"As you become more clear about who you really are, you'll be better able to decide what is best for you- the first time around." Oprah Winfrey
I have been trying to avoid the #metoo campaign. But every day, as I wake up with my view of the Abu Dhabi Corniche, I open my news feed to find another story of a male who is apologizing for his overall disrespect of a woman. The patterns are pretty similar: a white male in a position of power, a white woman feeling empowered to speak up, an apology, a public show of disappointment from the employer, and we move on. But every day there are more and more stories of women stating that they have been sexually harassed. However, the narrative from women of color is hard to find. Especially when your harasser is of the same race as you.
At least, that is my story.
I was an idealistic activist who wanted to change the world. The summer before my senior year of college, I participated in Union Summer through the AFL-CIO in Stamford, Connecticut. That summer I was surrounded by like-minded young people, wanting to fight for the rights of the working class. As interns, we felt like the cast of The Real World (true story of 12 strangers, different backgrounds, etc.), but instead of living in swanky digs, we slept on mattresses in an empty office and took showers at the YMCA around the corner. Our coordinator was a mix of a lot of fun, knowledge, and I admired him like a brother. It was in part his influence and the experience that led me to apply for a very coveted spot with the organizer apprenticeship program.
I was selected and offered a chance to go back and work in Stamford after graduation. But during a training in Baltimore, I fell in love with the city and her people, and when the lead organizer at the site offered a chance to work there I accepted a role at that site. He was the black male lead, I was the only female at that location, I thought for sure that he was my brother. Things were fine, but then things got really uncomfortable.
My lead, a black man, made it difficult for me to work there.
The thing about sexual harassment when you are 21, is that you don't know anything about nuance. Flash to a scene in 9 to 5 where Dolly Pardon's character is constantly attacked, and that is the image likely in your head about the topic. Also, sexual harassment was a white female problem. Coupled with the fact that the movement at the time did not have a lot black male leadership. I didn't want to be that black woman keeping a brother down.
Things were initially mild. Comments about how nice I looked or how smart I was; I was flattered. But comments became more pointed about my dating life or my clothing. Often when it was time to go into the field to talk to workers, I was with him instead of my co-workers. Often I had no choice. Often stops became longer with stops back to his apartment because he forgot something, or a file had to be retrieved from his computer. Conversations became more about his marriage issues. I was often at a loss for words.
And I was uncomfortable but never said anything.
Because in my head, being sexually harassed was not nuanced, and maybe my feelings were just me being an awkward black girl. It was my boss' attempt to get to know me.
My coworkers saw my steady decline. I had a friend who worked there who always seemed to show up at the right time. My supervisor even assumed that I had a thing for him. Always asking why I spent so much time with him. I was shocked by the thought because I knew my friend's wife first and embarrassed that he even questioned my relationship with him. The other guys on staff were always super sweet, and I never felt awkward around them. I felt safe with them; I felt that I could be myself.
But I didn't feel safe with my supervisor. And I didn't say anything.
It took my brother, my internship coordinator, to come into town to see how unhappy I was with my situation. He helped me get out. I did one more year with the labor movement, and my contract was not renewed. I loved the work, but I felt as if I was a hypocrite. I could I encourage others to speak up and stand up, and I was afraid to because I thought I was turning against my people. I wasn't as effective as I thought I could be and I never said anything.
I never said anything because I thought it was all in my head.
I never said anything because he was a black man, and black men get treated so wrongly in the world.
I never said anything because he was my boss, and I was afraid to lose my job.
I never said anything because his actions were not overt.
Flash forward to almost twenty years later and the wisdom of living has settled in. Sexual harassment is when your coworker or supervisor has the ability to create a work environment that is hostile and affects performance. It is nuanced; it is not always overt. And if you feel unsafe you should say something.
It amazes me that the #metoo stories focus a lot on white women, but sexual harassment happens in communities of color, too. Movements that grow too often ignore the additional crosses that women POC's have to bear. You saw it in the abolitionist movement, voting rights, equal rights, and you see it now in Trump era women's rights. You're not only supposed to support the cause of your sister, your brother, and your friends, but we are also supposed to not look angry and ask for what we want because of the image of the "angry black woman."
However, what makes me angry, as more and more stories come out, is that I never said anything about how I felt and never told anyone. I never said anything.
Now in my current role as a counselor, I tell my girls to not apologize for asking for what they want or to question a motive. To never be afraid to say that this makes me uncomfortable, and not to feel obligated because of race or advertised female roles. I hope for my nieces as they grow older, that they also know that your feelings are valid- that they owe no one anything out of race or age obligations.
Because the last thing I want for them is to sit in reflection, 20 years later, wishing that they would have said something.
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