Men’s Silence on #NotOkay — and what we can do about it
Last weekend, a viral hashtag, #NotOkay, took over Twitter. Kelly Oxford, a writer and blogger, started it with a single tweet:
Within hours, she was receiving 50 responses per minute. All told, she reported 30 million impressions for the tweet. Women from all around the world shared stories of being groped by relatives, kissed by strangers, or pinned down by friends. The stories are real, unvarnished, and emotionally charged. And there are thousands and thousands of them.
As a survivor myself, I know how critical solidarity is with other survivors. When I first came to terms with my own history, it was in a small group of other survivors. We shared our stories. We witnessed each other’s pain. We listened. We honored. We believed. There is a deep healing power to being witnessed and experiencing connection, whether with survivors or with the people who love you.
The online avalanche of support for #NotOkay in these last few days revealed a lot about hidden realities in our world, about the stories that are missed when survivors of sexual violence are made to feel ashamed of their experience. But even from this open conversation, there are two things noticeably missing:
One is the participation of male survivors. Kelly Oxford directed her statement to women, calling for women survivors only. While she likely did this in response to Donald Trump’s comments about women, it’s a common misperception that women are the only victims of sexual violence. One in four U.S. women are victims of sexual abuse or assault, and so are one in six men. My heart especially calls out to these men in times like these, because I can only imagine how lonely it must feel to have their experiences erased or omitted. To all the boys and men who have survived sexual violence, I hear you. I see you. This solidarity is for you too.
The other missing element is male engagement with survivors themselves. I spent hours poring over the tweets, responding to survivors with words of support, and absorbing the collective trauma we experience. Gradually, I realized that I wasn’t seeing very much engagement from men. Maybe every 100th tweet, I found one thanking the participants for sharing.
This silence isn’t uncommon for men, and too often, it’s interpreted in a negative light. We wonder whether men are ignorant about sexual violence. We wonder whether they don’t care about survivors’ experiences. We wonder whether they are defensive about being called out as perpetrators of sexual violence or for their role in creating a culture that allows sexual violence to take place at all.
In reality, most men care deeply about survivors. They know them and love them in intimate ways. In reality, most men feel helpless and sad when it comes to sexual violence. In reality, all of us — men and women — contribute to the culture of shame and blame that hurts survivors. And for every man that is a rapist or offender, there are a dozen more who are simply allies in waiting. Silence isn’t complicity. Silence is often simply discomfort.
This fall, I’m excited to give a talk at TEDxBeaconStreet that offers further insight into what makes the conversation about sexual violence so uncomfortable for men — and suggest ways we might work together to change that. There are too many survivors out there in need of support. The time to learn how to speak up is now. I want everyone to learn how to have these conversations and show up for those in need.
If you don’t want to wait until November, here are a few responses you can use on Twitter today to show your support for survivors:
Thank you to all the participants in #NotOkay for bravely sharing their stories. I hear you. I believe you.
Male survivors watching #NotOkay, I see you. I believe you. I know you are there.
Sexual violence — in all its forms — is #NotOkay. I stand with survivors.
You can also respond to individual participants without sounding creepy or strange:
· Listening. Sending hugs.
· This is awful.
· I’m sorry this happened to you.
· #NotOkay with me.
Or just a simple like or ❤.
What’s the worst thing that could happen? A nasty response? Silence? Seems like a small price to pay to offer a little support to a survivor who bravely shared their story of assault.
