would have captured his face. I tried to find a police officer on my way out of the station and could not find one.
I was angry and worried that he might mistreat another woman. I was not sure of what to do, but I knew I needed to let someone know. I searched the PATH website to find an email address to send the photos. Unable to find the address, I decided to call the PATH police department. The officer who answered asked me why I waited two hours to call about the incident (I was still shaken and could not find the information easily). I was told I could go down to the station to file a report. I get the feeling I am not going to be taken seriously.
I was 22 and walking through the Sydney CBD at night looking for a taxi to get home. It was very late (around 3am) but I was sticking to well lit, busy streets where police are normally present. As I turned a corner to walk down one of the city’s busiest streets there was a large group of about 10 men aged between 18-24 walking towards me and taking up the entire footpath. I kept my head down and veered to the very edge of the path to get around. Just as I was about to pass, one of the men raised his arm straight above his head and a moment later swung it down with full force on my bum. The force of his hand jolted me forward and hurt. The group of men laughed and continued to walk past me. I felt scared and incredibly angry that I had been intimidated and physically harmed – but because the perpetrator had struck my ass it was supposed to be a compliment?
Today, when I was biking home from work, a young woman was crossing the street about a half a block in front of me (not in a crosswalk), so I slowed down in order to give her enough time to walk across, but she made eye contact with me and started to walk slower. Therefore, I started to swerve to the center of the road to go around her. She moved to obstruct my path further, then stood still in my path, faced me, and made sexual gestures and comments. I swerved around her, trying to avoid any sort of engagement, but then I was stuck at a red light, where she and some of her friends, including a couple of larger males, were standing with her. As a group, they started making fun of my clothing. The nature of their comments made me think that they thought I was a lesbian, based on my clothes. I just stared straight ahead, determined to not engage with them, not wanting things to escalate, waiting for the light to change. A man walking by, who had seen the incident, told them to stop harassing people and threatened to report them to the police, who were visibly parked about a half block away. The group proceeded to make fun of the man’s clothing as he walked away. At last, the light changed, and I biked away. The thought of going to the parked police car did cross my mind, but, in the end, I decided against it, not wanting to make the situation worse for myself. I am still conflicted about whether I should have done something though.
Living in Memphis is a wonderful and terrible thing sometimes. There are a lot of fantastic things about this place, but the sexist and sexually violent attitude that permeates this area disgusts me.
I’ve lived here for nearly three years, and in that time, I have been followed, hollered at, groped, cussed at, and just made to feel like I am “less than”.
This city has a SERIOUS and frighteningly blasé attitude towards sexual assault/harassment and it needs to stop.
On January 26, 2015, on the 7 train (going to Flushing, Queens) at around 3PM-3:30 PM. At the Times Square stop, a man entered the train cart and stood in front of me and another young girl. His zipper was down and he was masturbating. He was holding something on his other hand and using it to cover himself. It was difficult for me to let the train conductor know because he was right next to the conductor’s door so I took his picture instead.
My friend and I (females) were walking home around 1am on Main Street. We were walking behind a man who was following two girls. How do I know he was following them? He was walking too close to them for comfort, the girls were looking behind them at the man frequently while walking very fast, and when they started crossing the street he did the exact same thing. They girls noticed, so they came back to the original side where my friend and I were. He disappeared into the neighborhood.