Accepting the Unacceptable

"Do you mind holding the microphone?" I asked.

"Set it on there," he said.

I looked down to see him gesturing towards the low coffee table.

"Sir, it won't pick up the sound properly from there. Do you mind if I move the chair forward?"

"No, I won't move the chair. You hold the microphone."

The only option was to crouch uncomfortably in front of him as he sat on his small office sofa. He sat forward as I held the microphone closer to his mouth. My eyes shifted to my voice recorder, and back to his face. I noted that I had been forced into an uncomfortably close position and that I was eye-level with the middle of his wide, uncrossed legs. We were alone, but I needed to record the interview, and I was very nervous, so I said nothing.

I was a 19-year-old journalism student, interviewing a man around the age of 60 who was a very senior official at my university. A man who was completely unimpressed by me and the fact that he was being interviewed by a young woman for a story he did not want to discuss. He was aware of the position he had put me in and seemed pleased that I had been forced into kneeling before him. I was a young woman; he was an older man. I needed this story; he knew it. He was in a position of power; we both knew it.

It was an acceptance of the unacceptable.

When I reflect on this situation over two decades later, it makes the hairs stand up on the back of my arms. Thinking of me crouching in front of this man alone and at crotch height makes me sick--the powerlessness I felt with the inability to do anything about it makes my skin crawl. The senior university official knew his disgusting power play could not be challenged both because we were alone, and his behaviour at the time (at best cringe-worthy) would not have been seen by others as bad enough to be challenged. Not to mention the consensus was his actions were seen as something that should be accepted as part of life for a young woman and aspiring journalist. I regret that I did not try to publish about this encounter, but I know the editors would have nixed the story. It was not dramatic enough and there was not enough proof. I was not powerful enough.

But I have not forgotten it. It and similar circumstances (see my previous posts) have played an indelible part in shaping me.

Over and over, I return to why I did nothing about the situation, why I was not entirely sure why I was so upset, and why I questioned my lack of refusal to adhere to such a vile request as being forced to kneel at a man's feet, knee-high to his clothed genitals. It is only now I am better read and have more life experience that I understand why. Why I froze. I did not want to make a name for myself as the person who called out a senior university executive, incurring the wrath of the university's lawyers and a potential media sideshow. I wished desperately for karma to befall the man in question. It never did. He was lauded with university accolades and retired to a nice life. He probably has no memory of his actions towards me that day.

It is only now I have seen a shift in public opinion--in large part due to some other, braver women--I feel empowered enough to speak about what happened that day. The court of public opinion has historically not been kind to those who speak up. And it has been especially unkind to women who articulate uncomfortable issues surrounding harassment, assault, and sex. This occurs in both high profile cases, and much lower profile cases, like mine. But that other women have spoken up and been believed makes me feel confident that saying something is finally the right thing to do. So that women who are doubting themselves over something that has happened to them know they are not alone. So others know it is ok to doubt themselves. Ok to question what happened to you. And ok to complain even when others think you should probably move on because your situation can be dismissed as just a bit, "gross."

20 years ago, I felt I had no recourse. Now I do not have to accept the unacceptable.

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