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At first I thought, I shouldn’t have worn this outfit.
I was walking down Broadway Street at 3 p.m., headed to the salon where I work. Outside of work, I usually opt for cutoff jeans and t-shirts. But my boss constantly emphasizes the fact that her employees are walking advertisements for her business, so we dress accordingly.
That shift I had opted for jean shorts, a tank top and suede slip-on shoes. Innocuous, simple, neutral. Not flashy or provocative by any standards.
Then, the onslaught. Some of them were less vulgar — “You’re beautiful! Smile, girl!“ Some were startling whistles. Some were spoken with undertones of intentions.
This happened every few minutes during the 15 minutes I walked on the stretch of Broadway to my work. This was hardly the first or last time that I had been cat called. Maybe it stuck out to me because I was helpless, vulnerable to whatever verbal harassment was thrown my way. I had to get to work, and I had to keep going forward. I was alone. I just know that in those 15 minutes, it became so clear to me how disgusting some members of our society are, and how we overlook it.
I looked at the guys (I’d hardly call them men) who passed by in their cars. I wanted to see what kind of person gets satisfaction out of an interaction that leaves another person unsettled. I saw pure, untroubled apathy in their faces. Oblivious or uncaring to the implications of their verbal violence.
What disturbed me the most were the groups of men who would, with smiles on their faces, whistle and honk. They all thought it was funny. I really want to know, what’s the joke?
Is the joke that in 1995, 17 percent of women reported being victims of sexual assault? Is the joke that society favors males not proportionate to females, in a way that creates a law system that will let a boy who savagely raped an unconscious girl go free after a brief sentence? Or, is the joke the laundry list of inherent privileges that these boys enjoy just because they were born a certain gender?
To some, these instances might not seem connected. To me, all I see is an intricate, interconnected web of social norms, customs and practices that lay the groundwork for larger societal trends. I see a cycle of cause and effects.
As women, we are taught to always be vigilant. We are blamed when we are not. She shouldn’t have gotten so drunk. She shouldn’t have worn that short skirt.
Then, when we are alert, and voice our issue with threats, we are deemed too sensitive. It’s just a compliment.
Women have repeatedly pleaded for the catcalling to stop. It hasn’t. If it was meant to be playful, it would have stopped once we told the public that we didn’t find it funny.
In another time and place, maybe catcalling could be a light-hearted, flirtatious ritual. In our culture, at this time, it can’t be tolerated. There is a struggle every day in America for women’s voices to be heard. This won’t happen if men in trucks and on city streets keep shouting over us.
Contact CU Independent Opinion Writer Kim Habicht at kim.habicht@colorado.edu.
