Harvey Weinstein. Louis C.K. Bill O’Reilly. Kevin Spacey. Roy Moore. Donald Trump. Bill Clinton. Roger Ailes. Bill Cosby. Al Franken.
A month ago, most of us wouldn’t have been able to say what these men have in common, besides the fact that they were (or are) in some way powerful. Today, we can hardly help but know that all of them have, in some way, been accused of using their power to take, or try to take, advantage of others.
Some of these men are accused of rape. Others are accused of groping women (and in some cases, men) without their consent, masturbating in front of them, pursuing 14-year olds (which also happens to be pedophilia) or trying to coerce others into sexual acts through a combination of threats, guilt and obligation.
These are ugly things to say. The reality is an uglier thing to live.
For the past few weeks, women on social media have been writing “#metoo” to indicate that they, too, have suffered an act of sexual violence or harassment. Sometimes they’ll tell stories of what has happened to them; sometimes they’ll just leave it at #metoo. The number of women participating in the movement is staggering.
Many have been silent about what they’ve gone through until this particular point in our cultural zeitgeist; some are still silent about it.
Why?
Perhaps their memories are painful or uncomfortable. Perhaps because women have to worry people won’t believe them. Perhaps because they’ve assured themselves that it wasn’t really that bad. Perhaps because, due to one of the ugliest aspects of our culture, women have to worry about being blamed for what has happened to them.
When they come forward about acts of sexual harassment or violence, their choices are questioned in a way that other victims’ decisions never are.
Can you imagine anyone implying a carjacking was the fault of the car’s owner? Can you imagine anyone telling the victim of a robbery that it was their fault for “flaunting” their Rolex? Can you imagine the shame and confusion a woman must feel when someone she trusts, admires or believes she knows does something like what the men we listed are accused of doing?
The way Americans talk about sexual violence is broken, as many who write about sexual assault and harassment have been saying for years. Ask the average woman what she does on a regular basis to minimize her chances of experiencing sexual violence, and you’ll get a long list. She might not walk alone at night. If she does, she’ll likely walk with her keys pointing through her fingers. She’ll consider carrying pepper spray or a firearm. The list goes on.
Ask the average man what he does on a regular basis to keep from being the victim of sexual violence, and you’re more likely to hear crickets.
(That’s not to say that men are not victims of sexual violence. They certainly can be.)
We shouldn’t put up with abusers in any sphere of our lives — just as we wouldn’t put up with a person, say, stabbing someone. And we certainly shouldn’t reward abusers with political office, promotions or an increase of the power they use to abuse others.
The onus is on men not to commit acts of sexual violence or harassment, and it’s on all of us not to put up with or perpetuate bogus reasoning and cultural beliefs that blame victims for violence or harassment perpetrated against them. It’s on all of us to propagate an atmosphere of respect, regardless of one’s gender.
