May 15, 2018
#MeToo But Not You: Why Survivors Still Lose
By Tayler J. Mathews | Illustration by Jaid Mathews
“There is no way any movement to end violence will work if there is not a willingness to rigorously and critically examine the place of violence in women’s lives, as perpetrators as well as victims.” — bell hooks
I find it perplexing that in a moment in which we are encouraged to break silences, only certain silences are allowed to be broken. It is still taboo, for instance, to speak openly and honestly about women who commit acts of violence. Indeed, the parameters of what we take seriously as violence is a conversation still wanting, and it is this shortcoming that prevents me from finding solace within movements addressing sexual “misconduct”.
A treacherous limitation of U.S. anti-violence movements is the failure to interrogate how all genders collude with the violence of imperialist, white supremacist, capitalist, heteropatriarchal systems and agendas.
Though I recognize those activists and advocates working tirelessly to transform our society, I am well aware that all do not share this radical objective. Some individuals are invested in and reap countless benefits from our current state of affairs, even while they remain vulnerable to sexist abuse. At present, movements against gender violence reproduce the same cisgender, heteronormative, white, able-bodied, bourgeois woman standard that has historically excluded queer and trans survivors, working-class survivors, and all survivors of color.
Any person who has not committed to divesting from all systems of oppression has not fully committed to ending violence. While they may pay lip service to gender justice, they simultaneously contribute to injustice by exploiting and re-subjugating the very people they claim to help. And when advocates mirror the behaviors of perpetrators — that is, when advocates are also perpetrators of violence — all survivors lose.
Who Merits Empathy?
Women and gender nonconforming people of color have long documented the racialized sexism, heterosexism, and trans antagonism we encounter when seeking help and services from shelters, non-profit organizations, and individual advocates. Too often those in positions to help interact with us in ways that are not trauma informed, while simultaneously reinforcing racial, ethnic, and gender hierarchies.
These same hierarchies are sustained and capitalized on by the mainstream media. In a market culture premised on self-interest and greed, survivors with value are those individuals whom advocates and media can “sell” to a mainstream audience. This means that survivors can be (and are) vulnerable to opportunists seeking to exploit them for personal gain. At the same time, other survivors, such as Black queer persons, face repudiation or neglect.
Mainstream media has the power to convince us that some groups matter more than others; the media tells us whose humanity is worth visibility and protection. When certain groups are recurrently presented within a negative frame, those groups incur additional adversity. Innumerable aspects about the experiences of LGBTQIA+ survivors, survivors with disabilities, and all survivors of color remain outside of public awareness and concern. These are not “sellable” stories. And what is unknown, or intentionally ignored, cannot be thoroughly addressed. Indeed, ‘me too.’ movement founder Tarana Burke has emphasized that “it defeats the purpose [of the movement] to not have [marginalized] folks centered.”
While some may be satisfied with illusions of “diversity” and “inclusion,” the reality is that movements against gender violence remain largely exclusive. Marginalized survivors have even been pressured by advocates to minimize how our identities factor into our stories. We are discouraged from interpreting our own experiences by those with more power and access to resources that we need. Furthermore, attempts to highlight violence against queer, trans, and survivors with disabilities are frequently met with the stubborn defense that sexual violence primarily affects “women”. Apparently it is lost on those seeking to justify exclusion that women are queer, trans, and disabled, too. It must also be remembered that ‘women’ as a category has been racially coded to obscure women of color.
Historically, Black, Indigenous, and other women of color have existed outside the boundaries of socially and politically recognized womanhood. Today, Black and Indigenous women continue to have the highest rates of sexual violence, yet it remains a struggle to obtain adequate assistance in times of need. We are not, in fact, the “women” of consequence in relation to gender violence: we are not “perfect victims.”
Moreover, the exclusion and erasure of all trans women persists. As activist Raquel Willis writes, “my transness, queerness, and Blackness render my claims even less believable in a society that views me as inherently deviant.” This restricted lens in which only certain “women” are legitimate survivors of gender-based harms additionally renders non-binary survivors and survivors who are men imperceptible.
According to the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network, transgender, genderqueer, and gender nonconforming college students are more likely be sexually assaulted than their peers. Nevertheless, many campus initiatives regarding sexual violence fail to center these survivors. While I sincerely believe we are capable of having complex discussions about gender and sexual violence, progress cannot be made without a willingness to think beyond conservative frames that delineate who is visible and who merits empathy.
We cannot allow narratives to be subordinated simply because they reflect survivors who are non-cisgender, non-hetero, or non-white. As a graduate student attending a Historically Black University, the context of my experience not only impacts how I understand my circumstances, but also affects how I choose to move forward as an activist. It is dishonest — and violent — to downplay or omit the complexity of survivors’ actual lives in order to construct a narrow agenda. Alienating marginalized survivors only impedes critical insight and strategies.
Not Your Mammy
Despite the inundation, and misuse, of “intersectionality” alleged allies have yet to earnestly disrupt asymmetrical power dynamics and one-dimensional narratives. Kimberlé Crenshaw, the Black feminist legal scholar who coined the term, explains the marginalization and erasure of women of color within antisexist or antiracist politics as examples of political intersectionality.
Political intersectionality underlines the reality that movements foregrounding gender discrimination have “often replicate[d] and reinforce[d] the subordination of people of color.” Critical engagement with this concept would illuminate the intra-movement contradictions that have historically plagued anti-violence movements. However, more often than not, the term is used in ways that negate or ignore the reasons for its very conception.
“Intersectional” allies have yet to decenter themselves and take responsibility for the oppressions they perpetuate. As an example, I call attention to the ways that alleged white allies disregard the wellbeing of Black and Brown survivors and activists. Many of us can attest to those disorienting moments when we have attempted to hold persons accountable for their racism, only to encounter hostility, callous denial, reverse blame, and what can generously be described as adult temper tantrums — screaming, crying, and the of hurling of hateful remarks. Writing on similar incidents, journalist and PhD candidate Ruby Hamad explains these “strategic tears” as “a form of emotional and psychological violence that reinforce the very system of white dominance that many white women claim to oppose.”
When a dominant group controls resources and services but refuses to confront their own abusive behaviors, marginalized survivors cannot receive help without experiencing further harm. The sad irony is that gaslighting, trivialization, and antagonistic expressions are the same tactics used by sexual abusers and their apologists. Mainstream media’s recurrent use of the words “white supremacy” encourages some white people to believe it applies to some other distant and distinct white group — but never to themselves. Much of the individual racism I’ve confronted as a Black woman has come from those who assuredly believe themselves to be “liberal”, “left wing”, “progressive”, and/or “antiracist.”
“Both feminist and antiracist politics have functioned in tandem to marginalize the issue of violence against women of color. “— Kimberlé Crenshaw
While the fetishization of Black women in service of others continues (e.g. “Black women will save us!”), there remains a lack of solidarity in the struggle for the material transformation of our own lives. #ListenToBlackWomen has yet to lead to Black women actually being heard. It is still common for Black women to be spoken to with condescension and derision, to be interrupted and spoken over, all while our ideas are colonized.
Though we too are survivors and activists, we are sometimes met with expectations of subservience and assumptions that we will (or should) provide unending emotional comfort. This mammification is evident when we are presumed to coddle, to regard others with deference, and to serve as targets for their outbursts without complaint — lest we appear angry and ungrateful. In order to avert further abuses of power anti-violence movements must begin to take internal accountability seriously.
Accountability Matters
Anti-violence advocates have a responsibility to engage in continuous self-critique, which includes challenging one’s own will to power. I remain dismayed by those unwilling to improve their thinking, to be enlightened by different perspectives, and to unlearn and relearn more completely.
Simply being an advocate is not a testament to anyone’s commitment to, or understanding of, the full eradication of domination and violence. Though it is an uncomfortable truth that one can be both oppressed and oppressor, both victim and perpetrator, it is a truth nonetheless. You can help and harm simultaneously. I have witnessed women advocates make rape “jokes,” bully and belittle other survivors, and refer to other women as mere appendages of men. Sexist women will not end sexism.
“Patriarchy has no gender.” — bell hooks
Fortunately, it is entirely possible to build better movements — but there must be a will to do so. We must all begin to ask ourselves what daily actions we partake in that subvert — or maintain — racial, gender, sexuality, and class hierarchies. It is only after we confront the idealized image of ourselves with the reality of who we actually are, that we can begin to grow into the people we want to be. Without integrity, movements will remain insincere and hypocritical: they will continue to perpetuate abuse and harm.
If millions have begun to organize against gender violence, then we need to ensure these new efforts do not replicate old limitations. Let us remember the guidance from Black lesbian feminist Audre Lorde: “the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” We should realize that this means the methods of a white supremacist heteropatriarchal system will not dismantle white supremacy or heteropatriarchy. We all need to look in the mirror and assess what our actions and attitudes uphold. When we begin to transform the oppressor within, we will begin to transform our world.
