When I envision UNC, I think of a few trademark places that are undeniably Carolina.
Carolina is the Old Well. Carolina is the Bell Tower and Wilson Library. Carolina is the Chapel Hill mural behind He’s Not Here.
But if Carolina is Franklin Street, I don’t feel safe here.
Last week, while meeting a friend for boba on Franklin, I was followed for multiple blocks by a group of men. Yesterday, I was harassed both on the walk to and from Target. Even while walking to The Daily Tar Heel's office to pitch this article, I was catcalled twice.
Saying the words “I don’t like Franklin Street” seemed akin to Carolina blasphemy. Unwilling to deal with the social repercussions of voicing my aberrant opinion, I kept my feelings about it quiet.
The reality is, women are used to dealing with constant harassment from men. I’ve practiced keeping my discomfort subdued for the entirety of my life.
I arrived to Cha House after being followed, and fully committed to talking about my workload and the weather. I showed up to Target and immediately focused on finding the flavor of Clif Bars I wanted. I pitched this article well enough to get the green light from my editor.
So it’s fine, right?
Even if I voiced my discomfort about harassment on Franklin Street, I know there would be little result.