Me, Too

Yesterday, actress Alyssa Milano tweeted that all women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted should reply with the words “Me, too” as a way to show the magnitude of the problem, and the results have been effective. My Facebook and Twitter feeds are full of “Me, too,” sometimes including stories, sometimes including additional commentary about the problem, sometimes just those two simple words. It feels trite to say it’s a bummer that so many women have been physically or emotionally abused — or both — in the workplace, on the streets, in social situations, at school, at home… I started to write my own “Me, too” post on Facebook but froze up. I didn’t want to do it, even though I had every right to do so. I guess I felt afraid to do it, even in the solidarity of so many other women I know, love, respect, and support. I stopped myself from doing it because I had read some of these women’s stories — especially the heartbreaking stories of garish and dehumanizing physical assault — and I thought, “Nothing that bad ever happened to me. Who am I to join this chorus of ‘Me, too’?”

Hi. My name is Sarah and I have been sexually harassed and assaulted. I have been made to feel uncomfortable by men in both public and private spaces. I have had men make physical advances on me that I did not want. And while that never, in my case, lead to rape, I have had men grab my breasts to a chorus of cheers from the other men in the room — on more than one occasion. I have had a man stick his hands down my pants straight into my underwear in the middle of a casual conversation. I have had a man pull out his penis to show me and my female friends while we’re minding our own business at a bar. I have had a man try to forcibly remove my clothing while pressuring me to have sex with him. I have had that same man do it to me more than once. I have had that same man lie to other men (and women) about my behavior in those instances, making it sound like I was the aggressor to shield his “rejection,” and having those men (and women) laugh at me behind my back.

I guess I am “lucky” that the physicality of this stopped just shy of actual penetration.

Many women are not as “lucky.”

I don’t know what to say about any of this. It’s so “part of our culture” that I don’t always even notice when it happens anymore. But I have noticed that my radar is on when it comes to unwanted behavior and I will stand in the way of anyone trying to make undesired advances.

A few months ago, we were having a special Buti Yoga workshop at the studio I manage — my friend Shira was leading this tribal dance/yoga fusion class — and a man off the street just walked in the room, interrupting the action, telling us to stop what we were doing. I had to get off my mat and ask the man to leave and when he wouldn’t back up, I had to put my hand literally on his person to make him exit the studio. He stared at me, confused, muttering something about wanting to get his girlfriend to come to a class, and I had to use all of my mental energy to make him turn around and leave from whence he came. Back in the class, Shira joked that we had “conjured a man” with all of our feminine energy and we laughed. But I also seethed with rage that this man had seen fit to walk through two different barriers to barge into our class, tell us what we were doing was somehow wrong, and that simple verbal requests to get him to leave were insufficient — that I had to put a hand on him in order for him to take me seriously that he had to go.

That’s one small example of male privilege, male belief that no barrier is in place for him, that a room full of women should stop what they’re doing to satisfy his inquiries.

This kind of thing happens all the time.

I mean, luckily, not at the yoga studio — most people there are pretty respectful. But as a more national or global case study, it’s just one tick mark on a wall of many.

A great deal of attention is being paid to Harvey Weinstein right now, just as it was recently to Bill Cosby, and a host of other powerful men in show business, including, let’s not forget, the man “we” elected as President of the United States. Women are taught repeatedly that men, especially powerful men, are going to get away with their disgusting behaviors, that causing a stir about it will only soil their own name as the Man In Charge crushes their careers and their reputations with lies or rationalizations. Women, by nature, are pleasers — we’re social beings who want to be accepted — and so this threat is ominous and overwhelming and so we remain silent. Boys being boys, amiright?

When my breasts were grabbed, I said nothing, I laughed it off. When those hands made firm contact with the actual flesh of my buttocks, I said nothing and backed out of the room. When that penis came on display, my friends and I just looked away. When my (former) best friend tried to force me into a sexual situation with him and I firmly said no, the last thing I thought I’d have to do was deal with all the lies he told about me to our mutual friends — lies that I had initiated his actions, lies that they believed, no questions asked to me.

The predatory nature of men astounds me.

The jovial camaraderie men share in the face of such behavior astounds me, too.

Nothing in my life has convinced me there’s any reason we should believe this will change.

And that’s not to condemn all men, of course. I know incredible men who are great partners to their wives or girlfriends (or boyfriends or husbands), great fathers to their children, great friends and co-workers and community members.

But for all of us, there has to be a better way to stop rewarding “conquests” — stop normalizing behavior that hasn’t been welcomed. To make consent the operative word.

Today it’s Harvey Weinstein. Tomorrow it’ll be someone else. And that’s a tragedy, this perpetuating cycle of abuse. I know you’re all sick of it.

You know what? Me, too.

Originally posted on October 16, 2017. Details about the 2017 blog available at wolfstarpress.com.