Me Too, Caveated

Today on Facebook, several friends of mine posted a copy/paste update that read like this:

"Me too.

If all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote "Me too." as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem.

(Also, those of you not ready to say it or who don't want those around you to know or see it for safety or other concerns: I still see you and I'm sorry it happened to you too.)

Copy and paste.

#MeToo"

And I understand. After the slew of accusations Harvey Weinstein has received, sexual harassment and assault have once again come to the forefront of our minds. Why shouldn't it? An influential man in show business has been ousted. He has abused his power to gain sexual favors, destroyed the careers of those women strong enough to say no, and no one said anything for decades. We are outraged. Rightfully so. There is no excuse and no apology for him.

But there is something else that bothers me about this status update. There is inherent sexism here. "If all the women..." I don't mean to belittle to make light of the issue. I am very serious when I discuss social and political issues, and I want to make sure I am coming from the most consistent, inclusive space possible. Thus, I have to ask: what about the male victims? I personally know a man who was raped while under the influence of alcohol—no different from the thousands of women on college campuses—and who was denied any help at the police station because "men can't get raped." His rapist is still out there, unreported, doing who knows what because my friend couldn't do anything about it. I won't deny that the number of reported cases of female victims severely outnumbers that of male victims. Yet, does that give us the right to forget them, or treat their experiences as less-than-equal?

I am a victim of sexual assault, though that feels strange to say. As a child, I knew that what was being done to me was wrong, but I couldn't tell you then why it was wrong. The vernacular and life experience of a seven-year-old is limited. My naiveté and fear were abused along with my body, and it was not until I was fifteen years old that someone put two and two together for me. It was the first time anyone had referred to the incident as sexual abuse. Suddenly, I was a victim and my world shifted. I didn't know how to act or what to say. I still don't quite know. It feels ingenuine to put my experience on the same level as my friend. I didn't understand what was happening to me and thus I was not nearly as terrified as I imagine my friend to have been. Yet, I cannot deny that I am a statistic. Check off the boxes of female, child, and knew-her-abuser. I am part of #MeToo.

But so is my friend. As a feminist, I am tired of hearing "violence against women." It IS violence, and the nature of the violence can be inflicted upon anyone. We do ourselves a great injustice by casting women as always being victims, and we do our male victims a great injustice by perpetuating the idea that only women can be assaulted.

"If everyone who has been sexually assaulted or harassed..." The change to this profile update is small but significant, meant to include a demographic that is traditionally ignored. When I was training to handle domestic/sexual violence in a university dormitory, I was told that about 80% of all reported abuse cases were against women. If we include the 20% of men, the sightings of #MeToo increase dramatically. We need to remember that we are trying to correct a culture of sexual abuse and harassment, not cast roles based on gender or statistics.

Let us not cut off our support to any victims. We are stronger together.

For information and help in the US: Rainn

Specifically to help children in the US: Stop It Now

For information and help in the UK: Safeline