On catcalling: the compliments that hurt us
Zuzana Galova explores how the so-called “compliment narrative” surrounding street harassment — even in the age of the Twitter Exposé — is still very much alive, and impacting the mental health of those forced to endure it.
‘Call-Out Culture’. #MeToo. The Weinstein trials. Bombshell, the latest film directed by Jay Roach. It would appear that we are experiencing a newfound sense of social justice, a mainstream feminist fight-back, where harassment is exposed online in 280 characters (or less) on global platforms. And yet, despite it all, the well-worn response: “You should take it as a compliment!” persists. With a documented deterioration of women’s mental health, it is exactly this type of dismissal that needs unpicking.
In the Oxford English Dictionary, a compliment is “a polite expression of praise or admiration”; “an act or circumstance that implies praise or respect” (italics added). According to research — such as Lynn Lord’s 2009 study — on the relationship between sexual harassment and mental health, those subjected to catcalling do not find it polite, or respectful. In fact, the majority of women find it terrifying. Personal experience makes this concept plausible: I recall the times I wished I was invisible, approached by men ignoring my earphones. Talking to my friends revealed shared experiences of being whistled at while crossing the street – and, as is the case with any good compliment, we were left feeling angry and anxious, with an increasingly lowered sense of self-esteem.
Such unpleasant effects aren’t discriminatory. On the contrary, about half of the white women surveyed in Cornel University’s Hollaback! Study were first harassed between the ages of 11 and 14, whilst women of colour reported being subjected to harassment much younger, with ages as low as 8 or 9. Knowing how best to defend against street harassment is a daunting and deeply disturbing prospect at such a young age, and so often we see girls learning — both taught and subconsciously — that acceptance is safer than antagonism.
These established discourses, requiring women to maintain a certain politeness even in the most uncomfortable circumstances, are hard to unlearn as an adult. Tackling the problem is notoriously difficult given the very nature of street harassment: it is anonymous, and due to the lack of its criminalisation, occurs frequently, unrecorded, often uninterrupted. Without concrete legal consequences, and with its publicity discouraging bystanders, there are few barriers in place for perpetrators.
Catcalling is more than non-complementary rudeness, however. In the context of gender (and focusing on a specifically heterosexual interaction), street harassment manifests as control over women and their bodies, their time and their space. It is a way in which a man takes ownership of the public arena; if a woman chooses to enter it, her body is fair game. Catcalling also involves a process of sexual objectification, where the “target” becomes an object of projected desire, incapable of social or emotional agency. When a man calls out, he is asserting his right to analyse and appropriate. Answers are rarely anticipated, partly due to the behaviour taking place in fast-paced situations — a shout from a moving car, crossing paths on the pavement.
Returning to the original debate on its “complementary” status, street harassment cannot, therefore, exist within the same category as “compliment”: there is no time for reciprocity, and there exists a total disregard for consent. Calls for its criminalisation draw on the distinction between shouting at someone and speaking with someone (though choosing to respond, of course, brings with it its own risks and violent potential). Street harassment is ultimately a statement of power: power not only to objectify and appropriate with eyes and words, but also the power to threaten, and publicly express sexual desire without the option of consent.
This is not to say that every woman is a victim. However, it must be acknowledged that every catcall is loaded with the possibility of danger, and therefore carries the capacity to cause real distress. In a study undertaken by specialist staff from King’s College London and academics from University College London, results indicated that, for 80 percent of participants, street harassment had serious impacts on mental health; 55 percent suffer from diagnosable mental health conditions directly related to their experiences.
Moreover, the pervasiveness and normalisation of catcalling often prevents an acknowledgment of its links to trauma, in turn affecting access to supporting services. Further research demonstrates how societal factors influence these damaging perceptions: the notion that men have “uncontrollable urges” which are, paradoxically, both caused by women and a woman’s duty to abate. By labelling the action as inherent or biologically predetermined, it is all the more challenging to step outside existing “compliment narratives” and react against them.
Objectification theory, proposed by Fredrickson and Roberts in 1997, here serves as a framework for understanding the effects of living in a culture where women are constantly reduced to bodies, rather than seen as full persons. Interpersonal sexual objectification (i.e. sexual objectification which is actively expressed from person A to person B, rather than passively, as in the case of films etc.) is linked with body shame, poor body image, and marked psychological distress. Its consequences are numerous: increased fear related to rape or sexual assault, internalised feelings of invasion and disempowerment, humiliation — all of which can lead to anxiety, depression, and physical symptoms such as muscle tension, dizziness, nausea, and difficulty breathing.
To avoid street harassment, women change walking routes, restrict self-expression, alter schedules, jobs, sometimes relocating to new and safer areas. It is a vicious and unforgiving cycle. Distrust, fear-based paranoia, and the resultant isolation exacerbate already pronounced effects on mental health. A suppressed ability to participate in things otherwise enjoyed seems like inevitable collateral damage. In this respect, catcalling is not a few seconds of discomfort — rather, it is a systematic and profoundly damaging concept with real, tangible repercussions for those forced to experience it. Even without an immediate threat of violence, it cannot be termed complimentary. To quote Laura Bates: “Catcalling is no more about compliments, than rape is about sex”.