Street Harrassment

[WomenMoveMe]

As they held me down, he talked of killing me, of teaching me a lesson, I was told I would be left without a hair on my head. It seems if I were going to act like a man, it was their intent to have me look like one. At least that is what they proclaimed as tufts of my hair surrounded me on the pavement beneath my forced resting place.

I had been asked to meet a friend at a bar. She was married and she and her husband were on the verge of divorce and she wanted to talk. She had chosen this particular bar as it was conveniently located between our homes, and she had frequented it a few years earlier. She assured me it was a nice, quiet place. We could have a couple of drinks, talk, and be left to our own device.

I arrived earlier than she. The parking lot was studded with motorcycles and trucks whose paint jobs had seen better says. I felt a small sense of foreboding, but I soldiered on. I entered the bar, feeling as though every head turned in my direction. I stood there, aware I was completely exposed, as my eyes scanned the room for somewhere, anywhere, I could sit that would take me away from the stares and whispers of the disbelieving crowd.
I was in their place, the nerve of me.

I opted for a booth in the back, I sat against the wall. Were someone to approach me, I at least wanted to see them coming. Unfortunately, this booth, was near the men’s restroom and really not at all where I should have been. I should have been in my car, calling my friend to arrange another meeting place, but I stayed, for her, I stayed.

It was clear now my presence was something quite remarkable to those in the bar. Each turn on the pool table did not seem to be able to be performed without first glaring at me as they bent down to make their shot. The men muttering something to their audience, their women giggling and all but pointing. Yet, I stayed. Where was she?

Too self-conscious to order a drink, too anxious to move from the safety of this booth, I waited. The longer I stayed, the louder and more outspoken the bar patrons became. I defiantly returned the gazes of some. I pretended to take great interest in the all but wasted candle that sat alone in the middle of the table. Anything, to appear undaunted.
Not typically one to fidget, I fidgeted.

It had been only a few minutes, but it seemed hours. She would soon be here and for some reason I thought that would make everything alright. As if just the presence of her would show these people I was not a freak. I was not something of which to be frightened. I was not there to compromise their prejudices, nor their women.

I became painfully aware how very much I needed to use the restroom. What to do? I somehow knew were I to make my way to the ladie’s room, it would invite unwelcome and belittling slurs. I knew were I to enter the men’s room, I would flat-out have menacing company. I opted not to go at all, but my body knew not that option.

I slid from my booth, heading for the ladie’s room. As suspected, this caused others great glee. They were emboldened and made no effort to mutter any longer. Their hurtful words trailed after me as I made my way through the bathroom door. As I hovered over the seat in the stall, I heard the door open. I was terrified and wondered how long I might be able to stay in this little space. What awaited me if, and when, I was to open the stall door. It was ridiculous really. Standing in there, thinking about never leaving, considering options that were nonsensical and fostered by fear.

I opened the stall door to find one of their women leaning against a sink. She was tall, and had she not followed what I was certain was a path of hedonism and debauchery, she might have been pretty. She stared at me. I looked back and tried to offer a smile. I moved to a sink to wash my hands. She spoke. She assured me these guys were just drunk and nothing but all talk, just having fun. She told me her sister was gay and she loved her sister. It seemed such an odd, one-sided conversation. She, telling me these things, me, wanting to get away. She reached out and touched my arm. I was so taken aback I nearly fell yet I stood there, paralyzed. It was this moment another of the insulting party entered the room. There we were, me, with what I was sure was horror written all over me, and she, staring at me, her hand resting on my arm. The new arrival turned immediately and was surely returning to those men. I could only guess what she was to tell them. Was this woman, the woman touching me, brave enough to tell the truth?

I had to get out of there. My friend would have to understand. I made my way out the bathroom door. The pool players were now in a circle whispering and once again, all heads turned my direction as I headed for the front door. I exited the building and moved quickly to the safety of my car. I almost made it too.

I was grabbed from behind. I could smell the sour beer and cigarettes as he accused me of trying to ‘fuck’ his girl. I wanted to defend myself but I knew. I knew it would not matter what I said. I had this coming from the time I stepped in that place. It was inevitable. I figured they would beat me up and I would go on my way. It had happened before, probably would happen again, and I knew that while painful, and not just for injury sake, I would recover.

I was cast to the ground. I saw the gleam of metal as the sun found the knife held in his hand. There were so many of them. Some just held me down, urging their friend onward. Some touched me, asking me if I liked it, assuring me their touch was what I had needed all my life. A couple just stood idly by, watching the show. I hated them the most, the watchers, too afraid to participate, too afraid to help.

I was now certain this was to be the end of me. I attempted to ready my mind for the last breath I was to take. I had done nothing but be me. I had done nothing but come to meet a friend. I had done nothing, and with so many surrounding me, there was nothing I could do.

He brought the knife close to my face. I looked into his eyes. If he were going to kill me, he was going to remember me. I remember thinking how important that was for me for some reason. I wanted to try to make him know me before he ended me. I became obsessed with this thought and it almost made me laugh aloud.

The knife found my hair. He began sawing at it, scattering handfuls of it to the wind. Telling me maybe if I would made ugly I might not go around trying to hit on women that didn’t belong to me. Still terrified, I came to understand that perhaps I was not to die this day.

Sometime during this haircut, my friend arrived. I don’t really remember as my thoughts were elsewhere. She knew one of these men from her days at this place. She convinced them to stop, to let me be. I was her friend and therefore I was ‘cool’. They moved away a bit, making certain to spit on me as they realized their fun was over. She helped me to my feet, dazed and exhausted, I could barely stand. I was bloody, battered, and alive. My hair, fluttered about the parking lot, as if little pieces of my person I would never get back.

My friend helped me into my car. She wanted to take me to the police. She wanted these men prosecuted. I did not. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be as far away from every living being I could. I wanted to be somewhere different, someone different. But wasn’t being someone different what had caused this to begin with? She did not want to let me drive but I assured her with the exception of some scrapes and bruises, and a truly bad haircut, I would be fine. I just needed to be left alone.

As I started my car, and pulled from the parking spot, movement in one of the trucks caught my eye. It was the woman from the bathroom. She sat alone. I could see tears in here red and swollen eyes. As I passed, her lips formed the words “I’m sorry”. I thought of our moment in the restroom, and not only did I believe her, I felt as though she had the worst end of this whole thing. After all, I could walk away, I didn‘t feel as though she felt she could, and that thought, hurt me more than anything those men might have done.

[foxyshaman]

Originally Posted by WomenMoveMe

As they held me down, he talked of killing me, of teaching me a lesson, I was told I would be left without a hair on my head. It seems if I were going to act like a man, it was their intent to have me look like one. At least that is what they proclaimed as tufts of my hair surrounded me on the pavement beneath my forced resting place.
.

Thank you so very much for sharing your story. You have moved me and made me, oh so very grateful, to be here to read/witness a very real, frightening and painful part of your personal story.

[rustedrims]

WOW..W.M.M

Feel bad for ya..
I never had anything happen to me like that..Mostly i hear the comments but i have also noticed that the people that make the remarks are surrounded by people {their friends?}..What is the sense of looking like a tough guy if no one is around to hear-see it..Bullies travel in pacts and not buy themselves which brings me back to someone has to see them be the "Tough Guy"..

s..

[Gemme]

Yes to harrassment.

Because I'm female, with female bits.

And one tme, because I was at a gay club.

[CherylNYC]

I've been the object of unwanted sexual attention from men since my earliest memories. Stares, offensive comments, daily verbal rape, and hungry hands. You name it, and I've experienced it. It's sooooooo much better now that I'm nearly 50, but I still catch more than my share of disgusting sucking noises and threatening cat calls. Do they think they're complimenting me? I'm always surprised that I haven't aged out yet.

I've been harassed on the street for being a lesbian, but I've never felt as endangered by homophobia as I have from just being female.

[Corkey]

I'd like a definition of street harassment before I vote. Though I'm not a Transman, I am Transgendered so yes this difference is important to me.

[Nat]

this is just one definition I found - from stopstreetharrassment.org:

Street harassment is any action or comment between strangers in public places that is disrespectful, unwelcome, threatening and/or harassing and is motivated by gender. In countries like India and Bangladesh, it’s termed “eve teasing,” and in countries like Egypt, it’s called “public sexual harassment.” Street harassment is a human rights issue because it limits women’s ability to be in public as often or as comfortably as most men.

Types: It ranges from leers, whistles, honks, kissing noises, and non-sexually explicit evaluative comments, to more insulting and threatening behavior like vulgar gestures, sexually charged comments, flashing, and stalking, to illegal actions like public masturbation, sexual touching, assault, and murder.

Gender-based street harassment can intersect with racism, homophobia and transphobia, classism, and/or ableism (as explored in Chapter 3 of the Stop Street Harassment book) to create multi-layered harassment.

Age: Street harassment often begins around puberty. In a 2008 study of 811 women conducted by Stop Street Harassment, almost 1 in 4 women had experienced street harassment by age 12 (7th grade) and nearly 90% by age 19. While street harassment is most frequent for teenagers and women in their 20s, the chance of it happening never goes away and women in their 80s have shared stories.

[Bad_boi]

I have been harassed but not for being trans so I voted no.

[Melissa]

Phew when I started thinking about it there have been multiple incidents from the general breast staring to being out right asked my bra size to having breasts "accidently" touched or brushed against. I also have found that men will be very inappropriate to waitresses. Some of the worse comments came when I worked as a waitress in a restaurant and also when I worked in a casino. Men seem to think that they have total freedom to make all sorts of comments.

During a street demo for gay rights a woman pulled up in her truck and told us we were all going to hell (she had a probably six or seven year old little girl in the truck with her). I have also been yelled at when entering a gay club from passersby on the street. I have been refused service in restaurants, too. I have also been verbally and physically attacked by family members. urgh. I don't really want to think about it.

I found it all humilitating, disgusting, and ugly. The highest number of incidences are based on my female gender but the most scary and hurtful were based on being gay.

Melissa

[Christy51274]

Originally Posted by Gemme

Yes to harrassment.

Because I'm female, with female bits.

And one tme, because I was at a gay club.

@Gemme: Would you care to elaborate?

[starryeyes]

Was harassed a few days ago on my birthday Justin and I were at our favorite sushi restaurant, hugging and kissing and doing what we do ( but not over the top). These people came to sit next in the next booth, and proceeded to argue about who wold sit facing us and have to "look at that". Then, the poor unfortunate bitch who had to (poor thing), gave me disgusting looks the whole time. When we were done, I stood up and walked to their table and said " I hope someday you will open your minds and have a little bit of fucking class". They looked at me like " omg how dare you what are you talking about!?". I really wish I did not use foul language in my confrontation, but I was so heated up. But, at the same time, I wish I said more and really lashed out.. Lol. Ugh. Stupid ignorant people.

[Parker]

Originally Posted by WomenMoveMe

As they held me down, he talked of killing me, of teaching me a lesson, I was told I would be left without a hair on my head. It seems if I were going to act like a man, it was their intent to have me look like one. At least that is what they proclaimed as tufts of my hair surrounded me on the pavement beneath my forced resting place.

Wow. This* was powerful. Thank you for sharing it.




*the whole story, not just this paragraph - I just quoted the opening paragraph as a space-saver for my post.

[mariamma]

WomenMoveMe, what a horrible and powerful story. Butch women get the brunt of the abuse for not being 'feminine' and effeminate men for not being masculine. It's horrid and ugly.

[mariamma]

I used to make out with my GF in her car. I was 18, she was 26, I was attending Humboldt State in Nor Cali. One hot and heavy night, I kept hearing someone shouting something. After a while I realized it was some jocky lil shit yelling "DYKE!" We ignored him. A few nights later, he threw a tennis ball at my GF's car. I looked up and saw that he had about 4 guys with him. They tried to hide in the shadows when I got out.
I reported the harassment, he got a reprimand. A while later, there was an incident with a stranger asleep in my dorm room. Apparently, he was drunk, walked onto the campus and yelled out "Who's the finest chick on campus!" His idea was to seduce the finest chick on campus. Someone...I wonder whom...told him I was and sent him to my room. Mind you, I was not known as the finest chick but as a lesbian who was friendly with the hippies and scorned the jocky lil shits. Everyone heard about that story. I pointed the lil shit out to all who would listen. He didn't come back the next semester though I don't know why.
That was the only lesbian related harassment. Many other issues. Usually they involve being followed by men in grocery stores and what not. I find looking them in the eye with my patented Mom-look-of-death-and-nut-shriveling and ask, "What do you want from me?" leaves them speechless and they go away. Except a few, they all usually lower their eyes and walk away.

[aishah]

i have not been harassed a lot for being queer, but i have been for being a woman. the street harassment was especially bad when i was in undergrad at florida state...i'm not sure why (i've never been thin or cute, and it absolutely had nothing to do with what i was wearing - i dressed very modestly even before i became muslim). it was practically a daily thing, probably exacerbated by the fact that i've always walked and taken the bus so i've been more exposed i guess. it really got to me. when i first converted to islam and began covering, it nearly stopped - the only difference in what i wore was that i covered my hair, which marked me as religious. i did get harassed by strangers and the police a few times for being muslim but it was much less often. since i stopped wearing hijab recently i've gotten catcalls a few times but nothing on the level of the daily sexual harassment i used to deal with (i live near the university of kansas now, so i wonder if it's a geographical thing).

[apretty]

Originally Posted by mariamma

Usually they involve being followed by Latin men in grocery stores and what not.

I thought that your statement was just about your racism but then I googled and did indeed see Latin men in grocery stores--Look at this one, near the mangos!




That smile surely means he's groped someone in canned goods!

[Jess]

Originally Posted by mariamma

I used to make out with my GF in her car. I was 18, she was 26, I was attending Humboldt State in Nor Cali. One hot and heavy night, I kept hearing someone shouting something. After a while I realized it was some jocky lil shit yelling "DYKE!" We ignored him. A few nights later, he threw a tennis ball at my GF's car. I looked up and saw that he had about 4 guys with him. They tried to hide in the shadows when I got out.
I reported the harassment, he got a reprimand. A while later, there was an incident with a stranger asleep in my dorm room. Apparently, he was drunk, walked onto the campus and yelled out "Who's the finest chick on campus!" His idea was to seduce the finest chick on campus. Someone...I wonder whom...told him I was and sent him to my room. Mind you, I was not known as the finest chick but as a lesbian who was friendly with the hippies and scorned the jocky lil shits. Everyone heard about that story. I pointed the lil shit out to all who would listen. He didn't come back the next semester though I don't know why.
That was the only lesbian related harassment. Many other issues. Usually they involve being followed by Latin men in grocery stores and what not. I find looking them in the eye with my patented Mom-look-of-death-and-nut-shriveling and ask, "What do you want from me?" leaves them speechless and they go away. Except a few, they all usually lower their eyes and walk away.

CRAIG!!!! You go girl! Big hugs... if I am ever out your way, you owe me a dance

[Parker]

I have been very lucky that I have been in very few physical altercations in my lifetime - I remember a straight guy hanging out in the local dyke dive bar in Fresno picked a fight with me on Halloween night sometime in the mid-90's.

It seemed odd to me that someone who hated dykes would be in a bar filled with them and then pick a fight with one, but he was drunk, got pissed, we had words, and then he grabbed me by the shirt and slammed me down on the pool table (this was when I was very thin - like 135lbs).

Before he could actually hit me, several of my friends started grabbing him, jumping on him, etc, so I just stood up, wrapped him up in a bear hug, picked him up, carried him out the door, and tossed his ass on the sidewalk outside. I was offered the job of bouncer that night. lol

But, like I said, I have been very lucky in that area. I know it and I am thankful for it - especially after reading and hearing some stories others have gone through.

So, I guess my worst incident of harassment came when I was living in Tulsa, OK back in the early 2000's. I played football with a women's contact team down there and we were at a local park holding practice when I heard a bunch of popping sounds. Since it was so close to the 4th of July, I assumed it was early fireworks until someone yelled, "hey - isnt that your car?!"

I looked over to the packed parking lot (I say that bc he chose my car out of dozens - bc mine was the one with gay stickers all over it) and saw a dude with a sledgehammer just fucking whaling on my little car. I mean, he beat the hell out of it - roof, hood, all the windows, etc.

When we all finally realized what was going on, we chased his ass and he took off in (what we later found out was) daddy's car - complete with Christian stickers on the back - while laughing and flipping us off.

One of my team mates was a cop so she immediately called it in and we had like 6-10 witnesses just from our team who saw him, his car, his plates, etc. But nothing ever came of it. The cops said they didnt have enough to pull him in for a line-up and he refused to have his picture taken for a photo line-up.

It all sounded like good ol' boy bullshit to me, but what're you gonna do, right?

The local gay rag did an article on it and took a pic of me with my car - it's posted below. It says Deborah Barnett because that's my birth name - I didnt change my name (legally or otherwise) until 2007, when I finally decided it was "ok" to change my name just because I wanted a name other than the one my parents gave me.





Oh god this pic .... this is the weight I would love to get back down to - I was about 200lbs or so here vs the 265lbs or so I am now.

[StoneOne]

I have no words ..........
I do however feel many things mostly Dark about what happened to U and I am trying to shake them as not to sink to the level of your attackers........ I am very Sorry this happened ......... My hopes are one day we arrive at the Higher Power makes no mistakes and she made you and I

[DeviantDaddy]

Originally Posted by mariamma

Many other issues. Usually they involve being followed by Latin men in grocery stores and what not. I find looking them in the eye with my patented Mom-look-of-death-and-nut-shriveling and ask, "What do you want from me?" leaves them speechless and they go away. Except a few, they all usually lower their eyes and walk away.

I am not sure how to take this. May I ask what exactly you meant by that statement?