For Men, #MeToo Still Means Listening

Do you remember when expressions of #MeToo spread on Facebook like wildfire?

It suddenly became obvious, at least to those who didn’t already know it, likely, say, men (such as myself), how pervasive experiences of sexual harassment and abuse are.

From catcalling on the streets to physical harm, I remember being taken aback at just how many women in my life, from friends to Facebook acquaintances, have endured some type of unwanted, inappropriate and in some cases illegal form of harassment or abuse.

I recently had a similarly jarring experience after reading this piece from The Cut, which explored experiences not of sexual harassment but the aftermath of making an accusation of abuse.

What happened to those who told their stories? Was it worth it? What were the consequences? There is also this accompanying piece of 25 people, mostly women, across decades and types of experiences, telling their individual stories of what happened after speaking up.

These pieces are difficult reads — but I would encourage men especially to read them.

I don’t think our collective listening and learning phase is over. It might never be.

I think we still need to hear women’s stories. What makes those articles so damning (nee, depressing) is how little our society does in response to women’s stories of abuse and harassment.

If only there was no response, that would be bad enough. Instead, women are castigated for speaking out, and ridiculed and punished, and they became the ones who pay the price simply for speaking the truth.

When I read the stories of women I knew on Facebook, it felt like a personal failure, of stories of individual men, myself included, engaging in a range of inappropriate behavior. It made me question my own actions.

What was different in reading the 25 testimonies in the piece by The Cut is that it represented not individual failures, but systemic failures.

Yes, we see individuals behaving badly, both from perpetrators of abuse to the inaction of those who were supposed to do something about it.

But from the military to academia, from government to Wall Street, from entertainment to law, all these institutions had procedures in place (especially in more recent times) — and all failed miserably in responding appropriately.

Most of the women faced repercussions for speaking up — and forcing those responsible for dealing with reprehensible behavior to do their jobs.

Fast forward to the harsh, cold reality that human resources departments at our companies, organizations and institutions don’t serve individuals, despite the cheery presentations about workplace culture, but rather aim to protect the institutions they serve.

No one wants a law suit against the company or its leaders. There are reputations to protect, shareholder value to consider, power structures to maintain.

The system support itself, not the individuals who are part of it. While there may be reprimands or talkings to, there won’t be the repercussions or punishment that sexist, misogynist and possibly illegal behavior warrants and deserves.

Perhaps we all kind of know this and feel this. Perhaps this is part of what is meant when we’re told people don’t trust or believe in our institutions anymore.

And perhaps our institutions’ collective inability do deal with sexual harrassment is part of the reason why.

Individuals can work to improve themselves. I’ve spent considerable energy and time trying to become a better man and person.

But that can feel underwhelming and inconsequential if the systems larger than us are going to look at the changes we need in our society and stand in the way — and worse, continue to allow sexual harassment in the workplace, and worse than that, punish those who speak up.

I don’t know the answer to fixing the culture in the military, or at universities, or in Hollywood.

Returning to the 25 stories in the piece by The Cut, and asking myself the question that the article itself poses (was it worth it?) it seems to me that in most cases it was not.

The personal cost paid by the women who told their stories was astronomically high and painful. While there may be satisfaction in taking on the system, in helping to move the ball forward for the betterment of society, it seems an awful lot to ask of victims of sexual harassment to be the ones to sacrifice to make us better.

Looked at as a whole, their stories show an amazing absence of compassion for what they experienced, first from their abusers, and then next from the institutions around them.

Why is there no compassion for these victims? Why is there even any confusion on using the label of victim?

It’s as if we aren’t allowing those who suffered abuses to self-identify, to claim themselves as victims.

Is it something we as a society are denying women specifically? Or is it our collective shrugging of the shoulders on matters pertaining to sexual behavior, because it’s, you know, complicated?

Is it just too uncomfortable for us to face the problem, the existence of it, the persistence of it, its prevalence, its being perpetrated by those in authority?

Just like I can’t understand or change the nature of large institutions, I also can’t fully understand or change the way our society talks, thinks about and reacts to sex.

I think our attitudes towards sex are immature and unhealthy. Yet it’s beyond my ability to convince our society to value and implement stronger boundaries when it comes to sexual talk and behavior, and more forceful repercussions for those who violate those boundaries.

At the same time, I don’t want to give a pass to our institutions, systems that we have created and ostensibly serve a greater purpose that ultimately should benefit our society.

The consequences of apathy and/or a sense of powerlessness at the failures of our institutions are enormous. We must, from somewhere, somehow, avoid thinking it’s impossible or too much to enact change at systemic levels.

In our current political climate, as polarized as we are, our inability to stop the madness is absolutely overwhelming, and frustrating and depressing.

But we can’t quit.

And I think the first step is identifying the problem. Listening to individuals. Believing their stories. And then, in our day to day to lives, in whatever institutions or systems we contribute to or can influence, attempting to be better, and enacting change from within.

What else is there?

It seems horrific to me that there are so many #MeToo stories. That women have lived through and continue to endure boorish behavior, even now. And that speaking up about it, just like we’ve all been taught to do, encouraged to do, supposedly because this is exactly what will change things, has made things worse for those who did speak up.

So what can you do about it? What can I do about it? It starts with listening to these stories, and sharing them.

We all know, however, that is not enough. It feels lame and weak — certainly we, as a society, know these stories by now?

But I don’t think we do. I don’t think we appreciate, even now, how systemic these problems are, both literally and metaphorically.

When systemic change seems insurmountable, it can make personal change seem pointless and insignificant.

We see this in other parts of our lives. I try to avoid using plastic and bring my own container when I get coffee and smoothies. Does it matter? Turtles and whales are still showing up on shore, choked to death on plastic bags.

It makes me feel like I’m doing something, but it’s not enough.

But it starts with awareness, it starts, and keeps going, because of caring. And that’s my ask. Read those stories. Feel the pain and empathize.

I think being a better man means knowing what the world is like, for everybody.

What the women in those stories endured is shameful. That they’ve paid such a significant cost (psychologically, mentally, professionally and financially) is unacceptable.

We have a long road of accountability and change left ahead of us. Here’s hoping we’ve started along the right path.