‘harassment’

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“You Have the Right to Live In Your Own Body.”

7.2.10 | 1 Comment »

Hey there, readers!  I’m Miranda, a new blogger, and I’m just pleased pink to be here.

My interest in anti-rape activism began sometime in middle school, right about the time I discovered riot grrl music.  Overnight I’d grown great big boobies, and every day I dreaded the inevitable catcalls when I walked home from school.  Then I listened to Bikini Kill.  Here was a group of talented, loud-mouthed women, fed up with street harassment, exploitation and rape apologists, and they spoke to every anxiety and frustration I had about living in a society that alienated me from my own body and my sexuality.  The first time I heard Kathleen Hanna scream/croon, “I believe in the radical possibilities of pleasure, babe,” I knew I was home.

Now I’m 23 and a dedicated anti-rape activist.  I’m a certified sexual assault crisis intervention counselor at the YWCA of Metropolitan Chicago.  When some creep tries to humiliate me, I hollabackand street-shame him.  I do this because I know that the movement to end rape is an uphill battle and everything we say—or don’t say—counts.  So I’m here to do my part to keep the conversation going. And I’m here, blogging for you lovely readers, in case my voice can be that scream/croon that tells you, “You have the right to live in your own body.”

Street Harassment is Violence, Too!

7.1.10 | 2 Comments »

I don’t remember the first time I was catcalled- or the last. I have actually become so accustomed to street harassment that I don’t bat eyelashes at it anymore; I walk on, I attempt to be fearless. When I was 18 and had started school, it terrified me to be out alone and encounter a talkative stranger. To this day, I walk a little faster around men who whistle and men who yell. When I was 18 and had started an internship, an older man on the metro asked me to live with him, and then backed off and remarked that he would leave me alone “because I looked like a nice girl.” (This was a feminist awakening, and I wish he knew that he spurred what became my feminist career.) When I was 18 and had just ventured DC alone, a much older man asked me where I lived, and if he could fly me back to New York with him.

Street harassment is a daily exercise in the life of a woman. It happens to women regardless of their lifestyle, appearance, behavior, location, status, ethnicity, or life experience. Street harassment happens to women when they are alone, traveling with others, and even (in one of my cases) when they are walking with their colleagues or supervisors. Street harassment is a pervasive form of verbal and physical violence against women. For many women, the problem is too pervasive and stubborn and appears impossible to solve. Many have given up in the face of comments like “why did you wear that?” or “why were you in that neighborhood?” For many women, street harassment has become an annoying, embarassing, and secret activity. For many women, it is a form of verbal and physical violence that goes ignored by them and their friends and loved ones.

For those women, there is Hollaback!, an organized movement against street harassment. Founded by Emily May in New York City, I began to consult the project on social media when they had already chaptered Hollabacks in other countries and continents, as well as across the nation in a host of cities. On July 8, Hollaback! will be celebrating its launch in Brooklyn, New York – the beginning of their second stage will be ushered in by a series of applications (for the iPhone, Android, and more) and a new focus on exposing street harassers, mapping where harassment happens, and then attempting to legislate against it.

I was probably no more than 13 when I began to struggle with street harassment. It is a behavior that confounds me, and frustrates me. The Sexist at Washington City Paper has published stories about violent street harassers who strike. (Similarly, she also reported on Miss DC’s recent badass attack on her harassers.) For women in the United States and around the world, freedom of movement is still a fantasy, hindered by misogyny that is manifested in catcalls, wolf whistles, and other forms of dangerous and dehumanizing behavior.

This spring, I was asked to lead my school’s Take Back the Night march against sexual assault, rape, and other forms of violence against women. I marched defiantly and proudly, finally free from the constraints of acceptable behavior and finally free from the overwhelming inability to fight back that so many women encounter in situations of street harassment. From the past week, I can recount around five examples of street harassment directed at me, all while I was walking to and from work, networking receptions, and concerts- and I’m done.

This July 8, I am giving street harassers exactly what- and all that- they deserve: a big fuck you.

Hollaback PSA! from Emily May on Vimeo.

My Line Is What Makes Me HAPPY.

6.30.10 | No Comments »

Tran

After the film screening of THE LINE at Barnard College, I was asked to fill out a sticker with my answer to the question “where is your line?” It was difficult for me to put into words what my line specifically was, because it is constantly changing. I thought, well I guess my line is this and that, but wait, what if I had a bad day, I wouldn’t want anyone near me! It is so hard to express what my line is in one sentence- my comfort levels can change with time, my environment, and sometimes even what I am wearing.

My decision to have sex made it difficult for me to express a line in high school. Back then, rumors about my sexual past made boys think that I would automatically have sex with them because I had already done certain things. But having sex was a decision that I made because I thought I was in love and I felt that I was ready to lose my virginity, not an invitation for dirty text messages or naked pictures. Those rumors made establishing my line a lot more difficult during high school. I didn’t like upsetting people: I wanted to make a guy happy by playing along with flirting, regardless of whether or not I felt comfortable.

Looking back at this, I thought of my answer: “My line is what makes me HAPPY at the end of the day.” Over time, I realized that the most important thing about any decision I make is my own happiness. I believe that any decision is justified as long as I can look in the mirror and still be proud of the person that I see standing before me. I have learned to be more comfortable speaking about my sex life and saying no to sex. My sexual life is supposed to make me happy, and regardless of what I choose to do, I want to be able to look in the mirror and know that I did it for my own happiness.

Excerpts from Harvard’s Sexting Report

6.28.10 | 1 Comment »


Sexting: Youth Practices and Legal Implications is a new report by the Harvard University Berkman Center for Internet and Society. Its stated purpose is to “intended to provide background for discussion of interventions related to sexting.” This is only more indication that the MTV-induced sexting panic isn’t over yet. The report covers a plethora of related issues and attempts to compile research and an analytical tongue in making sense of how sexting has changed a variety of legal definitions and cultural trends.

Some excerpts from the report (and yes, we did leave out the reference to sexting as “relationship currency.”):

On the sharing of “sexted” images:

Nearly one in five sext recipients (17%) reports having passed the
images along to someone else, with more than half (55%) of those who passed the images
to someone else sharing them with more than one person.

Nearly one in five sext recipients (17%) reports having passed the images along to someone else, with more than half (55%) of those who passed the images to someone else sharing them with more than one person.

On current legal practices:

Sexting takes place in many different contexts. Whatever the context, however, the minors involved risk being investigated for and charged with child pornography offenses. If convicted, they could be subject to the same types of punishments as adults who traffic in such images, including felony convictions, lengthy prison sentences, and sex offender registration.

On Constitutional Law:

The First Amendment to the United States Constitution “bars the government from dictating what we see, or read or speak or hear.” There are, however, a small number of exceptional categories of speech that have such “slight social value” that the government may freely regulate them in order to advance “the social interest in order and morality.” These categories include child pornography and obscenity.

On Potential Alternatives:

At one extreme, it can be argued that sexted images, unlike images of children being sexually abused, are protected by the First Amendment.

At the other extreme, one could argue that sexted images, like conventional child pornography, are exempt from First Amendment protection because the production and dissemination of such images cause harm to real children.

Rather than argue for either extreme, one could argue that sexted images can be covered by child pornography statutes if the statutes provide an affirmative defense for minors who voluntarily self‐produce and transmit such images to other minors.

To read the full report, go here.

Greek Life and Sexual Assault: Challenging the Cycle of Violence on Campus

6.22.10 | 5 Comments »


The fraternity I founded is diverse in thought, heritage, and class; we are generally a progressive and feminist-leaning group of men. On my campus, and arguably most campuses here in the US, however, Greek Life is a system built on sexism and the objectification, shaming, and abuse of women. My friend was a first-year student pledging the largest sorority on campus: this story is about her experience. (I obtained her consent to write about this beforehand.)

One night while I was walking to my fraternity’s house, a friend called me asking to be picked up from a mixer. She sounded scared and wanted to leave. My brothers were willing to go, but I dismissed the possibility that there was anything to be concerned about. After a little while, a car pulled into our driveway driven by one of her sisters. She was in the passenger seat, and when she came inside she told me that she had been uncomfortable with the men at the mixer. They had made fun of her and her sisters, saying they were going to fuck them later, slapping them on the ass, and refusing to give her their address so that someone could pick her up. She tried to leave the room, but the brothers barred the door and told her she had to stay. She pulled me into the bathroom and I tried to calm her down, but I was far from calm myself.

One of the most offensive things about the entire situation was the assumed status of women at a fraternity party as possessions without any agency, only there to fuck them and unable to exercise their right to come and go as they pleased. This is a horror story we all hear often, but I’m still appalled it actually happens. Any connection between two people based on love and attraction needs to exist through freedom, and any act of coercion is not an act of respect, openness, or mutuality. I wanted to act on the situation and make some sort of positive outcome, and I reached out to the other fraternity in anger, expressing my frustration with their actions to a close friend in their chapter in hopes that I could get them to understand the true magnitude of their behavior.

But in the end, nothing happened. My friend’s sorority sisters blamed her for “starting shit,” said that she just shouldn’t have caused a scene, and they were banned from ever partying at that house again. Her sisters dismissed and blamed her. Sexism and objectification are built into greek life, so much so that a popular saying on campus is that the only purpose for joining a sorority is to “do arts and crafts and suck frat boy cock.” In the end, I was disappointed in the idea of “sisterhood” as fleeting and hurtful, cold and blissfully ignorant of the issues they could be taking effective steps toward improving. Greek life doesn’t have to be about coercion, assault, danger, or pain- and my brothers and I refuse to support, justify, or ignore any actions that are.

What Are Sexual Rights?

6.15.10 | No Comments »

This post is cross-posted from the IWHC AKIMBO blog here. It was written by Audacia Ray.

A lot of policy language around “population,” “reproductive health,” and “family planning” does it’s share of hoop jumping to avoid talking plainly about sexuality. There are definitely strategic moments when it is important and valuable to use very comprehensive and non-threatening language. However, sometimes it’s as important to be direct. This is what the phrase “sexual rights,” and the work behind it, aims to do.

Sexual rights are the right to say NO…
To violence
To rape
To harassment
To discrimination
To trafficking
To forced marriage
To abuse

…and the right to say YES
To the intimate partner of your choice
To the husband or wife of your choice
To pleasure
To self-expression
To bodily integrity
To a life free from violence
To self-determination
To contraceptive options
To safe abortion
To full, frank information about your body, your rights, and your responsibilities

Sexual rights, like human rights, are universal and inalienable. They belong to everyone: women and men, young people and adults, rich and poor, rural and urban, gay and straight, immigrant and indigenous—to mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, grandparents, husbands, and wives from every country of every region in the world.

Sexual rights, like human rights, transcend nationalities, religions, and cultures. The basis for sexual rights can be found in countless cultural traditions, religious texts, and international agreements. Sexual rights are not a Western concept. They are broad, far-reaching, and life-affirming.

Sexual rights, like human rights, are often violated. All over the world, women experience alarming rates of physical abuse and sexual violence. They face entrenched discrimination in the workplace, in schools, in government, and within their families. National laws often fail to protect women and young people, and global and national health policies rarely reflect the realities of their lives. In an era of HIV/AIDS, young people are denied access to full and accurate information about their bodies and their rights. Tens of millions of girls in the developing world are married before their eighteenth birthdays—many to much older men, and many against their will. Worldwide, tens of thousands of women die every year because restrictive abortion laws force them to resort to unsafe procedures. These are all violations of sexual rights.

What can you do? Click here to read more about IWHC’s work on sexual rights.

Vintage Sexual Harassment – Jerusalem, 2000

1.3.10 | 1 Comment »

400_Kafiyeh2
Cleaning out my office yesterday, I stumbled upon a decade-old stack of printed out emails and photographs. Ten years ago I was living and working in Jerusalem, my hair was long and black, and wearing a tank top was a subversive act. Here’s a little snapshot of a hot June morning, and for the record, my shoulders were bare.

From: Nancy Schwartzman, Jerusalem

To: Ex Boyfriend, Brooklyn

Sent: Tuesday, June 27, 2000 9:50 AM

Subject: Jerusalem Morning

We’re all jaded. Ears Accustomed. Eyes averted.

We’ve heard it all before:

Cat calls and whistles up and down Atlantic Avenue-

Little boys too young to call you beautiful, men too old to even look at you-

Spanish, Spanglish, Chinese, English, whispers, shouts, hisses…

Canal Street, Houston, Park Ave., 4th Ave., Douglass, Amsterdam, the A, B C and D.

But this one was different:

9:00 am. Blazing Sun. Pale, pale me. Stumbling along through the park to my office – no coffee, too vain to wear a hat,  shielding my eyes from the desert sun searing over the Hinnom Valley.  Dressed in New York black, red Kenneth Cole Slides. Feeling Fierce.

From between the cracks in my fingers,  a vision of the tiniest, most wrinkled man, appears out of a cloud of desert dust, a scarf flapping carelessly over his shoulder. A brown grisled hand clutches his crotch as he hobbles toward me.

I avert my eyes.

He continues on his bowlegged path, crotch in hand, destination unclear.

No, not him. He needs to relieve himself. He’s a grandpa! Not him, not now. So old, so small, too early in the morning, and I can’t run on slippery Jerusalem stones in my sloping Slides.

The inevitable happens. Crotch grabbing, scarf flapping, legs bowling, teeth missing -leans in real close, reaches out to touch and asks:

“do you speak English? I love you.”

When I’m no longer living in the Middle East, am I gonna miss mornings like this?

love,

nancy

And to try and answer that question now, I can say that yes I miss hot, desert mornings and no, I don’t miss feeling intimidated by a wrinkled old man. Next time, I’ll have my camera with me… Anyone wanna start a HollabackJerusalem?

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