#Metoo-ocracy and the Democratization of Social Justice

This past fall, as one after another celebrity was accused of sexual misconduct, colleagues, friends—even my parents—“asked” what I had to say about “all the sexual bullying.” Surely they knew that as a woman, one who writes about harassment, what I should and should not say was relatively foreordained.
So, were they asking whether I had some new wrinkle to add to the conversation, or were they merely looking to verify that sexual improprieties were of tsunami proportions?

It seemed to me that an awful lot was being said, and it was our job to listen. To bear witness. I might furrow my brow as the words harassment and assault became increasingly interchangeable, even while smiling to see Jennie Hill’s piece “What if Kevin Spacey’s Accuser had Been a Woman?” (Yes indeed, what if? It took 35 women to make the cover of New York Magazine when Bill Cosby was accused. Would it have taken 35 men? Or would one male accuser have been enough?)

Lupita Nyong’o’s moving NYTimes Op-Ed piece inspired me in a different way.

What I am most interested in now is combating the shame we go through that keeps us isolated and allows for harm to continue to be done…

“…the shame we go through…” Was it the “go through” that, when linked to “shame,” called to mind images of women war-time collaborators, whose heads were shorn before they were made to literally walk the walk of shame, passing through lines of jeering women? Perhaps. But once I begin thinking about “collaborators,” I began to wonder about the victims who might be missing from the conversation—the one’s for whom “#metoo” meant “I closed my eyes and made my mind go blank.”

It is safe to say that the vast majority of women (and men) “chose”—and continue to “choose”—to collude out of necessity. And, while #metoo represents those who rejected sexual advances as well as those who tolerated uncomfortable situations and unwanted touching, we must consider what this movement may represent to those who felt coerced into behaviors they would not have freely chosen—those who may even see themselves as ‘collaborators.’

With so many women coming forward with stories of resistance, an implicit comparison (“I didn’t say ‘no’—but they somehow managed to”) is inevitable.
Is it our place to encourage these women to speak out? Would speaking out help assuage the demoralization they quietly nurse, or would it victimize them in new ways? Create new narratives—ones they would still not control (narratives, for example, rooted in self-recrimination: I wasn’t strong enough to stand up to exploitation, or smart enough’to know how to report. Or, insidious narratives that foster personal insecurities and social fear: they will say I am just an attention-seeking troublemaker.)

Time’s Up looks to—among other things—counter narratives of fear and blame.
It takes #metoo to a new level, anchoring outcry with (funded) actionable alternatives. It begins the process of writing new stories, ones that will change culture by giving “subordinates” greater safety/control over their workday narratives.

Taking this next step is critical. #metoo raised awareness (sociologists would call it a “claims-making activity” aimed at redefining “objective conditions” as “social problems”). Importantly, this claims-making activity was/is rooted in social media, allowing all of us to add our voice, and swell the chorus. But without further actionable steps, #metoo presents as (and threatens to deteriorate into) a cyber-mobbing; a movement wrecking havoc without leaving the promise of positive change in its wake.

Time’s Up interrupts this trajectory by creating clear individual and social paths for redressing harassment (and cultural complicity). In this, it takes on the issue of class that the social media obscures, but which ‘choice’ is often linked to. #metoo has—like any viral outrage—given us the appearance of overcoming class. It represents the democratization of social justice. Everyone had/has equal ability to name and shame predators, and in so doing to feel bonded with every other woman—black or white, rich or poor—raising their voice around similar experiences.

Despite this—or perhaps because of it—#metoo quickly became more about demonstrating numbers, a runaway train with no clear destination save bonding (and the ousting of a handful of high-profile predators). Time’s Up stepped in to harness this run-away energy; to take the next steps toward healing the shame by, among other things, helping to fund individual lawsuits, which will help lead to cultural change.

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Even so, change may be harder than any of us anticipate. Case in point: Randi Zuckerberg’s recent in-flight experiences. Zuckerberg was harassed on an Alaskan Airlines flight, and her complaints to flight attendants were brushed aside. Her treatment—which occurred in the midst of this powerful cultural outcry—certainly suggests that it continues to be ‘business as usual’ for the rest of us (even white women sitting in first class). It was just bad luck for Alaska airlines that that first class passenger was the sister of an icon—she had name recognition—and was able to have her voice heard.

Not only is it telling that this incident occurred in the midst of such cultural furor, but that it wasn’t #metoo that allowed Zuckerberg’s story to be heard. The promise of any #'ed cause is that it will fuel a tsunami, but in so doing, individual stories become caught up in the movement of the wave. Those with few twitter followers—specifically, those who felt now was the time to bravely share their stories—often found themselves swept up in the undertow of the tsunami and tumbled under. Did disclosure allow for desperately-needed validations, or was the aftermath (of sharing their stories) chaotic and anti-climactic, albeit life-changing?

These considerations led me back to Jon Ronson’s insights on public shaming.
Was #metoo more about “thousands of people [feeling] compelled to demonstrate to themselves and each other that they care about people [who experienced/suffered sexual improprieties]” than about the power/pain of each and every story?
Does the fact that the whole is bigger than the sum of the parts (even star-power parts) cause us to run roughshod over narratives, not pausing long enough to bear witness?

And if so, does the end justify the means? Peter Bradshaw wrote that “Twitter shaming allows people who complacently think of themselves as basically nice to indulge in the dark thrill of bullying—in a righteous cause." Before becoming indignant and looking for my twitter account in order to respond to your feeling of outrage reading this, stop, really stop, and consider the responses made to Matt Damon or Catherine Deneuvre—responses which did nothing short of denying them a voice. Do we want to be the movement that disallows the words of those who would caution against a backlash (even while we note that their points/examples flirt with collusion?)

Should #metoo actively foster an environment in which it is merely de rigueur to make a difference by trammeling over nuances? Merely de rigueur to dismiss the word "spectrum" as mansplain? These are, in fact, the people not invited to the table, not allowed to speak, shamed into silence because their voices are believed to threaten the cause (read: leave open the door for transgression). Are anger and mobbing really our best response to those who advise that we are “throwing the baby out with the bathwater?” Can we really afford to run roughshod over nuanced circumstance in the name of cohesion and unity?

#metoo loses sight of individual stories in the name of a greater cause, a fact that limits its capacities, and makes clear that more than #-bonding is needed. While we want unity of purpose—something given us by #metoo—we must not trade individual experiences for a ‘singular voice’ (one supported by ‘collective memories’—a danger few are touching on) in order to attain this. To do so would do would again violate victims, eliding experience in the name of consensus and solidarity (and ‘least-common-denominator’ re-narrations).

Can we manage to heal both victims and culture at the same time—and if so, how to negotiate the double edge on the sword of social media?

Learning may be the biggest promise represented by Time’s Up.
In learning to listen in order to act, we will learn the language of silence surrounding collusion, the perils of reactive political correctness, and how best to begin to heal victims and culture, one abuse of power at a time.