I discovered something that has hidden in plain sight my entire adult life. It’s embarrassing to discover that something so obvious has never occurred to me before. But it hadn’t. It took the courageous dignity of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee hearing considering the nomination of Judge Brett Kavanaugh to serve on the Supreme Court to educate me.
Perhaps the most riveting aspect of Dr. Blasey Ford’s testimony was the understated power and consistency of her emotion with her testimony. It was clear that she was, as she pointed out in her introductory statement, terrified to be testifying before the senate committee, knowing full well that the abuse heaped upon her by senators and even the President of the United States; that the threats to her life and family, were only just beginning. In the face of it all, her strength and calm were simply amazing. She left no doubt in my mind that she was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
In her testimony, Dr. Blasey Ford spoke of the profound and lasting impact sexual assault had on her life. She spoke of difficulties with her social interactions, her studies and in her long-term relationships. When asked about the most traumatic memories of the assault, she testified that the most painful memory was the laughter of the boys as she, Kavanaugh’s hand covering her mouth, struggled to free herself. The boys laughed as she struggled, believing Kavanaugh might unwittingly kill her.
That’s when I had an awakening about just how ignorant I was to the incredible difference between the life experience I have as a man from that of most women. The impact of that difference is all so obvious now – embarrassingly obvious. The most embarrassing aspect of this awakening is that, in my ignorance, it was so easy to dismiss before.
If a woman made lewd or suggestive remarks to me, I would have never experienced an underlying concern for my safety or well-being. I doubt any other men would have either. And so it becomes clear why so many men think their “flirtations” or physically sexual come-ons are harmless. Simply put, we don’t know what we don’t know.
Any of us paying attention should know now.
A year ago, on October 5th, the #METOO movement, founded in 2006 by survivor Tarana Burke in support of women of color who were victims of sexual assault, finally got traction when the New York Times published high-profile accusations of extreme sexual misconduct by media mogul Harvey Weinstein. Ten days later Actress Alyssa Milano lit social media ablaze with the tweet “If you’ve been sexually harassed or assaulted write ‘me too’ as a reply to this tweet.” By the end of November, prominent men’s heads were figuratively rolling.
My reaction at the time was conflicted. While I was glad that women were finally speaking out, I was also concerned that there appeared to be a potential for frenzy in which guilt was assumed and lives destroyed solely on accusation.
When Al Franken’s senate colleagues, led by Kirsten Gillibrand, pushed past his requests for an ethics hearing and pressured him into resigning, my concerns began to appear well-founded. We will never really know the full story about Al Franken’s conduct. In light of the Kavanaugh hearing, that still strikes me as a shame and a lost opportunity for a “teachable moment.”
Something happened as I watched the nominee for a lifetime position in one of the most sacred institutions in American government contemptuously insult duly appointed members of a senate committee and reflected on the stark difference between his behavior in contrast to Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s. I felt a newfound sense of shame for the insult the whole proceeding was to Dr. Blasey Ford and to women everywhere.
Imagining what he would do if anyone address him on the bench in court as he did the senators, it was clear to me that Kavanaugh should be ashamed of the insult his petulance and hostility represented to every American who respects our system of government. Senators Lindsey Graham and Orrin Hatch should likewise be ashamed, not only for their dismissive response to Dr. Blasey Ford, but also for encouraging or applauding Kavanaugh’s unprofessional performance.
Kavanaugh’s unrestrained anger and weeping cast him as the victim with the Republican men in the hearing, even though he will still return to a prestigious position even if his nomination is rejected. His hyperbolic cries about his reputation and how he’ll never be able to coach again would, to my eye, have called for him to stridently demand a new FBI background check to clear his name.
Instead, Kavanaugh demonstrated contempt and disrespect for one of the highest institutions in American government at a level that should, in and of itself, disqualify him from the Supreme Court. It is instead likely that he will be confirmed by a partisan vote.
I watched. I looked into my own heart and realized that my own ability to empathize with women was impacted by the simple fact that I have never been sexually assaulted, nor have I ever had a concern that a woman could possibly perpetrate such an act on me.
I have no idea whatsoever what it must be like to experience not only the fear and humiliation that Dr. Blasey Ford (and so many others) felt not only at the hands of perpetrators, but also at the dismissive, sexist response of those entrusted with public safety and law enforcement.
This may sound simple, but it’s profound. Human empathy requires some sense of the causes — of the experience of pain and suffering.
It wasn’t until I was ridiculed as a child for the sound of my name (which continues today), that I could see and appreciate the pain different forms of schoolyard bullying inflicts. It wasn’t until I left my small town and moved to Hawaii for my second year of college that I felt the effects subtle forms racial animus can bring into daily life. Racism was a daily occurrence in my small town as a child, but I was not only blind to the experience of my Hispanic friends, but sheltered as well in the protective bubble of my white middle class status.
Once I experienced in Hawaii how my white (“haole”) classmates arrogantly derided non-whites born and raised in Hawaii and how it felt to be a racial minority, the blinders were lifted. While I had long been sensitive to bullying, there was now also no way to overlook the pervasive pain of racism.
Even though I have no real visceral connection with what it feels like to endure sexual assault or to be, as a victim, considered somehow the guilty party, the obvious stands clear to me now. The closest I will likely ever get to full empathy with Dr. Blasey Ford, the women of the Me Too movement and the women in my life whose secrets may never be revealed, is to rigorously take the time and effort to pay attention to what these women have to say and imagine what it must be like to have endured what they have endured; to stay with it until I can make it as real as my imagination and ability to understand will possibly allow.
Then listen some more.
It’s time for us as men to hold each other to a far higher standard than we ever have in the past. It’s time to hold those who claim leadership in our society and government accountable not only for their words and actions, but their need to upgrade their awareness and empathy.
It’s time to see that the elephant in the room is not just standing passively unnoticed. It’s wreaking havoc.