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Like many women, I know Christine Blasey Ford's story all too well Like many women, I know Christine Blasey Ford's story all too well
(about 11 hours later)
The texts came almost simultaneously from two women in my life: one a friend in her 30s, the other a relative in her 70s. Both said almost the same thing. They were watching Dr Christine Blasey Ford testify before the US senate, and they were crying. The texts came almost simultaneously from two women in my life: one a friend in her 30s, the other a relative in her 70s. Both said almost the same thing. They were watching Dr Christine Blasey Ford testify before the US Senate, and they were crying.
We were all Dr Ford on Thursday. A staggering 81% of American women have experienced sexual harassment. And 20% of American women have been raped. Millions of others have experienced something between the two: assaults that we tried to find something to be grateful about, for though they were cruel and demeaning and painful and changed us forever, well– they could have been worse. Over the last week or so, since Ford’s claims first emerged, we’ve remembered them more than usual. We were all Dr Ford on Thursday. A staggering 81% of American women have experienced sexual harassment. And 20% of American women have been raped. Millions of others have experienced something between the two: assaults that we tried to find something to be grateful about, for though they were cruel and demeaning and painful and changed us forever, well – they could have been worse. Over the last week or so, since Ford’s claims first emerged, we’ve remembered them more than usual.
Ford reminded us of all the times we chose not to tell anyone what happened because we were ashamed. Because we were embarrassed, or felt we were to blame. Because given the choice between healing our own trauma and reliving it again and again in front of people who were looking for reasons to call us liars: well, very often we chose not to seek justice, and we recognized that, too, in Ford. Ford reminded us of all the times we chose not to tell anyone what happened because we were ashamed. Because we were embarrassed, or felt we were to blame. Because given the choice between healing our own trauma and reliving it again and again in front of people who were looking for reasons to call us liars, well, very often we chose not to seek justice, and we recognized that, too, in Ford.
In the days leading up to the hearing, it was impossible not to think about the things we’ve reported, and the things that we haven’t. Like Ford, I learned not to report sexual harassment in high school, in the late 90s, when a classmate groped me and the friend I confided in told me I must be mistaken: my molester had a really hot girlfriend. I tried to keep a closer eye on the boy’s hands.In the days leading up to the hearing, it was impossible not to think about the things we’ve reported, and the things that we haven’t. Like Ford, I learned not to report sexual harassment in high school, in the late 90s, when a classmate groped me and the friend I confided in told me I must be mistaken: my molester had a really hot girlfriend. I tried to keep a closer eye on the boy’s hands.
I learned not to report when I went to college and a man threw me down on the street on my way to lunch and called me a whore. No one apprehended him, and when the campus security officer took me to the local police station, the cop didn’t write down my phone number until I asked him to. Then he wrote it on the napkin he was using to eat his sandwich. I saw the man who’d attacked me again, on the same street. I crossed the road. I thought: it could have been worse.I learned not to report when I went to college and a man threw me down on the street on my way to lunch and called me a whore. No one apprehended him, and when the campus security officer took me to the local police station, the cop didn’t write down my phone number until I asked him to. Then he wrote it on the napkin he was using to eat his sandwich. I saw the man who’d attacked me again, on the same street. I crossed the road. I thought: it could have been worse.
After I graduated, I didn’t tell anyone when I came home from my job waiting tables with bruises in the shape of the hands of strange men; I needed the work. I wore thicker jeans. When my boss groped me, I walked out of the job but didn’t talk to his manager. When a group of men pulled up in a van and lunged for me when I was typing in the key code at the gate to my apartment building, I counted myself lucky that I made it inside before they caught me. I slammed the gate in their faces and started looking for a new apartment. I’d learned; I did not call the police.After I graduated, I didn’t tell anyone when I came home from my job waiting tables with bruises in the shape of the hands of strange men; I needed the work. I wore thicker jeans. When my boss groped me, I walked out of the job but didn’t talk to his manager. When a group of men pulled up in a van and lunged for me when I was typing in the key code at the gate to my apartment building, I counted myself lucky that I made it inside before they caught me. I slammed the gate in their faces and started looking for a new apartment. I’d learned; I did not call the police.
My list of silences could go on, along with the lists of adjustments: the changes that I made because I believed I could not expect better. Easier to know you can exit a room than to seek justice. So could the lists of so many other women. How long is a piece of string? When is it worth blowing up your life in the hope – only the vague one – that you’ll stop an abuser from harming someone else. My list of silences could go on, along with the lists of adjustments: the changes that I made because I believed I could not expect better. Easier to know you can exit a room than to seek justice. So could the lists’ worth of other women. How long is a piece of string? When is it worth blowing up your life in the hope – only the vague one – that you’ll stop an abuser from harming someone else?
We know that it would have been easier for Ford to choose to cope the way she’s been doing for 36 years, because we know how high the price is for speaking out. We know that’s why we’ve stayed silent. And we know that’s why we wept at her testimony: because we knew she was doing something not for herself. She’d asked herself what she could do for her country. Few of us felt certain that we could be so brave.We know that it would have been easier for Ford to choose to cope the way she’s been doing for 36 years, because we know how high the price is for speaking out. We know that’s why we’ve stayed silent. And we know that’s why we wept at her testimony: because we knew she was doing something not for herself. She’d asked herself what she could do for her country. Few of us felt certain that we could be so brave.
Jean Hannah Edelstein is a freelance journalist based in New York City. She is the author of This Really Isn’t About YouJean Hannah Edelstein is a freelance journalist based in New York City. She is the author of This Really Isn’t About You
Jean Hannah Edelstein is a freelance journalist based in New York City. She is the author of This Really Isn’t About YouJean Hannah Edelstein is a freelance journalist based in New York City. She is the author of This Really Isn’t About You
US news Brett Kavanaugh
OpinionOpinion
#MeToo movement#MeToo movement
Sexual harassmentSexual harassment
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