I was biking along Cunard toward Robie at about 9 pm on a Saturday night, and a group of guys emerged from the apartment building and barked at me (seriously, like “arf arf”) as I passed.

I was more bemused than threatened (do you mean you think I’m a bitch? or that you want to do me doggy style? or that you yourselves are so manly you must communicate like wolves instead of humans?) but I was still very glad to be on a bike, so I could flip them off as I sped past rather than have to share the sidewalk with them.

For more bike posts in honor of National Bike Month, stop by our archives.

I choose to Hollaback! a different way.

My friend Kate was kind enough to protect my anonymity in her initial post, but I’m generally an open book, as my story makes clear, and the guy in the pick-up maneuver in question is now a confirmed NO in the boyfriend department so there’s no reason to distance myself from last week’s post. In fact, I welcome the opportunity to share my side of the story and encourage the Hollaback! audience to perhaps take a different approach. My experience, especially after Kate chose to share it with the universe, has been the subject of a lot of thoughts and soul-searching on my part and so I’ve chosen to collect those thoughts in this post and see where the Hollaback! adventure takes me next. I’m looking forward to becoming a part of your community.

I do feel the need to start this by identifying myself as an ally. Partially out of loyalty to my friend, but also because I support it and find it interesting, I have been following Hollaback! Boston’s online presence and recently donated to the Pride fundraiser. I am one of you (although I do not live in Boston). A man has no right to look at you, say something to you, or touch you in any way without your permission, which you furthermore have the right to revoke at any time. And I do recognize how seemingly mild comments and behaviors are a part of a larger broken system whereby women are still (mind-bogglingly enough) seen as objects, weaker or lesser in some way, and thus become victims of harassment and violence, along with lower pay and a host of other less violent but equally unjust circumstances. Please try remember these things if you get very frustrated or disgusted by what I’m about to say. I think it will result in a more meaningful conversation moving forward.

First I’ll give you the full play-by-play.

Picture this: I’m sitting on a bench smack dab in the center of my university campus, in front of my office building where many people I know and trust are toiling away in the name of academia. It is a sunny 2pm on a Tuesday. I am reading my Twitter feed while waiting for my male friend to come meet me to go to lunch. He is expected to approach at any moment.

-Rather than my friend, a tall, dark, handsome-ish young man (henceforth TDH-ish) carrying a backpack and wearing sunglasses approaches the bench. TDH-ish says, “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

-It’s not, so I say “no.” My overstuffed backpack is on the bench between us.

-He sits down. I go back to Twitter (@ameliajane).

-TDH-ish: “I’m sorry, actually, can I borrow your phone?”

-I look at him incredulously because who borrows cell phones on a college campus in this day in age? Don’t we all have them already?

-He says, “I know, I’m sorry, it’s just mine died. It will just be a second.”

-Now remember, he’s cute-ish, so I open the door for him a bit, perhaps, by saying (after noting his accent) “It’s not going to be long distance, is it?” I’ve been accused of being naturally flirtatious. I guess I can’t help myself.

-TDH-ish: “No, no, and it will just take a minute.” I decide I’m zooming in on the part of the world he’s from. I give him my phone. If I were in a bind and needed a phone because mine were dead/lost/stolen I’d like to think people would help me out.

-TDH-ish dials. His pocket starts ringing. He hands my phone back to me and says, “I’m so sorry, I’m already late for a meeting so I have to run, but now I have your number.”

- I say, “Nice to meet you, my name is Amelia.” TDH-ish puts out his hand to shake mine and says, “Hi, Amelia, I’m TDH-ish. Have a lovely afternoon.”

-An hour later, presumably when he finished his meeting, he texted me and after a few exchanges correcting the spelling of my name and questioning the veracity of his we decided to meet for coffee the next day.

So now my thoughts on this:

I don’t think what happened to me was street harassment.

I don’t even think it should be put under the same umbrella term. I think we are doing ourselves a disservice if we do that. I was actually sort of irritated that it was Kate’s reaction to label it as such. I sent the text to my girlfriends as a funny tidbit of “haha, isn’t it funny that this guy did this in this way? Isn’t it fun that I’m just recently back ‘out there’ on the dating scene and this is how I come across a dude? Lol” to break up the monotony of our days. I think it is essential for everyone to understand that I didn’t feel uncomfortable. At all. I didn’t feel bothered or threatened or creeped out. This may because I missed the memo about talking to strangers as a child and I make a regular habit of talking to anyone and everyone. It may be because I was raised in a small town and that’s how we do things. It may be because I travel alone a lot. More on that later. My point is, as Marléne pointed out, it’s MY choice to feel harassed or not. Not yours. Not his. And I don’t think this was harassment. He tread lightly, I didn’t shut him down. The “forceful” taking of my number I guess is the only place it might even come close to harassment, but how invasive is it, really, to have someone’s cell number? I mean, if I don’t want to talk to him, I don’t answer. That’s easy enough.

On the subject of being handsome…

Britni tweeted me the other day:

@ameliajane @hollabackboston @kziegs Would your reaction have been different if he hadn’t been attractive or handsome?

— Britni (@hopefiending) May 18, 2013

I will repeat and elaborate my answer here. I texted my girls and my sister right away and retold the story to my friends because it was a “hey look at me” moment. My sister’s response: “OMG! Like a movie!” and another friend said she’d probably sleep with him. To each her own.

If you don’t appreciate positive attention for your outward appearance from someone of the gender you generally go for who you also find to be outwardly pleasing, quite frankly, I think you’re either messed up or lying. Since he was tall, kind of cute, the type I usually go for and had a foreign accent (I study languages and linguistics, so I live for that), I tallied this in the win column. Also, I hadn’t showered that morning and was wearing men’s jeans. Bonus points. Get it, grrl. I realize that this is playing into an age-old issue within the feminist movement about whether reclaiming your own sexual power as a woman is feminism, or just feels like feminism but really reinforces patriarchal standards of beauty and sexuality by giving them what they want. I choose to see it as powerful. Then again I am also an unabashed Beyoncé fan, so judge away.

If he hadn’t been borderline handsome, I probably wouldn’t have bragged about it. Kate would never have received that text and none of you would have your opportunity to reflect. (FYI: Discovering that I was now open to such evaluations from my fellow feisty females of the Hollaback! crowd was more intimidating to me than the pick-up itself.) But I still would have let him sit down. The seat wasn’t taken. And I still would have let him borrow my phone if he had asked politely and didn’t appear to have a flesh-eating disease on his hands. I pride myself on being a kind person that believes in the good in others. I think if more people believed that, more people would be more good. I also like to collect interesting friends and experiences.

On meeting new people…

This brings me to perhaps my biggest personal concern about Kate’s reaction to this experience. She is lucky to be in a long-term relationship with a highly evolved man who respects and adores her. Some of us haven’t found that yet. I furthermore live in a small, college town where the most common way that people meet people of the opposite sex is at frat parties or in the seedy darkness of the one local nightclub. At 27 and almost done with a PhD, it feels a little gauche and not particularly productive to try and find a partner that way. Most of them are 21 and very drunk and we’re just on different planets. So if I assume that every man that approaches me in booze-free, daylight contexts, no matter how politely he does so, is bad or dangerous or is seeking to use his male superiority to victimize me, how exactly am I supposed to meet people? I know my power. I know my risks. I’m not giving him my social security number or my home address or even my last name. At the first feeling of discomfort I will disappear from his universe (in fact, I sort of already have). In this particular situation I am not at risk because I’m not letting myself be put there. I, too, have power, and I am using it.

Subsequent retellings of this story over beers with friends and colleagues and even other dates have yielded myriad replies. Men tend to either think it’s a really clever thing they wish they had the balls to try or that I’m ridiculous for falling for it. One particularly enlightened man friend I shared the story with immediately said, “What a dick move!” with a genuine look of disgust on his face. His reaction was so strong and so from the gut that he pushed me the closest to reconsidering my initial feelings about it. But on second reflection after we talked a bit more he, too, recognized that I wasn’t bothered by it and that was ok. Most women actually go more the way of Kate or Sabine and say, “euw euw euw creepy creepy creepy.” A couple expressed jealousy at my having handled it without nerves or fear.

So when do we Hollaback! and why?

I think this is where my real contribution, my real point in writing this somewhat lengthy response, comes in. Is your negative reaction to this quite benign act of flattery reinforcing the harassment rather than undermining it? I met TDH-ish for coffee the next day after “the pick-up.” He was very polite. Respectful. Did all the things I like in a potential mate in the early phases of dating, like asking me interesting questions, really listening to the answers, and at the end of the first date inviting me to go out again instead of playing that wait-to-call game for 3 days. Our conversation was only so-so and sans sunglasses and with more time to look at him it turns out he doesn’t inspire any butterflies in me, so I’ve passed on date #2, but I have no regrets about having met him once. I certainly am not avoiding him because he’s creepy. (And I’ve had every reason to convince myself that he is, what with all this Hollaback! dialogue I’ve been involved in this week.) I suppose I could apologize to the other women in the world who will be creeped out by this move the next time he tries it for having encouraged his “bad” behavior, but I don’t think it’s so bad. As a matter of fact, as I’m writing my response I’m realizing that when done in an appropriate way, as TDH-ish did, it’s a behavior that may merit celebration.

I do feel a bit guilty about having been placed here among people who are truly being insulted and violated by words and actions on the streets of Boston. I think that while the work you all do every day is valuable and important, you must not let it cloud your perspective to the extreme. Viewing everything through a filter of harassment is a terrible way to live. Being predisposed to perceive any unknown man who approaches as an aggressor probably won’t make any of them want to improve the patriarchal society in which we now live, it will just make them feel like they can’t win. And it certainly won’t make you feel better. The purpose of a holla! as I see it is to reclaim your strength, your rights, your sexuality if you so choose. It is to feel safe and comfortable, but also confident and hot when you wanna be.

I see my choice to be kind and welcoming to TDH-ish as a holla-ing back in its own right. I learned more about TDH-ish through his pick-up and our subsequent coffee than I could have reliably gleaned from less confrontational methods of meeting a total stranger. He’s ballsy. He’s clever. He has good taste. :) I don’t want to date him because I don’t feel that *spark* or whatever, but I wouldn’t be averse to being his friend because he seems to be genuinely not a bad guy. He’s new in town and he was looking for a way to meet people. So I chose to say, “Thank you for approaching me in a respectful way. Thank you for recognizing my beauty. Thank you for being more creative and forthright than just grinding up on me in a club or shooting me an anonymous message on OkCupid. Thank you for making me smile in the middle of a boring, busy day. Thank you for putting yourself out there in a world where women are sometimes so standoffish in an attempt to adjust gender roles that it’s hard for even a good guy to catch a break.” Our society needs not only to recognize the bad so that it can be wiped out, but also to recognize the good so that it can be proliferated. So to all the good, if unorthodox, men out there – Holla!

Hi, I’m Kayla.

I’m currently an undergrad at Tufts University, studying American Studies and Sociology. My academic focus thus far has been comparative race and ethnicity and institutional power in the U.S. When I’m not in class, I like to explore Somerville and Boston, tell jokes, and really get to know people. I’m originally from Kansas City (Missouri, of course) and I’ve truly come to love Boston these past three years, but I joined the Hollaback! movement because I want Boston to be better than it is. Street harassment runs rampant in this city and in all cities, but I believe it’s a mere symptom of larger issues of inequality. It presents itself as a specific issue that we can tackle, so why not try? Any wins against this oppression have the power to affect the bigger picture, causing a rupture in the current power dynamics that consistently advantage some over others. I think that by telling our stories and contributing solutions, those of us affected by street harassment can make the streets a safer place for us all.

–Kayla

We’re plotting our Pride Parade float and making plans for the summer, and we would love your ideas and feedback. Come hang out offline, meet new HOLLA friends in person, and help us determine next steps.

We can’t wait to see you!

–Kate

image credit: Ula Cafe

I was unlocking my bike on South Park Street, around 1pm. I heard some men yelling from a big, white, unmarked truck. I could tell they were yelling something gross, and threatening. I heard “Fat!”

I turned around and one of the men looked right at me and yelled, “Nice ass, bitch!”

They had pulled up a little further but were stopped at the lights at South Park and Sackville. I could see that there were three men in the truck. I walked up with my bike and shouted to them, “Don’t yell that at me!!! I can see your license plate number!” I read the number out loud so I would remember it and so they would know I saw it. Then I shouted that I was calling the police. They yelled, “Have a nice day!” and laughed. (The plate was only on the front and it was yellow.)

I called the non-emergency police line as soon as I got home. We’ll see if anything comes of it. I’ve had friends report street harassment to the police and get pretty negative responses.

I hate that a group of men can drive around threatening women, feeling totally entitled and immune. They can make me feel scared and unsafe, like I can’t go to the gym, or the grocery store or wherever without being threatened and demeaned.

I just wish there was something more I could do.

For more bike posts in honor of National Bike Month, stop by our archives.

For more of this series, head to the Harlow Project’s YouTube channel.

We’ve been talking a lot about bikes, I know – it’s my fault (that, and bike month/weeks colliding), but before the weekend, you really should read Tiny Fix’s guide to street harassment and potential assault on two wheels (trigger warning: violence). In the realm of worthy reads beyond bikes, don’t miss Olivia Cole’s brief but spot-on explanation of the effect of quotidian street harassment, Kimberly Matus’ discussion of the empowerment of signing her name to her groping experience, and yet another excellent post from Gradient Lair about her own street harassment observations.

And, if you have time on Sunday, come join us at Ula Cafe for HOLLA Offline!

Happy weekend-ing,

–Kate

video credit: Harlow Project, via Topp Bottom

My immediate response was one of shock – if this had happened to me, I would have lost it, infuriated at the invasion of privacy. So I was perplexed as the conversation continued:

My friend and I had a chance to talk through this a bit more yesterday, and she expressed surprise that I would equate this encounter with street harassment. I acknowledged that, because of the work I do for Hollaback! and the time I spend reading, writing and speaking about street harassment as more than catcalls, but as part of a larger culture that values her sneaky suitor’s wishes and time over hers, I’m predisposed to think of harassment. I understand that I’ve focused my attention that way.

Discussing street harassment, especially with those not already primed to consider it a problem, or even a thing that happens, can be challenging for all involved. While activists like Hollaback! site leaders, interns and volunteers are working to frame street harassment as part of a larger, global phenomenon, millions of women around the world are having minor interactions like my friend’s – and sometimes, they might welcome them. While I was busy being furious for her, my friend felt that in the context in which she had this experience, it was more clever than creepy.

It’s important, I think, in the midst of our discussions of how to respond and how to intervene, to also acknowledge the right of an individual to assess their situation and decide that in that moment, in that context, they feel flattered. Accepting this doesn’t lessen the importance of working to change the culture that allows for the exchange to take place as it did, with (in my opinion) a huge presumption on the part of the stranger, but it does remind us that in the end, individual experiences are all valid, and that’s what this is all about.

Street harassment doesn’t have to make you feel unsafe in all cases to still exist, and to still be identified as such; our experiences can illustrate the culture behind street harassment without necessarily having ruined our day. These stories are valid, too – and Hollaback! is for sharing them!

What do you think? Would you have been furious as I would have in my friend’s situation, or do you think it was clever and mostly harmless?

–Kate

Alex is a content producer, blogger and marathoner, and you can find her on twitter, instagram and pinterest.

You ran Boston last month, and you blog at The Saga of a Twenty-Something – what else are you into? Running and blogging are definitely my two biggest hobbies, but I can also be found at Pure Barre Boston getting my tuck on and out and about in Boston trying to find as many patios to drink on as humanly possible. And if I’m not doing any of those things, I’m hanging out with my fiance, Craig, and our three-year-old pup, Toby.

Define your style: Classic. I tend to stick with things I know will last through the years.

Favorite Boston fact: We can measure things in Smoots.

Your favorite place in Boston? The Long Wharf; it’s where Craig and I had our first date and where we got engaged!

Have you experienced/witnessed street harassment in Boston? What stood out most in your memory? You know, I get the most harassment when I’m running, which makes little to no sense to me since I look terrible when I run. But early in the morning when I’m running, truck drivers will honk and whistle at me. One morning, a man walking along Beacon Street had his cellphone out positioned awkwardly at his waist with the camera facing outward, and he was either videotaping me or taking a picture of me. That was the worst.

What’s your signature response to street harassment – your go-to Hollaback? I’ve been known to flip the bird (not very ladylike of me, I know!), but mostly I just try to ignore them. It’s hard to say something back when it comes from someone in a car (for me, that’s usually where the person is). But when I’m walking and men on the street approach me with the “Oh baby come here” talk, I usually respond with a simple and curt “No.” It gets the point across.

Your most-wanted superpower is… Teleporting. It would make my morning so much easier.

What are you excited about in 2013? Running another marathon! I’m signing up for the Hartford ING Marathon to redeem my unfinished Boston Marathon.

What inspires you? Photography and good light. When the sun is at just the right angle, oh man things come alive.

If you could leave the world one piece of advice, what would it be? Chase your dreams. By that I mean do things you didn’t think were possible. You’ll surprise yourself.

Thanks, Alex!

image credit: The Saga of a Twenty-Something

The bicycle has a history as a vehicle of empowerment, and perhaps that explains some of our partiality – it’s less expensive than a car or the T, available 24/7, and in many cases helps individuals who experience street harassment to feel safer and more in control of their transit. That’s not to say harassment can’t happen on two wheels, of course – it does – but the tone often changes, and the power dynamic shifts.

There are all sorts of bike-related events in Boston this week, and though none of them are harassment specific, we hope you’ll celebrate if you’ve ever enjoyed the autonomy of two wheels. Check out the schedules for Boston Bike Week and Bay State Bike Week for more, and if you’re a beginner wondering how to get started read through nine tips for better biking. For more bike-related posts, visit our archives.

Happy riding! How will you celebrate?

–Kate

image credit: Kate Ziegler

There were many harassment incidents in my life. Like it is the case with a lot of women, I felt for the first time that people regarded me as a woman when I was harassed in the town where I went to school. It was nothing extraordinary, a guy sounding the horn and yelling something unintelligible when I was walking down the street with a friend. And then this friend said to me: “Hey, now we’re at an age where something like this happens to us.” I didn’t think more about it back then, but in retrospect it is so sad that this marked the transition from being a girl to being a woman.

Afterwards, there was a long time without being harassed. I went to school in this medium-sized town and afterwards studied in another one. To be honest, I didn’t think much about harassment, simply because there was no reason to.

After a year of internships in Munich, where harassment also never occurred to me (a proof that street harassment is not necessarily an inevitable “side-effect” of cities!) I came to Brussels – and I must say that I was shocked.

I was harassed from the first day on, and at a frequency I had never experienced before. There was everything: from being leered at, to whistles, unintelligible comments, being told in a mocking voice that I looked tired while riding my bike home from a party at night (who wouldn’t?) and groups of “men” shouting at me from the inside of a car. It was the first time I understood what it was like to feel unsafe and threatened on the street. It was the first time I actually began weighing up the comfort of staying on my side of the street and thus facing possible harassment against simply changing to the other side. And it was the first time I tried different strategies to stop harassers before they actually got down to action: I glared angrily at them when they were staring at me (this didn’t stop them, it sometimes encouraged them), I looked away (this didn’t stop them) and I pretended to be busy with my mobile ( this didn’t stop them either).

But the worst thing was that every female friend I was talking to about the topic just shrugged her shoulders, told me that it was sad, but not able to be changed and that I should try to ignore it.

But I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to get on like this.

One day, I was on my way back from university. I was riding my bike, it was perhaps 6:30 pm. I rode on the cycleway when I noticed a group of men on the sidewalk nearby, roughly 200 metres away. Suddenly, one of them stepped on the cycleway and spread his arms. He clearly wanted to stop me from continuing my ride. I accelerated. The same thing (but with a single, drunk man) had happened to me the day before, and finally the man had stepped out of my way. But this one wouldn’t – he stood there, laughing, his friends applauding him. I had thought he might move in the last second – he didn’t. And so I bumped into him. I didn’t fall down, but I suddenly felt the anger welling up in me. This was the second time this happened to me in two days. Just because some “men” thought it was funny to stop me from cycling, just for the sake of doing it, just in order to make me feel weak, for getting the approval of their mates and showing me who was the boss on the street. I was furious. And I didn’t even think much about it – I just started yelling, loudly – and in German. I had had the experience before that I felt even weaker when I tried to argue with harassers in French, because this is not my mother tongue. So I just fell back upon my native German, which, in the first place already sounds a bit aggressive – and secondly I could say whatever I wanted to, because anyway no one would understand. So I stood there, shouting, screaming, not even thinking about what I was saying. I felt nothing but anger. First they tried to mock at me, but I concentrated on the one who had stood in my way. He yelled back, but I didn’t even listen. I just kept going. And after some time (I wouldn’t be able to say how long it took) – he stopped. He looked at me. I must have had the must furious expression one can imagine. What I saw in his eyes was – fear.

I got on my bike and rode home. Some men mumbled at me something I didn’t understand when I drove past them on my way – clearly they had heard me shouting and perhaps wanted to “punish” me for doing so. I just responded with something in German – I was too weak to engage in another confrontation. When I was in my flat I realized my hands were trembling. I sat down and called a friend to tell her what had happened. I couldn’t get myself to think about anything else for some hours, it kept coming back again and again.

But I was also proud: I had holla’d back.