#NotMeToo: I Am Not A Victim
As well-intentioned as it is, I will not be signing the #MeToo campaign: I will not be “outing myself” as a victim of sexual assault or…
As well-intentioned as it is, I will not be signing the #MeToo campaign: I will not be “outing myself” as a victim of sexual assault or harassment in a public declaration.
Why?
Because my sex life, much like my body, is my business. Ergo my sexual experiences — positive and negative, solicited and unsolicited, meaningful and meaningless— are also my business.
Perhaps ironically, framing female sexuality in these terms is apt in and of itself; sex sells, and the body — too often regarded as a ‘thing’ to be used (and abused) rather than something attached to a real, live human being with (gasp!) feelings — is a commodity. This is not new. This is also not exclusively female; our obsession with image and the need to live up to others’ expectations is systemic — at the heart of how we understand ourselves as human beings in the Western world.
This affects us all.
There is solace in solidarity, but there is also power in it. It is for this reason that, wary of the way in which power corrupts and distorts people and principles alike, I am uncomfortable with the #MeToo campaign. It is important to bear in mind that the message, once “out there”, is no longer yours nor our own; it gains a life of its own — and with that, untold (and potentially unwanted) consequences.
I want to make it clear that my opposition to this campaign is not about the topic, nor the demographic it concerns; I fully support the marginalised coming together to give voice to their grievances in a way that they wouldn’t otherwise be able to. But this is not, and has never been, the issue.
And why not? Simply put: the #MeToo campaign is not about solidarity or voice. That it may provide women with the comfort of both is secondary to the fact that, ultimately, it is about oppression. It is about toxic masculinity, social norms and gender-roles, but these, too, are just smoke-screens for an issue as fundamental as it is universal: how we see — and treat — ourselves.
In short, this is about worth.
If, as David Levithan wrote in “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”, ‘we accept the love we think we deserve’, then what does the prevalence of #MeToo say about us? An uncomfortable truth, but one worth reflecting on — especially in the wake of the recent Harvey Weinstein exposé.
Let me be clear: I am not for one moment suggesting that it is “our fault”. To do so would be reductive and overly simplistic; people and situations are as complex and multifaceted as the world we inhabit. To do so would also imply that it is, was “my fault” — that I have, in the words of Margaret Atwood in “The Handmaid’s Tale”, ‘brought this on myself’. But the reality, as painful as it is, must be acknowledged for what it is: it is not as clear-cut.
One thing is absolute, however: demonising men is not the answer. Nor is damning ourselves. If we really want society to change, then we need to do more than just speak out: we need to listen.
We need to listen to one another but, more importantly, we need to listen to ourselves.
To some extent, we really do have the power we give ourselves. That the degree to which we can control our experiences is perhaps more significant than we would like to acknowledge is a difficult premise.
Why? Because it’s easier not to. It’s easier to be “all or nothing”. The ambiguity, the blurred lines, the edges, the shades of grey (pardon the pun), are what hurt; yet it is only through questioning ourselves that we can make true progress.
This requires a level of honesty that is as brutal as it is radical. Are you ready? Are you willing?
We stop being victims only when we refuse to accept ourselves as such.