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We Need to Stop Being Shocked by Sexual Misconduct Allegations

At this point we need to stop being shocked.

With each week and with each name that surfaces attached to allegations of sexual misconduct, (most recently, longtime and now terminated Today Show host Matt Lauer), our first reaction is often surprise; as if this person or that person’s inclusion is somehow unexpected because of their public persona or their cultural or political contributions. Maybe we find them seemingly “one of the nice guys,” and are taken aback at first at what seems to be out of character for the people we believe them to be from where we stand.

That initial disbelief is understandable as a knee-jerk response but it’s probably more of a defense mechanism than anything. It’s also problematic if we nurture it too much, because it assumes that nice guys don’t do truly vile things—that somehow the world is made up of clearly drawn superheroes and super-villains, and that they’re all easy to spot from a distance.

Growing-up I was a disciple of Bill Cosby. As a teenager I wore out his records, memorized his stand-up routines, and my brother’s and I dropped quotes from his sitcom into everyday conversation as if he was part of the family. When news first began coming to light about his alleged sexual assaults, there was a moment where I simply could not fathom such things and responded internally with denial. It didn’t take me long to realize that I wasn’t evaluating a man accused of something horrible, I was evaluating Dr. Theodore Huxtable. I was conflating a creator and the image of the thing he’d created—and I did not want to lose the latter even if it meant not fairly judging the former.

Recently when a group of female Saturday Night Live writers and cast members drafted a letter supporting Senator Al Franken following allegations made against him, that tension was again tangible. While expressing their positive exchanges with the Senator (who has not yet been charged with any crimes and is still serving in his position), they sent the message to the world that simply because they themselves had never experienced harassment, violation, or unwanted physical advances from Franken, that he was not capable of such atrocities—which is a dangerous and slippery slope in matters of sexual abuse.

Sexual misconduct is practiced by predators who leverage trust, goodwill, and relational proximity to do harm. They are often funny, engaging, likable, and seemingly charming—but these admirable things get distorted, becoming tools used to find and silence those they victimize.

Survivors who step forward following trauma to name their victimizers, often have to compete not only with facts or information—but with their perpetrator’s personas. As unknown, ordinary people, they have to stand in the public eye opposite the larger than life monoliths that name recognition and cultural impact create out of their assailants—and it really isn’t a fair fight.

Intelligent men assault.
Funny men assault.
Creative men assault.
Charismatic men assault.

And all their intelligence, humor, creativity, and charisma aren’t worth more than the lives of those these damage, or the gifts and dreams within them that are assailed.

So yes, a brief moment of incredulity is natural, but we need to stop being shocked when affable, charismatic, personable men are accused of sexual misconduct because this does a disservice to the survivors of their misdeeds. We need to let the sick reality sink deeply into our marrows, that often these men’s very approachable, seemingly trustworthy exteriors are what allow them access to those they damage. We need to stop waiting for starkly drawn bad guys, because that isn’t how this works.

More than that, we need to listen to the accusers and to recognize that often they aren’t just fighting with the men who have violated them—they are fighting with the image we have of those men and do not want to part with. 

Most of the time the heroes and the villains aren’t easy to separate.

Too often, they’re the same person.

That should infuriate us and grieve us—but it can’t shock us anymore.

 

 

 

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