Women on the Swahili Coast, Zanzibar, seaweed farming. Photo taken in 2012.
How do you say 'me too' in your language? I'm learning to say it in mine. Over the last week, the outpouring of stories sparked by the #metoo movement online moved me. Conversations with friends and colleagues, old and new, have been nuanced, painful, defensive, difficult, vulnerable, devastating, revealing, despairing, empowering.
I spent time on the phone with an award-winning animator and artist friend in Boston who talked with me for the first time about the depth of the insanity she experienced with a former lover in New Orleans. I had no idea. I commiserated with a close friend in Madison who lamented about invisibility as a form of misogyny, how it's not just about harassment, assault or rape, but also about erasure, denial, dismissal in work and romantic life. I felt the same. With an old childhood friend and my sisters, we dished about our former male teachers: the one who taught middle school art classes who promised to raise our grade if we shared intimate information about our parents' sex lives, who stood too close and breathed too heavy on our young bodies, who even took one of us to the back room and attempted a shoulder massage. Or the one in high school who told us women physically could not be raped -- that if it happened, we must have wanted it, and that condoms are only 70% effective so better not to use them, as men don't enjoy sex as much. He said that.
I think about times when I lingered too long in the grips of abusive dynamics with men who guised their rage with empty promises. In my 30's I was stalked online for over a year by a person who could not accept that I had ended our brief affair. It was humiliating and embarrassing and I had little control over how it played out. Eventually, I starved him out of my life. I've worked in spaces where men hold so much power and sway over the culture of the place that they're oblivious to the misogyny they themselves perpetuate, even while waxing poetic about the virtues of 'women's empowerment.'
Over nearly 10 years of travel and living in East Africa, I've witnessed countless women suffer silently through physical, emotional, and financial abuse, often believing that love is what keeps them together. Women of all kinds -- expats and locals, highly educated women and women with little education, wealthy women and poor women, women with networks -- embassy numbers on speed dial -- and isolated women with no phone or embassy to their name. The bonds of secrecy were nearly impossible to break. For so very many reasons.
In telling my own story to a trusted circle, I've also counseled friends tied up in the hell of entanglement with men guilty of monstrous behavior, unsure of how to leave and knowing that leaving is often the most dangerous moment. Staying is sometimes safer -- and that fact hits us in the gut. I have so much love for these women because I am that woman too. Me, too. Different, different -- but same.
When I read the words of writer Elizabeth Spackman online who offered her own #metoo testimony, what stood out was this medicinal capsule of truth:
I spent time on the phone with an award-winning animator and artist friend in Boston who talked with me for the first time about the depth of the insanity she experienced with a former lover in New Orleans. I had no idea. I commiserated with a close friend in Madison who lamented about invisibility as a form of misogyny, how it's not just about harassment, assault or rape, but also about erasure, denial, dismissal in work and romantic life. I felt the same. With an old childhood friend and my sisters, we dished about our former male teachers: the one who taught middle school art classes who promised to raise our grade if we shared intimate information about our parents' sex lives, who stood too close and breathed too heavy on our young bodies, who even took one of us to the back room and attempted a shoulder massage. Or the one in high school who told us women physically could not be raped -- that if it happened, we must have wanted it, and that condoms are only 70% effective so better not to use them, as men don't enjoy sex as much. He said that.
I think about times when I lingered too long in the grips of abusive dynamics with men who guised their rage with empty promises. In my 30's I was stalked online for over a year by a person who could not accept that I had ended our brief affair. It was humiliating and embarrassing and I had little control over how it played out. Eventually, I starved him out of my life. I've worked in spaces where men hold so much power and sway over the culture of the place that they're oblivious to the misogyny they themselves perpetuate, even while waxing poetic about the virtues of 'women's empowerment.'
Over nearly 10 years of travel and living in East Africa, I've witnessed countless women suffer silently through physical, emotional, and financial abuse, often believing that love is what keeps them together. Women of all kinds -- expats and locals, highly educated women and women with little education, wealthy women and poor women, women with networks -- embassy numbers on speed dial -- and isolated women with no phone or embassy to their name. The bonds of secrecy were nearly impossible to break. For so very many reasons.
In telling my own story to a trusted circle, I've also counseled friends tied up in the hell of entanglement with men guilty of monstrous behavior, unsure of how to leave and knowing that leaving is often the most dangerous moment. Staying is sometimes safer -- and that fact hits us in the gut. I have so much love for these women because I am that woman too. Me, too. Different, different -- but same.
When I read the words of writer Elizabeth Spackman online who offered her own #metoo testimony, what stood out was this medicinal capsule of truth:
I moved as far away from him as I could, toward the porch and the light and the women.
I've spent my whole life 'moving toward the porch and the light and women,' even while building strong, loving friendships and relationships with men as allies, this is my orientation in the world, my definitive stance -- to seek out the porch and the light.
The stories we tell each other are bold, brave & necessary. I hope this leads to a far more complex dialogue about sexuality, power, violence, & communication that in many ways is not gender-bound. Human beings are complex, social and violent creatures who take as much pleasure in destruction and control as they do with love and compassion. So much has been said already about the need to talk about #metoo stories as ones lodged in patriarchy and power.
When I was working with Long Live the Girls, a girls' writing project in Southern Ethiopia, many writers in our group talked about how 'consensual sex' is often not even a shared assumption. They also admitted that catcalling can make them feel sexy. Feminism is not formulaic or prescriptive. It is relative, cultured, embodied, nuanced, negotiated, and evolving over time. Telling each other how to feel or behave is just a symptom of the patriarchy. But we can tell each other stories, and we can listen.
Yes, #metoo but also, how about some accountability among perpetrators, bystanders/enablers who will rise up and say: #iassaultedtoo #irapedtoo #iharrassedtoo #igaslittoo #icatcalledtoo #iwatchedthemanipulationtoo #iexcusedthebehaviortoo #imademycoworkeruncomfortabletoo #ilaughedatthejokestoo #iknewandsaidnothingtoo I'd much rather cheer on a campaign like that.
Women's stories are important. We know what's happened to us. It's time to flip the narrative. #yesyoutoo
I asked friends on my personal Facebook page to tell me how they say 'me too' in their language. Here are over 33 languages represented, and counting. If you'd like to add your language, please let me know and I'll update the the post. We are stronger together. Everyone has a story. Me, too.
The stories we tell each other are bold, brave & necessary. I hope this leads to a far more complex dialogue about sexuality, power, violence, & communication that in many ways is not gender-bound. Human beings are complex, social and violent creatures who take as much pleasure in destruction and control as they do with love and compassion. So much has been said already about the need to talk about #metoo stories as ones lodged in patriarchy and power.
When I was working with Long Live the Girls, a girls' writing project in Southern Ethiopia, many writers in our group talked about how 'consensual sex' is often not even a shared assumption. They also admitted that catcalling can make them feel sexy. Feminism is not formulaic or prescriptive. It is relative, cultured, embodied, nuanced, negotiated, and evolving over time. Telling each other how to feel or behave is just a symptom of the patriarchy. But we can tell each other stories, and we can listen.
Yes, #metoo but also, how about some accountability among perpetrators, bystanders/enablers who will rise up and say: #iassaultedtoo #irapedtoo #iharrassedtoo #igaslittoo #icatcalledtoo #iwatchedthemanipulationtoo #iexcusedthebehaviortoo #imademycoworkeruncomfortabletoo #ilaughedatthejokestoo #iknewandsaidnothingtoo I'd much rather cheer on a campaign like that.
Women's stories are important. We know what's happened to us. It's time to flip the narrative. #yesyoutoo
I asked friends on my personal Facebook page to tell me how they say 'me too' in their language. Here are over 33 languages represented, and counting. If you'd like to add your language, please let me know and I'll update the the post. We are stronger together. Everyone has a story. Me, too.
1. Me Too -- English
2. እኔም -- Amharic
3. Man Tamit -- Wolof
4. Na Mimi -- Swahili
5. Nami -- Chasu
6. Anche a Me -- Italian
7. Le Nna -- Sepedi
8. Me Sef -- Pidgin English
9. גם אני -- Hebrew
10. Også Mig -- Danish
11. Ich Auch -- German
12. Moi Aussi -- French
13. Ég Líka -- Icelandic
14. Jas Tudi -- Slovene
15. Ik Ook -- Dutch
16. Ne Hoon -- Gujarati
17. Aur Main Bhi -- Hindi
18. Yo También -- Spanish
19. I Au -- Swiss German
20. Kai Ago -- Greek
21. Watashi Mo -- Japanese
22. Eu Também -- Portuguese
23. Mane Be હું પણ i -- Gujarati
24. Tātou Tahi -- Te Reo Maori
25. Ako Rin --Tagalog
26. Jo També -- Catalan
27. Ek Ook -- Afrikaans
28. انا ايضا -- Arabic
29. ﻤﻥ ﻫﻢ, -- Persian
30. я тоже -- Russian
31. Mise Cuideachd -- Scotts Gaelic
32. Mise Freisin -- Irish Gaelic
33. Fi Hefyd -- Welsh
... and in your language?
#metoo
2. እኔም -- Amharic
3. Man Tamit -- Wolof
4. Na Mimi -- Swahili
5. Nami -- Chasu
6. Anche a Me -- Italian
7. Le Nna -- Sepedi
8. Me Sef -- Pidgin English
9. גם אני -- Hebrew
10. Også Mig -- Danish
11. Ich Auch -- German
12. Moi Aussi -- French
13. Ég Líka -- Icelandic
14. Jas Tudi -- Slovene
15. Ik Ook -- Dutch
16. Ne Hoon -- Gujarati
17. Aur Main Bhi -- Hindi
18. Yo También -- Spanish
19. I Au -- Swiss German
20. Kai Ago -- Greek
21. Watashi Mo -- Japanese
22. Eu Também -- Portuguese
23. Mane Be હું પણ i -- Gujarati
24. Tātou Tahi -- Te Reo Maori
25. Ako Rin --Tagalog
26. Jo També -- Catalan
27. Ek Ook -- Afrikaans
28. انا ايضا -- Arabic
29. ﻤﻥ ﻫﻢ, -- Persian
30. я тоже -- Russian
31. Mise Cuideachd -- Scotts Gaelic
32. Mise Freisin -- Irish Gaelic
33. Fi Hefyd -- Welsh
... and in your language?
#metoo
