blokes

having just moved to australia, i don't want to give it a bad name because it is awesome (enough to motivate me to move here!) but the men in brisbane, unlike what I found in sydney and melbourne, do.not.stop!!! you cannot walk past a busy street corner or a pub in the brisbane suburbs without a slew of whistles, gross up-and-downs, "hey babys," and "what the hell is your problem?!" which is particularly off-putting and usually comes after one ignores the earlier calls. its not just toward me--many many many women. more than what i experienced in washington, too!

i asked my aussie touchstone ollie what he thought about it, who explained "thats a country thing, a very blokey thing. if you walked by a man's pub in the country, they would be all over you with whistles and call-outs." ah, my favorite articulation of machismo masculinity: the aussie bloke. a man's man who plays rugby and footie and drinks grog and eats like a horse and has the upper hand on his mrs. and hates the fags and the abos (aboriginals). this seems like an over-exaggeration and in many ways this characterization is the extreme form of the case, but aspects of the "bloke" are present and reasserted everywhere, by men and women, and in cases like what i've experienced in the West End of brisbane.

and lets bust the race discussion found earlier on the blog wide open and say these are all white middle class men doing the hollering in the aussie countryside...its not a racialized phenomenon like in washington. i can assure you it is still just as off-putting.

not that it stops me! having lived in costa rica as well, a central american country so heavily immersed in machismo that the strict gender roles it entails are all but unbreakable, a place in which women come to look for and purposely elicit cat-calls and hollering, ive come to have thick enough skin to just keep on going about my day. as in washington and brisbane, you put on your sunnies and ipod to give you a feigned sense of anonymity, and keep walking...

should that have to be it?

on a lighter note

A comedic take on street harassment from the cultural icon Jerry Seinfield.

If you're pressed for time, This is Ladies Night recommends skipping ahead to minute three to get to the juicy part.

Breaking the Silence

A friend of This is Ladies Night shared with us this brave example of how she broke the silence (ok, and maybe the car door):

"I was leaving work one night and as I was walking home I encountered a car with three men. They were stopped at the stoplight and I was crossing the street to go back home. All of the sudden, they started making cat calls out their window. Instead of reacting I pretended I just didn't hear them. Well apparently that infuriated them because then they started shouting out the window that I was fat and ugly. I was already in a bad mood from work, and I was not going to pretend I didn't hear those comments. I went right up to their car and started kicking it, trying to make as many dents in it as possible. I was so furious, I was yelling obscenities and kicking their front lights and the sides of the doors. Then they started threatening to hurt me so I backed off and went home. It was late at night, there were three large men and I was by myself, but I think they got the message, and hopefully they will think twice about harassing another girl from their car!"

Drive-by

A friend and I paused our walk home from Adams Morgan one Friday night to meet up with friends at 17th and U. We weren't standing there for five minutes before one...two...THREE different cars had slowed down, opened their windows, honked their horns, and hollered at us. One group of gentlemen suggested we were "working," standing on the corner, "scantily"-clad so late at night (nice, guys.) My friend and I rolled our eyes and tried to ignore the attention, continuing our conversation about our plans for the rest of the weekend.

As the minutes passed, I realized it wasn't just the 'cat-callers' uncomfortable with our presence on that corner. Several cabs pulled over to the side of the road, and even at our insistence that we were walking and didn't need transport, they repeatedly called at us to ride with them. "Really, NO THANKS." A side note: it's totally unfortunate that women need to take cabs everywhere because these streets are too 'dangerous' for them.

The funniest part of the experience was the man who came to rescue us two 'damsels in distress.' Enjoying an end-of-the-night kebab, the man crossed U St to tell us he'd been watching us in his apartment window and wanted to "make sure we were alright," aka "make sure we were taken care of." I just said yes and stared at my feet. My friend, though, had had enough. She yelled, "WE'RE JUST STANDING HERE, WE'RE FINE, BYE!!!" It might have come off as an overreaction, which caused the man to stumble away down U St, but after some thought I understood her frustration. It's like women need a reason to be out on the corner, a validation for their presence outside. Its like a woman out late, dressed a certain way, without male companions is automatically rendered a 'damsel in distress,' or a whore (to stick to the age-old madonna/whore binary. sorry!) Yes, the cab driver and maybe even the kebab guy were being "helpful," but helpful toward accomplishing what? We were hanging outside in our neighborhood just minding our business. We felt safe until all of this unwanted attention was thrust upon us---just for existing. Constructing women as easy victims, targets, and weak actually contributes to the culture of fear that keeps so many of them marginalized and 'indoors'--rather than making them feel 'safer.'

In retrospect, I really admire my friend's fiery response. Next time I'll holler back, too.

Mid-Day Grocery Run

I was running over to Safeway for some essentials around midday on a Wednesday. I descended the front staircase to my apartment complex in a typical afternoon frump outfit when my heart sank. I noticed a crowd of men hanging on the corner about 100 meters away. Some were sitting, some were standing, all were chatting excitedly. It’s not that I’m not neighborly, but my time spent walking these streets has trained me like Pavlov’s dog to expect what I now deem the inevitable: coos and calls and hoots and hollers, all unwanted attention.

As I suspected, I approached the corner of 15^th and R and waited for a green light, while the men all stood up to give me the old ‘up and down’ and ask me where I’m going, what I’m doing, and can they come. As I also suspected, I evoked the presence of a man to “protect” myself, regain agency, regain control. I playfully responded, “I live with someone, boys, thanks though,” to which one of the men responded “Where’s he at? I’ll live with you.” I smiled and walked away from a sea of ‘come back here, baby’s and hit the grocery store aisles. On my way home from the shop I considered taking an out-of-my-way-route home to avoid the crowd and make it home in peace and quiet. But keeping quiet keeps me scared and keeps me controlled, so I braved the streets and headed home my normal route. I was relieved to discover the men had moved on by the time I arrived at my corner.

Was the episode seemingly innocent and playful? Yes. Did I need to respond, acknowledge the attention, evoke the presence of a man to “protect” or “explain” my disinterest and existence? I wish I didn’t. I wish I didn’t have to play into these discussions. Somehow I felt guilty playing into the discussion but taking charge and “participating” made me feel like I was more in charge. Like our poll from the first week of the blog, should we respond or ignore? Or should we ‘correct,’ tell the men to stop?

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

I wonder what Aretha would say about this one: I have always had this theory (supported by some reliable academic literature) that in our society, a woman needs a man in one shape, form or interpretation to justify her presence in the public sphere. If she is out with a man, she is less likely to be hollered at. If she is out at a bar or club or, frankly, anywhere, she is often forced (or feels forced out of fear, discomfort, and unwanted attention) to invoke the presence of a man, i.e. “Sorry, I’m seeing someone/living with someone/here with someone.” More than once I’ve been asked, “So, I don’t see a ring on your finger!” or better yet, “It’s just dancing.” Howabout, no means no?

Well this theory was completely shattered the other afternoon as I was eye-assaulted not once but twice in the time it took my boyfriend and I to purchase a subway foot-long and find a bench in front of the White House at which to eat. First, Ollie ducked into the restroom and the four men eating their lunches at a table ten or so feet from me all put down their subs to stare—not to look, to stare. Despite my uncomfortable shifting and defiant eye-lock right back at each of them they kept right on staring. Ollie rejoined me and we went outside to eat our lunch. Unfortunately, this subway (17^th and G) has glass walls so all of the men simply adjusted their seats and continued to stare at me after we were sitting outside on the bench.

Both of us were aggravated (I was ranting big-time at this point—I was starving and wanted to enjoy my lunch in peace) and so we relocated to a bench in front of the White House to eat. Despite Ollie’s and my canoodling that I would have thought made it very clear I was not on the market (not that a person should have to canoodle or even validate their presence with a sign of “I’m spoken for”), a man riding his bike slowed down to grill me. I made eye contact hoping the awkwardness would send him away, but he continued. Ollie locked eyes with the man which made him look away temporarily—and as soon as Ollie returned to the meatball sub, the eyes were all over me again, accompanied by a creepy (even sinister—am I projecting too much) smirk. I was so pissed. The man then doubled back and rode by us even slower. I should just have postcard sized-photos to hand out so creeps can leave me the hell alone and let me eat my sandwiches in peace. Ollie was super annoyed, as was I, and the man on the bike was finally shooed away by the police preparing for the afternoon motorcade.

Now this sidewalk and this subway were both swarming with women. Was it the phallic shape of the sub sandwich I was shoving in my mouth with both hands that caught these people’s attention? Was it my charming good looks (wink, wink!)? I conjecture that the subway incident was symptomatic of my being temporarily ‘single’ while Ollie was in the bathroom. The explanation for the bike guy…I happened to be sitting still rather than on the move, an easy target for someone who likes to take a good (unwelcome) look. An actuarial crime, then, perhaps—I was just an easy target for a man’s hungry eyes? Either way, we need to talk about this stuff, share our stories, break the silence, remember these happenings are NOT the victim’s fault—and be sure to demand a little RESPECT!

walking home from work

Walking back from work (on Conn. Ave) the other day I walked past a bus stop where two guys were sitting. I was in my work clothes, but nothing fancy, and as I walked past the little place where you wait for the bus, the guys banged on the plastic separating me and them and shouted "heyyy babbyy lookin' good wanna come on this bus ride with us?!" I ignored them and kept walking... but what is it about guys that they think that's okay? I mean honestly, what would they have me do, stop and say "oh okay, that sounds like fun, where you going?"