Over the weekend and into this week, women on social media responded to actress Alyssa Milano’s call to write “me too” if they have ever experienced sexual harassment and abuse. Because sexism, misogyny and abuse of women are commonplace in our society, Twitter feeds and Facebook timelines were inundated with survivor stories. From Milano’s initial tweet, its unclear what the real intention of this call to action was. Presumably, it was her hope that by seeing millions of women publicly admit that they’ve experienced sexual violence at the hands of men, it would raise awareness of this important issue. Awareness is great, if and when it turns into action. But there are many problematic aspects to this kind of hashtag that are being unnamed and unheard because of the excitement surrounding it.
Though Milano is receiving credit for starting this hashtag, she is 10 years behind the “Me Too” campaign begun by Tarana Burke. This campaign was actually started not to call attention and awareness to sexual violence but instead to let sexual assault survivors in marginalized communities know that they were not alone.
A black woman named Tarana Burke is the original creator of the #MeToo campaign that has recently taken over social media.
“It wasn’t built to be a viral campaign or a hashtag that is here today and forgotten tomorrow,” Burke told Ebony on Monday. “It was a catchphrase to be used from survivor to survivor to let folks know that they were not alone and that a movement for radical healing was happening and possible.”
Part of what is troubling here is how the labor and activism of black women routinely gets erased, or confused for the work of white women. This matters. It matters because there is a long history of white women appropriating the work of black women and women of color and not giving them credit for the emotional, mental, and physical labor that goes into that work. It is routine and especially frequent in the feminist movement—where black women are often told to ignore racism (especially the racism they experience at the hands of white women) and see sexism and patriarchy as a bigger threat to their well-being. Did Alyssa Milano know that this campaign existed before her tweet? Maybe or maybe not. Likely not (she did tweet about this later). And this isn’t specifically about Milano. But the fact that this work is being credited to her and it took other black women to speak up and lift up Burke’s work (despite it being available on the Internet) is telling about how black women’s activism consistently escapes the public’s attention.
Another issue here is how many white feminists continue to use racism as a way to frame sexism—without acknowledging that women of color experience both. Over the weekend, actress Rose McGowan, who is credited for beginning this particular iteration of the conversation with her outspoken critique of Harvey Weinstein, took to Twitter to say that the way a white man was using woman (as a slur) was the equivalent of how the “n-word” is used. It is absolutely not. Actress Ellen Barkin did a similar thing when she tweeted that the blackballing of Colin Kaepernick in the NFL is just like women being blackballed for taking a knee.
Let’s be clear: this is a false equivalency and context and history matter. Sexism is incredibly real. So is racism. There is no need to use one oppression to justify why another is harmful. This is intellectually lazy and lacks an intersectional analysis. While all women (and men) are harmed by sexism, certain groups of women (queer women, black women, women of color, trans women, etc.) are made more vulnerable by it. Very wealthy white women equating their struggles to racism or to the experiences of women of color should be a thing that no one is doing in 2017, especially since the sexism that impacts white women inspires mass calls to boycott Twitter and viral hashtags. Meanwhile, ESPN’s Jemele Hill has been sanctioned by her employer for tweeting about Trump and the NFL and faces a possible firing, yet the advocacy from famous white women has been nothing but silence.
Lastly, its unclear what the end game is in all of this. Seeing survivors proclaim their experiences can be inspiring and comforting. That was the original point of the campaign—specifically for women of color. But there need to be practical next steps to make this worthwhile. As Daily Kos’ own Wagatwe Wanjuki wrote in her post, “I’m an outspoken rape survivor but didn’t participate in #Metoo. Here’s why”:
I’m in no way judging the survivors and victims who chose to participate. We’ve long been silenced and I do not judge anyone for taking the opportunity to speak out. I also don't see #MeToo as a “bad” thing. I've had multiple friends who have disclosed publicly participate. It's a great place to show solidarity and still can be legitimately empowering for participants. [...]
"Me, too" is framed as an attempt to convince people that sexual violence is a problem. It implies that sexual violence is pervasive simply because (mostly) men don't understand that it's so prevalent, which I don't believe. It reinforces the idea that if there are enough numbers on your side, then we should believe and listen. One victim should be enough for us to care. One survivor is already too many.
Listening to survivors should be just the beginning.
This kind of public disclosure of sexual violence can be deeply triggering for survivors. Even if they choose not to disclose their status, just scrolling through timelines and feeds can be traumatic. Yes, of course one can choose not to participate in social media. But that won’t stop folks from hearing about it. It was even mentioned on MSNBC’s All In with Chris Hayes last night. This hashtag is everywhere. And while it’s way past time for us to have this conversation, bringing up the conversation without thoughtfulness about action, or even how best to support survivors, is dangerous and unproductive.
If the goal was to show how widespread sexual violence against women is, that might have been accomplished here—though we have plenty of data to back that up. What we need is to go several steps further and turn this into action that holds men accountable for their actions and inaction around sexual violence; believe survivors; pour time and resources into supporting them; and find ways to address sexual violence from an intersectional feminist approach.