It was an ordinary journey home one September evening. After a full day’s work from eight to four, I boarded the number 24 bus into Birmingham city centre, never imagining that this ride would change how I view public transport forever.
I took a seat at the back on the lower deck. I avoid the upper level, fearing it’s too far from the driver, but since it was still daylight, I felt reasonably safe. That was a mistake.
Shortly after opening my book, three people chose to sit near me, despite the bus being mostly empty. I sat on the left side facing forward; one man sat opposite me, with his two friends — a man and a woman — nearby. Their choice to cluster around me made me uneasy, but I tried to remain calm.
As a young woman in the UK—where one in three women experiences some form of abuse in their lifetime, according to White Ribbon charity—I am always alert in these situations.
I was reading Boy Parts by Eliza Clark, a black comedy novel. The man opposite suddenly spoke loudly, “Are you looking at boy parts? Show me!” His friends laughed. I responded with an awkward chuckle and looked down, hoping the attention would shift.
It didn’t.
“Are you looking at pictures of boys? I want to see!” he kept demanding before lunging to grab the book.
I pulled it away and said firmly, “There are no pictures.” He laughed, continuing to persist while his friends encouraged him. I forced another polite chuckle but felt trapped and anxious.
When faced with such harassment, there’s no winning: ignoring them risks angering them further; engaging may invite more unwanted attention. I contemplated getting off at the next stop but worried about stepping past the trio or being followed.
Some might say it’s no big deal—a joke among friends, schoolyard bullies. But when violence against women and girls is declared a national emergency by the UK government, it’s hard not to feel threatened and plan escape routes in everyday moments.
I deserved to read in peace after a long day. Instead, I was subjected to loud, unsettling talk about the man’s shoplifting and troubled past relationships, all while glancing at me.
I didn’t know what to do. Alerting the driver or bystanders might escalate the situation. Calling someone might provoke him further and risk having my phone taken. I felt helpless.
Months later, while researching women’s safety on public transport, I learned about SeeSay — a confidential text service on 81018 that alerts Safer Travel to incidents. Shockingly, only 15% of young adults surveyed knew about the number, and just one person could recall it by heart.
At the busy Birmingham city centre stop, I finally gathered the courage to leave. My heart raced as I carefully stepped past the man’s sprawling legs. He said, “Bye.” I ignored him and walked away, replaying the whole experience in my head.
Was I overreacting? Should I have sat at the front?
No — in today’s reality, violence and harassment are an ever-present threat. According to government data, in the year ending March 2025, one in eight women in England and Wales faced domestic abuse, sexual assault, or stalking. Nearly 200 rapes were recorded by police daily in the year ending June 2025, though many more go unreported.
With such statistics, can anyone blame women for heightened anxiety around anti-social behavior?
Public transport is a right, yet women often don’t know what to do in threatening moments. They deserve clear guidance and support.
Thankfully, National Express buses collaborate with Safer Travel’s Project Empower campaign, training staff and encouraging victims of unwanted sexual behavior to report abuse. Transport for West Midlands and Safer Travel also create educational content to help everyone “Recognise, Report, and Upstand” — empowering bystanders to support women’s safety while travelling.
Women shouldn’t feel unsafe simply using the bus. It’s time we all play a part in making public spaces safer.