Carla Revisits Sexual Harassment
I got up from my table at a Harlem lounge on Saturday night to thank an unknown guy who stepped out of the shadows to pay my tab. In return, he smacked the side of my right thigh and said, “No problem, sweetheart,” or some such. How did I react?
I didn’t say anything. I was too busy looking at the burn mark that landed an inch below my boyfriend zone. High school dances popped into my head, where the guy wants to cop a feel but doesn’t want trouble so he rests his hand just above your rump but below the small of your back. High thigh was this guy’s compromise.
“Oh, that don’t mean nothing,” Unknown Tab Payer said. I was still looking at my thigh as though it belonged to another chick–specifically, the pole-humping one in the music videos. Did this dude just smack me on my thigh? Really, really close to my a$$?
I mumbled something about him having overpaid (he put $40 on a $13 tab) and while he was telling me to get another drink, I walked back to my table with my head still in 40 seconds ago, replaying the smack. It was a rare moment where I was too shocked to catch an attitude. And, here’s the other unexpected part: I’m actually grateful.
Twenty years of riding New York City subways and stomping these concrete streets as a young, black female is enough to dry husk the Pollyanna out of any woman-child. It feels good to be surprised by boorish behavior. Like, maybe, even after all of this:
I was 12 when I started riding the train to school alone and when random men began to press against me on the overcrowded 6 train in the mornings. Strangers have shown me their free willy’s on subway platforms. Grown men have hissed at me while, as a young girl, I walked with my mother. One young man wished AIDS upon me after I rebuffed him for pulling at me. Others have cussed me out. “I hate black women!” a few have yelled. Cars have trailed me at a snail’s pace both in broad daylight and at night. And of course, there are the near misses and “what if” situations that I owe to luck and the guardian angels…
the city still can’t beat me down. So long as I can still be shocked–a sign that my standards are intact–I’m happy.
This post is more personal than any I’ve written in this space. Sexual harassment feels normal because it’s what I grew up around, but–and I have to remind myself of this–it isn’t. Speaking up counters the most dominant message that this city taught me about what it means to be a young, black girl/woman: “You are prey.”
I took a picture of this sign on the C train earlier in the semester. I’d planned to do a story but class deadlines took priority.
They didn’t have these signs when I was a kid. Got me wondering, What if the city undertook a massive (and clever) public service campaign to deter street harassment? What would be its impact on men and women in this city? What kind of conversation would such a campaign provoke?
December 2nd, 2008 at 11:35 am
Please excuse me taking a shallow view of the piece with this comment, but you wrote the shit out of this post.
December 3rd, 2008 at 12:00 pm
Carla, I’m so glad you wrote this!! I was going to make my own post, and possible story on sexual harassment in NYC. From an outsider’s point of view it’s astounding.
I’m from Southern California and have lived there, in an upper-middle class society, for most of my life. But I’ve also traveled through western Europe and through parts of South America. I’ve lived in Alaska and in Los Angeles. In none of these places have I seen sexual harassment like here in New York City.
The most obvious examples that I’ve noticed are the catcall and the stare-down. Standing on a corner or on the sidewalk, men whistle and stare at a woman like she’s nothing more than walking T&A.
The public attitude that I’ve noticed, as you touched on, is one of inevitability. I don’t understand why this has to be–in other parts of the world I’ve been you just don’t see this behavior.
I can only imagine what it would be like to feel those stares, or actually have someone touch you.
A PSA campaign might help. Call me if you want to discuss more. -Mike
December 3rd, 2008 at 3:23 pm
Oh Carla, thank you for writing this entry. This has been bugging me so much lately, along with harassment in general in the subway system and the roundabout and inefficient protocol in place by the Transit System/MTA to respond to it.
Your experiences are so disturbingly poignant. It’s strange – I’ve only been harassed sexually once on the subway, but harassed in general much more often.
But now my friends are getting felt up more often and so I’ve been interviewing cops and transit officials about it their protocol… if you have any more stories or know people who have filed police reports on the matter, maybe we can find out more.
- Heather
December 3rd, 2008 at 4:26 pm
Carla,
I relate to everything you said on this post. As someone who grew up in New York City, inappropriate physical touch was a common occurrence during my morning commute to high school on a crowded 4,5,6 train.
I remember many of the girls in my high school had to deal with this issue as well. In fact, one friend, who was just 16 at the time, had the courage to snatch an offending hand and raise it up high as she yelled at the man who touched her. (I was thoroughly impressed).
Now that I am older, I don’t come across sexual harassment on the street or train as much as I did when I was a young girl. It breaks my heart that women have to still deal with this crap though.
December 3rd, 2008 at 7:04 pm
I had an incident about 3 to 4 weeks ago riding the E train back to Queens. It was close to midnight after leaving school after placing my final broadcast package in the drop box.
If I stay late at school, I usually ride in the front of the train because it would have more people in the car once it reaches the last stop at Jamaica Center.
So I was half way to Queens when so man came from the second car and sat next to me. I wished that I got up and moved from him, but I was so tired.
He told me I was beautiful…you know… the usual crappy lines harassers use. Silly me was trying to play it off by speaking with him. You can’t speak to irrational people. He also had two roses, one red and one yellow. This guy asked me what do these colors mean. My response was that they represent death to get off my back.
Again, I should have gotten up and moved further to the conductor. All I wanted to do was read my magazine. When he asked for my age, I told him I was 16. This guy started to bang the wall and yell at me. He also showed me his passport from Honduras and told me he was leaving within the week.
To make it short, once the train arrived at the last stop, this perp tried to “assist carrying my belongings”. Oh no!! I was so scared and wanted to be home. So I got out of the train quickly and made my way upstairs.
This guy followed me, luckily I had time to speak with a dollar cab driver and he helped me. Eventually “Mr. I’m not scared of the Police” crossed the street and left, and I was safe with relatives who picked me up.
That is why I will not try to stay late at school ever ever again!!
December 3rd, 2008 at 7:19 pm
Great post, Carla. You opened up a much-need discussion (and debate) about how we handle (or don’t handle) this type of behavior. The comments are also great.
December 3rd, 2008 at 11:18 pm
Wow, guys. Thanks for sharing. Amazing… you just always think that other people aren’t really thinking about this stuff. But, of course, they are. I want to do something … Heather and Mike, I like your ideas to collaborate. I’ll clear some head space to think it out.
December 8th, 2008 at 11:16 am
At the same time, how does one pick up a woman on the train without coming off as a sexual harasser?