Some Ways to Be a Better Ally to Rape Survivors

With deep, heartfelt thanks to Janelle Monae  

and Kesha  for giving me the strength to try and get this out.

Saturday before last, after I marched with two of my closest friends and thousands of movement-mates, after my friends and I stopped into the Philadelphia Museum of Art for coffee and rest, I went outside to see the view of the crowd and skyline from the museum steps. The parkway was crowded and pink, and the speeches were in full swing. After I took my pictures and listened for a while, I turned around to go back in, but I was stopped by maybe the most beautiful sound I have ever heard: the entire march was singing “We will not be silent.” It was to the tune of “We Will Rock You,” but in no way did that detract from the sacred dignity of the moment.

The Women’s March gave me the courage to push back against some of the ways our own side, my own (now former) friends have worked against the cause of ending rape culture.

Here are some ways I would like to see survivors more supported, treated more kindly and humanely:

1.      When accused men take responsibility for misconduct, let them.

One of my worst #metoo era panic attacks happened on a facebook group. When the Al Franken sleep-rape-joke picture started circulating, I was shocked and heartbroken to see how many people I trusted, people who up to that point had steadfastly stood up for women went RIGHT for victim-blaming, conspiracy theories, and just old-fashioned slut shaming.

Al Franken, lukewarm as his apology was, did the right thing and took responsibility, but in a pattern I keep seeing for “nice guy” harassers, countless people who no doubt consider themselves anti-misogyny were willing to throw the accusers under the bus.

As with the Aziz Ansari story, not only did I lose a lot of faith in someone I admired, but I felt abandoned by those who turned on the accusers instead of the wrongdoers. This is supporting rape culture and shoring up the status quo.

2.      Stop policing our expression and our motivation—give that scrutiny to offenders instead of those harmed.

I work in a bookstore and yesterday I took Aziz Ansari’s book off the shelf and stashed it because it’s triggering. This isn’t because of his offense, although I could go a whole lifetime without hearing another coercion story. The reason I won’t be watching Parks and Rec again anytime soon (sorry Leslie!!!) is the way that people in my social circle reacted to the news—again, being angry at the accuser, even at the #metoo movement itself. One article said that we’d “jumped the shark”—like we’re fucking HAPPY DAYS.

The urge to blame the victim is so deeply ingrained, so thoroughly rewarded, that even the kindest among us will defend a “nice guy” creep instead of standing with survivors.

3.      No more gatekeeping about who got raped enough to participate.

I get it, sometimes I feel empathy for the wrong person, and trashing Taylor Swift can get you all of the likes, and in fact there are plenty of reasons to dislike her, but the fact is, a man felt entitled to put his hand up her skirt while she was working, and then sued her for it. No one, no matter how privileged or how you disapprove of her way of performing femininity, deserves that, and she deserves credit for facing down her accuser.

In fact, that’s why I’ve unfollowed all of my favorite feminist magazines and podcasts for now—I can’t STAND the endless dissections of which women are performing their survivorship wrong. It ends up reinforcing the patriarchy’s position that we are only things, here to be admired, used, or critiqued. We are not.

Again, direct the scrutiny at the assaulters, not the survivors, even the survivors it’s cool to hate.

4.      Next time you’re tempted to criticize #metoo, consider reaching out to offer kindness instead.

For me, the panic, depression, and hypervigilance that come with survivorship can trick my brain into feeling isolated, even in the midst of a worldwide movement, even with Oprah and Janelle Monae and Kesha on my side.

Every person who reaches out in kindness and solidarity helps, and every put-down stings. I’m glad to finally be telling you this.

5.      Hear us when we say no, in bed and in life.

Coercion is deeply imbedded in capitalism and in gender roles, and we need all hands on deck to resist it.

            This is how beautiful we are saying no: