So I took a screenshot of his newest contribution and posted it to my Instagram feed with the hashtag #outthem in the caption. I didn’t black out his name or profile picture; I just shared what he’d already thought was a perfectly acceptable thing to say to me publicly.
I expected backlash from other obnoxious men who think women should take sexual harassment as a compliment, but most of the replies I got from men were along the lines of “I hate guys like this douchebag. They give all of us a bad name.”
To my great surprise, the backlash came from a few women:
His post is not alright, but when you put him on blast like this, that’s not alright either. I know you can be better than this. You have chosen to be an example to others, to be someone to follow, and this is how you address the situation?
You’re always talking about kindness. How is it kind to expose him like this?
Some guys just say the wrong thing when they’re flirting because they get nervous around a girl they find pretty.
These women were upset I had outed this man. Women, in the year 2019, were rallying to support a sexual harasser. Why? Why do some women make so many excuses for men’s bad behavior? Because we’ve all been brainwashed to think that sexual harassment is shameful and should be kept private.
One of the reasons I didn’t say anything when I was molested at the age of five was because I was embarrassed by what had happened. But what did I have to be embarrassed about? It wasn’t my fault. The only person who should have been embarrassed by his behavior was the man who had violated me. Why was I carrying around his shame for him? Why are women always running around picking up men’s shame like dirty socks?
We are taught from girlhood to be nice and to protect other people’s feelings, even at the expense of our own well-being. We learn, by example, that we are supposed to cater to everyone else around us. We cater to the men in our lives. We cater to our children. We cater to our friends. We cater to strangers. Does everyone have what they need? Is everyone feeling good and doing great? I address the concerns of others without even thinking, as automatically as a reflex, but when it comes to taking care of myself I have to pause and remember to ask myself, Wait, do I have everything I need? Am I feeling good and doing great?
I try my best to be empathetic and think about what might be happening in someone else’s life that could be influencing their behavior, but even my empathy must have its boundaries. Another person crosses that boundary when their words or actions threaten mine or anyone else’s physical or emotional safety. Why are we more concerned with protecting the reputation of jerks who are sexually harassing women than with making sure every single woman feels safe and respected?
We forget to differentiate between being nice and being kind. But they are not interchangeable. According to the dictionary, “nice” is defined as “pleasing; agreeable; delightful.” Nice is sitting quietly with your legs crossed at the ankles. Nice is “He didn’t mean it.” Nice is “You should just take it as a compliment.” In other words, being nice is about superficially behaving in a way that makes other people feel comfortable.
Kindness, on the other hand, is defined as “having, showing, or proceeding from benevolence.” There is strength in kindness. Kindness comes from a deeper place of morals and values, of wanting to do the right thing because ultimately it betters the world. Kindness is looking out for other humans by doing what might make some people or myself uncomfortable in the short term, like exposing sexist, derogatory pigs for what they are. I’m kind to the world when I push back against a culture that normalizes inappropriate behavior. Because unsolicited, explicit sexual advances are not awkward flirting; they are about power and intimidation. I aim to set an important and valuable example when I show other women that we don’t have to take this crap silently.
One of the young women I hope I’m reaching is my own daughter, who I hope will come of age with a pretty high standard for what she should tolerate and how she deserves to be treated.
At my first-ever parent-teacher conference for Matea, her kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Miller, informed me that my daughter was a wonderful, bright student, but she was having one big issue with her. I braced myself.
“During recess, Matea really likes to play on the swing set. But frequently, another student will run up and grab the swing from her just before Matea sits down, and whenever this happens Matea just looks down or walks away and I’m worried that she’s not standing up for herself.”
Mrs. Miller went on to explain that one day she’d taken Matea by the hand, walked her back to the swings, and told her she needed to tell the boy who’d cut her off, “I was here first, and you can have it after I’m done.”
The fact that this amazing person was looking out for my daughter when I wasn’t there—during recess, no less, her only break during the whole workday—and teaching her such important lessons made me tear up with gratitude. But how had I missed this? Had I inadvertently bought into the seemingly default rule for girls in our society, that asking for what they want is somehow considered rude? I needed to pay closer attention to the way my daughter interacted with other kids and make a point of gently challenging her in the moments I witnessed those sneaky, toxic messages taking hold, because the world won’t, and there won’t always be a Mrs. Miller around to step in and model a gentle but firm touch for her.
The harmful messages the world has for our daughters about who and what and how they should be have been in the spotlight the past few years, but the world has plenty of nonsense to tell our sons, too.
You know how people will post a picture of a man making scrambled eggs for breakfast for his child and everyone on the internet loses their fricking minds? The comments section will explode with gushing praise like “What an amazing father. This post needs to go viral,” and “He is the BEST dad,” and “Oh my gosh, he is so sexy! A man who makes breakfast for his kid? HOT.”
Seriously? All a father has to do is make breakfast for his child and he’s sexy? Or play with his kid or do the laundry or braid his daughter’s hair? Why do we perpetuate the assumption that men aren’t capable of basic parenting? What an insult to men. Honestly, I wouldn’t have such a problem with posts like this if we made an equal fuss over the million little things women do every day to take care of our children. But have you ever seen someone comment “Wow. That is SO attractive. This should go viral!” when someone posts a photo of a mother tucking her own child into bed? Nope. It shouldn’t be seen as extraordinary for a father to lovingly care for his own children.
The greatest insult our society dumps on men, though, is the old adage “Boys will be boys.” As a mother raising two boys, that saying, frankly, pisses me off. “Boys will be boys” implies that men simply can’t help how they think or speak or act. “Boys will be boys,” with the help of countless movies and commercials, tells us that men think with their penises and can’t be expected to control themselves. But having no self-control implies that a person is weak, and since when do men want to be seen as weak? “Boys will be boys” says, “Well, yeah, they’re male, so it’s no surprise they’re acting immaturely; it’s in their nature.”