Being Intimidated on Easton Ave. New Brunswick, NJ for being Gay

This is my experience of being creepily followed by potentially violent homophobes. Last night, with my arm around my boyfriend’s waist, I was walking back to my car from an Easton Avenue restaurant in New Brunswick. I noticed up ahead a group of four white guys and one Black, all in sleeveless t-shirts and sagging jeans, walking over to a stoop of a house where they stopped and began hanging out. As Alphonse and I passed their stoop, they suddenly sounded excited and began following us for a few blocks.
At one point, their footsteps increased in pace, like they were rushing us. Alphonse did a couple of looks over his shoulder, and it seemed like they laughed in response to him cautiously looking back at them. I just kept looking forward, trying not to think about it, but my senses were on high alert and I was ready to take action to protect myself in necessary. After another block or two I felt a new calm behind us, and looked over my shoulder and saw they had stopped following us, going back in the direction they came from. I wondered what would have happened if the streets hadn’t been so crowded.
As we discussed it, Alphonse and I felt as though there was a high chance they had been trying to intimidate us, and felt like, in their casual masculine irrationally, they thought they “won,” and laughed, when we looked over our shoulder and back at them (in other words, we “lost” for doing the normal cautious human action of responding to strange changes in our environment, such as someone rushing up behind us at night). At best, they were not trying to intimidate us and were perhaps making a spectacle of us among themselves (though it actually wasn’t “among themselves;” the minute they began following us, it included us) by their curiosity and commentary; however their straight male privilege kept them from understanding that when you're a group of guys following someone, even if it’s just for play, it’s intimidating.
It made me think: all the times a woman walks by a crowd of men and they suddenly stop what they’re doing, it’s shady. Thinking it’s going to “woo her” if they all, or even one or two of them, begin to follow her, it’s not cool. If she gives signs she is not interested, such as ignoring a man who is clearly following her or trying to mack her, that means she doesn’t want the attention. Continued attention is harassment and should be punishable, not by fine or prison necessarily, but by education and restorative justice programs. I hated the feeling of being made unsafe, and the thought that they might have done it on purpose made me angry later that night. As I realized the powerlessness of my anger, for a moment I wept.

Laughter

Alphonse and I got a good laugh on them, though. The moment I saw them, I had already began to comment on how they were trying to be cool by sagging and I figured they were probably trying a misguided attempt to impress their Black friend by using stereotypes, and trying to impress each other; not one of them had an original wardrobe and they all looked like clones of each other and like clones of Eminem. Alphonse countered that the sagging was probably because white people have little to no butt, except the ones who don’t skip leg day and don’t neglect working out their glutes, but that those guys are few and far between. “Why do I need a butt, I’d only be using it to sit anyway!” most would cry, but don’t you think the fact you are pulling up your pants every five minutes is reason enough? 

We laughed about this as we walked by them, and when they began following us, I began roasting them even more. 

“They're probably repressed and following us like, ‘I’m just going to follow them, to, uh, you know…to *learn* about my enemy, yeah, that’s the ticket,’ but they really just are getting a lot of their sexual kicks out of staring at us.” 

In a way, I still think it’s true. The kind of man these guys were trying to be was the same one I was trying to be at one point- following a very narrow idea of masculinity. I pity what limited lives they do have, how little they can express their feelings, how much self-shaming they probably do for even *having* most of their feelings. They were probably living vicariously through us, but shhh, they needed a facade. 

I continued, “they probably all got boners right now watching us”

“Yeah, they probably don’t need anything to hold up their pants anymore [but their boner]” Alphonse snapped and I was buckling over laughing. It was the first of many times I buckled over as they followed us.

As nervous as I was, and as powerless as I felt as I reflected on this later that night, I was glad to be mocking them and the situation, and felt a sense of power that was leveling the playing field. Humor helped fill the power imbalance, at least the psychological aspect, for they still outnumbered and outmuscled us. Every time I knew they were witnessing me be lighthearted in the face of their disruption, I smiled. If they wanted us to feel self-conscious*, then they got to see us feel the opposite- the kind of falling-over laughter that makes me get out of their heads.

*There should be a study to see if LGBT people have more issues with self-consciousness than other people, because in unsafe spaces like walking down many streets, we sure have to be alert as hell of how we look in order to survive.

“We should just French kiss right now and I’ll shout to them, ‘Is this what you want?!!??’” I quipped.
Alphonse laughed and imagined us taking it further than kissing. The guys would probably bring out the popcorn. 

Did I do the right thing?

Throughout, Alphonse had been doing what I was too nervous to do—look back over his shoulder. I didn’t want these territorial troglodytes to see the fear in my eyes; this is because I have unfortunately internalized the notion that I myself hate: men can’t show vulnerability around other men*, especially not when something is on the line, like their ability to seem like they are in control. I wanted to seem unfazed, cool, calm, and collected. But had we been rushed by this mob of crows, Alphonse would have known when to duck, and which direction to make like flies and get the fuck out of there, while I would have been blindsided. I had been telling myself the whole time that the most they were doing was taking a Snapchat of us and to share with all their jock-bro friends in order to make a spectacle of us.

*Though people have an excuse when they mask their vulnerability in a survival situation, most men mask vulnerability for their ego survival in non-life-or-death situations. The problem is, ego death/social death activates the same fight-or-flight stress response as real life-or-death situations; this often leads to the shutting down of rational thought (the prefrontal cortex is replaced by the emotional-mammalian limbic system and the reptilian brain), so violence and murder can result. Taboos around masculinity literally scares people to death!

But later that night, the moment I was alone and praying, it became obvious to me that regardless of their intentions, I had been intimidated by them, and regardless of their intentions, they should have known better. It’s creepy as fuck to follow someone walking down the street, day or night, but especially at night. My desire to appear unfazed had led me to neglect the fact that they had just committed a crime.

I began to reimagine the scene, playing out all the things I should have said to them. Perhaps in the future I’d feel more prepared? “It’s intimidating to feel followed around, and it’s not cool.” Sure it would be followed by mocking laughter and/or denial, but one of them with a conscience might not forget it. Why not have a sentence prepared for a future situation? As part of my job as a mentor, teacher, and social worker, I usually say things on the off-chance it will reach someone. If this happened, temporarily being mocked might be worth it. On the other hand, though I felt like I needed my assertive command voice that I use on my dog for this pack of annoying chuchos. They seemed boisterous and may have been drinking and looking for us to say something to give them an excuse to escalate the situation. Looking at it this way, it is unlikely I could have chosen any combination of words to enlighten them, in such a manner that Alphonse and I would be the last time they ever engaged in such a creepy action.

The world is not a safe place for anyone, but if I had been a straight male, this never would have happened to me; not for this reason. Not for wanting to put their arm around someone in public. 

Perspective and Solutions:

I felt it was a glimpse into what women have to go through just for being women- you don’t feel safe; safety is a privilege. Anxiety, confusion, suspicion, depressed feelings of powerlessness, and the need to act tough verbally mean or hostile to survive are probably part of the everyday default for women in public spaces where men are.

Given this, it’s easy to understand anti-man and anti-straight humor (and by proxy, anti-white humor) as a reaction to women and gays being on the receiving end of a system of oppression. It’s a way to cope without resorting to destructive rage and depression. There was power in mocking our intimidators, because power existed no where else- not in my anger, sadness, or fear.

It’s also easy to understand, given this context, the female and lesbian separatist movement in the 1970s (and by proxy, Black segregationists), and the desire for gays to carve out gayberhoods in cities- it’s about being able to move about freely and safely.

This is not a problem to be solved by the kind of sex segregation or bodily coverings which many fundamentalist religions propose; segregation is an emergency measure needed while the dominant culture gets its shit together.

This is a problem whose root is in the concept of “masculinity” and in our “rape culture,” and more generally in societies of scarcity. “Societies of scarcity” is a concept I address in this essay about how societies actually exist where rape is virtually unheard of, and how there are common values and resources in these rape-free societies; likewise, rape-prone societies share things in common that need to be addressed.

My mocking of straight men is really my mocking of “heteronormative” men, or the men who play out scripts of masculinity handed to them by society. These men in actuality are gay *or* straight; in fact, many of them are probably men repressing, or at least confused about, their sexuality. 

Our limited concept of masculinity is hurting straight men. For all the moments of value they get from their highly regulated codes of behavior, that currency of masculinity, they have to put in massive amounts of self-consciousness, worry about their status, and if and when their masculinity is overtly questioned, the pain and suffering they feel from this disrespect immediately overshadows all of the previous good feelings they got from having “proved themselves” in the past. Now they are feeling exposed and desperate, and have to “prove themselves” yet again. It’s a dance that continues, often until an early, violent death (whether from fighting, overdosing, automobile crashing, or some other injury), or it is extended out in a life of many soul deaths. Yet those few moments of feeling their masculinity validated, by the attention and recognition of their peers or role model like a parent or coach, by the moans of a woman (who may or may not be faking it just to expedite getting this drunken animal off of her), or by the approving crowd in their own head, a crowed which they internalized from watching dumb movies, porn, songs, TV shows and Youtube videos. 

I remember getting vibes even while walking *to* the restaurant, during *daylight*, vibes that Easton Avenue was not completely safe for a guy walking around with a rainbow bracelet on his wrist, a wrist that would later be tucked under his boyfriend’s elbow. I heard the crowd in my head say, “Fag!,” and I wondered what I would do if someone shouted that at me. I could only come up with this rhyme, based on how much I pity the empty emotional and social bank account of a man who would go out of his way to give a gay person that much attention: 

“I may be a *fag*/ But you're *sad*!”