What you get wrong about harassment
I was desensitized by a lifetime of hoots and kissy noises from truck and tricycle drivers. Walking right past the guy in Harlem who called me his ‘ching-chong babe' or flipping off the douchebag outside Bossa Nova Civic Club — all of this is easy. Put a girl on the subway, though, and we’re frozen until the next station.
There will be harassment you can’t walk away from.
MANILA, Philippines - Ten hours of walking in NYC as a woman? Please. That video was filmed entirely in Manhattan. Manhattan hecklers are paid to heckle. Manhattan hecklers are there for the tourists to feel like New York City (or what they’re willing to see of it) is still vaguely threatening. I live in the Bronx but the filthiest and meanest things ever said to me were said in Brooklyn — incidentally where that viral video was produced, not filmed. What’s more, everything in that video happened above ground.
The New York City subway is 660 miles of close quarters shared with strangers. I moved to New York, desensitized by a lifetime of hoots and kissy noises from truck and tricycle drivers on Katipunan and Pasong Tamo; walking right past the guy in Harlem who called me his “ching-chong babe” or flipping off the douchebag outside Bossa Nova Civic Club — “Nice tats! Nice tits!” — all of this is easy. Put a girl on the subway, though, and we’re frozen until the next station. There will be harassment you can’t walk away from.
In the interest of refuting a few Wrong Things people have said in the wake of that video — I may not agree with its production but it does reveal those with dumb opinions — I’d like to share a few true experiences.
Wrong Thing #1: We’re Complimenting You!
I was on the L, on my way back home from work, writing a letter. The man beside me leaned over and said, “You have beautiful handwriting.” I could smell his breath. “Thank you,” I said, and kept writing. “Are you from the Philippines?” he continued. By now I knew where this was going, and I put my papers away. There was no other empty seat on the subway I could transfer to. “Yep,” I said, avoiding eye contact. “The prettiest girls are from the Philippines,” he said, moving closer, and bending his head to look at my face.
I sucked at my teeth and faced him squarely. He was old, Polish, with a neck tattoo. “I know,” I said, “and I know I’m pretty. Thanks.” He looked taken aback, and then said, “I bet you hear it all the time, eh, from men like me?” When I didn’t reply — Invisible Headphones School of Defense Maneuvers — he leaned in and whispered, “God bless you,” and left the train.
So, we know we’re pretty. The compliments that harassers offer us aren’t compliments; they’re poisonous little barbs that trick us into responding, so they can keep talking to us. Ultimately it leads to asking for our number, like in the next example.
Wrong Thing #2: Why, Do You Got A Man?
Halloween night. I was trapped on the 4 between Mario, Luigi, and Max from Where the Wild Things Are. On my left was a man who ignored me until the train hit the track between 86th St. and 59th St., one of the longer waits. He tilted his head toward me and said, “That’s beautiful jewelry.”
Uh-oh. I looked down at my rings. “Thanks.” I was dressed well that night, off to a hot date, and I felt especially pretty. “You looking to hang out?” he asked. I wondered why no one around me heard this awkwardness happening. “No,” I said. Already my outfit felt uncomfortable. “Can I call you sometime?” he pressed. The dress I picked out suddenly felt too short, and I was aware of how his leg was pressing against mine. “No. God!” I said, and hating myself for taking the easy way out, I spat, “I’ve got a boyfriend.”
He paused for a bit, but then, to my horror, continued. “So what? I ain’t jealous,” he said. I lost it. “Dude! F*ck!” I pulled away from him and squeezed myself up to the teenage witch on my other side. People finally looked our way, and he made a wide-eyed face at all of them while I seethed. I transferred train cars at the next stop — something I should not have had to do. Hell, I shouldn’t even have had to bring up a boyfriend as defense. Why is it that it took the threat of another man to make him consider his actions? Because my “No. God!” wasn’t enough.
Wrong Thing #3: You’d Like It If It Came From A Cute Guy!
Middle of the day. On the 4 headed home from a Brooklyn all-night bender. I fell asleep somewhere after 125th St. I jolted awake at Burnside Avenue to the sight of a guy standing in front of me, one arm draped lazily on the subway bar, the other hand in his pocket. He was looking at me, smiling.
“Why you ignoring me?” he said to me. “Huh?” I said, picking at my crusty eyes. “I said, why you ignoring me, girl? I said you got beautiful tattoos and you ignore me,” he drawled. The train was above ground, and the car was filled with sunlight, so I looked at him closely. Well-built, neat facial hair, some unfortunate tattoos, handsome in an Adam Rodriguez circa CSI: Miami kind of way. “I was asleep,” I told him, wondering if I had fallen asleep with my eyes open.
“I said you got beautiful tattoos,” he repeated. “Do you got some more?” The little alarm in my head went off and I squished back into myself. “Nah, dude.” He looked around the car and leaned closer. His eyes were light brown. “Wanna show me?”
The next few stops were excruciating. He asked me for my name so he could add me on Facebook, he kept asking if I had — again! — a boyfriend, he asked if I smoked and did I want to smoke with him. I ignored him as he got more persistent, and when he followed me off the train at my stop I went cold all over. I ducked into my favorite pizza shop until he left, just to make sure he wouldn’t follow me home.
You could look like Adam Rodriguez, or even be Adam Rodriguez, but acting like you’re entitled to my attention, my body, or even my Facebook profile is a major turnoff. Negative ladyboner.
There. Three incidents of harassment amongst many. My Ultimate NYC Harassment to the Point of Tears has been left off this list, because I still want you to come visit me over here.
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