By the Power of Speech Alone

A 2015 street sign campaign by the nonprofit group “Feminist Apparel” in New York during International Anti-Street Harassment Week (Source: animalnewyork.com)

A 2015 street sign campaign by the nonprofit group “Feminist Apparel” in New York during International Anti-Street Harassment Week (Source: animalnewyork.com)

Trigger warning: sexual harassment; sexual assault; graphic.

A friend told me, “Catcalling should be protected by free speech. I do not condone the behavior, but speech alone is harmless.”

The moment he said this, I could slowly feel my heart physically aching. I was confused. Why was I feeling this way? I realized that it activated memories of sexual harassment that I repressed deeply. I told myself that I could not keep these thoughts to myself, lest I sacrifice my own mental health. So, I write these words not simply with frustration, but also with deliberate ferocity.

I am so tired of asking “men” to understand where I am coming from, to listen, or to do anything. For it should be automatic for men to defend women. So, if you’re a man, I hope that you read through every single word of this even if it’s hard; it is nothing compared to the actual experience. It is traumatizing. It gets internalized to the point where I am conscious of every decision that I make in my daily life.

Ever since the #HijaAko posts, I have empathized with my sisters. These women have been brave enough to speak up and talk about traumatic experiences. I recalled what I went through but then stopped myself; I thought what happened to me was not major, it happened a long time ago, and who’s going to care? The truth is that none of those things matter. What matters is that it happened.

I was six years old. I remember the first time I was inappropriately touched by a “man” close to me. He placed his hands on my butt and asked me if I was wearing any underwear. I did not realize what he was doing was wrong until a couple of years ago.

I was ten years old. Two grown “men” talked about the other’s sex adventures, and the conversation led one of them asking the other right in front of me when my breasts would grow. I could not leave because we were in a car. I was alone. I did not have earphones or music that I could listen to. I had no escape from hearing what made me feel uncomfortable.

I was 12 years old. I was in the department store with my family. I wandered around because I liked looking at different kitchenware, appliances, and whatnot. I turned a corner and a sales "man" was looking down at me. He grinned, "Hi miss, ganda mo (You’re pretty)." I felt uncomfortable, stomped on his foot, and ran back to my parents. I could hear him laughing as I left. I did not know what to do. I never told them what happened.

I was 15 years old. I was at a basketball game with my dad, but he wanted to greet his other friends in the middle of the game. He left and I was cheering by myself. I heard three "men" behind me having a conversation, one of them said, "Tignan mo 'to oh. Sumasayaw pa (Look at this one, she’s even dancing)." Ever since, I have not watched a live basketball game with that team playing.


I am so tired of asking “men” to understand where I am coming from, to listen, or to do anything. For it should be automatic for men to defend women.

I was 16 years old. I was attending a small meet-an-greet at a mall. I was so excited to just see one of my favorite bands from afar, so I wore my favorite outfit. It was a white top, black skater skirt, and black combat boots. I stood along the bars, tiptoed, and tried to see better, but when a “man” put his hand up my skirt and tried to grope me down there. (He could not, by the way, I was on my period and I was wearing a napkin.) I froze. I could not believe what just happened. I swiftly turned my head and saw him walking away as if nothing happened. I hit him, but he did not budge. He just kept walking. I wish I drop kicked him with my combat boots.

I was 18 years old. I was attending a concert in a giant arena. My sister and I got standing tickets (because that’s what we could afford). I did not care, I was just happy enough to go. About half-way into the concert, “security” walks behind me. One of the “guards” leaned in and told me that I was not allowed to take videos. But there was obviously no rule about that; he was clearly making it up to get close to me. Then, I felt his dick against my butt. I snapped back at him saying that everyone else around me was taking videos, so why not tell them? He waved his arm and left. My parents reported it, but nothing ever happened. We got no word from the organizers, and I would never know if he’d be punished for it. He most likely was not.

I was 18 years old. I was walking home from school in my uniform. Three little boys, roughly around the ages of seven to nine were sitting along the street. One of them whistled and called for my attention, "Pssst!" I was furious, not at them, but at whoever they heard that from. Children are not born with that behavior. It is learned.

I was 19 years old. I was walking and a taxi full of boys passed by me. One of them shouted, “HEY SEXY,” even though I was completely covered from the neck down.

I was 19 years old. The road next to our house slopes and is a little elevated, making passengers in higher vehicles see the garden. I was engrossed in my book until I heard a truck pass by with a hoard of "men" laughing and jeering at me. First time to be catcalled in my own home. I have not read in the garden since.

I was 20 years old. A professor from my university would message me on Facebook outside of working hours, calling me “pretty” at times. Overall, he was a lousy teacher. I hope he loses his job and does not get severance pay.

“No Catcalling” stencil in San Francisco (Photo by Russell Howse)

“No Catcalling” stencil in San Francisco (Photo by Russell Howse)

I was 21 years old. I was at the beach, swimming with my mom, enjoying the waves. A group of three old “men” were sitting on the shore, looking at an iPad, and laughing. I did not mind it. My mom and I decided to leave, and I noticed that the old men kept staring at the iPad. They pointed the iPad at both of us, and I was sure they took and saved pictures of us; no one else was there. They cackled even when we left.

So with regard to free speech, people ask me why I do not condone catcalling, or do not have problems with it being legally penalized. To say that it impedes free speech is oversimplifying a seriously complex issue. “Speech alone is harmless” discounts the implications it has on people's actions. If it was harmless, none of this would have happened to me or to all the other women who have gone through this. That “speech” leads to all of this: the condonement of harmful behavior against women. (You may read up on the paradox of tolerance.)

Catcalling is a form of harassment that inherently objectifies and sexualizes, mostly women. It is dehumanizing. It also promotes sexual harassment, rape culture, and toxic masculinity. And all throughout my life, as you can see, this behavior has not stopped, or even come close to being eradicated. I am sure this is not a complete list of my experiences. I have probably repressed all those other terrible memories, because I have honestly lost count of the number of times I have been cat-called.

This is the very reason why men have to be involved: we need to work together. You have to speak up, educate yourself, and not tolerate this kind of behavior. Do not wait for the next time.

And I, I will not wait for the next time. I have realized that nothing will come out of my silence. So, I write this for International Women’s Day to tell other women that they are not alone. Our power lies in speech, dialogue, and discourse with others. Let us proactively #ChooseToChallenge ourselves and the world.

It may be difficult, but I promise, you can and will get through this. You are not alone. You will heal. If and when you are ready (at your own time), you can take action in the different ways: have that daunting conversation with your friend or family member; support different groups that advocate women’s rights; or simply listen.

If you are going through or have gone through something similar, feel free to talk to me. I will listen.

#HijaAko #StopVictimBlaming #EndRapeCulture #ChooseToChallenge #IWD2021


Maia Boncan

Maia Boncan

Maia Boncan is a senior at Ateneo de Manila University, majoring in Development Studies. She is also a fervent advocate for climate action and gender equality.


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