Attitudes toward sexual harassment have been changing in the U.S., but it’s still a worldwide problem.

By Rachel Roberts

Feb. 23, 2019

“Don’t walk alone at night.”

It was a piece of advice I was familiar with. One I’ve even accepted, whether in a parking garage, my neighborhood, or last-minute runs to the grocery store. My mom has reminded me countless times. My teachers, friends and even study abroad counselor have chipped in on the advice.

Walking alone at night was a bad idea. That went without saying.  

The first night in June 2018, my study abroad group met at orientation to discuss what the rest of the summer in Cannes, France would look like. Our advisor gave us the drill on where to get our groceries, class schedules, and, of course, places to avoid. Her safety precautions were directed to the girls. I sat with Monnett Hamilton, who was from Columbus, Ohio. At the suggestion to avoid walking alone at night, Monnett and I looked at each other and shrugged in agreement. It was a sign of our acquaintance with this advice and the consequences of what could happen if we didn’t follow it.

We didn’t think the recommendation was unfair, but we already knew it by heart. We had common sense. We knew not to wear our hair in a ponytail because it was too easy for someone to grab and that shoes needed to be low, manageable and secure in case running was mandatory. We knew that it wasn’t smart to be alone at night and that walking with a posse of guy friends was really the only way to assure no one bothered us. We didn’t even know each other yet, but we knew the advice meant we were a liability.

I spent the first weekend, June 10, of my study abroad trip exploring Cannes, France. Although I kept my shoulders covered, tennis shoes tied, and hair down, I felt completely vulnerable facing the catcallers. Photo courtesy of Rachel Roberts

While the U.S.’s anti-sexual assault attitude is associated to the #MeToo Movement, France has adopted its own slogan, #Balancetonporc – “squeal on your pig” – a phrase that encourages women to expose their harassers. Although movements exist internationally in many forms as testaments to the rise of victim empowerment for sexual assault cases, women continue to reap the consequences of disrespect in the workplace, on the streets and in their relationships. Derogatory words and phrases thrown around daily are excused as compliments, and, if women don’t accept them, we are the problem. Society blames women for overreacting or making false claims when a situation surfaces in which she expresses her discomfort for misogynistic remarks.

It is not an American issue. It is not a European issue. It is not an issue with women. It is a global issue of respect and a tolerant generation that allows this kind of behavior.

I’d seen the “Taken” movies and knew the risk of sex trafficking abroad, but still I always considered toxic masculinity indigenous to the U.S. Maybe that is because I never considered it exists in other countries, and maybe that’s because I’m American and can’t see further than my own country.

In the U.S., the conversation of sexual assault, including the #MeToo Movement, slut-shaming and misogyny, has only recently become a more fluid and accepted discussion. The issues that I always assumed were flaws of American culture, I’d soon recognize in the French climate: a place I stereotyped as refuge for Édith Piaf’s “La Vie en Rose” and padlocks on bridges, where a kiss on the cheek is another form of greeting.

I was a few blocks from my campus at a packed bar. It was the final 2018 World Cup match, and France was beating Croatia. Everyone was jumping. Drinks were spilling. Among blue- and red-painted faces, trying my best to catch on to the anthems and chants, I felt a hand reach under my skirt to my backside and grab me.

For a second, I assumed my friend must have accidentally brushed past me – it was packed at the bar, and it could’ve easily been a false alarm. I asked her about it, and she turned to the men behind us. The two men, who were pressed up against us, were laughing.

What was I supposed to say? My French isn’t good, it was loud, they were stronger than me, and there was still a game going on. No one was paying attention. I moved to the other side of the bar. I was violated and felt it. I felt his handprint on me.

An American in France, I was aware my strengths and weaknesses. I knew I couldn’t fight off the weight of a man and that my best option for getting out of trouble was to avoid it at all cost. The only thing I knew to say to catcallers was “no,” but what was I supposed to do after that?

Boys Will Be Boys

The French catcalls and slurs were warning signs for trouble. Men sat in groups lined up along the beach waiting for women like us to walk by. They wanted to catch our attention and our panic. Their eyes scanned up and down our clothes. Their heads nodded in approval of our fear. They blew us cigarette smoke kisses and hollered at our disgust.

Illustration by Raleigh Anderson

Every night, I walked along the border of the beach with my friends. Allison Grant from Pennsylvania reminded me of home. Her personality invited familiar conversations, probably because she carried the same frivolity as my friends from home. Julia Lawrence from Rhode Island was like a parent to our group. We frequently referred to her as “mom-dad” because she was a nursing student who could check if our lymph nodes were swollen, if our moles were cancerous and would also cut the fat from our steaks. Monnett was undeniably a leader. She challenged us to think beyond our American attitudes and contributed confidence to the group. The four of us paraded through France together. They were my cronies, my protectors.

During our promenades back to campus, our eyes reverted to the pavement. The strategy remained that we walk swiftly and ignore the perpetrators. As long as no heads raised or slight sign of attention, the men would laugh it off or maybe raise their voices. If we were lucky, a firm “no” would put an end to the unwarranted hollers. After rejection, these aggressive flirtations could turn into a group of meddlers following us and persisting.

The aggressors were always in groups. The groups were evenly spread out around the beach. Our campus was adjacent to boardwalk 16 or 17, which meant we had to pass each quarter-mile marker until we were close to the safe haven of campus. This wasn’t the only way of getting home. We could’ve walked through town, which included dark alleyways. That route seemed unpromising, so we walked along the beach where it was lined with street lights and a car passed every now and then. That way, if the worst-case scenario were to happen, there was a better chance of finding a good Samaritan.

Although the crude remarks and catcallers’ ambition disturbed us, none of us could say we were surprised. This was a behavior of men we had all witnessed before. What is the saying? Boys will be boys? We discussed our experiences with sexual harassment and were open with each other about our standards for men. We assumed we could escape this behavior in a romanticized country, but the realization of global toxic masculinity came briefly after we dropped our luggage off. Because we are women, society has taught us to consider our actions and appearances based on male reaction.

Just Ignore Them

The City of Love, home of the clichés and a residency for the formidable come-ons so often excused as compliments, is otherwise known as Paris, France. It was late July, and French citizen Marie Laguerre was making her routine walk home. A man whistled at her, a gallant flirtation one might accept or brush off. He anticipated that she would let it go and keep her head down, succumbed by intimidation. The man would’ve laughed, and she would’ve walked away. Instead, Laguerre turned around and faced him. Her eyes met his as a potent “shut up” breached her lips. Her response was reciprocated with a slap to her face. Her cheek stung from the backhanded swing he threw. She stood there holding her face in her hands, the consequence of her opposition to what could’ve been seen as a chivalrous remark from a stranger. He walked away.

She posted a video of the incident on her Twitter feed after obtaining it from a nearby café’s security footage. After it went viral, the French legislature responded by introducing laws and prohibitions on street harassment. Government officials threatened on-scene fines up to 875 euros to perpetrators, but the problem remains. It is an unrealistic expectation to scare off the innate nature of men with a hefty fine. Street harassers can lurk and catcall with the likelihood of never getting caught. To Laguerre, the law is considered a joke.

After her incident with an aggressive catcaller, Laguerre used her unrequited response as her platform for speaking up about sexual and street harassment. Her movement is called “Nous Toutes Harcèlement” – We All Are Harassed. It is a safe space for victims to share their stories with anonymity…

Victims’ Testimonials, courtesy of Nous Toutes Harcèlement

“At the bus stop, one morning, a man fixed on me without interruption for 10 minutes. Every once in a while, he suddenly approaches me. I ask him if he needs anything, he points out that it’s unpleasant for him to stare at me. He goes on, says that women are made for this, to be stared at. People around don’t react. I tell him it’s harassment, he claims he doesn’t understand. I’m asking for help in vain in the shop next door, he keeps staring at me from the door, threatening me. I come out, he forbids me to get on the next bus. I’m going up anyway, he’s coming up behind. I’m calling the police, preparing to come, but I know I have no evidence or witness. I end up taking another bus.”

– An anonymous testimony

“It’s late, it’s dark, I take the subway and sit on a seat surrounded by three free places. Three young men sit by my side. When I get up to get off the train, two of these men hold my arms while someone else caresses my ass. I don’t dare scream and try to defend myself with my arms, then they let me go. Everyone in the wagon seems to find this very normal scene.”

– A testimony from Lucie in Paris, France.

“Not a single day passes without, walking quietly alone on the street, I am accosted. A disparaging remark, joke gritty, whistling… daily, 365 days a year, or even several times a day, if we have the misfortune to be smiling and friendly. No man in the world can know what this situation generates…”

– A testimony from Jessica in Toulouse, France.

Speak Up

But why is it the U.S. is the focus of toxic masculinity? Pratt Institute student Emma Moore considered the same of our society when she created the Shut Up campaign to end the normalization of street harassment in the U.S. in the fall of 2018. Although the movement has a small following, Moore adopted her social media platform as a campaign for speaking out against the social issue directed toward women. Whether a whistle, the reminder to smile, or a “hey baby,” Moore observed most of her catcallers as generally harmless, yet their come-ons infuriated her.

Moore’s campaign is small, but the idea that victims should speak out against their aggressors is shared among similar movements like #MeToo and Nous Toutes Harcèlement. Photo courtesy of Emma Moore.

While American culture defines sexual harassment as a subdivision of discrimination, the French define it as a form of sexual violence. Although the French government threatens monetary penalties toward sexual harassers, there is no significant value in their punishments. The two countries differ in their legal approaches to sexual harassment because of the cultural attitudes toward women, according to cultural sociologist Abigail Saguy. While the U.S. defends sexual assault victims primarily in workplaces with Title VII of the Civil Rights Act, France has a lenient Penal Code statute that threatens a maximum of one year in prison for the sexual assault aggressor. The French are relaxed when it comes to sexual freedom. Nudity is everywhere from their beaches to their art. Their culture embraces sexual male dominance.

Other European countries have stories of sexual harassment akin to France.

The New York Times reported that in Italy, people tend to assume that sexual harassment claims are “exaggerated labels for romantic passes,” and another article explained that Italian culture considers the #MeToo Movement a joke.

A Spanish news source, El País, released results of a survey that rated Spain as the worst offender for street harassment against women. Spanish women reported more claims of disrespectful behavior and sexist insults to women than in Germany, France, Italy, the UK or the U.S. Although Spanish culture has normalized street harassment as “micro-violence,” women are still resisting.

Although there is a new wave of opposition in Europe due to women like Laguerre, there remains an issue that follows women around throughout their day. It’s their shadow.

We wonder if our skirts are too short, shirts are too low, if our faces show signs of intimidation or if someone will comment on our “resting bitch face” with a request to see our smile. We are intrinsically aware of our surroundings because that’s what we’ve been prescribed in order to stay out of trouble.

Wear Practical Shoes

We had to run twice that summer. When a group of men had been following us for blocks and even crossed the street to continue their pursuits, we ran. The second time was from a bicyclist who was yelling and filming us. I remember thinking I could live without my sandals. If my sandals flew off my feet, I wouldn’t go back for them. My purse was also getting in the way of my stride, and its strap was digging into my shoulder. All the contents could’ve been left behind. It only kept a few euros for the bus, some lip balm, my student I.D., my phone and maybe a hair tie. I probably would have run faster without its constant thumping to my side, but the men gave up after a few blocks. They probably just wanted to get a rise out of us, but I hate making excuses for them.

Graphic by Julia Nall

If we could just walk away with no serious threats, then we would be content. During the eight weeks spent in France, my friends and I talked about this recurrent theme of creepy men leering over us on our path home. Some of our friends – men – showed sympathy for the situation and wanted to protect. When they accompanied us, the harassers resisted. If anything, the catcallers’ eyes rarely left the pavement. Although our friends were protective, they weren’t always there to escort us back to campus.

Just Be Nice

As the problem continued and more stories accumulated, we continued to relay these nightly occurrences to some of our guy friends on the trip.

“If you were just nice to them, they wouldn’t bother you,” Paris Ball from New York said. “It doesn’t seem that bad.”

Assuming our examples of street harassment were exaggerated, this fellow American and friend had defied the only bit of support we, as victims, had asked of our male audience. His response to our fear and frustrations made my skin crawl. I wanted to shake him from his oblivion. I wanted him to believe us, and I couldn’t understand how he didn’t. In all of our terror and disturbance, Ball chose to side with the men who had been harassing, grabbing and threatening us. Those men, he trusted, were simply kidding around, yet we were the ones who had left our manners at home.

Fearing the wrong kind of attention, or that we have done something to deserve it, we force our heads down, keep our eyes glued to the pavement, don’t wear our hair in ponytails and walk in shoes that allow us to run. We do these things so that we can go without catching the wrong attention. We do it to avoid the confrontation of misogyny. It is the shared language of women everywhere.