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Q. Catcalled: What would you say to a young women who gets catcalled often during the summer? I live in the city, and as the weather gets warmer, catcalling gets more frequent. Although I dress normally (typically shorts and a blouse in the summer), I find that I’m yelled at by old men and young men, standing on corners, driving by me, etc. It makes me tense, and now when I walk down the street, I see every man as a potential threat. It’s annoying and demeaning, but I know I can’t haul every weirdo on the street to a sensitivity class. How should I deal?
A: Wait, my dear, just wait. When I walk down the street with my lovely teenage daughter, men passing in trucks will honk their horns and make appreciative kissing sounds at her. They apparently think the prune standing next to her is deaf as well as old. Yet, their catcalls spark a vestigial memory in me—a couple of decades ago I used to hear vocal judgments from men. At the time it was annoying. Yet given their absence, I have to admit it wasn’t all bad.Since today is apparently the “men are pigs” day at the chat, this also falls in the category of there’s nothing you can do but ignore it. And maybe a catcall is better than finding you’re being photographed and your image swapped around by horny married men.
BY EMILY MAY
A few months ago I got invited to go out to Bushwick Community High School to speak with a group of their students about street harassment. They told me that they were concerned about sexual violence in their community — and as a former Bushwick resident and community activist — their concern struck a very personal cord with me. When I lived in Bushwick in 2003, I would get off at a subway stop that was farther away from my home just because I thought it was safer. And I learned (months after moving in) that I was the first resident of my six-person-loft to not get mugged in the neighborhood.
After I moved out of the neighborhood, I continued to work in it at a community based organization that helped young folks that dropped out of high school get jobs and GEDs. Their stories, and challenges, reminded how privileged I was in so many ways. Many of them had kids, mental illness, trauma histories, and broken homes. But what I found so inspiring is that all of them had hope. They were resilient.
And when I spoke with the students at Bushwick Community High School, I was struck again by resilience. They could have done this documentary about anything. They could have kept silent, or tried to ignore what was happening around them. But they didn’t. They took the harder road – and the result is a powerful documentary.
In the film they talk about sexual violence stemming from culture — and I couldn’t agree with them more. But how to we change culture? There are a lot of answers to this questions, but I think one of the most important ones is that we change culture by making culture. These students have used the power of the brains and their video cameras to help us imagine a world without sexual violence. And thanks to them, we are one step closer to getting there.
Here’s the description on YouTube:
“A short film about street harassment that was researched, designed, scripted, filmed, directed and edited by volunteers from Initi8 at Nottingham Trent University with guidance and support from Gill Court at Platform 51 Nottingham. The film was inspired by Nottingham’s International Women’s Day events with the aim of raising awareness of street harassment of women and how it makes them feel.”
It appears that the revolution will be televised! (On YouTube anyway).
Video reposted with thanks from Stop Street Harassment
He said, She said, in New York City
This is the phrase most often used to describe the implied non-credibility of an allegation of sexual assault. It suggests that an accusation of this nature is either false, or dubious at the very least, because of a lack of evidence to the contrary. Now I must ask you, how many women throughout history have had to go through this special brand of humiliation after being targeted for attack? How many women do you personally know who have had to go through not just the trauma of the event itself, but then the callous aftermath? I know plenty, and thank the stars above that I was not numbered among them when I told my own story to law enforcement and the District Attorney’s Office, back in September, and then the public, in November. But consider a recent event in our city:
A drunken woman was helped into her apartment by two New York City police officers, whom she later accused of raping her. Her incapacity aside, it was highly suspect for these two individuals to not only help her inside, but “cuddle” with her while she lay half-clothed in an altered state, and then to be seen (by security cameras) going back into her apartment no less than three times, with one of the officers accused of standing guard outside. Three times?!? I know I’m not alone in my disgust at this situation.
And say that the young woman did “come on” to one of the officers. We all know that inhibitions can slide when one is inebriated ~ but what were the officers’ excuses? As police officers, presumably in full control of their own faculties at the time, they needed to at the very least be concerned with even the appearanceof impropriety. In short, they left themselves open to this type of allegation by being alone with her, in the private confines of her apartment. So either A) The officers were obtuse beyond belief, or B) He/they did assault her. One of the officers did actually admit later in the trial to having protected sex with her, but witnesses who saw the young woman earlier in the evening said that she was extremely drunk and was not sober enough to consent to sex. In fraternity houses across the nation, there have always been young men who’ve seen fit to take advantage of their tipsy dates, and women know to be wary of going into a situation like that (which, by the way, still would not excuse an assault under those circumstances by one iota). But the young woman in question here was in the comfort and presumed safety of her own home. So what really happened here?
It seems to me, as well as prosecutors, that if she was that ill, an ambulance should have been called, or that EMS should have been present for the subsequent visits to her. While New York City police officers are highly capable in many respects, and do receive basic medical training, I think a hospital or at least a clinic would have been a safer environment in which to handle alcohol poisoning, if that was indeed the case.
I, as well as many others observing this case again feel afraid for being at the mercy of the “He said, She said,” and perhaps we will never know what really transpired. I know what I feel about it ~ and it’s not good. In my opinion, there is one more chance at justice here, with the woman’s $57 million dollar lawsuit against the city, and the officers.
SUBMITTED BY CARRIE DAVIDSON, reposted from Carried Away
There hasn’t been a single day when I’ve walked home this week and haven’t been catcalled at least once. For the first two days it was funny. By the third and fourth, it became expected.
Wait, expected? In what world is it okay to expect to be sexually harassed?
Yes, catcallers. Sexual harassment. You’re not being funny. You certainly aren’t being charming. There is nothing innocent about it.
What goes through the heads of these men? I don’t mean “I’m too good for them, so what are they thinking?” because, honestly, the guys in my age range are usually attractive. Until they open their mouths.
I’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt. I’d like to think that the thought process is something like, “My, that is a rather attractive young lady. I have taken an immediate fancy to her, and would like to get her attention. I’m going to approach her casually and strike up conversation.” But, because of some brain malfunction that’s attributed only to the Y chromosome, they accidentally say something like, “Yo, sexy! How you doin’?”
I figure it’s one of two options: A. They legitimately think that calling to a girl like she’s a dog will get them action or B. They like seeing young girls walking alone down the street look uncomfortable, because they think it’s funny.
There are so many things wrong with option B, so many ways that it contributes to the sexist attitudes of our current society, that I don’t even know where to start.
So don’t call me “Red.” Definitely don’t call me “white girl.” Let me walk the three minutes from the subway to my apartment in peace.
If, on the other hand, you’re actually an incredibly insecure boy who just doesn’t know how to handle a situation, here’s a tip. Walk up. Say “hello.” Ask my name. It’s not rocket science.
Check out this video from South Africa — bringing attention to street harassment, how it happens, and why it hurts. They creators also point out the links between street harassment and a culture of media and advertising that regularly objectifies women and treats them like objects. A culture that makes objectifying women OK is the gateway to a culture that makes violence against women OK.
“I’m not your sweetheart.”
The other day, I got into a livery cab, which I often do when I travel from Washington Heights to go downtown. I indulge in this guilty pleasure especially when I’m going toward the East Side, which takes a monstrous amount of time to get to from the Heights. Typically, I do a “street hail,” because it seems to save time, as well as money. This means that I take certain precautions when getting in a cab, so that I don’t have any problems, which I’ll detail in another post. Well, this cab seemed alright, as in, the driver seemed courteous, and not creepy. So I got in and everything seemed to be going OK, when he decided to go a different way than the way that I had requested him to go, which unfortunately resulted in us missing several lights, getting caught in traffic etc. So I politely said that I really preferred to take the other route to the Harlem River Drive. He responded by calling me “sweetheart,” which, considering the circumstances, was pretty condescending.
I immediately said, “Don’t call me sweetheart!” He seemed very surprised, and perhaps had never received that response before. As an older man, I suspect that he probably had called young women that throughout his life, and was never called to task for it. And honestly, I’ve been called that so many times before by men of a certain age, that I thought I had almost become insensitive to it ~ the operative word here being “almost.” It’s so common, that it’s easy to tell yourself that “they don’t mean anything by it,” which is exactly the response I received when I spoke up to this cab driver. But just because something offensive/patronizing has become normalized, doesn’t make it in the least bit acceptable. And I don’t think I’m alone in this view.
When I told him not to call me that, I elaborated the reason ~ not with the obvious one, of him being condescending to me given the specific circumstances, but of the real reason. I told him that it was considered a term that should only be used between a husband and wife, and a boyfriend and girlfriend, and that it indicated that the man had a sexual relationship with the woman. This statement of course stopped him dead in his tracks, so to speak. Now, I know that parents sometimes call their son or daughters this as well, as a term of endearment, but I wanted to drive home to him the fact that it was a term only used between people who had an intimate relationship with one another, and that it wasn’t acceptable to use in other settings. Well, he got the message, and at that moment professed undying love to his dear wife, saying that he never meant to come on to me. It totally worked ~ he understood what I was trying to say, and did actually apologize.
When will men learn that calling women whom they’ve just met, “sweetheart” is not acceptable? When we start calling them on it, each clueless person at a time. And that’s how change works.
I’m bisexual. What does this mean? I am physically, emotionally and mentally attracted to both sexes, male and female, as well as both genders, men and women (note: there is a difference between sex and gender, most people can’t differentiate between the two). Essentially, I’m queer-minded; I will not turn down any person because of genetics or orientation. That being said, I’ve been in several serious relationships with men, had casual flings with women and most recently, entered into a long-term relationship with a woman. At one point or another, both sexes have grabbed the attention of my heart, mind and body, not necessarily equally so, but why should that factor matter?
A few years ago, I took a Sexuality & Society course at Georgia State University. I wanted to learn more about human sexuality and its history, trends, expectations and media influence that affect people’s view. Naturally, this course was extremely controversial. Many students signed up simply because they thought we’d be watching soft-core porn all day. Wrong. It was definitely one of the most informative and eye opening classes of my entire undergraduate career.
And then came the discussion of sexual identity. Just as the professor was explaining how many people do not dichotomize their sexuality with ‘straight’ and ‘gay,’ one male student (who was extremely fond of his straightness) stood up and yelled, “You can label yourself! You are either straight or gay. If you like men and women, you are gay. Point blank period.”
This did not fly with me. Fuck raising my hand and waiting to be called on; this guy needed to LEARN and UNDERSTAND that you cannot just put people and their feelings and attractions into one of two boxes. Life is not that black and white. Life is not that square.
I tried to explain it to him. Yes, some people are 100% straight and some people are 100% homosexual, physically, emotionally and mentally. But not everyone, not me. Before I could even elaborate further, he was already yelling for the whole class to hear, but directing his dialogue toward me. “You’re just confused. You can’t be in the middle. Bisexuality doesn’t exist. Girls who say they are bisexual are just horny girls looking for attention anywhere they can find it. They want to have sex with men and entertain the men by having sex with women too…” – something along those lines. Imagine know-it-all college student in his very early 20s discriminating against an entire group of people without even allowing the discussion to set in. He didn’t want to hear anyone else’s opinions or even learn one single perspective on the variety of sexual identities that exist. The professor eventually kicked him out of class, and apparently he couldn’t handle it because he never came back.
It would’ve been to his benefit to not drop the class. By the end of the semester, he could have learned something new that may have changed his perspective. Yet another opportunity for growth and understanding down the drain. Unfortunately, many people do not make it through classes like these, or let alone through life encountering people of different sexual orientations and cultural backgrounds. Their only way of coping with something so opposite their own norm is to immediately bash it. They turn to hate and discrimination to make sense of something they just can’t wrap their head around. It’s selfish and disappointing that people are so quick and willing to immediately cast people off rather than take two minutes to learn about another lifestyle, another culture, another human being.
I’m grateful for HollaBack and other organizations that promote anti-discrimination towards all groups of people — not just gays, transgendered, lesbians, bisexuals, blacks, Muslims or anyone. It is absolutely uncalled for. Whatever life path we decide to take, it’s our own. No one should take that away from us. Share your story with the world – or even just one person. It will make a difference if they have the heart and consideration to listen before making judgments.
Cross-posted from HollabackATL!
I’ve had this body my whole life. I don’t remember the first time I got honked at or holla’d at, but it may have been as early as middle school. Because as soon as I hit puberty, wham! I had curves. Not that I can even say that is the full reason. It may lend to it, but the real reason is simply this: I’m a woman. If I’m walking down the street, then I’m fair game to any man who feels the need to holla.
I’m not a prude, I love my body, I’m comfortable in it. But I think about what I wear each morning in terms of what attention I’ll get as I walk down the street to the bus stop or work. Some days I just don’t feel like dealing with it, so I wear jeans and a t-shirt. I might not get honked at that day. But turns out, me feeling like I ain’t lookin’ cute–I still get honked at sometimes. I still have men pull up next to me trying to chat me up or offering me rides. But, if I wore a cute dress? It’s guaranteed to happen. In jeans and a t-shirt, it’s a question of whether I’ll have to deal with street harassment. In a dress, or anything slightly more “feminine”, it’s a question of when.
I live about a seven minute walk from the bus stop where I took the bus to school last semester, and about ten minute walk from my job. No, I wasn’t harassed every day. But a lot of days. It’s more annoying when I get honked at (from the front and from the back, but from the back most often), but at least that’s not coming into my bubble. It really creeps me out when men pull up next to me, try to offer me rides and crap. I mean, seriously? I’m not five anymore, but I pretty much still abide with the idea of not getting in cars with strangers.
I have very fortunately never had to deal with any actual assault. I am extremely grateful every time a man backs off and drives away. I hate that I feel fear every time a man pulls up next to me. What if all he wants is to ask directions? It’s never happened. I don’t even give them the benefit of the doubt anymore, and I hate that. I don’t want to be a feminist man-hater. But considering my work is primarily in the area of intimate partner violence, and my own experience with harassment–it’s hard sometimes. I know a lot of great men who treat women well. But I ask of them–do you call off your friends when they try to holla at the girls? If you don’t–then you’re just as bad–someone who stands idly by.
Anyone who thinks street harassment is harmless, ask yourself why the men are doing it. Do they really just want to tell me how beautiful I am? It’s a power play, showing me and and other women who walk down the street that men are still in control. In the society we live in, it’s accepted that you shouldn’t walk around at night, especially alone. But I don’t. This happens in the middle of the day. In broad daylight. In front of many other people in their cars. So don’t try to tell me it isn’t about putting on a show.
Race may be involved with street harassment for some, but you won’t find me saying that. My body apparently is equal opportunity trigger for men of all ages and races. I can’t even say one race does it more, because they don’t. Just depends what part of town I’m in.
I will not stop walking everywhere. I will not be intimidated by men trying to show me who is in control. And I am speaking up. You try to holla, and you better believe I will hollaback.
Hollaback is an organization speaking against street harassment by collecting people’s stories. My story was posted a couple of months ago. I invite you to take part in speaking up. You can also follow them on twitter.
It’s time to be the change.
Reposted from Dancing with Me
BY JULIE LALONDE, DIRECTOR OF HOLLABACK OTTAWA
excerpt from Being the Change since 2007
Ottawa had its own SlutWalk and you better believe I was there. In fact, in the interest of full disclosure, I was asked to speak at it, too. But that’s where it ends, for the record. I’ve never organized a SlutWalk, have no part in organizing future ones and quite frankly, spent 5 minutes at the Ottawa one talking about systemic violence against womyn.
I must admit that I was initially a little apprehensive about the whole thing. I’d heard about it in its planning stages and felt that it might have been a well-intentioned but misguided attempt to highlight an issue.
But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.
It seems that people want to talk about sluts, sluttyness, slut-shaming, slut-positivity and all things slutty. People love sluts, other people love to hate sluts and some people hate that they love sluts.
And that’s the fucking point.
See, the organizers knew that if they organized another “Take Back the Night” or “Anti-Sexual Assault” or even a “Stop Victim Blaming” march, you’d get the same little handful of diehards, maybe a blip or two in the media but not much else. The unfortunate reality is that the average person and media outlet doesn’t give a flying fuck about violence against womyn and sexual assault. Because only sluts get raped, and womyn falsely accuse men all the time and feminists are whiny and don’t know how good they have it and on, and on and on.
A name like SlutWalk catches people’s attention, provokes a reaction and is just downright impossible to ignore. The sight of stiff journalists on the nightly news saying “And now, let’s go to Marcie who is over at SlutWalk” can’t help but solicit raised eyebrows.
And once again, that’s the fucking point.
Whether you want to reclaim the word ‘slut’ or not, you can’t help but perk up your ears when you hear the word being used in mainstream, every day conversation by your average folk. And the organizers knew that. They knew that the only way to ensure this cop’s comments didn’t go unnoticed was to shock people into reacting.
They hoped maybe a couple hundred people would show up, they’d find some solidarity and be able to sleep better at time. Instead, thousands of people showed up, an international media machine was started and there are Satellite SlutWalks around the world. Not bad for a handful of novice organizers in Toronto.
But what about this reclaiming business?
That part is tricky and complicated.
Many womyn of colour have commented that it’s not easy for them to do, considering how slut-shaming and labeling is so tied into racism, colonialism, etc. Makes sense.
Others (including myself) think it’s also classist and rather ‘in-crowd’ to assume that everyone can safely embrace the label. Tell that to poor, 16 year old rural girls who are just trying to survive gym class.
But that’s okay. See, SlutWalk isn’t really about everyone embracing the label Slut because like most things in life, if everyone is one, then nobody is.
But you can embrace the name on a political level while still recognizing how problematic it is at the individual level.
Example: We can embrace Ottawa’s annual “Dyke March” while recognizing that a 16 year old high school girl has no desire to embrace the ‘dyke’ label that is thrown on her daily.
Ideally, everyone who identifies as ‘dyke’ could choose to do so and others who don’t could escape the labeling. But we’re not there yet, although we’re working towards it.
SlutWalk is not an end, but a means to an end. It’s a way to rip open the universal covers on sexual assault and to expose the deeply entrenched stereotypes that enable it to continue at epidemic levels. It’s meant to prompt discussion, to test your knee-jerk reaction.
You don’t want to call yourself a slut? – Why?
You don’t think it can be reclaimed? – Why?
Regardless of what your answer is, it got you thinking and that’s the point.
As someone who has been doing anti-sexual violence work in Ottawa for close to 8 years, I’ve been to every conference, march, demonstration, letter-writing campaign kick-off, red tape cutting, award ceremony, you can imagine. I’ve been there, I’ve spoken at them, I’ve shaked my head at them and I’ve marched in them. And none of them had the turn-out that SlutWalk did.
Ottawa is an extremely conservative city with a small, (too) tight-knit feminist community and here I was, standing amongst a thousand other people, many of which I had never seen before. The crowd was diverse in age, background, gender identity, ethnicity, etc. And despite what you might have read or seen about the celebratory nature of SlutWalk, it was a rather sombre event. People were angry, not laughing. As they should be – sexual assault isn’t funny.
So you’ve got a conservative community out on a Sunday afternoon, talking about womyn’s sexuality and sexual assault in a constructive and meaningful way. Regardless of how you feel about reclaiming language, you have to be impressed by the power it had that day in Ottawa.
(Say it with me) and that’s the fucking point.
I have no desire to call myself a slut. None. My reasons for this are many but include the fact that I don’t want to define myself by my association with other people (ie: how many people I sleep with, who I sleep with, etc). It’s also difficult to call yourself something when a definition doesn’t exist. We know that a slut has something to do with sexuality but ask ten people and you’ll get ten different answers.
I was called a slut for holding a pro-choice sign at an anti-choice rally.
I was called a slut for attending a new school in grade 10 with no friends or history in that city. A rumour was started that I was chased out of another town for having slept with someone’s boyfriend. The truth? I was a virgin who’d had to move for her dad’s new job.
Hell, I was called a slut for defending SlutWalk. (The irony.. it hurts…)
But even though I do not long for the label doesn’t mean I fail to see its importance. As Jaclyn Friedman so amazingly said, we must all stand under the banner of ‘Slut’ and recognize that when it is used against one womyn, it is used against all womyn. Because we can all be called a slut by someone at some point and in many cases, the sting of that word not only offends us, but decides whether or not our rape is convicted properly, whether we get access to housing, a job, a promotion, a reference, or even someone’s Facebook friend request.
So even if you don’t want to call yourself a slut, learn to respect those who do.