Events Related To Sexual Violence At The American Sociological Association 2018 Annual Meeting (Philly)
For my fellow sociologists planning to attend the 2018 annual meeting of the American Sociological Association in Philadelphia, I have compiled a list of meetings, workshops, paper sessions, and roundtable presentations related to sexual assault, rape, sexual harassment, intimate partner violence, the #MeToo movement and other activism to end sexual violence. You may download a PDF version here or see the full list below. These events will also be listed in an upcoming issue of Footnotes.
WEAR WHITE ON SUNDAY, AUGUST 12TH TO SUPPORT SURVIVORS OF SEXUAL VIOLENCE.
Sociologists Against Sexual Violence – a proposed new group
Sat, August 11, 8:00 to 10:00pm, Pennsylvania Convention Center, Level 100, 104.
Organizers: Eric Anthony Grollman (University of Richmond) and Shantel Gabrieal Buggs (Florida State University)
Given their critical investigation of power, gender, sexuality, and organizations, sociologists are in excellent position to raise public understanding of sexual violence and to inform laws and policies to support survivors and punish perpetrators. Yet, since news broke of then-presidential candidate Donald J. Trump’s taped admission of perpetrating sexual violence against multiple women, sociologists were noticeably absent from national discourse on sexual violence. This silence is even more suspect now as a national movement has taken shape (#MeToo), and initiatives focusing on the issue specifically within academia have been launched (#MeTooPhD). In fact, even in the discipline as multiple perpetrators have been identified and victims have voiced their experiences, most sociologists have done little beyond discussion of this epidemic. While public statements are an important first step, sustained action is needed to dismantle the systems that facilitate sexual violence. This meeting is open to sociologists who are interested in brainstorming short- and long-term strategies to address sexual violence both in and through sociology.
#MeTooPhD: Addressing Sexual Violence in and through Sociology
Sat, August 11, 10:30am to 12:10pm, Pennsylvania Convention Center, Street Level, 104A
Organizer and Presider: Eric Anthony Grollman (University of Richmond)
- Irene Shankar (Mount Royal University)
- Shawn McGuffey (Boston College)
- Karen Kelsky (TheProfessorIsIn.com)
- Bethany Coston (Virginia Commonwealth University)
- Leslie Jones (University of Pennsylvania)
- Hephzibah Strmic-Pawl (Manhattanville College)
- Nicole Bedera (University of Michigan)
Ways to effectively prevent sexual violence and support survivors of such violence in multiple contexts in sociology, including classrooms, departments, conferences, research abroad, and online. And, ways that we might use sociology to support broader movements to end sexual violence around the nation.
Bystander Intervention for Combating Sexual Misconduct in Sociology: Everyone Can Be Part of the Solution (Organized by the ASA Working Group on Harassment; Cosponsored by Sociologists for Women in Society)
Sun, August 12, 10:30am to 12:10pm, Philadelphia Marriott Downtown, Level 4, Franklin Hall 9
Organizer: Kathrin Zippel (Northeastern University)
Leader: Sharyn J. Potter (University of New Hampshire)
How to intervene as engaged bystanders before, during and after instances of sexual and relationship violence, stalking and harassment.
Sexual Harassment in Professional Associations
(Organized by the ASA Working Group on Harassment)
Sun, August 12, 2:30 to 4:10pm, Philadelphia Marriott Downtown, Level 4, Franklin 13
Organizers: Kathrin Zippel (Northeastern University) and Erika Marín-Spiotta (University of Wisconsin – Madison)
- Alexandra Kalev (Tel Aviv University)
- Frank Dobbin (Harvard University)
- Justine E. Tinkler (University of Georgia)
- Erika Marín-Spiotta (University of Wisconsin – Madison)
Drawing on research on and experiences with harassment prevention in workplace organizations, we will discuss what steps professional associations can do to promote a professional, learning and working environment free of harassment.
- Sexual Assault and Intimate Partner Violence: Explanatory Factors Across Multiple Contexts; Mon, August 13, 8:30 to 10:10am, Philadelphia Marriott Downtown, Level 4, Franklin 13
- Gender, Social Movements, and (In)Justice; Mon, August 13, 4:30 to 6:10pm, Philadelphia Marriott Downtown, Level 4, Franklin Hall 6; Jaime Hartless – “#MeToo and the Silence Breakers: Managing Allyship and Incorporating Intersectionality Without Derailing Activism”
- Gendered Violence, Sexual Harassment, and Title IX; Tue, August 14, 2:30 to 4:10pm, Pennsylvania Convention Center, Street Level, 111B
- Informal Discussion Roundtable Session; Sun, August 12, 10:30am to 12:10pm, Philadelphia Marriott Downtown, Level 5, Salon G; Table 9; Judith A. Richman – “The ‘ME Too’ Movement challenging male abuses of power: Addressing the psychotherapy arena”
- Section on Communication, Information Technologies, and Media Sociology Refereed Roundtable Session; Sun, August 12, 10:30 to 11:30am, Pennsylvania Convention Center, Street Level, 103B; Table 05. Identity and Influence in the Digital Landscape; Leslie Jones – “#MeToo and the Digital Black Feminist Critique of Colorblind Feminist Politics”
- Section on Social Psychology Refereed Roundtable Session; Mon, August 13, 2:30 to 4:10pm, Philadelphia Marriott Downtown, Level 5, Salon D; Table 1; Kaitlin M. Boyle, Jennifer Turner, and Tara Elizabeth Sutton – “Feeling Sexual Harassment and Microaggressions in Graduate School: The Role of Negative Emotion in Disordered Drinking”
- Section on Sociology of Sex and Gender Refereed Roundtable Session; Tue, August 14, 10:30am to 12:10pm, Philadelphia Marriott Downtown, Level 5, Salon H – tables 13 (Intimate Partner Violence) and 17 (Sexual Assault, Trafficking, and Street Harassment)
Most of you reading this blog post know someone who has been raped, sexually assaulted, sexually harassed, stalked, and/or physically harmed by an intimate partner — unfortunately, it might even be yourself. But, I would venture to guess that most of you who know a survivor of sexual violence do not actually know the survivor status of these partners, relatives, friends, coworkers, students, neighbors, etc.
In large part, this potential ignorance is the result of rape culture: the silencing of survivors; the blaming of victims for the violence perpetuated against them; the downplaying of predators’ actions; the willful ignorance regarding the pervasiveness of sexual violence and how society actually facilitates and celebrates it. When victims are not believed, are blamed, are shamed, and never see justice when they report the violence that they have experienced, it is perhaps a matter of protecting oneself from further harm and violence to choose silence.
But, your potential ignorance regarding who around you has survived sexual violence may also be your own doing. Your political leanings say a lot about you, no matter how central they are to your life. Those who are presumed to or actually believe that women do not have a choice over whether to terminate an unintended or unwanted pregnancy, that women should remain chaste until marriage, that a woman’s place is in the home, that a rapist with no political experience beat a seasoned woman in an election for the most important political office in the nation — these are people least likely to be sought out to disclose that one has been sexually assaulted. People who make rape jokes, excuse rapists’ behaviors, blame rape victims, or narrowly view rape as a private matter between a victim and a perpetrator are perhaps least likely to be entrusted with a friend’s story of being raped when she was a college freshman.
From my experience over the past few years, I would surmise that survivors of sexual violence disclose their experiences of violence with those who have earned their trust. But, I do not just mean that you can keep a secret or will not pass judgment. I mean that you have proven yourself to be a trustworthy ally to or — better yet — an advocate for survivors.
The more that I have committed to advocating for survivors, to stopping sexual violence, and to eliminating rape culture, the more relatives, friends, colleagues, students, and even strangers who are survivors have shared their stories with me. The more I speak out about sexual violence in the classroom, in my public writing, at conferences, and in private conversations, the more I have received the gift of survivors’ trust. For example, more than a dozen colleagues (most who were previously strangers to me) disclosed that they had been assaulted or harassed at past sociology conferences after I wrote a blog post about sexual violence at last year’s American Sociological Association meeting. It feels as though I created some sort of safe space around me by even naming sexual violence, and a handful of survivors have taken me up on my offer to listen to them, to believe them, to fight with them.
I would like to share a few tips for supporting survivors of sexual violence, namely earning their trust as a genuine advocate (or ally, if you prefer). These come from my experience, at best described as trial-and-error — by no means an expert opinion.
Cherish disclosure as a rare gift. Recognize how hard it is for a survivor of sexual violence to share their experiences with another person. Recognize the high risk of them not being believed, being blamed, being dismissed — of being revictimized just by telling their story. Survivors have every reason to keep you in the dark, so you should appreciate and affirm their willingness to allow you into this aspect of their lives.
…but, do not only think of them as a victim. If a survivor has asked you to do something specific to support them, do it if you can. Otherwise, I would discourage you from altering your behavior toward them or in their presence. You do not need to constantly ask them about being assaulted or harassed. You also should not avoid the topic unless they have asked you to. Survivors are so much more than victims of past sexual violence. If anything, they need you to treat them as normal human beings, as this would help counter the slut-shaming, victim-blaming, and hostility they experience from others.
Do not share their stories with others without permission. You should assume, unless otherwise stated, that you — and you alone — were given this gift of disclosure. You should not reveal their stories to other people, even in the abstract or with identifying details left out (just to be safe). Of course, if you are legally obligated to report disclosed sexual violence — for example, because of Title IX policies in higher education — you should immediately inform a survivor that you will have to report the incidence. Let them know as soon as you suspect that they are about to disclose to you; do not wait until after they have done so. Yet, do so in a way that is still inviting, rather than posed as a warning, as this may prevent them from disclosing to you (or anyone else who may be required to report sexual violence).
Emphasize that you believe them, and ask how you can support them. I have learned from experience that survivors do not disclose to others for any reason other than sharing their stories, having their voices heard, and being believed — perhaps to request others’ support or assistance, though not necessarily. Counter to the myths that they are seeking attention (perhaps even to the extent of fabricating their stories), it is perhaps helpful to share the burden of violence with others. And, maybe it is just to let you know, as it may be relevant to the conversation at hand or an important aspect of their lives. If and when a survivor opens up to you, let them know that you believe them, thank them for opening up to you, and ask what, if anything, you can do to support them.
Be an advocate at all times. Even if survivors in your life have not disclosed to you, you should consistently be an advocate for all survivors of sexual violence. I have learned that even in absence of personal experience or expertise on the subject, you have power in your ability to ask questions. It could be as simple as “what about the issue of sexual violence?” or “how are we supporting rape survivors?” In doing so, you are putting the issue on the table and making space for survivors to speak up. Survivors may never open up to you no matter your advocacy, but that is okay as the goal is to support them, not to rack up stories shared with you. In general, look into bystander intervention advocacy to learn about ways that you can challenge sexual violence and rape culture and support victims at all times.
I am learning as I go, so I do not present these as the best ways to support survivors, or even an exhaustive list. So, I invite you to share other tips in the comments section below. I would especially like to hear from survivors (who are willing to open up) about which behaviors of potential allies and advocates has been most effective in supporting them.
Note: this blog post was originally published on the “Conditionally Accepted” career advice column on Inside Higher Ed (here). I was pressured by IHE to use a pseudonym (I chose “Donovan A. Steinberg”) to minimize the likelihood of being sued. I am a Black queer non-binary scholar-activist and Assistant Professor of Sociology at University of Richmond.
My Professor, the Sexual Predator
Most of us have heard stories of professors who have sexually harassed or assaulted their colleagues or students. The stories covered in the news often involve senior heterosexual men professors who have finally been reprimanded, suspended or fired after years of perpetrating sexual violence — and after several victims have come forward about the violence they have experienced. It seems that the problem has to accumulate a great deal before perpetrators are punished and the rest of the world learns of it.
But these men professors are few and far between. There are countless faculty members who have not harassed or raped enough colleagues and/or students to be punished by the university or to warrant media attention. That is not to suggest that their behavior is not as bad or that their actions have been less damaging to their victims. Sexual harassment is sexual harassment, and rape is rape. The problem is that most of these perpetrators get away with their crimes, even in the rare instances when victims report it or speak publicly about it. Even in the face of clear evidence of sexual violence, it seems that academe tends to defend predators, often because of their status and intellectual reputation, especially relative to their (usually lower-status) victims.
I have enough sense that unpunished sexual violence perpetrated by faculty members is so rampant that I would venture to guess that we all know that guy — that one professor who is known to be at least a little inappropriate with his students and/or junior colleagues. He is that person women grad students and junior faculty are warned to avoid: “He’s really smart, but …” We all know it, but somehow he remains on the faculty. Other people may even defend him: “Oh, that’s just [rapist’s name] being [rapist’s name].” “Boys will be boys.” “Locker room talk.” Sexual violence is so normalized in our society, why should academe be any better about punishing perpetrators and protecting victims?
I give all of this context to justify talking about that guy in my graduate program. I chose not to mention him by name because the details of the sexual violence that he has perpetrated may distract from my larger point: that he is but one of many faculty members who are essentially given a free pass to harass and assault those around them in the department. I will call him “Uncle Rapey” for the sake of this essay.
I actually chose my graduate program because of the faculty members who specialized in my area, including Uncle Rapey. When I visited the program as a prospective graduate student, I had meetings with faculty members to learn more about the program. At the close of each meeting, that professor would walk me to the next faculty member’s office. One professor escorted me to meet with Uncle Rapey after she and I met. She teased him about being good. He retorted that he and I collectively would have at least three legs on the ground at all times. She giggled. My memory perhaps incorrectly recalls her also saying, “Oh, [Rapey].” How cool, I thought, that these professors joked about sex so openly. How naïve I was.
A few months into my first year, I attended a conference, where I reconnected with my undergrad mentor. As we parted, her face turned cold and her tone became serious. She told me, “Stay away from [Uncle Rapey] — promise me you’ll stay away from [Uncle Rapey].” She did not explain further. But I knew that they had worked together in the past, so I assumed she had good reason to warn me about him.
At this point, however, it was too late. I was well into my first (and last) course with him. Every week, I had already been subjected to his sexual jokes — once teasing me and a fellow graduate student about engaging in fisting. At the course’s end, he approached me and another grad student to request that we pose nude for him for his amateur photography (pornography?) work. I declined. And that was certainly the last time I worked with him in any professional capacity, and thereafter tried my best to avoid him. It is difficult, though, when the department keeps faculty like Uncle Rapey involved in departmental affairs. I still remember the time he greeted his genitals as he visited another class I was enrolled in.
But, I got off easy — privileged, to be more accurate. Another student in the department revealed to me the time that Uncle Rapey pushed her against the wall and forced his hand into her vagina after complimenting her on her skirt. She eventually disappeared from the program, probably never finishing her Ph.D. And I know of other women grad students whom he has harassed or assaulted, and some of them never finished their graduate training. Recently, I have heard that a new crop of graduate students is outraged with the department as he remains on faculty, unpunished, given a free pass to assault and harass students. These are only the stories of which I have heard. I can only imagine countless other victims have suffered in silence.
I would argue that when one institution fails to seek justice, it opens the doors for injustice in other institutions. Since my department failed to punish Uncle Rapey, there was little to stop him from perpetuating violence in other academic contexts. He continues to be recognized as a leader in our field, even being honored as awards are named for him.
I have chosen to speak up here because there are many Uncle Rapeys in academe. We all know one or maybe more than one. Departments normalize sexual violence when they look the other way as faculty members abuse their power in harassing or assaulting junior faculty and/or students. In some ways, they actually facilitate sexual violence — as an expression of power — by maintaining hierarchies, wherein senior faculty wield power over junior faculty, grad students, undergraduate students and staff. These professional hierarchies are further compounded by society’s hierarchies — classism, racism, sexism, heterosexism, ableism and ageism.
In the meantime, we have to keep calling out the Uncle Rapeys of academe. Departments and universities must actually put their sexual harassment policies into practice. Victims should be able to easily and confidentially report sexual harassment and assault. And punishments for sexual violence should be blind to the perpetrator’s professional status, as that status may be the very vehicle through which they are allowed to prey on others.
Note: I recently contributed to Dr. Veronika Cheplygina‘s blog series, “How I Fail,” to offer my own reflections on failure in academia. See the original blog post here. And, be sure to check out Dr. Cheplygina’s earlier writing on failure in the academy (here and here).
How I Fail
Veronika Cheplygina [VC]: Thanks for joining the How I Fail series! Please introduce yourself and if you already have any “failure statistics” you would like to share.
Eric Anthony Grollman [EAG]: I am an Assistant Professor at the University of Richmond in Virginia. I am a scholar, broadly defined, placing importance on research, teaching, and service, as well as the connections among these domains of the academy.
I am currently on a yearlong research leave following a successful mid-course review. While remaining productive, submitting 4 papers to journals, I felt set back by the rejection of every manuscript by 1 if not 2 journals. Rejection after rejection set the stage for me to feel as though I was failing all around, and that I would have nothing to show for a year’s leave.
Though so much rejection at once is new for me, I am no stranger to journal rejections. One article was rejected five times before receiving a favorable revise and resubmit decisions from the journal in which it is now published. One of my forthcoming articles was previously rejected after an R&R at one journal, and desk-rejected from two other journals. I’d say I have an equal number of articles that were published in the first journals to which I sent them and that were rejected from multiple journals before they were finally accepted. Overall, it still feels like a crapshoot, not knowing whether a manuscript fits in an article, will be liked by reviewers, will pique the interest of the editor, will overlap too much with a recently accepted piece or fill a gap in the journal, and so forth.
VC: Do you keep track of your failures (rejected papers, grants, job applications…)? Why/why not?
EAG: I’m no different than the average academic here, at least until recently. That is, I try to avoid dwelling on my failures – because they feel exactly like that, rather than minor setbacks or growing pains or lessons in living. It’s much easier to see how failure fits into the larger narrative in hindsight. I do believe I differ from others, however, in intentionally celebrating my successes. Specifically, at each year’s end, I make a list of all that I have accomplished in both the personal and professional domains. For, just as I tend to numb myself to by losses, I also tend to overlook or downplay my wins. So, this end-of-year reflection helps to remind myself that I accomplish quite a bit – and probably can stand to recognize that more so I stop pursuing project after project and service opportunity after service opportunity to prove to myself that I am worthy.
This past year’s end, I experimented with reflecting on failures alongside my successes. I even shared it publicly, though I acknowledge I was more generous with my wins that my losses. (I’m only human, and an imperfect one at that.) I doubt this will occur outside of new year’s resolution and old year’s reflection activities, as reflecting on how I’ve failed isn’t something I’d like to do often. But, there is an overall sense of growth, overcoming, and hope that comes from directly engaging with lessons I’ve had to learn by screwing up.
VC: What do you think about sharing failures online? Are there disadvantages for researchers who do it?
EAG: I appreciate the failure-CV idea – it’s a rather brave and noble act. It helps to normalize failure in academia. The reality is rejection is the norm. If a journal touts a 8% acceptance rate, that means the overwhelming majority of papers will be rejected immediately, after the first review, or even after subsequent reviews. Grants, jobs, positions, and other milestones in academia likely carry similar odds of success. Being the best, beating out your competitors, is a bizarre feature of our profession. So, sharing those wounds publicly is pretty courageous.
But… I think it’s cute when privileged folks do something to prove a point, but ignore that the stakes are much higher and the rewards are much lower for those who are disadvantaged. I actually never read the failure-CV that went viral because I (correctly) assumed its author was a white man, probably senior level faculty at an ivy league school. (Well, apparently he’s an assistant professor, but even a tenure-track position is a pretty cushy gig considering the majority of PhDs are in exploited contingent faculty positions.) After it was first published, I began seeing critiques of his efforts as nothing more than an exercise of privilege, or that he’d only be able to get away with airing his failures because he was incredibly successful. So, that confirmed that I didn’t need to bother reading it. And, I didn’t until recently.
I have a reputation for being outspoken and sharing potentially professionally damaging information online. But, I would probably never make a concise list of all of the ways in which I have failed in my career. In a year, I will be applying for tenure; as an assistant professor, I do not want to make it easier for my colleagues to pinpoint my failures. Academics are hypercritical people; while airing my failures would be a noble act, it opens me up to be further judged and criticized. “Oh, they only published that in that journal because it was rejected from four other journals.” “Wow, they applied for that three times before they got it? I got it on the first try.” I suffer from playing the same comparison game. So, as someone who currently lacks job security, and is additionally vulnerable by virtue of being Black, queer, and outspoken, I’d rather not play with fire (or failure) anymore than I need to. Sharing my failures won’t help me professionally (and actually could hurt me) and it does nothing to liberate fellow marginalized people.
VC: What do you do when you receive a rejection? Do you have some process/ritual of dealing with failure? Has this process changed throughout your career?
EAG: When I receive rejections from journals, I read the reviews immediately. I curse the reviewers for being idiots, for not realizing I couldn’t do the things they wanted to see in the paper. I curse the editor(s) for not giving the paper a second chance with a perhaps harsh R&R. I make an impulsive plan to submit the paper elsewhere without changing a thing, because those reviewers didn’t know what they were talking about. Then, I put the reviews away for at least a week, or perhaps more if I was in the middle of working on another manuscript. Rejection stings, but over time I have come to see them as just part of the long process of peer-review and publishing. While it is never my plan to get rejected, reviewers typically offer advice that will increase the likelihood of success at the next journal. It still frustrates me that over half of the comments are useless (anger may be exaggerating my estimate here…), but I recognize that the reviewers have identified one or more fatal flaws – at least for publishing in that journal. And even that sentiment – it’s just a rejection from this journal – reflects an evolving, more balanced reaction to failure; often they have nothing to do with the content or quality of my paper and, instead, may be any number of other factors that I cannot control.
VC: What about when you receive good news? Who do you share the news with, do you have some rewards for yourself?
EAG: Good news is immediately shared online, with my partner, and with anyone who supported me in achieving that win. Successful outcomes require a lot of work and patience, so they indeed warrant celebration when they happen. And, then I update my CV – personal copy, on my website, and on Academia.edu. And, I stare at the new line on my vita for a minute or two to let it sink in. Then, the critical voice in my head gets louder and I go on to do something else.
VC: Can you share some examples of failures which hurt the most, and why that was?
EAG: As I reflect, no specific rejection comes to mind as particularly hurtful. Some have temporarily made me mad because they felt unfair, and rejection closes the line of communication so I am unable to defend or explain myself. But, I just improve what I can and submit elsewhere. One journal’s rejection is another journal’s acceptance.
But, thinking of failure on a broader sense, not simply as concrete outcomes, failing myself by not being authentic has hurt the most. In getting swept up in the elitist, competitive, impact-factor-obsessed game of academia, I am embarrassed to admit that I have made many decisions to excel that went against my sense of self, my identities, my politics, my values, and my goals as a scholar-activist. I have failed myself (and my communities) by conforming or “souling out” because the normative or mainstream path in academia demands it. This has left me doubting every decision that I have made (like working at a liberal arts college) and feeling disconnected from my work. I am making strides toward getting back on the path of authenticity in my career, but only after years of struggling and distress. Conforming was the worst thing I’ve done in my career.
VC: Can you think of something you accomplished that felt like a success, but you wouldn’t normally add to a CV?
EAG: Breaking ties with my grad school mentors was a hard, yet inevitable step in pursuing a self-defined career as a scholar-activist. I was literally traumatized by my graduate training. The constant microaggressions, efforts to “beat the activist out” of me, and the questioning of my career choices left me weepy and filled with doubt in my first year on the tenure-track. I had to suck the poison out of my life in order to define this new chapter of my life for myself. This was a huge success for me; but, of course, I’d never list “broke up with my grad school advisors” on my CV!
VC: Is there something we can all do to improve how failure affects others in academia?
EAG: Given that failure is as common, if not more so, in academia, it should be normalized. A positive first step would be to openly share the ways in which we fail, and not only when we are successful enough to “compensate” for those failures or when we are privileged enough to weather the risks of such vulnerability. Rather than regularly celebrating our long lists of achievements, we could talk about our careers as journeys with wins and losses. We only fuel perfectionism-induced anxiety in others when we introduce invited speakers by reading an obnoxiously long bio that is just their CV disguised as prose. (Though, I’m sure that is the point.) Sharing failures tells others how you overcame them and finally became successful; failures are a part of the story of success. It is much more inspiring, in my opinion, to hear how you got knocked down over and over but kept getting back up. I can learn something from the person who had to cope with and overcome failure, not much from those who (supposedly) succeeded on the first try.
But, we can’t ask academics to become vulnerable if the risks of doing so remain high. We can’t ask others to share how they screwed up if we’re only going to judge them and, worse, allow those judgments to influence formal evaluations of them. I suppose one way to change the hypercritical, competitive, judgmental climate would be to celebrate scholars’ journeys rather than just their wins. Maybe we could celebrate that it took 5 years to publish an article because it kept getting desk-rejected and not just the impact factor of the journal in which it is published. Or, celebrate the personal backstory of an article, like persevering despite a neglectful, abusive former co-author, and not just that it was published and will be widely cited. What I’m suggesting here is a fundamental shift from celebrating our journeys, perhaps in a qualitative sense, and not just quantifying success, contribution, and impact. Indeed, these quantitative assessments fail to acknowledge stark disparities in academia.
VC: What is the best piece of advice you could give to your past self?
EAG: To my past self, I think that one piece of advice would have spared me a lot of stress and heartache: live your truth, tell your truth. Success by someone else’s terms is not nearly as satisfying as failure on my own terms.
Note: this blog post was originally published on the “Conditionally Accepted” career advice column on Inside Higher Ed.
Amplifying the Voices of Survivors
The photo above was taken during a Take Back the Night march at my alma mater, the University of Maryland Baltimore County, in March 2005. It was taken by student, Matt Stockslager, and appeared in the university’s student newspaper, The Retriever Weekly. You can see me on the left, sporting a funky blue button-down Southpole shirt, dark blue jeans and Timberland boots, holding a sign that is hard to read and that my memory fails to recall.
In those days, I double majored in sociology and psychology while pursuing a certificate in women’s studies (now gender studies). My feminist and queer consciousness were just beginning to grow inside the classroom as I was exposed to critical writings on gender, sexuality, feminism, queer theory, race and intersectionality. And my critical consciousness was budding outside the classroom in this and other forms of feminist activism on campus, as evidenced by organizing for the creation of an LGBTQ campus resource center and hosting events to foster dialogue about diversity and inclusion.
I fondly remember marching alongside other students, faculty and staff to demand the end of sexual violence on our campus and in the local community. With slight embarrassment, I also recall being asked to share the megaphone that I must have been hogging during the march. Selfishly, I felt good about knowing that a booming, somewhat masculine voice shouting to end rape was significant and would capture others’ attention. Then, as now, I felt that white heterosexual cis women’s faces were those that typically represented anti-rape advocacy, perhaps to the detriment of the broader movement — women of color, trans women and queer women may hesitate to get involved where they do not see themselves reflected, and cis and trans men may struggle to find a place in the movement. So I shouted with pride, “Two, four, six, eight!” — or something along those lines — until I was politely asked to hand the megaphone off to someone else.
I was a bit annoyed at the time, but I understood. And in hindsight, I realize how problematic my behavior was. Sure, I could make a stink about what seemed to be the silencing of my voice — a voice that very well could be one of a survivor. (And it may be? I am not entirely sure.) Or I could emphasize the points that I just made above, about the power of representing cis and trans men in sexual violence advocacy, about ensuring that the cause is not seen simply as one for white heterosexual cisgender women.
But I believe it was just as important, if not more so, that I not steal an opportunity to hear the voices of actual survivors, especially those of women survivors. While I was proud of my participation, and recall it fondly today, that march was never meant to be about me (no matter my identities) — it was about a movement to end a crisis that affects too many people.
Amplify Their Voices
Over the past year, the informal mission and potential power for change of this blog, “Conditionally Accepted,” has become clearer to me. I have not yet said this publicly, and this is currently not much more than a half-baked idea, so please don’t quote me on this. But I see this blog’s mission as the following:
- advocate for justice in academe,
- amplify the voices of marginalized scholars and
- aggravate the status quo in the academy.
The appealing alliteration aside, I think these three A’s — advocate, amplify and aggravate — effectively encompass what we have been doing on this blog since its inception in 2013 (even before it became an Inside Higher Ed career advice column in 2016), as well as where we will likely go in the future.
Over a decade after the embarrassing megaphone incident in 2005, I now value the opportunity (and, I would even say responsibility) to amplify others’ voices. In gaining access to the megaphone, I had an opportunity to amplify that I did not take. Rather than selfishly projecting my own voice, I could have used it to tell the stories of those who could not speak or, more importantly, handed the megaphone off to survivors who could speak. I could have used my voice (without the megaphone) to echo what a survivor said with the megaphone.
Today, I have successfully established an online platform that features marginalized scholars’ voices and stories. Here, each of us can write in the first person, claiming our truth and our identities, our value and our experiences. I have occasionally opened up about my own experiences with sexual violence, particularly the difficulties inherent in teaching on the subject, I have written about my observations of academic organizations and institutions’ mishandling of sexual violence cases, and I have attempted to draw attention to other activists’ fights against sexual violence. But all of what I do as a well-intentioned advocate is secondary in importance to giving space to survivors to tell their own story, to use their own voices to speak for themselves.
It is more important than ever that we work to make space for survivors to tell their stories. In general, a silence surrounds the subject, with ignorance and complicity keeping bystanders quiet, and victim blaming and slut shaming keeping survivors’ mouths closed.
And even where there is dialogue is typically part of the problem, as well. Conversations about sexual violence — a hate crime, a tool of oppression, a social problem — are too often reduced to speculations about responsibility, intent and the veracity of survivors’ reports. The media qualify reports of sexual violence with the word “allegedly,” which veils the undermining of survivors’ voices with concerns about legal considerations. In some places, “devil’s advocates” — clueless, conservative, white, heterosexual cis men — are given more room to weigh in on something they have probably never experienced and on which they lack expertise.
Apparently, we do not want to hear survivors, we do not want to believe them, we do not want to recognize them as credible sources on their own experiences. So they have to find their own spaces to share their stories. (See also this Washington Post series.)
So in the spirit of amplifying the voices of the marginalized, “Conditionally Accepted” will feature guest blog posts about sexual violence over the next six months. Yes, we are devoting half the year to this oh-so-important topic, though we know six months is hardly enough. Several guest bloggers from different career stages and academic and social backgrounds contributed to our call for blog posts on rape, sexual assault, sexual harassment, stalking and intimate partner violence in higher education. Some people reflect on a personal experience, some offer teaching and research tips, and others offer advice for effectively supporting survivors and ending campus sexual violence.
This series of blog posts will certainly not solve all the issues, but it is at least one way to amplify the voices of survivors — and, to be certain, that is an important first step.