Me, Too, But…

The current firestorm of sexual abuse and assault accusations flowing out of the celebrity world is both shocking and alarming. No one should have to submit to the kind of behavior being detailed to pursue careers in the arts or any other field. Actors, actresses, dancers and models are going public with their ordeals, and thousands of women from other walks of life are owning up to past horrors with their “me, too” declarations.

The focus on celebrity victims is better than no discussion, and yet I wonder if it draws enough attention to the plight of ordinary victims who can’t gain financial settlements, and must find the courage to press criminal charges to seek any justice at all. I admire Ashley Judd most, I think—because I heard her speaking out first. I understand the fears of the hundreds victimized by Weinstein and others—but waiting all this time without pressing charges enabled the abhorrent behavior for decades. As repugnant as speaking out is, many of those who have just come forward were well established some time ago and unlikely to have been intimidated by the aggressors of their pasts.

Ironically, some of the original appeal of Hollywood, however wrong-headed, was the powerful director, actor or producer with his womanizing ways falling in love with an up and coming young actress from Ourtown. Of course, the womanizing was not assault, in the myths, and the women involved could say ‘no.’ The disparity between romanticized and real Hollywood (as a symbol of the entertainment industry in general) should probably not have come as such a shock to so many. Nor should the truth be so sordid.

Women in Hollywood and other celebrity venues now have power they didn’t before, and are speaking out en masse. The power to assault and intimidate will be eroded by the honesty, and new generations of those involved in any aspect of entertainment will be better shielded from abuse. But—what about the others?

What about Ourtown?

What about the children, the college students, the housewives, the women of cultures that afford no rights to women? Who speaks out for them? As Hollywood moves away from the tolerance of abuse, will that new reality begin to encompass all those who suffer sexual abuse and harassment?

#Me, too. My father was a child predator—but if the terminology existed back then, I didn’t know it. Others knew the experience, if not what to call it. His other victims. My mother, at least eventually. The doctor and nurse who walked into my hospital room on separate occasions and found him all over me—though I was there receiving blood transfusions from the damage he’d already done. Where were the defenses then?

Much has changed, and nothing has. Teachers receive training on how to spot child sexual abuse every year—yet we read of teachers who actually inflict it, and news reports are full of cases no one noticed and stopped—speaking only of children. College students, housewives, store clerks—many are victimized. Many still are afraid to speak out.

As the wave of ‘me, too’ swept out into the public realm these last several days, one concern it raised for me is—how many ‘regular’ women (and men) will just tune everything out? Maybe they’ll share the hashtag, but will they find the courage to leave an abusive partner? Will they dress differently if an employer tells them only their appearance has kept them from earning more, or will they confront his behavior? Will they face the nightmare of a child predator in the family by covering for the villain, or will they defend the victims? Can Hollywood’s new openness give those without the power of celebrity the confidence to fight their own battles?

Fear truly does cripple. This is the second or third week I meant to say, “Me, too.” But the fear is still there. I’ve spoken to some of my close friends about the abuse over the years. My children know; my husband knew. I wrote about it, when I could write as someone else, as just a character in a story. As a poem that might or might not have been autobiographical. But I didn’t own it as reality; it was just a part of me, the writer. The intimidation, the claims of my abuser that I was to blame, that others would suffer if I spoke out, terrified me, even all these years later. The fear didn’t go with his death, and fear being what it is, I’m not sure I’ll publish this even now. But…me, too.