Upper East Pride: Knowing when to walk (or run) away.

I was walking around Manhattan on a Sunday October afternoon to practice my hand-held camera technique for my documentary class at The New School. It was the perfect Autumn day: 65 degrees, and the sun was shining from a gorgeous blue sky. I felt inspired by the city and made my way to the Upper East Side.

On an ordinary sidewalk, camera in hand, I suddenly felt a violent push. “Bitch, why are you filming me?” I was surprised by the question and threatened by the angry tone in this woman’s voice; my heart was racing. I calmly explained: I was filming some videos for my documentary class, and I was happy to show her that she was never in the frame. I turned the screen towards her in an attempt to show her the footage, and she started to mock my Hispanic accent. She pushed me again and shouted louder this time: 

“Go home you f*ing imbecile, go back to your country, bitch!” “Trump is right, these f*ing ignorant people, leave us alone you whore!”

My camera fell to the floor, broken. I could not cross to the other side of the street because the light was green, and cars were passing by dangerously fast. I did not know what to do. 

I looked around and there were no police officers in sight, just oblivious New Yorkers casually walking by like nothing was happening. A few others stood watching from a safe distance, and they almost looked organized, like someone had sold them ringside tickets. I told her “I am a U.S. citizen,” but she couldn't care less and kept swinging. That’s when I shouted, “Now, I am going to record you! You broke my camera and attacked me for no reason!” I had hoped that my threat would make her leave, but in retrospect, I was too civil, and comically naive. 

Breaking news: Instead of walking away, she punched me. Her companion, a man holding a baby, was instructing her to “Hit her, show her how we do!” How supportive. 

I was mentally thanking Hollywood for the self-defense lessons I got from Bruce Lee and Jean Claude Van Damme. (Is it wrong that I did not think of Jennifer Lopez and Hilary Swank?) I did my best to protect my face and stomach and decided not to fight back. I tried running towards the cars, but she ran behind me and pulled my hair so hard that I felt fire coming out of my scalp. She grabbed me by the neck and pinched my skin with her fingernails. Like a bad stand-up set, seconds felt like hours.

While she pulled my hair, she asked me how many million dollars I have in my bank account. I thought of my student loan debt and held in my laughter as I thought it would make her angrier and more violent. 

We can laugh about this now, but I felt humiliated, hopeless, helpless. Dozens of people were surrounding us, yet no one tried to help. Why didn’t anyone call the police? What about the Good Samaritan Law? In the final episode of Seinfeld, the gang was arrested for failing to help a man being car-jacked. This law is real, and it protects the privacy of anyone who calls 911 to report an incident. 

As suddenly as this all started, my attacker stopped, and left me alone. When she was half a block away, I gathered courage and quickly pulled out my phone again to record her face and show it to the authorities. 

Seconds later, in tears, hyperventilating, and shaking, I heard a voice telling me that I “didn’t do anything wrong.” Her curly red hair was like a waving red flag motivating me to do the right thing. “I saw everything, go to the police and show them the video. You can be a blogger honey, or a tourist, you CAN use your phone or camera to film whenever you feel like it. Trust me.” She was an off-duty detective who left her group of friends and encouraged me to call 911. Thank you, Detective Red.,

A patrol car arrived immediately. The agents were very thoughtful, and supportive. I showed them the video of my attacker hitting me, growing more embarrassed as more officers came by to help. I slurred what felt like words to explain what happened and pointed to the direction where the woman and her family left. They drove me to the nearest police station, so I could file a police report. I sent the video from my phone to a detective assigned to the case, and luckily that was it. I asked how common these types of incidents are in New York and got a vague but sobering “more common than you think.” 

For the following few days, I was torn between posting the video online or not. This woman was likely younger than me, “in her early twenties” according to one of the officers that saw the video. I do not know what type of personal challenges she was facing at the moment she brutally attacked me only because she mistakenly thought I was filming her. I am still afraid of bumping into her again in the subway or on another random sidewalk. 

 I have always felt insecure about my accent when speaking English, especially when working in front of the camera. After this incident, there is an added weight to my accent. It triggered this woman into assaulting me, and it is easy for fears of a repeat incident to linger. 

 New York, I love you, and you are bringing me up. This attack made me stronger and somehow more understanding of others. I am learning to accept and be proud of my accent, as well. However, now that my feet are on the ground again, I am planning to take real self-defense lessons. I’m an optimist, but better safe than sorry.