new wave feminism

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A quasi-academic look at Feminism, politics & race relations through the lens of a 20-something year old Nigerian American who was born & raised up in the (still) segregated south but has relocated to the "liberal" yet historic & traditional north.
This blog is my space for an interdisciplinary examination of race, gender, class, sexuality - all things intersectional & multi-dimensional.
Feminism the way I see it...



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Posts tagged "street harassment"

How to Hit on an Asian Girl/How Not to Harass an Asian Girl

This video, found via @colorlines, goes through a series of frustrating, dehumanizing instances forms of street harassment unique to Asian American women.

Her Tips:

1. Asian women are not equatable to Asian food. Even if you’re hungry.
2. You’ve cultivated an impressive catalogue of 80′s war movies. Well done sir. But the sidewalk is not your mother’s basement and I am not an internet forum. Keep the movie quotes to yourself.
3. Pop culture references that invariably suggest someone is foreign, submissive/docile, or willing to service you sexually should always be avoided. In other words: find a new fetish.
4. Seriously, when has anything referencing the Vietnam war ever gotten anyone laid? (Stanley Kubrick, who knew your legacy would be Asian female street harassment?)
5. If the first thing you think of when you see an Asian woman is “I should ask her to feed me,” you should know you’re not fit for human companionship. Period. Get a rice cooker. It won’t care if you fetishize it.
6. This is America; assume the Asian female you’re chatting with is American. Talk to her about red vs. blue politics, her favorite type of pie, who is better: Katy Perry or Ke[s]ha, or at the very least, baseball – not about foods that use chopsticks. Your ability to feed yourself is an accomplishment – but she doesn’t need to know that.

dopegirlfresh:

it’s long as fuck

but it’s important as hell

the end

Good article, excerpt:

Brianna said that there was this kid about nine or ten years old at camp, Michael, who had been bugging her all week. She said that it began with hits and pinches, pokes and staring. The usual bullshit that I think most kids are exposed to. But, she said that his behavior escalated. That Michael began saying things about her growing breasts and her ass — and that when she spoke to her group leader (an adult), she simply told Brianna to “Tell him to stop it.” No action was taken by this adult. Brianna said that she felt bad that nobody stepped in — but the excuse of her group leader was that Brianna is “older and bigger” than this other child. So, he chilled for a bit once he knew that there was an adult watching him. On the last day of camp, as the kids piled onto a bus to come back into the city, the harassment resumed. This time, Michael decided that he was going to touch the parts he’d been commenting on. Brianna warned him, shoved him away and told this same adult — who was supervising this bus trip — what happened. The woman told Michael to leave her alone, and did nothing else. Brianna told this woman, “I’m gonna beat him up if he touches my chest again.”

He did it again; she socked him square in the face. The group leader rushed to this boy’s aid and called the police, citing Brianna’s age and size as reasons why she should not have hit Michael. The adult had the bus driver pull over, and she called the fucking cops. On a thirteen-year-old who acted in her own defense. Thankfully, the police never came. But: this woman did not follow camp procedure (no incident report, she did not contact Brianna’s mother or the other child’s primary caregiver). She called the fucking police. Who, thankfully, never came.

What did this teach her? She said that she understood the actions of the adult in this situation as less than ideal. She said she didn’t expect support, but that she was shocked that this woman called the police.

To realize that Brianna had already internalized the idea that she was not worthy of protection (even by her own means) was absolutely heartbreaking for me. Already? She already knows nobody will give enough of a fuck? I felt betrayed. I felt all of the rage from my own experiences with street harassment and groping. I identify all forms of unwanted touching, especially in what I call the bathing suit areas, as sexual assault. And sometimes I forget that not everyone does. But, whether you think of these actions in a particular way or not, I have to ask: WHAT THE FUCK? Why make the child responsible when they’ve come to the clear realization that adult intervention is needed? Isn’t that your job as a fucking camp counselor or group leader or whatever title you’ve got?

I need to stop before I quote the whole article, but go read the rest!!

(via newmodelminority)

Street harasser: Hey red.

Me: No response.

Street harasser: Light skinned. Light skinned.

Me: Walking faster

Street harasser: REDBONE!

Me: Pretends to be busy on my phone

Street harasser: You fine as a motherf*cker

Me: He’s still catcalling to get my attention? What a douche!

I don’t answer to men catcalling me on the street. I’m definitely not answering to an imbecile showcasing his colorism by reducing me to terminology used to describe skin complexion. Can’t a woman walk down the street in peace? Dare I have the audacity to leave my home and subject myself to men who believe it is their right to harass women on the street? When will it stop?

-anonymous/Harlem

I didn’t deal with sexual terrorism until college. You can make up your own reasons for why that is, but I’ve decided it’s because I grew up around whitepeople in a suburb in Kansas. The few times guys did “holla” at me, it was when the cheer squad went to away games at the black schools and it was never with the dedicated fervor of the men I encountered in New Orleans.

When I walked onto campus that first year, I was almost immediately warned that my loud and outraged responses to the locals’ smooth and oh so flattering come-ons were the wrong approach.

“These dudes down here, they don’t care, they’ll hit you if you talk back to them like that.”

*record scratch*

*side eye*

Pardonnez-moi.

WHAT?!

They’ll hit me?!?! Because I don’t want to be verbally accosted by their raggedy asses?! Sweet Mother of Mary I’m transferring to USC!

But I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. I also didn’t change my reactions. “Who the hell does that”, I thought to myself and went on about my business.

I got used to it. I complained and I ignored and I yelled and I rolled my eyes and I kept on walking and I flipped guys the finger and I got used to it. Because what else was I gonna do?

Until I got hit.

To this day I don’t even know what the hell happened. One minute I was yelling at some guy because he wouldn’t leave me alone and the next minute he slapped me in my face.

He slapped me.

In my face.

Because I didn’t want to give him my number.

My phone number.

I didn’t want to give a strange man, a man I wasn’t interested in, who had approached me in a disgusting manner, my phone number and got slapped for my troubles.

I was positively livid. And not because “you don’t hit a girl.” Because, well, yes, that’s true. But mainly because, who the hell slaps someone BECAUSE THEY DON’T WANT TO GIVE THEM THEIR PHONE NUMBER?! In what universe are men being raised to think that this is okay? What culture, what society, what air of privilege leads to any one person (or many persons) thinking that he is such a special fuckingsnowflake that the denial of his unreasonable request deserves that? I’ll tell you. A rape culture.

*climbs down off her Hello Kitty stickered feminism podium and picks up her chai latte*

*sips*

You wanna talk about how I was dressed, don’t you? Sure you do. Jeans, halter top, heels, weave pony tail, hoop earrings – one of which he knocked off when he slapped me. I liked those earrings. They were cute. The bastard.

That year, a friend of mine got punched (yes, I said punched) as the result of a similar situation and I was too through. Plenty of other things contributed to me transferring to a state school back home, but physical altercations with dusty, entitled men sure didn’t hold me back.

Melissa/New Orleans 

Hollaback PSA!

Street harassment is a gateway crime that makes other forms of gender-based violence OK. Studies conducted show that between 80-90% of women have been harassed in public. With legal recourse to address school and workplace harassment, streets remain one of the final frontiers in addressing and affirming basic, guaranteed civil rights.

Comments range from “you’d look good on me,” to groping, public masturbation, and worse. These “compliments” aren’t about sex or about chivalry. They are about power. Young women are particularly vulnerable to street harassment, and at Hollaback! we’ve gotten stories from girls as young as twelve. Street harassment may be the social and cultural norm, but it is far from OK.

Street harassment teaches us to be silent, that taking action will only escalate the situation. While this isn’t bad advice, it has led us down a dangerous road. Ultimately, perpetrators realize they won’t be held accountable and continue to harass. Hollaback! was designed by a group of young folks who were tired of being silenced and sought a simple, non-violent response. What has emerged is a platform where thousands of stories of street harassment have been told.

We believe that by continuing to tell and map these stories, our voices will chip away at a culture that makes gender-based violence OK. Together we have the power to end street harassment, one Hollaback at a time.