The 2013 Clery Report, which records crimes that have occurred on or around the Washington University campus, indicated a 150-percent increase in reported forcible sex offenses in the past year. This, in addition to the “carry the weight” movement spurred by Columbia University student Emma Sulkowicz, has contributed to the whirlwind of recent attention on sexual assault on college campuses along with street harassment.

The most popular video dealing with the latter follows a woman around New York City for 10 hours, recording the catcalls she receives on the way. “The Daily Show” correspondent Jessica Williams also did a segment called “Jessica’s Feminized Atmosphere” where she exposes the ridiculous measures women take to keep from garnering unwelcome attention.

However, not everyone understands the severity of street harassment. Michael Che of “Saturday Night Live”—and recently of “The Daily Show”—was under fire recently for making a joke about catcalling on his social media pages. He compared receiving catcalls to having random fans throw compliments at him while he’s walking down the street. He later apologized for the comment, claiming that he was only trying to make a joke about an uncomfortable topic.

The issue with Che’s joke is that it reflects a seemingly common sentiment among some men—that street harassment isn’t a big deal. After all, what’s wrong with receiving compliments from random strangers?

The problem lies with the fact that those who don’t experience them firsthand don’t understand how these “compliments” are uncomfortably violating. For the record, “compliments” is a loose term for what are better described as flat-out sexual obscenities given without invitation that employ language that can’t be printed in this paper. And honestly, men don’t really experience that, ever.

This isn’t supposed to be an estrogen-fueled, anti-male rampage that blames men for the issues women face. Rather, it’s meant to help guys understand that street harassment is a big deal. It’s more than a simple compliment—it is an unsolicited, salacious opinion that implies that men are entitled to objectify women openly, resulting in the subject feeling degraded and insecure.

Catcalling has united all women in the most disturbing of ways: it has ingrained the fear of it in their minds, permeating their everyday existence in ways that guys frankly don’t have to think about.

Imagine this scenario: it’s a summer day and you’re getting dressed for work. You have to walk to work. You look at your wardrobe and pull out a cotton V-neck shirt. Looking at it, you decide that it’s too low-cut, and you put it back. You are very conscious of the fact that on this walk guys in cars or on the street are probably going to shout their opinions freely about your legs or your breasts or your butt. You choose another outfit, hoping that it’ll go unnoticed.

Still, on your way to work, you get honked at three times, and a few too many people address you as some variant of girl, honey, mami or boo. You stare furiously at the ground every time, pretending that you’re oblivious to the language being hurled at you. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn those shorts; maybe next time, you should forgo your favorite lipstick—it might cause men to spew lascivious obscenities at you.

Perhaps tomorrow, you should just opt for a potato sack. While you’re at it, put a bag over your head to minimize male attraction. After all, you must be the one provoking them to say inappropriate things, so shame on you, right? You’re cringing as you finally get to work, wondering if you should have known better—if you deserved it.

The worst part is that street harassment can happen anywhere. You could be on your college campus, in a city, in another country or even in your own neighborhood. The damage isn’t physical, but that doesn’t diminish the psychological terror it creates; even though catcallers don’t literally touch anyone, they still manage to make their victims feel both dirty and self-conscious.

No one is entitled to make someone feel violated like that, regardless of gender. There are plenty of ways to express feelings that don’t involve leering out of a car window and commenting on someone’s body parts (get a diary, maybe?). I mean, really, has catcalling ever worked? Has anyone seriously responded to “Hey babe, nice rack!” with an enthusiastic wave and a chirpy “Thanks! Let’s fornicate!” I shouldn’t make assumptions, but I’m going to go ahead and say, well, no.