Dr. Nicole Plyler Fisk
January 7, 2018
This is the first in a
series of talks about the #metoo movement — a movement
created by social activist
Tarana Burke in 2006 and made popular by actress Alyssa Milano in October 2017,
a decade later.
Each Spring, I teach a
Rhetoric & Composition course and talk to my students about a rhetorical
term called kai-ross, which is the opportune moment to make your argument; or,
as professor Eric White describes it: the
“passing instant when an
opening appears which must be driven through with force if success is to be
achieved.”
In other words, Tarana
Burke’s idea ... conceived, as she’s said, after she heard a 13-year-old girl’s
story of sexual abuse and wanted to offer support, to be able to connect her
somehow with other victims of similar trauma, so she wouldn’t feel so alone ...
was a good and worthwhile idea. Eventually, she founded a nonprofit, Just Be
Inc., and used the phrase “me too” to indicate the pervasiveness of sexual
harassment and/or assault against girls and women.
Then, in October of this
past year, in light of the Harvey Weinstein sexual abuse allegations, Alyssa
Milano tweeted a call to women who had been victims of harassment or assault,
asking them to use their social media platforms to say “me too.” Millions
responded. That, as Professor Eric White would no doubt say, is “a force” — I’d
add, one of Star Wars-styled galactic proportion.
It is fitting that Time’s
2017 “person” of the year wasn’t President Trump, despite his insistence that
the publication had said it would “probably” be him — but rather, “the silence
breakers”:
women who speak the truth
to power ... not unlike those nineteen women who openly accused President Trump
of the type of sexual misconduct he bragged about on that now infamous Access
Hollywood tape.
Like so many other women,
I responded to Alyssa Milano’s call, although it was difficult — not because I
have a problem with sharing my experiences, but because ... as Veronica Ruckh
articulates so powerfully in her essay, “Literally, Why Can’t I Say #MeToo?”
... “I just...somehow...feel like my experiences weren’t ‘bad enough’ to say
#MeToo.”
I finally settled on this:
Me too ... whether being
pressured to strip by an older boy while in elementary school; or subjected to
vulgar taunting in middle school math class; or snatched in the middle of a
routine during my brief stint on high school cheer squad; etc. — none of it was
okay, then or now.
After I posted it on my
Facebook page, my mother commented that I wasn’t even in kindergarten for that
first part. I was four.
Still, I hesitated
posting, because I felt so lucky to have only experienced harassment; or for
the assault-part to be limited to an unknown teenage boy catcalling me before
grabbing my wrist and pulling me towards him only for a moment before I broke
free and people intervened.
This hesitation is, as
Ruckh explains, part of the point:
my attitude, my feelings,
and my self-doubt are part of the problem. I consider myself to generally be a
strong, educated, feminist woman with a decent platform where my voice can be
heard. Yet I have trouble identifying these things, and further excuse them
when they happen to me. That’s not good. It doesn’t have to be ‘bad enough’ for
it to count. And regardless of whether I’m comfortable or you’re comfortable
saying #MeToo, we all need to admit that we have a problem.
The problem that women and
their allies are pushing up against is a sexism that’s systemic — and the only
way to bring it down is to find and destroy its roots.
There are many, but one
institution in which sexism is rooted ... and I’m tackling this one both
because (1) I speak from experience and (2) because of my setting ... is the
church. However, this particular building and the ideology of those within it
offer a model for what conservative Christian churches could become, if
they’d only stop being so fearful of change; so dismissive of science-based
knowledge; and so suspicious of “others.”
I grew up in a Methodist
church, which — though conservative in many ways — wasn’t, at least, Southern
Baptist. In other words, I remember a string of ministers growing up, women as
well as men; and I was encouraged to deliver the sermon, myself, whenever we
had “Women in the Pulpit” Sunday, which was (and maybe still is?) actually a
thing.
I wasn’t even aware of the
differences between denominations when I joined the Baptist Student Union my
freshman year in college, but I learned quickly, because there were any number
of men eager to tell me that I could teach children in
church, or sing, but was
absolutely forbidden to be in a position of leadership over men.
Even my male best friend
from high school, who came with me to college, seemed shocked that I thought
women could be ministers if they wanted to. We had never talked about it. But
I’ll never forget the morning he took his seat beside me in a geology class we
were taking together and handed me a piece of paper filled with verses designed
to put me in my place. I had anticipated as much and was prepared: I handed the
list back to him, without even looking at it, and said:
“Galatians 3:28: There is
neither Jew nor Gentile, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male
nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”
I told him that my verse
(which suggests God doesn’t see male or female) made his verses void.
He said “it doesn’t work
like that” ... (and, for the record, finally unfriend-ed me on Facebook years
later) ... but it does, doesn’t it? Because here’s the thing: we get to choose.
That secret they never told us in Sunday School? We’ve always been able to
choose.
There are verses in the
Bible that seem to justify slavery and ethnic cleansing as well as verses that
denounce it. There are verses that demonize women, and gay people, and anyone
outside the tribe, but there are also verses that not only condemn such
demonization strongly but also provide words of encouragement and hope and love
to the most vulnerable and marginalized communities. There are conservative
voices in the Bible, and there are progressive ones. Just like today.
There was one guy at
Baptist Student Union who, when I asked what he thought about women ministers,
said, “I don’t see a problem with it.” And I called my mother to tell her I’d
met the man I was going to marry, because that seemed so crazy-feminist and
awesome at the time; the bar was set so low, y’all. Seriously, though: he’s
sitting right back there, and we’re here, and I know that what I recognized as
worthwhile that day ... specifically, someone who, despite having been raised
Southern Baptist, recognized that he could choose differently ... is not
only worthwhile but essential if we want to make the world better.
Because here’s the truth:
evolving is hard, messy work. It’s much easier not to think ... to, instead,
let others choose for you ... to forget that we have both a choice and a
responsibility to be good humans. (And despite what the churches in which most
of us grew up would have us believe, Christianity does not have a
corner on that market. The
Golden Rule, or treating others as we want to be
treated, appears in nearly
all world religions and ethical traditions.)
One of the problems that the
MeToo movement is seeking to correct is that women have historically not been
treated as well as men and to change that requires a fundamental rebranding of
a masculinity that has become toxic.
We’re talking about
changing culture here. Fortunately, there are people who have been working on
this already, with young people as their audience, which means that the
up-and-coming generations have the potential to be so much better than us.
I teach freshman
composition classes at my state university that are themed around popular young
adult series, so I’m going to talk briefly about two famous women who seem to
be asking us to grapple with different types of masculinity:
Suzanne Collins and JK
Rowling. [People ... and it’s almost always men, by the way ... love to make
fun of me for teaching cultural studies (e.g., “What is the English department
coming to?!” “Why don’t you teach Shakespeare?!”) [Yep ... that article’s about
my class; don’t read the comments]
But we’re going to take a
few minutes to see what these women — who have sold millions of copies of
books that have been translated into dozens of languages — have to say that
might be worth hearing. And, side note: we still have Shakespeare classes. I
just don’t teach them.]
In The Hunger Games series,
Collins has her heroine choose between Peeta (an artist, a baker, and a boy who
— the night before he’s thrown into a fight-to-the- death competition — is
consumed not with fear of dying but with fear of losing his “purity of self,”
of being turned into “some kind of monster that [he’s] not”; and Gale (the
hunter, the soldier, and a boy whose parting idea to Katniss is that there’s
really no difference between hunting animals and hunting people). [Here are the
actors who played each part; the books were better.]
Gale is the one who makes
bombs to kill his enemies; Peeta is the rhetorician, the one who uses words,
and whose words have, as Collins writes, “the power of an exploding bomb.” More
often than not, he looks for a different and better way to play the game. He’s
ultimately the heroine’s, and he should be our, choice.
In the Harry Potter series
and the new Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them spinoff, Rowling
asks us to consider Harry Potter and Newt Scamander.
As Emma Lord explains in
her article, “On Newt Scamander, Toxic Masculinity,
and the Power of
Hufflepuff Heroes,”
Newt tears up in wonder as
a baby [bird] hatches, and tenderly refers to himself as "Mum" to a
group of them. When Newt's privacy is violated by [Quennie], his reaction,
though he is feeling "angry and embarrassed," according to the
screenplay, is merely to say, "Please don't read my mind,” ... When Newt's
beasts — the very nearest and dearest creatures to his heart, and the purpose
of his entire life's work — are threatened, he doesn't try to lash out or fight
or punish anybody. His pleas for [the Magical Congress] to see reason are
entirely an appeal to their emotions, an attempt to reason not just with their
heads, but their hearts: "No, no, don't hurt those creatures — please, you
don’t understand — nothing in there is dangerous, nothing!”
Newt Scamander takes every
trope we know about the Male Hero — the toxic tropes that we have grown up
with, that are so internalized in traditional narratives that we don't even
blink at them anymore — and flips them on their head.
In an ordinary narrative
(traditional Harry Potter narratives included) the idea of a Male Hero manifests
very differently. See, if Newt were the hero we were used to, he would still
defend those creatures, but out of some profound, Gryffindor-like sense of
indignation and rage, which he'd use to justify whatever extreme means he'd
employ to protect them. If he were the hero we were used to, he would have
lashed out at Queenie, and we would have accepted it. Men's pain is
traditionally considered weakness, and her exposure of his would open up a plot
point for him to expose his manly fury. And the "manlier" thing to do
when Newt's beasts were compromised was, no doubt, to hurt anyone and everyone
he could ...
[Lord continues:] Also
essential in Fantastic Beasts's changing this narrative of men being weak for
showing their emotions are the reactions of the people around Newt in the film.
The supporting cast of characters, both men and women ... are all at some point
or another surprised by his sensitivity, but foster a safe environment for it.
The people who react poorly to it are clearly the "bad guys," and through
this, the movie retrains its audience to see this hero through a different
lens.
Lord concludes with hope
that the world is “ready to embrace new archetypes for heroism — heroes who are
honest, vulnerable, and unafraid to feel.” I hope so too, but you would be
surprised at the kickback I get in the classroom from young men as I present
these ideas.
Some of them feel
compelled to shout out, “Gale is better than Peeta!” or “Harry is better than
Newt!” And then I have to qualify, explaining that I feel empathy for Gale who
has been conditioned to see violence as his only option; that I still (deeply)
love Harry who definitely has his moments ... he’s strongest when he engages Newt-style
with his emotions rather than stifling them, when he allows himself to be
overwhelmed by love. For Sirius in Book 5. For Dobby in Book 7. Only then is he
able to block Lord Voldemort. And that’s a magic we all have.
If my male students
continue to protest (and they do), I adapt a favorite line from David Wong’s
“Six Ways to Keep Terrorists from Ruining the World."
Wong condemns answering
violence with more violence and addresses the kickback from presenting
nonviolent resistance strategies (most often this kickback, he explains, takes
the form of “What about Hitler?!”); he tells us this:
The more important
question for that person is, why do you have a knee- jerk reflex to roll out
the Hitler example any time the need for violence is questioned? Why is it that
you even feel a touch of anger when doing it? Why do you feel the urge to be
dismissive or snide in the process, implying the questioner is weak or naive?
Why are you defending the use of violence as if it's sacred to you?
Why, I ask my students,
are you defending toxic masculinity as if it’s sacred to you?
This MeToo moment is an
opportunity. We’re at that crucial point in the story when — if we’re brave
enough and committed enough to “unlearn what [we] have learned” — we can choose
differently than we’ve chosen in the past.
Boys will be boys; or boys
will be good humans?
Throw like a girl as a bad
thing? Or, throw like a girl as a good thing?
PLEASE PLAY LINK:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjJQBjWYDTs
If you don’t think those
choices matter, I’ll tell you this. The first time I showed my class Always’s
#LikeAGirl PSA, back in 2014, one of my female students had tears rolling
down her face by the end of it.
Moving forward, we need to
remember that we do a disservice to all of us, men included, when we don't
treat one another with equal compassion, kindness, and respect. Boys are not
naturally predatory; girls are not naturally servile; although
we’re all affected by the
water in which we swim. The good news is that we’re in charge of the water; we
can make it less toxic. And I know that’s intimidating to think about in the
age of Trump — but that only makes it more important. We just have to remember
that we get second, and third, and fourth chances — b/c we get to make choices
over and over again, every day, that show our children exactly what we value.
And, speaking as a woman
to my male allies, I need you to talk to younger men about their options: Gale
or Peeta? Harry or Newt? If you hear a guy say, “Boys will be boys!” you say
“Boys will be good humans.” If you hear a guy say, “You throw like a girl!” you
say “That’s a compliment.” Because right now, many of them need to hear
about their choices from you rather than me ... but, if enough men support the
work that we’ve been doing ... I look forward to the day they’ll take my word
for it.
