Facing sexual harassment while abroad
There is no pamphlet, no corny video and no pre-departure orientation that can really prepare you for sexual harassment abroad. Harassment is a huge problem on college campuses—including Wofford’s, as clearly demonstrated by the 2019 spring semester —and unfortunately is not limited to colleges or to the United States.
Men and women face harassment and sexual assault all over the world, and as a student studying in four different locations for the semester, I have experienced how patriarchy and the false sense of male entitlement contribute to harassment everywhere I go. *While men are in no way the only perpetrators of sexual harassment and violence, female-identifying individuals are statistically more likely to be assaulted by male identifying individuals than the other way around.*
I have been catcalled nearly every day for the past four months in New York, Chile, Nepal and Jordan. But the worst experience thus far was at a soccer game here in Jordan. I was so excited for the game! It was Jordan versus Australia in a world cup qualifier, not to mention my first professional soccer game. It took less than 30 seconds for my excitement to turn to anxiety. I stepped off the bus when we arrived at the stadium and there were four policemen standing next to me. As I walked forward towards my friends, I said ‘ok’ in response to someone, to which one of the policemen responded “ok baby.” First of all, I am NOT your baby. And second, it is even more disturbing that this policeman felt so comfortable in his position of power that he thought it appropriate to call a random woman on the street his ‘baby.’ Strike one.
I ignored the policemen as I walked away but could feel their eyes watching me intently. The feeling of being watched never leaves me. As a very pale woman with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, I sometimes attract attention for looking ‘different,’ but this is no excuse for the voyeuristic, violating stares I endure for simply walking down the street. We had to walk around a quarter mile to enter the stadium. During this time, we were followed by at least a dozen young boys and teenagers who were trying to engage in conversation with us. Harmless, but nonetheless, it’s frustrating having to ward off a dozen boys while I am just trying to have a nice time with friends. Once we were seated in the stadium and the game started, I finally relaxed and put the annoying policemen and the swarm of boys out of my mind, but the incidents quickly spiraled into harassment.
For the two hours we were at the soccer game, I had to constantly force people to stop taking pictures of my friends and me. Men, mostly in their twenties, would come down from their seats or stop in their tracks as they walked by and whip out their phones. Most tried to deny what they were doing, despite me pointing at the open camera app on their phones. This is not the first time strangers have photographed us without our consent for no apparent reason, and I always wonder: what are these men doing with a photograph of around a dozen random women? I never like the answers I think of. I had to tell at least seven individuals to stop taking our photo and to delete the ones they had already taken. Even the man sitting right next to me had the audacity to put his phone inches from my face and take a picture without asking, as if I wouldn’t mind. Strike two.
About halfway through the game, a child of probably ten or eleven walked by. He looked at me, then out of nowhere, reached out his hand and touched my face. Strike three. At this point, after the comments, being followed, the pictures and finally being touched without consent, the soccer game experience had been ruined for me. Unfortunately, it kept getting worse.
Leaving a crowded stadium is always stressful. Ever been to Clemson or Carolina on game day? Trying to not get lost in a country where you don’t speak the language adds quite a lot of anxiety to the process. And you know what doesn’t help? Having your ass grabbed. As we were walking towards our bus I felt something touch my butt. Let me rephrase: I distinctly felt someone pinch my ass, and whipped around in horror to see two men moving away in the crowd, snickering. Strike four.
Although I said “don’t touch me” as soon as I felt his hand on me, I regret that I didn’t turn around and punch him in the phase. Wofford may not approve of this tactic, but in that moment, I was so angry and felt so violated that all I wanted to do was hit the asshole as hard as I could. There wasn’t time for this, considering the presence of 20 women at a mostly male stadium had left my group encircled on all sides by men shouting at us.
The front, left, right and back sides of our group were literally surrounded by men of all ages. Most yelled things at us in both English and Arabic, many once again filming us or took pictures of the group and others openly tried to touch us. It got to the point that the military police who were security at the game pulled men away from my group and escorted us to our bus.
It should be noted that while I was being touched, yelled at and photographed, my male friend received a friendly ‘welcome to Jordan’ and was gifted a scarf by one man. My other male friend was asked, ‘are they yours?’ while myself and my friends were gestured to. The men in our group were treated respectfully and welcomed while the women were sexually and verbally harassed. Before anyone blames this experience on the Arab culture or Muslim religion, you should know that the obvious sexism and blatant disrespect for women existed equally in both Nepal and Chile as well.
This issue will follow me back to Wofford and beyond, and continue to impact my daily life until female-identifying individuals receive the dignity and respect granted to men. The way forward is through a de-colonized, intersectional, anti-racist, global feminism that recognizes the needs and demands of all female identifying individuals. And the time is now, because I am sick and tired of having my ass grabbed.
