Chill out, man. Try some empathy.

The anti-diversity manifesto written by a Google engineer and Uber’s sexual harassment probe have sparked needed discussions about sex-based discrimination and harassment in the technology industry. In the midst of this, I’m quietly hearing many well-intentioned men say they feel unfairly stereotyped as sexual harassers and abusers. “It’s a manhunt,” they say. They confide that they “get the issue”, but are “afraid of what I can say or do now.” These well-meaning men feel they are not complicit in the patriarchy and treat women with respect. Now, they say they feel victimized, ostracized, and singled out. Now they say they are being made to feel ashamed simply for being men.

I understand this defensive response. I felt it myself at one time. But long ago I learned a new perspective from a great teacher. It’s a lesson worth sharing.

During my first year in law school at the University of Toronto, I was in a class on torts taught by Professor Denise Réaume, Oxford Law graduate and former Associate Dean of the University of Toronto Faculty of Law. The key to tort law is the concept of reasonable foreseeability. Simply put, if you do something with a reasonably foreseeable risk of causing harm, you’re probably going to be liable.

Professor Réaume presented a case, Q et al. v. Minto Management Ltd. et al., early in the first year and asked us to determine if foreseeability was a factor. It was a lively class discussion, to say the least. Here are the facts of Minto: An apartment complex hired a custodian and gave him keys to every resident’s unit. Using those keys, he entered a woman’s apartment and violently sexually assaulted her. The resident sued the apartment association, arguing they were liable because they knew about his history of sexual assault and could therefore reasonably foresee that his unfettered access to residents’ spaces ran the risk of sexual assault on residents.

The resident won. This is a clear-cut case of reasonable foreseeability.

But our professor pressed us by asking us to consider that the custodian’s history of sexual assault didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was a man. She cited a social psychology study in which a significant percentage of heterosexual men said they would sexually assault a woman if they were guaranteed to get away with it. Therefore, our professor said, all men have a propensity to commit sexual assault and so granting keys to any male had a reasonably foreseeable risk of sexual assault.

The men of the class went into an uproar. I felt deeply offended and victimized. The line of argument basically concluded that it would be reasonably foreseeable for me to be a sex offender. I spoke out about this. It was simply unfair to say I was likely to sexually assault a woman because I’m a man. To my even greater bewilderment, the class split on the issue. The discussion was super-heated. I left feeling attacked, stereotyped, and uncertain if I could speak up in class again.

I was so upset that I scheduled a meeting with Professor Réaume. I told her, “You made me feel uncomfortable. You talk about creating safe spaces but in reality, you created a toxic environment by saying it’s okay to stereotype and victimize men.”

Professor Réaume calmly responded, “I understand you felt uncomfortable. Remember: you’re a privileged white male. Your life has gone the way you want it to go. This discussion just opened a momentary window so you can feel what other people — like women and people of color — feel every day, all the time, because they are stereotyped. It’s okay and good for you to once in your life feel objectified and singled out. But you haven’t really been victimized.”

My head almost exploded! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Wasn’t that a double standard?

Over the years, I’ve often thought about this experience, especially when I’ve seen or heard the realities of racism or sexism that, honestly, don’t affect me. Professor Réaume’s lesson took a long time to sink in. She understood that in order for people like me — privileged people — to engage in constructive civil dialogue we have to understand that argument is not everything. Empathy is also a key part of dialogue.

People of good will can argue about power dynamics, double-standards, historical precedents, political correctness, and on and on. (To be clear, I don’t buy the argument. Systematic discrimination and harassment is real.) But, in any event, argument doesn’t decide what people feel. What many people feel and experience is unfair power dynamics, double standards, and pervasive sexism and discrimination. Period. Arguments that these feelings are invalid, or unjustified, doesn’t in any way negate real people’s lived experiences. They are real. Their emotions are real.

So, I have learned to take my discomfort as a sign that I should pay attention. Before I argue, I must deeply mine empathy.

Fast-forward to today. Guys, if you feel uncomfortable because you feel you’re in a “manhunt”, being unfairly singled out, stereotyped, and dismissed, and are unsure about what to say or how to act, guess what? For a small moment, you are feeling what many people around you feel all the time.

Maybe now you can picture what it’s like to get dressed for work as a woman, and wonder what people will think about you. Will your boss leer at you in this shirt? Will it invite unwanted scrutiny and commentary? Or will people think you’re only in the room because you’re a woman and not because you’re good at your job?

To be clear, I’m not writing this to say I’m one of the “good guys”. My whole point here is that most people learn this lesson much earlier than I did — and without the assistance of an Oxford Law grad. I was below the curve.

So men, before you get defensive, start arguments, or publish a blog post, make sure you see the distinction between those who inadvertently hurt others and those who blatantly harass and intimidate. It’s quite possible you fall into the former camp. Don’t add to the problem.

If you’re feeling uncomfortable, figure out why and then imagine all the others who feel this every day. No one wants to be typecast because of their gender, race, sexuality, or any other characteristic.

If you truly believe everyone should be judged as an individual, then cultivate empathy right now.

Without empathy, we’d constantly be in a vicious war of words. Empathy continually saves us from being the worst versions of ourselves because it helps us understand how others feel in context.

As Bill Bullard said, “Opinion is really the lowest form of human knowledge. It requires no accountability, no understanding. The highest form of knowledge, according to George Eliot, is empathy, for it requires us to suspend our egos and live in another’s world. It requires profound purpose — larger-than-the-self kind of understanding.”

So, take a lesson from Professor Réaume: embrace your discomfort. Embrace empathy.

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