Speaking up

I don’t have answers.  I don’t think anyone does. I keep telling people that, the older I get, the less black-and-white the world is, and the more grey it appears.

So I now add my voice to the myriad of others who have speculated and thought and written about the whole Jian Ghomeshi thing that’s being talked about by everyone and anyone.  Because like it or not, it’s an issue that is so fundamental, so integral to the human race.

And in many ways we’ve royally messed it up.

For those of you unfamiliar with Jian Ghomeshi, he’s a famous radio broadcaster … excuse me was a famous radio broadcaster ... that was heard all over Canada and down in the States. He was fired a couple weeks ago amidst allegations of sexual harassment and violence against numerous women.

Since that time, cyberspace has exploded with opinion pieces, factual stories and everything in between.

Here’s what I’ve realized. This issue of harassment and all that it entails comes down to one thing: Power. 

We all have some. We fight fiercely to keep that power.  And at one time or another, we all crave more. Or else we sense an imbalance of power and we want to do something to rectify it, because it makes us feel important.  I still remember a time in my life where I wanted to be the first one to throw out an insult because I wanted the other person to feel belittled before I felt like dirt.

So those harassing comments, those looks, those [fill in the blank here] are all about power and stealing someone else’s power over themselves, even for less than a second. And the (clearly justified) resistance  is all about not letting someone have that power.

I’m not going to get into the reasons why people crave power because I’m not an expert. But here’s where it gets twisted.  We’ve been conditioned to believe that the responsibility for the consequences of this exertion of power lies not with the one trying to obtain the power, but on the one who is fighting to keep it.

At least, that's been my experience. And based on what I've read about the reasons why people don't report harassment, I don't think I'm the only one who has felt that way.

I have unfortunate elementary school memories of being bullied.  And I wouldn’t stand for it.  My strategy for telling them was to yell, scream, get angry, cry, whatever.  It was the only arsenal I knew and understood at the time. But see, those were sure signs to the perpetrator that they were getting to me, that they had power over me. That they could make me dance like a puppet. And then they’d stand back and laugh. They loved to see me get all riled up.

So whenever I’d talk about my struggles with others, I’d hear over and over again, “Melanie, if you don’t react, they’ll leave you alone.”  Which was well meant; they had just as much influence over the bullies as I did – that is, no influence whatsoever.  So they were trying to give me ways of coping and of (hopefully) eliminating the bullying.

But honestly, the phrase “If you don’t react, they’ll leave you alone”  really makes it sound as if the bullying was my fault.

Of course it wasn’t.  The perps still had a choice to leave me alone. They were still choosing to do something when they could have chosen to leave me alone.  True, if I had stopped reacting, I may have lessened the bullying.  But they were in control of what they did; I wasn’t.

Thing is, I had no other recourse, or so it seemed.  If I had told a teacher and gotten kids in trouble, I was worried it would only get worse and they’d find ways to hide it and yet continue it.  

The one time I did try to tell a teacher, I was told to picture my classmates naked in hopes that I wouldn’t take it as seriously and it wouldn’t hurt as much. 

I guess he wasn’t taking me seriously.

The ironic thing is, after teaching for a few years, I still don’t know how I’d deal with it.  Greys, not blacks and whites, remember?   And that saddens me. Adults are supposed to have all the answers, they're supposed to be able to handle whatever comes their way.  And yet I ... don't.

Fast-forward to my university years, and I was harassed at work. Others knew, but somehow it never made it to the managers, and it continued on for a bit.  Fast-forward a few years after that, and I was uncomfortable walking into my father’s place of employment. I don’t remember what – if anything – was said, but there was something. The way they looked at me? The way the answered my questions? I don’t know. But it bothered me.

I certainly didn’t react, but that didn’t seem to change anything.

I learned my lesson well. Don’t speak up. Don’t rock the boat. You’re the problem.

Compared to so many, I’ve had it easy.  

And yet, this is so hard to write about.