The #metoo hashtag is different. That lit a fire under me to actually get on here to say something. And, be forewarned, I have a lot to say.
At first, I toyed with the idea of just letting the #metoo thing go by. I thought I could scroll through my Facebook stream liking or loving and supporting other people's posts and stay on the periphery.
Until I saw how many of my female friends and family members posted it.
Until I saw how many of my former students posted it.
Until I saw other people, like me, who also felt like their experiences "weren't that bad" or "weren't that important" thinking they shouldn't bother to post and did anyway.
Until I saw other people talk about how this needs to stop, no matter how "minor" the sexual harassment they experienced was.
Because it needs to stop.
I don't want this to be a part of my culture anymore. I don't want my students to experience it anymore, no matter how "minor." I don't want my son to grow up in a world where he has to stand up for his female friends and classmates and coworkers in the face of sexual harassment. I don't want to contribute to perpetuating that a sexist culture is the norm simply by not speaking up.
So....#metoo.
Assault has never really been on the list, but harassment definitely has. Cat-calling, obviously, because you can't escape that as a woman. Being a 6'1" target doesn't help things, which is ironic considering how frequently the phrase "shawty" has been used in the catcalls themselves. (Although, apparently, it does prevent me from being a target for rape and assault because it would "make too much of a scene." That's according to my high school self-defense instructor.)
There was the time when I was celebrating my birthday at an amusement park with friends - I think I was 13 - and the much older teenager in line behind me decided to grab my butt.
There was the time when my eleven-year-old friend and I were hanging out with some boys of roughly the same age at a water park and they thought pressing their crotches to our back ends would be a good idea. For them, maybe.
There was the time I was sitting with my husband before we were married at a restaurant and the man a few tables over - also on a date - chose to make lewd gestures in my direction when his date and mine weren't looking. Luckily, we were done eating and I asked to leave so as not to make a scene. I told my husband (fiancee at the time), much later, which was good, because he probably would have started an argument.
There was the time, when I was nineteen, that I was working as a hostess at a chain restaurant and was propositioned nearly every day by men all north of 40. My favorite was the guy in his fifties who gave me his card and offered a free helicopter-flying lesson. Thanks, but no thanks.
There was the time in college that my friends and I went to Mardi Gras and, as per the tourist culture there, I was repeatedly asked to flash men for beads. Fed up, I yelled, "Hell, no" at one of them and got some beads from the woman on the balcony above him as a reward.
There was the time, a few weeks ago, when Billy and I ran into male seniors we've both taught near a local movie theater that they all went out of their way to say hello to "Dr. P." but neglected to acknowledge my presence. Billy, not willing to let them leave our school without learning the importance of respecting the women in their lives, or women in general, schooled them on how inappropriate their reactions were.
There was the time, a few weeks ago, when Billy and I ran into male seniors we've both taught near a local movie theater that they all went out of their way to say hello to "Dr. P." but neglected to acknowledge my presence. Billy, not willing to let them leave our school without learning the importance of respecting the women in their lives, or women in general, schooled them on how inappropriate their reactions were.
None of these overt moments of harassment, though, compares to two situations I've experienced that involve the cultural tendency, in general, of treating women as being inferior to men. Because it is the two moments that I'm about to describe to you that made me feel like a lesser person. You see, in the previous examples I provided, I never felt powerless. I never questioned my worth. I moved on and didn't really give them a second thought. These two shook me to my core.
One all comes down to a simple off-handed comment. I was in grad school at the time, but working as an admin for a local publisher, who my husband has nicknamed "Professor Tiddly Winks," who owned a series of storefronts. I worked most directly with the woman who ran the storefronts - a cafe, gallery, art lesson studio, and bookshop - but he would come in from time to time. I figured I might be able to get a job learning editing from him on the side, but that never transpired. My husband, however, did manage to grab a free-lancing job editing a book for the company. I was turning in his edits one day and Tiddly Winks started up a conversation about my goals after grad school. At the time, I thought I had wanted to continue on to the Ph.D. and we talked about what types of schools I would prefer to work at.
"But, of course, if it's a spousal hire, you'll end up having to move where your husband decides to go, so it doesn't really matter."
Yep. He said it. To my face. Like it was nothing. I should note that, at this point, Billy had only finished his master's degree and had not yet started applying for Ph.D. programs. But, according to this guy, we would have to go wherever Billy got us a job. And I wouldn't matter. And he was right. Much of academia is structured that way. It doesn't mean the rest of us have to continue to buy into that mindset anymore, though.
Oh, and, for the record, both Billy and I earned our current jobs on our own, but we came onto the school's radar because of my teaching experience, not Billy's Ph.D. (which he didn't have yet). Take that, Professor Tiddly Winks.
I'm still getting over the other one that also occurred during grad school. You see, my high school English teacher had an affair with a student several years after I had graduated. This was a man who I not only idolized but who also had encouraged me to pursue my English degree because of all the support and effusive compliments - and challenges - he had provided to make me a better writer. I was shocked, hurt, and appalled. And I no longer trusted my instincts about people. I had modeled much of my now successful teaching style on his! Though I wrote a letter to the editor in support of the school during this awful time, I didn't know what I thought about the whole thing. Was it all a lie? Did he just compliment me because that's what he did with all his students? The weird thing is that I even found out he had a "type." I didn't fit the mold, so maybe his reassurances were genuine and not based on some perverted sexual attraction to me? I kept trying to justify all of it somehow.
I eventually ended up having his same job at my alma mater.
That's when the dreams started. For some reason, in them, he was still allowed to be at the school and his sole purpose there was to taunt me at how I would never be as good at his job as he was. This statement was usually followed by his hearty laughter, at which point I would wake up. Every time I was stressed or questioning my methods or abilities, he would pop into my nightmares again. Slowly, with a few more years of experience and a few more successful graduates under my belt, he receded into the background until, during one stressful portion of the semester, he showed up again to haunt my dreams.
"You'll never be as good of a teacher as I was."
And I punched him right in the jaw. I haven't had the dream since. Something else helped. As part of taking his former job, I had access to his files. I read my college letter of recommendation from him. It's good. It's damn good. And so am I. And even with the fog of his relationship with a student, and possibly others, tainting everything, it doesn't change my abilities. I keep that letter as a talisman to remind myself to be the person I always thought I had the capability of being.
And that means I need to be a role-model for my students. I need to make sure that this type of thing doesn't happen to them. I need to talk about it and write about it and speak up about it so that we no longer normalize this sexist treatment, harassment, and, yes, assault on the women and men in our society who are having their power taken away from them by people who don't deserve to be in power.
So, yes, #metoo.
