'No Trousers' Tube ride? London transport is unsafe enough – I should know
This article references sexual harassment.Despite it being an annual event, London’s so-called ‘No Trousers Day’ throws me every year.Not only is the prospect of seeing bulges and hairy, pasty thighs hardly appealing, but it’s also even worse when I start thinking about how much bare skin has come into contact with those seats. It is the one day a year I will not battle desperately with fellow passengers to sit down.But my issue with this event – which has long been brushed off as just a bit of “silly fun” – goes far deeper than all that. It is extremely triggering for me because I have been the target of sexual harassment on the Tube.The incident happened at the height of the pandemic, when I was already feeling out of sorts. As well as living alone at the time, I was nervous about getting on public transport, even though I had a mask on, hand sanitiser at the ready, and the goal was to be reunited with my sister and her partner, who were my support bubble.I was travelling on the District Line and, when it ventured above ground, I frantically refreshed my news feed to see whether Donald Trump or Joe Biden had won the US election.Read MoreHow the Grok ‘bikini trend’ exposed the men weaponising AI technology to silence and scare women.Just as I was celebrating Biden’s win, I clocked movement in my periphery. At first, I dismissed it, but as it became more and more pronounced, I stole a quick glance to my left.I cannot begin to describe the abject horror and revulsion I felt, as I realised it was a man masturbating over me. But he was not deterred by being caught – in fact, the opposite. His hand movements became more and more furious, as he leered at me and licked his lips.Instinctively, I got up and moved further up the carriage to where other passengers were sitting (no one stepped in to help, by the way). But then it struck me: I cannot let this bastard get away with it.And so I got back up, removed my phone from my pocket and took a series of pictures of him, yelling at him that I was going to report him to the police. He laughed, swiftly pulled up his trousers, got off at the next stop and ran up the platform.In 2020, there were no signs in Tube carriages about what constitutes as sexual harassment – nor were there enough posters up about how to contact the British Transport Police. Instead, I had to Google the number when my service returned, before I eventually could report the crime. I also notified the station staff at my final destination – not that they were much help.And yet, despite my coherent timeline, thorough description of the perpetrator, photographic evidence and CCTV footage, they never caught him.Read More“This will require sustained leadership and robust accountability across government, alongside urgent action to fix the chronic underfunding of specialist services. Without this, women and girls will continue to pay the price.”The officer working my case simply called me to tell me they’d be closing the investigation, stating: “We have him on the system now, so we’ll be able to catch him if he does anything else.” He reassured me that this man could be picked up for shoplifting or other offences, but, in the wake of Sarah Everard’s murder (it had dragged on for months, well into the new year), I was all too aware that he would likely go on to commit another, sexual crime – perhaps one even more heinous. It made me sick.My experience is not unique, though. And although London Mayor, Sadiq Khan, has taken certain measures to increase women’s safety on public transport, sexually-motivated crimes are at an overwhelming high right now – with 595 sexual offences being reported across all Tube lines in 2024-25, the most since 2019-20 when there were 776 reports.
