Three years after the brutal sexual assault of a UW-Madison graduate student on the Capital City Trail, the scene is still marked with remembrances of the crime. Every so often, painted messages reading “Love to Survivors” show up on the pavement in the Williamson Street area.
Kelly Tyrrell, an ultramarathoner and bike commuter, often thinks of the incident when she passes the spot near Livingston Street where it happened. She was running that same stretch after work last month when three men — construction workers leaving a nearby worksite — shouted at her. One demanded a smile. Another asked her to marry him. She didn’t feel threatened; it was more a provocation. But it worked. She was angry.
“I’m just so tired of hearing it,” she says. “It left me with this dilemma: Do I put my head down and ignore it to avoid the risk of speaking up? Or do I say something to preserve my dignity at the risk of my safety?”
This time, she shot back some “choice words” as she ran past. But after the brief moment of catharsis came the panic. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t following. She texted her husband. She logged into Strava, a social media app for runners and cyclists, to track and share her location. And in the days after the exchange, she stopped using the bike path altogether. Her loved ones have encouraged her to run with pepper spray for protection, but she hasn’t found anything she feels like carrying during her workouts.
“In a way, I’m resentful,” she says. “Why should I have to carry something defensive? Why should I have to put up with somebody else’s harassment, when I’m just out exercising?”
While the #MeToo movement has shed light on workplace sexual harassment and misconduct, street harassment remains a pervasive, infuriating and comparatively understudied societal problem. Recent national surveys have shed some light: In 2018, the nonprofit Stop Street Harassment found that 81 percent of women and 43 percent of men nationally had experienced some form of sexual harassment during their lifetime.
The study also looked into where sexual harassment happens. Most respondents experienced it in multiple locations, with nearly 40 percent of women reporting instances in the workplace and 35 percent experiencing it at home — a concerning statistic, as women are at greatest risk of being killed by an intimate partner. But sexual harassment in public spaces is even more common, with 66 percent of women reporting it. Another study found up to 85 percent of women in the U.S. have experienced street harassment, often before age 17.
This type of abuse has been so ubiquitous for so many generations that it’s considered normal, says Shannon Barry, executive director of Domestic Abuse Intervention Services. “It becomes part of our experience,” she says. “It’s interesting how often we all tend to minimize the kind of stuff that happens to us.”
Barry has repeatedly been harassed by a man in her own neighborhood. If he sees her while she’s out walking her dog, he’ll drive by slowly, often leering and making obscene gestures with his tongue. Barry shared her concerns with other women in the neighborhood, but they told her the man was harmless. Then, a few weeks ago, he stopped his car and barked at her like a dog. “It took the dehumanization to the next level. I was just shaking, absolutely shaking,” Barry says. “Even as I’m telling you this, I’m starting to shake.“
After the latest interaction, Barry mapped out a dedicated “safety plan” for taking walks. She checks in with loved ones before she leaves. She changes up her route periodically. She keeps her cell phone camera out and ready to go in case something happens. “The work that I do has probably made me a little bit jaded,” she says of her precautions. “But this person scared me enough.”
Alison Margaret, a musician and outdoor recreation enthusiast, was furious after being harassed by a male cyclist in broad daylight while running on the Capital City Trail. There was ample room on the path, but she says the man went out of his way to get close and whisper “Hello there, lovely,” in her ear. “It was the way he went about it — the purposefulness,” she says. “In that little moment, he stalked me out.”
A survivor of sexual assault, Margaret says the brief interaction brought back traumatic memories that stayed with her during the last three miles of her run. “Microaggressions add to the culture of even more serious assaults, harassment and rape,” she says. “It all stems from these little things that seem inconsequential to a lot of people.”
Conversations about gendered violence are shifting — people are openly sharing experiences, pushing accountability for offenders and attempting to shift long-held cultural norms. But there has been backlash. President Donald Trump, who famously bragged about sexual assault and has been accused of sexual misconduct by at least 22 women, says it’s “a very scary time for young men.” His administration is also seeking to bolster rights for college students accused of sexual assault.
Still, many are eager to be allies. Barry posted about her experience on social media, drawing sympathetic responses from male friends, including several who work in law enforcement who encouraged her to call if it happened again. Despite her background in victim advocacy and violence prevention, Barry hadn’t considered reporting her harasser. “It never even crossed my mind.”
But gendered dynamics can persist even in allyship. “It’s interesting how men’s responses were coming from a place of indignation and anger and wanting to protect,” Barry says. “Men need to do their own work, listen to women and believe women when they share things like this. Not jump in for a rescue.”
After the confirmation of U.S. Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh, who was publicly accused of sexual assault or misconduct by three women, Barry says DAIS heard from parents seeking ways to talk with their kids about healthy relationships and boundaries. The nonprofit is offering community education classes aimed at kids in January and February. Violence prevention programs for adult men have also proven effective. Barry says the outcomes are “incredibly promising,” but she believes large-scale change will happen slowly.
“Trying to interrupt toxic masculinity is long-term work,” she says. “It’s probably not going to happen in my lifetime.”
