It’s been six years since I wrote about my #metoo experience.
I think it’s time to talk about it again.
When I wrote about it in the summer of 2012, it was before the explosion of the movement, in which brave women and men share their stories of being sexually assaulted, sometimes after decades of keeping it a secret. The hashtag was coined by a woman in 2006, but it was 2017 before it went viral.
When I wrote my column, I was scared of the reaction. I had told a few members of my family but never anyone else. And writing it makes it real.
It was 1989. I was 26 years old and pregnant with my first son. I was a reporter in Jonesboro, and I was interviewing a professional, a psychologist, for a story. We started in his office, and after 5, he suggested we finish the interview at his house. That was no big deal. I’ve done hundreds of interviews at people’s homes. His wife was at the office, and she was leaving town. They kissed goodbye.
He gave me a tour of his two-story home. There were red flags, but I kept thinking I was imagining things. He was probably joking. Maybe I was taking it wrong.
Then he asked, “Do you think you’re sexy?”
Yes, I should have left immediately. But I had a job to do, and I kept thinking if I acted normal, it would be normal.
I didn’t want to embarrass HIM.
I’m a strong-willed assertive woman, but I let him make me feel inferior. He was well-known in the community. He had several children.
He was sitting beside me on the couch, and he stuck his hand down the front of my shirt. I jumped up and told him I had to leave. I practically ran outside, and I remember him asking, “Are you going to tell your husband?” I told him yes.
I vividly remember standing on the sidewalk in front of his house. I asked, “If you would do that to me, what do you do to your patients?” He said, “I would never do anything to my patients.”
Just me? I doubt it. I regret that I didn’t report him. He’s dead now, but I wonder how many other women he victimized.
After I wrote about this six years ago, the response was overwhelming. Several women emailed me and told me their stories of sexual abuse. What has stayed with me are the ones who said, “I’ve never told anyone this,” or “My husband doesn’t even know.”
We see posts on Facebook or articles in the newspaper every day about sexual abuse. An amazing, accomplished, smart woman I know posted on Facebook that she was a survivor of sexual assault. “Silent no more,” she wrote.
The reactions were swift and heartfelt. She was brave. She was believed. She was loved. It was the first time she’d said it publicly.
More women responded with the hashtag metoo, and some of them were also admitting it for the first time. It was pretty incredible. Story after story from professional women in my community — two on a university faculty, two employed in public schools; one woman works at a counseling center, and it goes on and on.
I was shocked to see my name mentioned in one of the Facebook posts. A former intern at a newspaper I once worked for thanked me for preventing her from being sexually assaulted. She said I walked into the newsroom during lunch and prevented her from being assaulted. She told me the man sniffed her hair and tried to grope her.
She pushed away in her chair and told him he was “in her personal space. He blustered and walked closer to me. I was flush against my desk. You walked in and could sense the tension.”
She said the man walked away, and I asked if she was OK. “I said yes, then you and I went on a walk, with you saying you knew something was up, and it was OK for me to tell you,” she said. “When I did, you were furious.”
I reported the incident. The woman said that within 24 hours the situation had been addressed. He left soon after that.
“That wouldn’t have happened if you had stayed silent. You didn’t, and I am grateful,” she wrote to me.
Wow. I had forgotten all about it. The guy was a creep. I’m sure he’s still a creep. I had heard him make inappropriate comments to other reporters. At that time, in the early ’90s, it was the kind of behavior that was somewhat tolerated, but I’m thankful for men of good character like my husband, who worked there, and the publisher, the late Frank Robins.
As I read the stories that flowed one after another on Facebook, I thought about my close calls. I was fixed up with a young man by family friends when I was in high school. They lived in Missouri.
I cannot tell you the boy’s name, what he drove or what time of year it was. But I remember that he took me off in a remote area and parked. He demanded that I take my clothes off. I refused. He argued and said he wasn’t leaving until I did. It didn’t work. Thank God he didn’t try to force me. I would have fought, but would I have been successful?
I didn’t tell anyone at the time. But, I promise you, it happened.
I hope the #metoo movement is making young women more aware of what can happen, more empowered to say no and more willing to speak up when they’re assaulted.
Has it ever happened to you? If it has, tell someone.
I believe you.
Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.