Consensual Complimenting
This is a story that actually has a positive outcome. I was walking on my way to do a pin-up fashion show – with my hair and makeup fully done, when a man on the street stopped me. “Excuse me,” he said. My heart started beating fast and I braced myself to tell him off, ready to take his picture, ready to Holla when he took me by total surprise with what he said next:
“Can I give you a compliment?”
This is it, right here. This is why we do what we do. So more men will see that if they would like to give a genuine compliment, ask. Consent is not just for the bedroom, not just for touching – consent should apply to so many various aspects of your life. So thanks, unknown man, for not assuming that I was interested in your commentary on how I looked. Thank you for not assuming a compliment from a stranger is something I want or need. Thank you, for having that compliment be, “You are rocking the hell out of your beehive.
So much of the time we encounter critics saying that stopping street harassment will end people’s ability to give compliments. However, we at Hollaback! Winnipeg beg to differ and highly endorse consensual complimenting. This is the difference between paying a compliment and using your male privilege to comment on a woman’s body for the sake of exercising your power. I sure wish that the guy who verbally harassed me downtown a few months ago had asked before he ‘complimented’ me. I definitely would have said no. There are days, like after getting a cervical biopsy that time, where I don’t really care what a stranger thinks about me. Then there are days where I will gladly accept your kind-natured compliments – but give ME the power to do so.
Register for Our Event!
Just a reminder that our event for girls 14-18 is coming up! It is February 18th at the Rudolph Rocker Cultural Centre and it’s FREE! Register or send this on to the rad youth that you know.
The link to the registration form is:
http://winnipeg.ihollaback.org/action-activism/
An Open Letter to Any Man Who Has Ever Harassed Me on the Street
There are so many reasons to share your story in Hollaback; but to me one of the most important reasons is getting a chance to retroactively tell your harassers what you think of them. Street harassment is something that happens so quick and oftentimes we don’t have the time to respond. Sometimes we are so flustered by the incident we can’t react or we feel unsafe confronting someone hurling harassment at us. Those things are all okay. It’s perfectly acceptable to not know what to do or say in the moment – street harassment relies on its element of surprise, intimidation, and anonymity. That doesn’t mean you have to be silent and holla-ing back at your harassers can look differently depending on what you’re comfortable with. Your voice and story are to be shared on your terms. This is what I would like to have said to all my harassers that I never confronted.
Harassers,
So, you decided to yell at me, grope me, or leer at me. That sucks. For both of us. See, now my day is at least a little ruined. I was probably on my way home from work on a hot day to eat a bowl of vegan mac and cheese and watch a documentary with my roommmate. Or maybe I was going to a meeting or to one of my volunteer commitments or to the library or to meet a friend for a beer. Because the thing is, I have a life. I am a person with a community of people I love and who love me, struggles, problems, complexities, aspirations, and a life. That’s right, I am an actual human being.I know I look fantastic in this outfit – that’s why I wore it. Even though I have a big heart and a strong mind and spirit that I am working on making whole, I like to feel pretty. Beautiful, even – on my own terms. I wasn’t trying to arouse you or appeal to your aesthetic or solicit a compliment – those things could not be less important to me.
There are a mom and a dad who raised me and are proud of the woman I have become, the friends and partner who loves that woman I have become. I don’t know if you have kids or if you ever will, but I’d like you to imagine that daughter or maybe a sister or a girlfriend being harassed like you just harassed me. Someone yelling, “Looking good, sweetheart,” or “Great legs, baby!” while she is conducting her daily business. Because I am someone’s sister, daughter, girlfriend and not just some legs, ass, and tits in a dress. I say that knowing there is more to you than just your words that startle, frighten, embarass, shame, and frustrate. Than your hands that took touches of my skin that were not offered to you. Maybe someone did the same thing to you – groped you or worse than that. Maybe they objectified you, made you feel powerless, assumed they had dominion over your body, made assumptions about you based on the way you look. I’m sorry that happened to you. Really, I am. I’m sorry that you didn’t have a supportive community in which to heal from that.
I hope that you find whatever it is you’re looking to gain by doing or saying something hurtful to me. I hope you find it in a healthy way, that you realize what you’re truly after, come to terms with it, then chase after it. I hope that you stop objectifying women and instead see them as human beings. I hope that if you do have a daughter one day, she grows up in a world where street harassment doesn’t exist and if you have a son, the thought of being entitled to access to and comment on a woman’s body is foreign. I hope you treat the women you know with more love, kindness, and respect than you treated me with.
Just for the record, victimizing me to regain some of that power is lost on me. You don’t get any of my power. I’m not giving it up and you can’t steal it. Your words won’t silence me. The only thing that your words do is drive me to create change for all those other daughter, sister, niece, lover, person kinds of folks out there. Every ounce of power you try an take comes back to me tenfold. Your words are fueling the revolution.
Jodie
Anlina’s Story
My girlfriend and I were walking arm-in-arm down the street and this guy catcalled us as we went past. I turned around and yelled at him to fuck off, and he catcalled us again. I yelled at him some more and created a bit of a scene and then walked off. He kept catcalling us, so I walked back, pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of him.
As soon as I approached with my phone his friend got really shy and tried to cover his face, and our harasser turned away from me, though he kept yelling at us after I snapped his pic and left.
I hope someone recognizes this asshole and gives him shit for treating people so badly. And the piles of people standing at the bus stop who didn’t bother saying anything should be ashamed of themselves, too.
“The guy called me a twot” – Colleen’s Story
I was at a bank, downtown Winnipeg, waiting for my financial adviser.
A man was making eyes at me and oohhing and aahing at me,while I was waiting with my 70 year old father.
I had to keep turning around to block his comments. Finally when my adviser came to get us… , the guy called me a twot & mumbled about what he would like to do. In front of my father!!!!!!!! I was outraged….
Hollaback! Class 4
Meet everyone else across the world who launched wih us yesterday. We are in very good company!
I Refuse to Let His Actions Frighten Me – Becca`s Story
It was a beautiful day outside, the sun was shining, we were having one of those awesome, beautiful days where Winnipeggers wondered if winter was ever going to arrive.
I decided to walk from my yoga studio on Stafford to Osborne Village in search for a new pair of gloves and new deodorant from Shopper’s, after stopping by Fresh Cafe and Starbucks for a smoothie and an Americano. It was the perfect Friday afternoon.
Shortly after 12 o’clock hit, I was walking East on Stradbrook, heading towards Osborne. There weren’t many people out on Stradbrook, but there was someone walking closely behind me. Thinking this person was planning on passing me, I moved to my right to get out of their way, and did a subtle shoulder check to see how close they were to me. Almost as soon as I did this, I felt a hand on my left shoulder. It flashed through my head that for someone to be grabbing me on the street, they must have recognized me as I looked back, and wanted to say hi.
I was disarmed by the assumption that it was a friend, and it took too long for my brain to catch up to the fact that this “friend” wasn’t giving me a hug from behind, rather was reaching around, and down, to grab and grope my crotch. By the time it registered what happened to me, he was running across Stradbrook, through a park. I screamed at him, that he was an asshole, that he should go f*ck himself, that he was an asshole, that I hoped his dick fell off. And then he was gone.
I’ve never felt so helpless. I pulled out my phone to call someone, anyone, but didn’t know who to call. I’d been sexually harassed, but who should I call? Who should I tell? I made my way to the Shopper’s Drug Mart, picked up my deodorant, and proceeded to burst into tears at the cash register, where the cashier called the policy on their non-emergency line. I gave my statement, and received a warning that they will probably never find the guy because I didn’t see his face. But I refuse to let his actions frighten me, I refuse to let him take anything away from me – I continue to walk down Stradbrook, and give a mental finger to the asshole to grabbed my crotch every time I walk by.
“If you ever want to…you know.” – Jodie’s Story
You have had a good day. Full and long and good. You are walking home from a two hour tea with a friend – sharing the exciting, debriefing the difficult, comisserating in the shared. You are thinking about the dinner in you are to eat, the movie you have just rented, and are decunstructing the thoughts that are ever whirling about. The late summer breeze is blowing against your face and the hem of your dress, the sun is beginning its descent but still warms your cheeks. You hear it, and your heart and the speed of your steps start to move a little faster. The whistle. Those two tones you have become accustomed to and become accustomed to gaurding yourself against. There is another woman walking in front of you. Maybe the whistle was intended for her. Maybe it’s her friend, a lover, someone she knows. Maybe it was in jest. But she looks up and then enters her apartment building with no recognition of the person whose footsteps echo almost tauntingly behind your own.
You hear the whistle again and then the sound of feet quickening along the sidewalk. There is a sure, unmistakable shot of adrenaline that pumps itself through your blood. And then you hear it. What you knew was, but hoped wasn’t coming. “Hey. Hey! Hi. Where are you coming from?” You steel your face against any acknowledgement that words have just been spoken, nonetheless directed at you. “Hey! What’s your name?” By this point, your arms will be shaking a bit. You will go to swallow and find your jaw completely clenched. So you will speak. You will say: “I don’t need to tell you what my name is or where I am coming from. Did you just whistle at me back there?” The person now walking beside you will deny that they did. They will tell you they were just trying to talk to someone, but forget who. Probably no one since it is just you and them on the street. You point this out to them. Whatever momentum you had gained in disarming him has now vanished and he is ready for more. “Come on, I’m just trying to have a conversation! Why can’t you be nice?” He will ask.
You will swallow hard, wondering if you will actually be heard, should you speak. But you understand there is more at risk with your silence, so you speak. “Excuse me. You objectified me back there and made me feel uncomfortable and gross. When you act like that I feel unsafe and like I don’t have the right to walk down the street in peace. You lost the opportunity to have me be nice to you. Please leave me alone.” You will continue walking, with purpose. Your full body is shaking now from adrenaline, from power, from vulnerability, from rage. You will want to scream when he hurries to keep up with you. “Come on baby, I was just joking around. Why do you have to be so serious? What’s the matter? Anyways, my name is Alberto* and I live right here in case you ever want to….yeah.” And he will laugh. And you will feel that laugh turn your blood cold. As he laughs at your femininity, at the audacity you had to assert yourself, at the fact that you have a right to feel safe and at you. You will want to throw up. You will walk a few meters down the street and be reminded of the man who persistantly and frighteningly propositioned you in the middle of the afternoon, just two months before. You will tremble with anger that consumes you and the fear that nags you.
You will feel the way I did walking down Mostyn at 7:30 this evening.
This is why even with the responsibilities and opportunites I have embraced this fall that are crowding my schedule and demanding my energy it is so important to be launching HollaBack Winnipeg. Because this was just today and this was just me. I am fortunate to have a bit of spare courage lying around and I voice I am comfortable with and, on occasion, not afraid to use. This is for the other ones: who walk with their heads down, afraid to look any male in the eye because it only seems to be an invitation to objectify and defile with words. To the ones who endure the hisses and catcalls, the unsolicited comments on their body parts. The ones for whom violent words escalate to violent actions. This is ensuring boys will not grow into men who laugh when a woman voices her displeasure with his actions. This is believing that we can help girls grow into women who feel empowered and able to state these things or, even better, rarely know what it’s like to feel harassed in their own neighbourhoods and their own cities. This is for women who will re-learn the strength their voice holds and the power that they gain back when they speak it and giving them the tools to do so. To tell them that they don’t owe anyone their name, that they don’t need to respond to whistles and honks and catcalls, that their body is theirs and that when they walk where they walk when they walk wearing whatever it is that they are wearing – they shouldn’t have to answer to anyone for any of it. It’s for you.
*The name of the not so innocent has NOT been changed. If he sounds familiar, please feel free to call him out on his bullshit.
