I’ll be honest: I have had moments when I thought some people took catcalling too seriously. Perhaps I was simply inexperienced with the notion of walking down the street and being heckled every 60 seconds. I could blame that on never living in a city or rarely walking without my parents or a male companion. Either way, I’m not afraid to admit I didn’t always get the fuss about catcalling – not until I was groped by a complete stranger on the Italian underground.
For those who have never been to the Italian cities of Florence or Rome, let me paint you a picture: male merchants and restaurant promoters stand outside of their businesses calling out at tourists to get them inside. They also join in on the catcalling perpetuated by the male locals. So walking in a group of young women means that men will constantly shout out “hey baby,” “how are you doing,” “oh my god,” and many other comments. For the previous seven days of my vacation in Italy, I have taken those remarks in stride; they seemed harmless. And for all I know, it might be completely acceptable and even commendable in Italian culture to say such things. For all I knew, this was expected behavior for city dwellers everywhere.
I thought very little of the potential impact of those comments until about halfway through the metro ride back to my hotel after a beautiful afternoon at the Vatican Museums.
The underground train was packed with people. My female traveling partner and I got stuck in the middle of the train, and were separated by a couple of other riders. Once we got to our respective spots, all we could do was maintain a sturdy stance and hold onto the closest railing. After two or three stops, a few people exited the car and I shifted my weight. It was at that time that I felt four fingers and a thumb slide from the left side of my butt, where they had been resting comfortably for an unknown length of time. My face and neck burned with shock and anger. I looked the culprit dead in his eyes, and he looked away quickly, further solidifying his guilt.
I turned to my friend and told her what happened, trying not to make too big a deal of it, in an attempt to prevent myself from turning to deck him in the face. We finally got out at our stop, and while I was relieved to be away from that pervert, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been so blatantly violated. So when yet another man started following my friend and me down the station corridor, asking us where we were going, I was more annoyed at the constant commentary than ever. I couldn’t just take it in stride. In fact, the only thing that stopped me from yelling back at him was the fear that his “harmless” following and comments would turn into him stalking us back to our hotel.
If it’s still unclear how groping turned into an epiphany about catcalling, here you go: I was not raped. No one hiked up my skirt or forced their tongue in my mouth. And yet, every comment I would have taken in stride before that train ride made me fearful that I would discover unwanted hands on me again. If 1 in 6 women in the U.S. will experience attempted or completed rape in their lifetime, think of how many scarred women walk down the streets to comments and stares every day. If I was only momentarily and mildly violated, and those comments felt different afterwards, think of how painful, scary and degrading those comments are for the 1.3 million women who are raped in the U.S. every year. If a man will casually and wordlessly fondle a young woman on a public train, what should that woman expect from the stranger who is bold enough to vocalize his physical attraction to her? And how should she feel if she meets such a bold man on a not-so-crowded street?
I cannot criticize anyone for not understanding the potential harm of catcalling because it took a traumatic train ride for me to get it. What I will do, though, is suggest that the experiences we have in our lives shape the way we see our world and ourselves. So when it seems that a woman is taking catcalling too seriously, consider the possibility that certain experiences in her life have made her cringe instead of smile at comments that might be meant as compliments. When you don’t know a woman’s story, don’t pass judgment on her reactions to sexual advances. Her past might make her see something “harmless” as harmful and threatening.
For those who have never been to the Italian cities of Florence or Rome, let me paint you a picture: male merchants and restaurant promoters stand outside of their businesses calling out at tourists to get them inside. They also join in on the catcalling perpetuated by the male locals. So walking in a group of young women means that men will constantly shout out “hey baby,” “how are you doing,” “oh my god,” and many other comments. For the previous seven days of my vacation in Italy, I have taken those remarks in stride; they seemed harmless. And for all I know, it might be completely acceptable and even commendable in Italian culture to say such things. For all I knew, this was expected behavior for city dwellers everywhere.
I thought very little of the potential impact of those comments until about halfway through the metro ride back to my hotel after a beautiful afternoon at the Vatican Museums.
The underground train was packed with people. My female traveling partner and I got stuck in the middle of the train, and were separated by a couple of other riders. Once we got to our respective spots, all we could do was maintain a sturdy stance and hold onto the closest railing. After two or three stops, a few people exited the car and I shifted my weight. It was at that time that I felt four fingers and a thumb slide from the left side of my butt, where they had been resting comfortably for an unknown length of time. My face and neck burned with shock and anger. I looked the culprit dead in his eyes, and he looked away quickly, further solidifying his guilt.
I turned to my friend and told her what happened, trying not to make too big a deal of it, in an attempt to prevent myself from turning to deck him in the face. We finally got out at our stop, and while I was relieved to be away from that pervert, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been so blatantly violated. So when yet another man started following my friend and me down the station corridor, asking us where we were going, I was more annoyed at the constant commentary than ever. I couldn’t just take it in stride. In fact, the only thing that stopped me from yelling back at him was the fear that his “harmless” following and comments would turn into him stalking us back to our hotel.
If it’s still unclear how groping turned into an epiphany about catcalling, here you go: I was not raped. No one hiked up my skirt or forced their tongue in my mouth. And yet, every comment I would have taken in stride before that train ride made me fearful that I would discover unwanted hands on me again. If 1 in 6 women in the U.S. will experience attempted or completed rape in their lifetime, think of how many scarred women walk down the streets to comments and stares every day. If I was only momentarily and mildly violated, and those comments felt different afterwards, think of how painful, scary and degrading those comments are for the 1.3 million women who are raped in the U.S. every year. If a man will casually and wordlessly fondle a young woman on a public train, what should that woman expect from the stranger who is bold enough to vocalize his physical attraction to her? And how should she feel if she meets such a bold man on a not-so-crowded street?
I cannot criticize anyone for not understanding the potential harm of catcalling because it took a traumatic train ride for me to get it. What I will do, though, is suggest that the experiences we have in our lives shape the way we see our world and ourselves. So when it seems that a woman is taking catcalling too seriously, consider the possibility that certain experiences in her life have made her cringe instead of smile at comments that might be meant as compliments. When you don’t know a woman’s story, don’t pass judgment on her reactions to sexual advances. Her past might make her see something “harmless” as harmful and threatening.