On Walking While Female

I think anyone who makes a habit of hanging around with activists has heard of the offense "Driving While Black/Brown," or DWB, referring to the way in which law enforcement profiles drivers based on race, searching the cars of black drivers pulled over for minor violations while releasing white speeders without even asking to take a peek in the trunk. Recently, I've been doing some thinking on a social, rather than legal, crime: Walking While Female. Google returns 211 results for the exact phrase, including this illuminating blog post, which mirrors many of my own thoughts.



I, like many of my generation, am loath to call myself a feminist in mixed company. Or, really, any company that's not activist or political company. I can be sitting on the couch drinking a beer after a long day of work while my boyfriend cooks, and if a couple of his friends are slouching around the living room, they don't notice the non-traditional gender roles. But let me say aloud, "I think it's a great outgrowth of feminism that you 20-something men don't notice our non-traditional gender roles," and you'll hear a tirade about feminism that is only barely matched by Rush Limbaugh in his most blustering fury. Unshorn legs, shorn heads, and combat boots will be invoked. Feminism as a whole will be accused of misandry and demands for special rights. It gets tiresome, and I confess I've largely given up on reclaiming that term as a positive one in my daily life.



However, there are moments when I realize that I am, by lifestyle, personality, and necessity, a feminist. Yesterday, I had one of those moments, when I unwittingly committed the grave offense of Walking While Female (WWF).



I generally stroll to the park with my pooch after dark, when a light-up collar and a pocket full of treats make it easy and safe to let him off leash for a run. Yesterday, though, I felt motivated to walk while the sun was still warm, and so departed for the neighborhood park with pup in tow. I was still dressed for work, in low-heeled boots, trousers, and a pink blouse, with a skiing jacket thrown on in place of the wool jacket I wear to the office. I did not present a particularly titillating figure; certainly, no more so than the young parents walking with toddlers, nor the day care moms supervising the play of a group of school aged kids, nor the couples out to enjoy the setting sun.

Yet, somewhere along the way to the park, a group of teenaged boys in a blue sedan decided that their entertainment for the evening would be repeatedly circling the block and calling out harrassing, sexual comments each time they passed me and my dog. Said dog, blissfully unaware of gender politics, spent most of his time piddling on various vertical objects. The first cat-call hardly fazed me; I was annoyed, and grumbled something to the piddling pooch about cowards who couldn't pull over and say something like that while they were in slugging distance. But they circled around to follow me, and I noticed several things.

Most notably, I felt compelled this time to yell back, when I'd felt no such need on the first go-round. I shouted something, which they likely didn't hear over their car's engine as they sped away, but which insulted their intelligence, male anatomy, and level of maturity. I was immediately ashamed about sinking to their level, but, really, what does one do in that situation? Ignoring hooligans seems only to encourage them, because they interpret silence as fear or shock.

The third time they drove by, I again resorted to ignoring them. Only after they'd disappeared in the distance did I think about recording their license plate number to report by calling *277 (*CSP, for Colorado State Patrol) for harassing a pedestrian and for speeding in a residential area. I was too busy being upset that they not only thought repeated obscene comments were appropriate, but that they chose a moment when I was walking by a playground where several young boys and girls were playing to shout those obscenities. I would be surprised if at least one of those children doesn't pick up a new word and blurt it out at the dinner table with Great-Aunt Myrtle as a result.

As I walked home-- thankfully, without additional running commentary from the hooligans-- I took time to notice my own curious emotions. I was angry, as one might expect, but I also realized I had my hand on my pocket knife, preparing unconsciously for a physical confrontation, despite the total absence of any evidence one was imminent. I was afraid. Not of anything in particular, but of the fact that strangers had intruded into a peaceful and pleasant nightly ritual. Of course, that's exactly the reward I'm sure the hooligans wanted.

Why do some men, particularly young men whose basic needs are met, who have cars and spending money and food to eat, think any woman on foot and alone is fair game for verbal harrassment? Are they just bored? Should their parents find better ways to schedule their time, so that they aren't roaming the streets in groups, driving irresponsibly and risking an accident by leaning out their windows to hoot at strange women? Are they raised by misogynist fathers, and truly convinced that they are in the right to cat-call at women walking down the street?

Have they ever had someone single them out and act in ways specifically designed to make them question their safety in their own neighborhood?

Are they aware how poorly they reflect upon teens as a whole? I have heard teenaged males say, "That waitress gave me bad service because I was young," or declare, "It's not fair to make people leave backpacks by the door in shops," or even, "Nobody respects teenagers' rights."

Can their behavior be blamed on the pre-frontal cortex, not fully developed until the twenties, which governs judgment and logic?

I'm not sure. I'm neither a parent nor a man, nor a psychologist or neurologist. I do know that all teenagers behave immaturely at times. After all, they're not mature human beings. However, this behavior is unacceptable, and as a child-free, mostly closeted feminist, and not really so many years older than those young hooligans, I have no idea how to change it.

Does anyone know how to decriminalize Walking While Female?

Facebook Lets Me Off With a Warning

It seems I have been sternly scolded and let off with a warning. For the first day after reactivation, my Facebook profile displayed a "WARNING! Your account may be disabled!" message on my home page. That disappeared rapidly.

Anyone want to place a bet on how long it takes before they decide to ban me again, for using social networking sites for -- gasp -- social networking!?