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"What history has shown us time and again is that if marginalized voices — those of people of color, queer people, disabled people, poor people — aren’t centered in our movements then they tend to become no more than a footnote. I often say that sexual violence knows no race, class or gender, but the response to it does. “Me too.” is a response to the spectrum of gender-based sexual violence that comes directly from survivors — all survivors. We can’t afford a racialized, gendered or classist response. Ending sexual violence will require every voice from every corner of the world and it will require those whose voices are most often heard to find ways to amplify those voices that often go unheard."

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How does the movement make you feel?

Does the movement feel accessible to you?

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"It's really rough and traumatizing like... all the time but I feel better talking about it than hiding."

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"It's so uplifting to see people speak out about their trauma and talk about reform."

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For this essay I kinda wanted to combine personal narrative and typical essay writing prose. So my essay kinda weaves narrative into it. i am doing this because i think the me too movement is deeply personal and it somehow feels wrong to write about it in a merely scholarly way. I also think the movement's aim is to empower victims and I find that storytelling is empowering.

my arguments are basically that the movement did provide a platform for many people to speak out about sexual assault and harassment and while this tended to be positive in that it led many workplaces reconsidering how to create safe spaces for their workers and college campuses to reconsider policies and a lot of assailants to be punished, these positive outcomes did not reach people equally. the movement, though originally intended to empower black and brown women, tends to favor the stories of white women, especially white celebrities. a lot of people have been left out of the conversation.

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Online Reviews and comments about Jewish Queer Media

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Online Reviews and comments about Jewish Queer Media

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(npr, Playbill, Rotten Tomatoes, Goodreads, NY Times)

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Articles about Gay Congregations, Queer Judaism in Modern World, and about Queer Jewish Identity in American Theatre

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Articles about Gay Congregations, Queer Judaism in Modern World, and about Queer Jewish Identity in American Theatre

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events, forums, chat rooms

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I know this song was about them speaking out against Bush and getting a lot of backlash for it but I think its really really powerful to think about it in discussion with the Me Too movement

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The Chicks - Not Ready To Make Nice (Official Video)

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"it allowed me to understand that certain things that have happened to me, shouldn’t have. and that the discomfort and lack of safety i felt were valid."

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"there are the racial dimensions. I’m pretty sure that me too was started by a black woman, and while i don’t know if i would say white women co-opted it, whenever something starts in a specific marginalized community, i wonder if it loses some of its authenticity or context. the conversations are similar for women of different races, but they’re not the same."

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horrible gross icky comments that i have to include 

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horrible gross icky comments that i have to include 

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"'In my generation, what these girls are going through was never considered assault,” Judith said. “It was considered, ‘I was stupid and I got embarrassed.'" (Hartocollis)

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Sherry Warner Seefeld, right, meeting last month in a restaurant in Eagan, Minn., with other mothers of students who had been accused of campus sexual assault. Credit Credit Tim Gruber for The New York Times

Four women met late last month at a restaurant in a Twin Cities suburb, where they spoke for hours, so intently their waiter had trouble getting their drink orders.

Each had a son who had been accused at college of sexual assault. One was expelled and another suspended. The other two were cleared, yet one had contemplated suicide and the other was so crushed he had not returned to school.

The women had been meeting regularly to share notes and commiserate. Now, over red wine in a corner booth, they were finally savoring a victory.

A few days before, Betsy DeVos, the education secretary, had rescinded tough Obama-era guidelines on campus sexual assault, saying they violated principles of fairness, particularly for accused students like their own sons.

"What she is doing with this issue is spot on," one of the women, Sherry Warner Seefeld, said.

Few issues in education today are as intensely debated as the way colleges deal with sexual misconduct. Women's groups and victims' advocates have deplored Ms. DeVos's moves, saying they will allow colleges to wash their hands of the problem. But a growing corps of legal experts and defense lawyers have argued that the Obama rules created a culture in which accused students, most of them men, were presumed guilty.

And some of the most potent advocates for those men have been a group of women: their own mothers.

Some of the mothers met with Ms. DeVos in July to tell their stories, and Ms. DeVos alluded to them in a speech she gave last month. An advocacy group founded in 2013 by several mothers, Families Advocating for Campus Equality, or FACE, has grown to hundreds of families, who have exchanged tens of thousands of messages through their email list, said Cynthia Garrett, co-president of the group.

The mothers lobby Congress, testify on proposed legislation and policy, and track lawsuits filed by men who say they have been wrongly accused. A bill in the California Legislature that they testified against, which would have enshrined the Obama-era regulations into state law, passed both houses but was vetoed this month by Gov. Jerry Brown, a Democrat, who said it was "time to pause" on the issue.

The group holds twice-yearly meetings, where parents and sons share personal experiences and listen to advice from psychologists and lawyers.

Away from the public eye, families have spent tens of thousands of dollars and dipped into retirement savings to hire lawyers and therapists for their sons. Some have pressured colleges to reconsider punishment or expunge disciplinary notations from transcripts, so that other colleges and employers cannot see them.

Ms. Seefeld said she hired a lawyer and even a public relations firm, and used her political connections as a teachers' union leader, to try to get the University of North Dakota to reverse her son's three-year banishment after a woman accused him of nonconsensual sex.

"I was willing to do everything and anything," Ms. Seefeld said. Her son Caleb Warner was ultimately cleared after the college took a second look at the case.

The mothers' resolve comes from their raw maternal instinct to protect their children. But several who agreed to interviews also said they did not doubt that their sons' accusers had felt hurt.

Their sons may not have been falsely accused, the mothers said, but they had been wrongly accused. They made a distinction.

One mother, Judith, said her son had been expelled after having sex with a student who said she had been too intoxicated to give consent.

"In my generation, what these girls are going through was never considered assault," Judith said. "It was considered, 'I was stupid and I got embarrassed.'"

Ms. DeVos issued temporary guidance for colleges last month and will invite public comment while developing permanent regulations. Most significantly so far, she has lifted the requirement that colleges use the lowest standard of proof, "preponderance of the evidence," in deciding whether to uphold a charge of sexual misconduct. Colleges are now free to demand more convincing evidence, a move that the mothers and other advocates for the accused had called for, saying that students should not be punished in cases where there is some doubt about the accusation.

The most active mothers said they stepped forward because they often had more time than their husbands, and because they made a strategic decision that they could be effective on the issue of sexual assault precisely because they are women and, as some described themselves, feminists. "We recognized that power," Ms. Seefeld said.

Many women, however, feel exactly the opposite way.

A number of women's groups and victims' advocates have argued that a tougher standard of proof will discourage women from coming forward. They have not been shy about expressing their view of the mothers as "rape deniers" and misogynists who blame women for inviting male violence against them.

Jessica Davidson, a victim of campus sexual assault and the managing director of End Rape on Campus, said it appeared that the mothers had a strong emotional impact on Ms. DeVos, who separately met with victims, including Ms. Davidson.

"It is of course an immensely difficult thing to believe somebody you love could rape or harm another person," Ms. Davidson said.

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Education Secretary Betsy DeVos, who met with several mothers in July, spoke in September at George Mason University in Virginia about campus sexual assault regulations. Credit Mike Theiler/Reuters

But, she said of the mothers, "I think it's the wrong thing for them to do to try and push back an entire movement."

Of a dozen mothers who were interviewed, almost all asked to be identified by their first names only. They said they wanted to protect their sons from being publicly revealed as having been disciplined, or even accused, in a sexual assault case. The mothers obsessively type their sons' names into Google, and are relieved when their cases do not come up.

Some of the mothers remember the moment they learned their sons had been accused as vividly as other people remember hearing that planes had struck the World Trade Center.

Alison was pushing her cart down the aisle at a supermarket, looking at Tide detergent, when she got the call from her younger son. He had left home for college for the first time about seven weeks before.

"I think I have a problem," her son said. "It's bad."

She felt a flash of irritation.

"How many times have I told you, you need to keep it zippered," she said she told him.

Then the gravity of the situation sank in. "I need to hire a lawyer," she thought.

A female student had told the university police that she had been sexually assaulted at an apartment near campus.

As Alison tells it, the woman had propositioned her son and consented to sex. She learned more about her 19-year-old son's intimate behavior than any mother would want to know, and found herself talking about it "as if it were the grocery list," she recalled.

Officials at the university declined to comment on the case, citing student confidentiality rules.

According to university documents provided by Alison, her son was cleared. Additionally, a grand jury declined to indict him, she said. But, Alison contends, the investigation should never even have gotten that far, and the damage was already done.

Her son had become a pariah, dropped by his friends and called a rapist by women on campus. The semester after he was cleared he called home, sobbing, to say he could no longer take it and was dropping out, she said.

Five years later, at 24, he has not received a diploma and is trying to ease back into college life by taking courses online.

Alison and her son were among the delegation that met with Ms. DeVos in July. "It was very solemn," Alison said. "It was as if we all, everyone in the room, had attended the same funeral together."

Judith, whose son was expelled, said that at first her son did not tell her about the complaint against him, thinking he could handle it alone. She found out when he was taken to a hospital, suicidal.

She described herself as a lifelong Democrat and feminist who went to college in the 1970s at the height of the sexual revolution and women's liberation movements. Her husband and their two sons were "super respectful" of women, she said.

"We don't really need to teach our sons not to rape," she said.

Four years after being kicked out of school, she said, her son is leading a "double life," unable to confide in colleagues at work, and avoiding college classmates and his hometown.

Gloria Davidson, whose daughter, Jessica, runs End Rape on Campus, said that as the mother of a 21-year-old son, she could empathize with the mothers of accused students - to a point.

"Any mother is watching out for the children, that's what mothers do," Ms. Davidson said. "But I think all mothers should get the facts and open their eyes to what could have happened or not."

Few mothers have been as public and assertive as Ms. Seefeld. In 2010 her son, Mr. Warner, learned he had been accused of sexual assault by a fellow student at the University of North Dakota. Mr. Warner contended that the sex was consensual, but he was suspended and banned from campus for three years.

His mother leveraged the connections she had developed over years as a high school psychology and sociology teacher in Fargo, and as a union leader. She contacted the State Board of Higher Education and visited state legislators.

Hearing that the university was about to start a fund-raising drive, and thus would not want bad publicity, Ms. Seefeld said, she emailed its president about 9 p.m. one night. She wrote that she had hired a lawyer to look into suing the university, and a public relations firm to help her publicize her son's case, she said. "Within 30 minutes I heard from the president," she said, and he told her the case would be reviewed.

A spokesman for the university declined to comment. But university documents provided by Ms. Seefeld show that the school did review the verdict, and nullified it because of a new development: The police said that they had found inconsistencies in the accuser's account and that some witnesses had contradicted it. They issued a warrant for her arrest on a charge of filing a false police report. (The woman left the state and has not been arrested. She did not respond to telephone messages.)

Realizing she was not alone, Ms. Seefeld helped found FACE, the advocacy group for accused students. She said the group does not want to attack women. But if the mothers do not defend their sons, she said, who will?

"I just thought it was so wrong, and I thought how could anybody let this stand," she said of her son's punishment. "And pretty much the most significant weapon I had was the weapon of public opinion, so that was the weapon I was wielding the hardest."

Alain Delaquérière contributed research.

A version of this article appears in print on , on Page A12 of the New York edition with the headline: Mothers 'Willing to Do Everything,' Their Sons Accused of Sex Assault. Order Reprints | Today's Paper | Subscribe

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'Willing to Do Everything,' Mothers Defend Sons Accused of Sexual Assault

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Four women met late last month at a restaurant in a Twin Cities suburb, where they spoke for hours, so intently their waiter had trouble getting their drink orders. Each had a son who had been accused at college of sexual assault. One was expelled and another suspended.

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A result of the fear that men are being falsely accused of sexual assault.

"Their sons may not have been falsely accused, the mothers said, but they had been wrongly accused. They made a distinction" (Hartocollis) ... lol what

"They said they wanted to protect their sons from being publicly revealed as having been disciplined, or even accused, in a sexual assault case." (Hartocollis)

"Some of the mothers remember the moment they learned their sons had been accused as vividly as other people remember hearing that planes had struck the World Trade Center." (Hartocollis) ... omg

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"Ending sexual violence will require every voice from every corner of the world and it will require those whose voices are most often heard to find ways to amplify those voices that often go unheard" (Burke 2017).

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How do media portrayals compare with real-life experiences? Is performativity the same as representation? A.K.A, do Jewish Queer actors need to play these roles?

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Jewish Queer Identities Section - Lindsay!

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Jewish Queer Identities Section - Lindsay!

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November 9, 2017 About US is a new initiative by The Washington Post to cover issues of identity in the United States. Look for the About US newsletter launching this winter.
My favorite diner is in Montgomery, Ala. When I lived there more than 10 years ago, as often as I could, I ate there. The staff was super friendly; the eating area was clean enough and the food was delicious. The servers were mostly black women; the main cook was a black man. I liked to sit at the counter and order my food and talk to the servers. When I did, I'd often see the same disgusting behavior on the part of the cook toward various waitresses. She would shout out the order to him, and if she was not within his reach, he would say something like, "Bring your tail down here - you know I can't hear you!" And if the waitress complied, at least 50 percent of the time, he would stand directly in front of her, practically close enough to plant a kiss on her lips and say something like, "What you gonna do for it?"

Over time I watched this routine play out in different ways. Arms slinked around waists, rear ends tapped, shoulders rubbed. Sometimes the waitresses pushed back - but only a little. Mostly, they learned to navigate the narrow space behind the counter and figure out ways to save one another from his vile, undesired advances. I was so outraged that I once got into a screaming match with the cook. I told him if he wouldn't respect the waitresses, he would respect me as a customer and not openly sexually harass these women in front of me. In between admonishments to mind my "saddity" New York business, he told me that this was the way he and the women "played around" at work. He was so mad at me confronting him that he had to take a smoke break. While he was outside, the woman who I defended tried to reassure me that it was okay. When I asked her how she could put up with his gross behavior, she said simply, "He's the boss."

These last few weeks have been a whirlwind. Actually, they have been more like a floating sidewalk scene from a Spike Lee movie. From the start of #MeToo going viral and the recognition of my years of work preceding it, I have been happily allowing this wave of attention to shine a much-needed light on the fight to end gender-based violence. I founded the "me too" movement in 2006 because I wanted to find a way to connect with the black and brown girls in the program I ran. But if I am being honest with myself, and you, I often wonder if that sister in the diner has even heard of #MeToo, and if she has, does she know it's for #UsToo?

Black women have been screaming about famous predators like R&B singer R. Kelly, who allegedly preys on black girls, for well over a decade to no avail. Anita Hill, thanklessly, put herself and her career as a law professor on the line more than 25 years ago to publicly name Clarence Thomas for sexually harassing her at work.
[Analysis: Allegations of a sexual encounter with a teen hit Roy Moore where it hurts - his righteousness]
Actress Jane Fonda acknowledged this fact during a recent interview about the public reaction to allegations of sexual harassment and assault from multiple women against movie producer Harvey Weinstein. "It feels like something has shifted. It's too bad that it's probably because so many of the women that were assaulted by Harvey Weinstein are famous and white and everybody knows them. This has been going on a long time to black women and other women of color and it doesn't get out quite the same."

Native American women have the highest rate of sexual assault in the country. According to the Department of Justice, American Indians are 2.5 times more likely to experience sexual assault crimes compared to all other races, and one in three Indian women reports having been raped in her lifetime. Yet they are never named in the national conversation about sexual violence.

Statistics from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention show that women of color experience a higher rate of sexual violence. In a survey of adult women in 2010, 22 percent of non-Hispanic blacks, 18.8 percent of non-Hispanic whites, 14.6 percent of Hispanics and 35.5 percent of women of multiple races said they had experienced an attempted or a completed rape at some time in their lives. The Bureau of Justice Statistics also reports that lower income women experience some of the highest rates of sexual violence.

Even in high school, students of color report higher rates of sexual violence: 12.5 percent of American Indian/Alaska Natives, 10.5 percent of Native Hawaiian/ Pacific Islander students, 8.6 percent of black students, 8.2 percent of Hispanic students, 7.4 percent of white students and 13.5 percent of multiple-race students reported that they were forced to have sexual intercourse at some time in their lives.

The young girls of color that first encountered the "me too." movement in community centers and classrooms and church basements were there not only because they needed a safe space, but because they needed their own space. They needed to find spaces where they could focus on their healing without having to be performative or guarded and "me too." gave them that space.
[A majority of Americans now say that sexual harassment is a serious problem]
As I watch the allegations spill forward about one Hollywood honcho to the next - comedian Louis C.K. was added to the list Thursday - it is painful to hear the stories of what these women have endured at the hands of these predatory men. One of the most powerful things about #MeToo has been its ability to allow people to expand the conversation beyond celebrity. The reality of seeing everyday people - friends, neighbors, co-workers, family - disclosing their various experiences with sexual violence has been jarring for many and enlightening for most. I started this work with the intention of reaching young Black and Brown girls, but fully believing in its potential to move the world. Some people call it a watershed moment, and there definitely feels like a shift is happening, but it feels incomplete.

What history has shown us time and again is that if marginalized voices - those of people of color, queer people, disabled people, poor people - aren't centered in our movements then they tend to become no more than a footnote. I often say that sexual violence knows no race, class or gender, but the response to it does. "Me too." is a response to the spectrum of gender-based sexual violence that comes directly from survivors - all survivors. We can't afford a racialized, gendered or classist response. Ending sexual violence will require every voice from every corner of the world and it will require those whose voices are most often heard to find ways to amplify those voices that often go unheard.

The waitress in the diner may never stand up and say #MeToo - and that's fine. But I want her to know that the global 'me too.' community we have created has space for her too.
Tarana Burke is senior director of programs at girls for Gender Equity in Brooklyn. Follow her work at @metooMVMT. More from About US: 'I'm not black': When a child rejects his racial identity, is homeschooling the answer? I'm the descendant of a founding father and I have two black daughters - and I am racist Wave of warnings to travelers of color harks back to Jim Crow-era 'Green Book' These white Americans say they're already having frank conversations about racism with African Americans

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Perspective | #MeToo was started for black and brown women and girls. They're still being ignored.

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November 9, 2017 About US is a new initiative by The Washington Post to cover issues of identity in the United States. Look for the About US newsletter launching this winter. My favorite diner is in Montgomery, Ala. When I lived there more than 10 years ago, as often as I could, I ate there.

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Additional interviews by Rachel Bashein, Joy Crane, Amelia Schonbek and Jane Drinkard
This story was produced in collaboration with New York Magazine.

As the first anniversary of the Harvey Weinstein revelations approaches, scores of prominent men continue to be accused of sexual harassment in the workplace, though a few - , - have been angling for a comeback . Meanwhile, an innumerable number of men still abuse female employees, co-workers and clients with almost casual impunity.

"I love the reckoning that's come with #MeToo," says Laura, a public employee whose sexual harassment is ongoing. "But I'm not sure how it translates to people like me. I don't have a media outlet that's going to be fascinated by my boss acting like an asshole. Nobody cares. It's just normal life."

To better understand what the #MeToo movement is up against, we spoke with women from dozens of industries who remain unable to report sexual abuse and harassment. Most requested anonymity, fearing that speaking up would cost them their jobs or subject them to gossip and innuendo that would damage their work environments beyond repair. Some have never told their stories to anyone, including those closest to them. And in many cases, it was other women who advised them to remain silent, warning that reporting would only make things worse. As one union electrician said, "I've earned my place in this industry across decades of silence."

But choosing not to reveal sexual harassment should not be mistaken for passivity. The women who shared their stories with us made a variety of nuanced, careful calculations about how to deflect, rebuff and resolve the discriminatory - and sometimes criminal - mistreatment on their own. Some changed their work routines. Others began carrying a weapon, got a dog or verbally challenged their aggressors. Whatever the strategy, they paid a heavy price, from altering their physical appearance to giving up jobs they loved. Which raises this question: What would our world look like if women could do their jobs instead of spending so much time and energy combating sexual harassment?

"Even the older women ignore it."

Jessica, 26
Hospital technician, Florida
There are two men at the hospital I've definitely had uncomfortable interactions with. One guy came up to me in the OR, with 10 other people around, and said to me, "You know, you're the sexiest tech we've had." I thought about talking to HR, but I don't even know which HR to go to because he and I both work for third-party companies, not the hospital.

The other guy I've had issues with is the nurse anesthetist. One time, he made a comment about having me sit in his lap. Another time, he told me he was disappointed I wasn't wearing shorts. But if I reported it, I think people would be like, "Oh, he's just making a joke. You're getting riled up about nothing." I don't feel like I have anybody on my side. Even the older women ignore it.

There should be a book for 50-year-old men called, " This Is Sexual Harassment," that makes it easy for them to understand. Like: Don't say anything to me that you wouldn't say to me in front of your wife. And: Just do your job! Everyone is here to work. No one is here to get hit on.

"I was stunned he would do this to someone who taught sexual harassment law."

"Stephanie," 58
Law professor, Midwest
I'd recently moved with my 11-year-old daughter and my partner of seven years to start a new professorship. My specialty was sexual harassment law. We became close to another family in our neighborhood, and the father was a tenured professor in my department.

One night, after a Halloween party at the dean's house, he tried to kiss me. I told him, "This is not OK. This is not what we're doing." But over the following weeks, he kept coming to my office. I told him, "You need to stop this." He goes, "Can we at least shake hands, be friends?" I said OK. But when I put my hand out, he pulled me in and tried to kiss me again.

Even now, thinking about it, my cheeks are getting hot. I still remember the humiliation and disgust. I was just stunned he'd do this to someone who taught sexual harassment law.

I didn't come forward. I was the only out person on the faculty, and I'd already been accosted by a professor who yelled at me about how homosexuals molest children. Someone filed a complaint against him on my behalf, but nothing happened to him. I was untenured and a single parent, but I felt like such a jerk. I didn't follow the advice I give students: Things only get cured when people speak up.

Eventually I did make an informal complaint with the associate dean. She said, "You have to understand, you're red meat. This is going to happen." In other words: You're an attractive, intelligent, sexually available woman, so it's your responsibility to be careful.

"The first thing I saw was the car of my old supervisor."

"Daniela," 45
Farmworker, New York
I came here undocumented in 1994, and I've worked in agriculture ever since. A few months ago, my supervisor started to tell me dirty things. He invited me to go to his apartment. He told me he was by himself and his girlfriend was far away. He told me when he was with his girlfriend, he could leave her trembling all over. I told him no. Eventually, he started to give me harder work in retaliation.

There was no HR office at the company. There was one other supervisor I could have talked to, but he was a family member of the perpetrator. There was another boss, but he only spoke English, and the only two people who could interpret for me were not trustworthy.

After my old job ended, I filled out an application for a job with benefits. I got an interview, but when I arrived, the first thing I saw in the parking lot was the car of my old supervisor. I was terrified. I just left. I didn't even go to the interview because I was so afraid to see his face. So I'm still doing the same type of work I used to do. And because it's agriculture, there are no benefits at all.

"It's an area where saying, 'Snitches get stitches,' is not just a joke."

"Amanda," 25
Police officer, Maryland
On the night shift, the sergeant would say things to me like, "So when are we going to have sex?" He would come up and touch my shoulders or run his hands through my hair. I tried to laugh it off. But when I finally told him, "No, I'm never going to sleep with you," he got really angry. He was very insulting, making negative comments about me as a worker and my appearance.

The thing that got to me most was when another investigator in the unit drew up a poster about how he thought one of the supervisors had slept with me. He posted it all over the department.

I don't think I ever considered saying something. It's an area where saying, "Snitches get stitches," is not just a joke. A friend who knew the director of Internal Affairs asked him what you can do about sexual abuse. The director was like, "It will go worse for her than it will for him if she reports anything," which pretty much sums up the process.

"It feeds the impostor syndrome."

"Natalie," 36
Marketing manager, Ohio
I've worked in a number of different jobs, but the one thing that's been universal for me is that every male boss I've ever had has harassed me in some way. And I have not at any point come forward or sought the help of HR or even upper management. When I was new in my career, I was afraid of losing my job. Later in life, I was really well compensated and didn't want to jeopardize my lifestyle.

One day, when I was the marketing manager for a family chain of restaurants, I got called into my boss' office. I closed the door behind me because that was the standard procedure for meetings. When I turned around, his penis was out.

I didn't say anything because I knew they would just find a reason to fire me. When men do that stuff, the women they harass become a liability.

Later, he came to me with a plan to help reimburse me for my college expenses. I don't know if he was trying to buy my silence, but I'm not stupid - I took it.

"I remember thinking, I wish I was fat again."

Brooke, 37
Waitress, Illinois
I had gastric-bypass surgery my last year of undergrad and lost 120-ish pounds. I had this new body people were noticing, and it was so weird for me.

I was in shock. My aunt, this person I had trusted my entire life, wasn't on my side. That was almost as bad as the actual assault. I remember thinking, I wish I was fat again. If I was fat, none of this would have ever happened.

Now I have situational anxiety - what could I have done differently to prevent this? I have to be hyperprepared for every situation.

"In construction, it's just a matter of when, not if."

"Jane," 34
Construction worker, Alaska
Not long ago, I was on a job, and there was a crane operator who kept asking me to go to the movies or dinner. He'd make comments like, "You know what I want." The other guys I worked with said, "Yeah, he's kind of a shitbag, but it's hard to find a good crane operator, so we're not gonna do anything."

One day, after I turned the guy down, we were cleaning up the yard. He got in the forklift, put it in reverse and used it to pin me up against the wall. I'm like, "What the fuck are you doing?" He laughed: "Calm down. I was just joking."

I didn't report it because I thought it wasn't bad enough. I wasn't raped, so they're not going to take it seriously. You hear stories about what happens when you report it. There was a gal who did, and she got blackballed and couldn't get work. Now all the guys say, "She's a lying bitch. She's gonna just flirt with you and then accuse you of sexual harassment." In construction, it's just a matter of when, not if, it happens to you.

Right now, there's a company that has most of the work, and I need a job. But that crane operator is there. Do I really want to go work with him again?

"I'm a grandmother, and they're still talking shit about me."

Lisa, 50
Electrician, Michigan
My local union is a good ol' boys' club. It's been in existence almost 100 years, and we've had a total of eight women. They're like sitting ducks. You're on a job, and you have to walk past a hundred guys, and they're all hooting and hollering and making snide remarks - talking about which one's going to get you tonight. It's almost like a no-win. If you only talk to the women on the job, you're a lesbian. If you only talk to the guys, you're a slut. If you talk back to anybody, you're a bitch.

If you complain, you'll be off the job, and that's after you've had to drag your ass across the country to get work. It takes your first two paychecks to cover your expenses to get there and two more to get back home.

Three days ago, I get a call from someone at my local, and he tells me that guys at the job he's on are saying I'm sleeping with all the apprentices. That's amazing to me after 20 years doing this. I'm a grandmother, and they're still talking shit about me.

"The advice was just to cover up your gender."

Tatiana, 26
Prison therapist, Washington
While I was in graduate school, I had female supervisors who gave it to me straight: If I wanted to work in forensic mental health, I would need to have a thick enough skin to not let something like sexual harassment interfere with my job. If I reported a corrections officer, I might lose access to my patients; officers might not let me into a unit or would suddenly be unavailable to assist me in meeting with a high-security patient.

When I started working at a state prison, I experienced harassment regularly - by corrections officers, by staff, by inmates. The vast majority of it was verbal: asking about my sex life, commenting on my clothes and my appearance, repeatedly asking me out on dates despite my saying no. At first, I accepted the advice I was given. In response to a sexualized comment, I might be like, "Wow, you gotta get your eyes checked." Trying to just downplay it.

That works, but it basically validates what they're saying and gives them room to continue. After I made a remark to one officer over an inappropriate comment he made, he said my clothes were too tight and he felt the need to report it for my "safety." Later, when I was a therapist for mentally ill men on a hospital ward, I came inside with rain-soaked clothes and was reported to my supervisor for "treating work like a wet-T-shirt contest."

Today I see women wearing skirts or blouses, and I can't do it. I am afraid to be overly sexualized. I've been to a place where I was reduced to a sexual deviant. I've worked so hard in my career to get where I am that I will never let somebody do that again.

"When you're a woman, you are not in a position of power, even if you wear a collar."

"Diane," 38
Pastor, western United States
As a pastor, you're never your own person. You're always an extension of this institution you're representing. From my very first call, when I was 27, I've gotten so many comments about my appearance - what I wear, my hair and jewelry and makeup, when I lose or gain weight. People feel like you've been hired to be available to hug them, the same way you're available to preach the Word or bury their dead. There is one gentleman at my current congregation who thinks he's entitled to a hug every time he interacts with me. A few months ago, after a memorial service, he took his finger and went down my back along my bra strap. After that, I let some people know, "If you see me talking to this person, please come and interrupt the conversation, because I do not trust this individual."

The perception is that the pastor is always in the position of power. Bullshit. When you're a woman, you are not in a position of power, even if you wear a collar. If there is sexual misconduct, you're not supposed to call the police - you're supposed to trust the church to take care of it. But the church doesn't take care of it, and to speak up is to condemn yourself and put your career on the line. As a woman pastor, if anything happens, you have to deal with it pretty much on your own: Suck it up, rise above it and act like nothing has happened.

"I never put him on the hook for any of it."

"Laura," 44
Health care administrator, New York
I built my career at a government health care agency. And even in do-gooder professions, there are still gross people who will abuse the smallest amount of power. One night after work, a group of us met for drinks, and this official in the agency joined us. Afterward, as I was walking to the subway home, he turned to me and said, "All I want to do right now is put my dick in you."

I'm a feminist. I have spent my career mentoring women. But in that moment, I just laughed it off. You want to defuse the situation, especially because this person is high up. But after I walked away, I called my husband and just started sobbing.

Ever since #MeToo, I've secretly been waiting to hear that he's been fired. I hope he is. I hope he's scared.

" 'I'm a straight man,' he said. 'What do you expect?' "

"Maddie," 25
Theme park actress, Midwest
Theme parks are very high energy, very campy. This past fall, I was in a show that was set in high school in the '80s. I was playing this mean girl who stole the boyfriend away from the good girl, and the guy I "stole" was our show captain - the cast member appointed by the director to be a kind of second-in-command. This guy would grab my butt, stare at my chest and change the choreography so his hands were on me longer.

I shared my concerns with a couple of the girls in the cast, and they all had similar stories. We all used one dressing room, and this one girl called out the show captain for staring at her while she was changing.

"I'm a straight man," he told her. "What do you expect?"

I never felt like I could report it because he was the show captain. "Don't sweat the small stuff" is a lesson my parents always taught me. But what is the line between the small stuff and the stuff that really affects you?

"It's always 'oops' with these people."

"Susan," 54
Nanny, New York
When I migrated from the Caribbean, I started working as a nanny. For years, I worked for a multimillionaire family in the suburbs. I would be walking up the stairs, and his hand would brush my breast when he passed me. He would say, "Oops." Or he would come in and hit me on my butt: "Oops." It's always "oops" with these people. But I know they were not mistakes. And it's not because he's attracted to me. They think that because you're working in their house, you are subject to them. They don't think of it as a job - they think they're doing you a favor. They still have that slave-owner mentality.

"I'm always looking over my shoulder."

Dine, 47
Oil-field water hauler, Texas
I had three small children, and I wanted to give them a good life. A friend said, "If you want to make real money, go drive an oil rig." Best and worst thing I've ever done. About three years into the job, I was raped. I went to use the bathroom in back of the water station, where you unload your tank, and when I came out, a guy pushed me up against the building.

Afterward, he told me, "If you ever tell anybody, I'll call you a damn liar." He had been in the oil fields for 15, 20 years and had an upstanding reputation.

Nobody would have believed me. I would have been told I asked for it.

I remember coming home that night and just sitting in the shower, crying. I made sure I was never alone at the station again. I was scared for a long, long time. Now I'm an over-the-road driver, but even out here, I'm always looking over my shoulder. We can't carry guns, but I do have a Taser. And my Chihuahua - she'll bite your fingers and toes. She lets me know if somebody comes around me when I'm sleeping.

My friend mentioned #MeToo. I'd never heard of it. I'm glad the Hollywood actresses are putting the word out there, but they've got the money, the fame and the power behind them that we don't, and that part sucks.

"It's a fear that lives inside you."

Maria, 30
Factory worker, Illinois
My husband and I had left Mexico in pursuit of a better life, especially for our kids. I went to a temp agency, and they told me it didn't matter that I couldn't speak English, that I couldn't drive, that I only had two years of high school. There was a plastics factory looking to hire reliable hands.

Most of the women were placed along the assembly line, but I'm to do different work, the boss tells me the first week there. We wind past dozens of women and up the stairwell to a small area, just enough room for me and a table. Soon, another factory hand comes in - the boss' nephew.

He started on me right away: watching me, touching me, saying things about my body. When I'd go to the bathroom, he would follow me and wait outside, both of us knowing there wasn't a lock on the door. Eight hours of constant harassment. And some days after work, he'd follow me to the train station in his car, saying things to me about my body through the window.

I was really scared because there was no one around. After a month, I realized that nothing would change unless I spoke up. So I went to the temp agency and explained what was happening. The temp coordinator said, "You should be flattered that a man like that is saying these kinds of things to you."

"It's only gotten harder to say something as I've climbed the ranks."

"Roseanne," 44
Tech entrepreneur, California
I've operated as an executive in publicly traded companies. I've built teams, I've founded two companies, I've run $350 million P&Ls, and let me tell you, being a female raising money in Silicon Valley is awful. Not long ago, I was meeting about funding with a very prominent engineer who sold his company to Google. He says he wants to give us $450,000, but then he says to me, "You are not going to be able to get anything from me unless you fuck me."

We decided to go speak to the venture capital firm where the guy is a partner to ask how we should handle it. The president of the firm called us back and said he approached the partner about it and the partner said he has Tourette's.

I made a conscious decision when I started out that I would never put myself in a situation where somebody could ever call me a slut or a whore. But it's only gotten harder to say something as I've climbed the ranks and advanced in my career. I'm tired. I'm tired of this shit. I'm tired that it's allowed to continue. And I'm tired of being treated like an object, not a brain.

"He said, 'You have no choice - you're wanted by immigration.'"

Adriana, 43
Domestic and factory worker, Washington state
I was working at a restaurant, and there was a regular customer who asked if I wanted to make extra money cleaning his house. I was hiding from immigration, and I couldn't receive a check in my name, but this work would be paid in cash. I saw it as a chance to get ahead a little more, so I said yes.

The second week I was there, his wife was on vacation, and he told me to clean the house naked - he said that way he could be sure I wasn't stealing anything from his home.

I told him, "That's sexual harassment; it's not OK." Then he said, "You have no choice - you're wanted by immigration. I could say that you stole from me." I didn't argue with him, I just left.

At first, I thought I might call the police, but my ex would always tell me, "If you call the police, immigration will take you and you'll never see your kids again." So better that I should stay quiet.

Later, I got a job at a paper plant. The work we were doing was hard, and it would get very hot in the factory. When I'd have to take my sweater off, the guys would start saying stuff like, "My God, the way she's taking her clothes off, it makes me so hot." There were two who were the most aggressive: "Do you know that I'm erect for you right now?" Or they'd ask what position I like in bed. They would look at me and touch their own private parts. It got to the point where I would just not take my sweater off. I'd stay there in the heat, sweating.

There were two managers, a husband and a wife. I tried to tell the husband what was going on, but he laughed it off and said I was being dramatic. When the husband didn't do anything, I told the wife, and she got really angry at me. The next day, I got fired. Later, I asked her why, and she told me I was provoking the men, taking my clothes off to arouse them.
A version of this article appears in the Sept. 3, 2018, issue of New York Magazine. Subscribe now!
Bernice Yeung is the author of "In a Day's Work: The Fight to End Sexual Violence Against America's Most Vulnerable Workers." Additional interviews were conducted by Amelia Schonbek, Rachel Bashein, Jane Drinkard and Joy Crane.

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Additional interviews by Rachel Bashein, Joy Crane, Amelia Schonbek and Jane Drinkard This story was produced in collaboration with New York Magazine. As the first anniversary of the Harvey Weinstein revelations approaches, scores of prominent men continue to be accused of sexual harassment in the workplace, though a few - , - have been angling for a comeback .

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"it has primarily elevated the experience of white, privileged women and ... its focus on legal remedies once again falls into the trap of individuating fault rather than sustaining focus on the structural nature of sexual coercion." (McKinney 89)

"Me Too leaves too many women and men behind and ... is creating a new sexually repressive order" (McKinney 89)

Burke explains fears about "the uptake of the phrase by famous white women" and how because of this, "the stories and needs of others would be sidelined" (McKinney 90).

"Articles also note the scores of folks who seem to be missing from the public consciousness of sexual coercion: military women, LGBTQ survivors, men, sex workers, domestic violence survivors, conservative women, and incarcerated women, to name a few" (McKinney 90).

"We should neither be surprised nor complacent in the face of the elisions of particular stories from collective understanding of sexual coercion and differential vulnerability" (McKinney 90).

How the movement focuses mainly on white women: "Native American women have the highest rate of sexual assault in the country... Yet they are never named in the national conversation about sexual violence" (Burke 2017).

"What history has shown us time and again is that if marginalized voices — those of people of color, queer people, disabled people, poor people — aren’t centered in our movements then they tend to become no more than a footnote" (Burke 2017)

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Movie stars are supposedly nothing like you and me. They're svelte, glamorous, self-possessed. They wear dresses we can't afford and live in houses we can only dream of. Yet it turns out that-in the most painful and personal ways-movie stars are more like you and me than we ever knew.

In 1997, just before Ashley Judd's career took off, she was invited to a meeting with Harvey Weinstein, head of the starmaking studio Miramax, at a Beverly Hills hotel. Astounded and offended by Weinstein's attempt to coerce her into bed, Judd managed to escape. But instead of keeping quiet about the kind of encounter that could easily shame a woman into silence, she began spreading the word.

"I started talking about Harvey the minute that it happened," Judd says in an interview with TIME. "Literally, I exited that hotel room at the Peninsula Hotel in 1997 and came straight downstairs to the lobby, where my dad was waiting for me, because he happened to be in Los Angeles from Kentucky, visiting me on the set. And he could tell by my face-to use his words-that something devastating had happened to me. I told him. I told everyone."

She recalls one screenwriter friend telling her that Weinstein's behavior was an open secret passed around on the whisper network that had been furrowing through Hollywood for years. It allowed for people to warn others to some degree, but there was no route to stop the abuse. "Were we supposed to call some fantasy attorney general of moviedom?" Judd asks. "There wasn't a place for us to report these experiences."

Finally, in October-when Judd went on the record about Weinstein's behavior in the New York Times, the first star to do so-the world listened. (Weinstein said he "never laid a glove" on Judd and denies having had nonconsensual sex with other accusers.)

When movie stars don't know where to go, what hope is there for the rest of us? What hope is there for the janitor who's being harassed by a co-worker but remains silent out of fear she'll lose the job she needs to support her children? For the administrative assistant who repeatedly fends off a superior who won't take no for an answer? For the hotel housekeeper who never knows, as she goes about replacing towels and cleaning toilets, if a guest is going to corner her in a room she can't escape?

Like the "problem that has no name," the disquieting malaise of frustration and repression among postwar wives and homemakers identified by Betty Friedan more than 50 years ago, this moment is born of a very real and potent sense of unrest. Yet it doesn't have a leader, or a single, unifying tenet. The hashtag #MeToo (swiftly adapted into #BalanceTonPorc, #YoTambien, #Ana_kaman and many others), which to date has provided an umbrella of solidarity for millions of people to come forward with their stories, is part of the picture, but not all of it.

This reckoning appears to have sprung up overnight. But it has actually been simmering for years, decades, centuries. Women have had it with bosses and co-workers who not only cross boundaries but don't even seem to know that boundaries exist. They've had it with the fear of retaliation, of being blackballed, of being fired from a job they can't afford to lose. They've had it with the code of going along to get along. They've had it with men who use their power to take what they want from women. These silence breakers have started a revolution of refusal, gathering strength by the day, and in the past two months alone, their collective anger has spurred immediate and shocking results: nearly every day, CEOs have been fired, moguls toppled, icons disgraced. In some cases, criminal charges have been brought.

Emboldened by Judd, Rose McGowan and a host of other prominent accusers, women everywhere have begun to speak out about the inappropriate, abusive and in some cases illegal behavior they've faced. When multiple harassment claims bring down a charmer like former Today show host Matt Lauer, women who thought they had no recourse see a new, wide-open door. When a movie star says #MeToo, it becomes easier to believe the cook who's been quietly enduring for years.

The women and men who have broken their silence span all races, all income classes, all occupations and virtually all corners of the globe. They might labor in California fields, or behind the front desk at New York City's regal Plaza Hotel, or in the European Parliament. They're part of a movement that has no formal name. But now they have a voice.

II

In a windowless room at a two-story soundstage in San Francisco's Mission District, a group of women from different worlds met for the first time. Judd, every bit the movie star in towering heels, leaned in to shake hands with Isabel Pascual, a woman from Mexico who works picking strawberries and asked to use a pseudonym to protect her family. Beside her, Susan Fowler, a former Uber engineer, eight months pregnant, spoke softly with Adama Iwu, a corporate lobbyist in Sacramento. A young hospital worker who had flown in from Texas completed the circle. She too is a victim of sexual harassment but was there anonymously, she said, as an act of solidarity to represent all those who could not speak out.

From a distance, these women could not have looked more different. Their ages, their families, their religions and their ethnicities were all a world apart. Their incomes differed not by degree but by universe: Iwu pays more in rent each month than Pascual makes in two months.

But on that November morning, what separated them was less important than what brought them together: a shared experience. Over the course of six weeks, TIME interviewed dozens of people representing at least as many industries, all of whom had summoned extraordinary personal courage to speak out about sexual harassment at their jobs. They often had eerily similar stories to share.

In almost every case, they described not only the vulgarity of the harassment itself-years of lewd comments, forced kisses, opportunistic gropes-but also the emotional and psychological fallout from those advances. Almost everybody described wrestling with a palpable sense of shame. Had she somehow asked for it? Could she have deflected it? Was she making a big deal out of nothing?

"I thought, What just happened? Why didn't I react?" says the anonymous hospital worker who fears for her family's livelihood should her story come out in her small community. "I kept thinking, Did I do something, did I say something, did I look a certain way to make him think that was O.K.?" It's a poisonous, useless thought, she adds, but how do you avoid it? She remembers the shirt she was wearing that day. She can still feel the heat of her harasser's hands on her body.

Nearly all of the people TIME interviewed about their experiences expressed a crushing fear of what would happen to them personally, to their families or to their jobs if they spoke up.

For some, the fear was born of a threat of physical violence. Pascual felt trapped and terrified when her harasser began to stalk her at home, but felt she was powerless to stop him. If she told anyone, the abuser warned her, he would come after her or her children.

Those who are often most vulnerable in society-immigrants, people of color, people with disabilities, low-income workers and LGBTQ people-described many types of dread. If they raised their voices, would they be fired? Would their communities turn against them? Would they be killed? According to a 2015 survey by the National Center for Transgender Equality, 47% of transgender people report being sexually assaulted at some point in their lives, both in and out of the workplace.

Juana Melara, who has worked as a hotel housekeeper for decades, says she and her fellow housekeepers didn't complain about guests who exposed themselves or masturbated in front of them for fear of losing the paycheck they needed to support their families. Melara recalls "feeling the pressure of someone's eyes" on her as she cleaned a guest's room. When she turned around, she remembers, a man was standing in the doorway, blocked by the cleaning cart, with his erect penis exposed. She yelled at the top of her lungs and scared him into leaving, then locked the door behind him. "Nothing happened to me that time, thank God," she recalls.

While guests come and go, some employees must continue to work side by side with their harassers. Crystal Washington was thrilled when she was hired as a hospitality coordinator at the Plaza, a storied hotel whose allure is as strong for people who want to work there as it is for those who can afford a suite. "Walking in, it's breathtaking," she says.

But then, she says, a co-worker began making crude remarks to her like "I can tell you had sex last night" and groping her. One of those encounters was even caught on camera, but the management did not properly respond, her lawyers say.

Washington has joined with six other female employees to file a sexual-harassment suit against the hotel. But she cannot afford to leave the job and says she must force herself out of bed every day to face the man she's accused. "It's a dream to be an employee there," Washington says. "And then you find out what it really is, and it's a nightmare." (Fairmont Hotels & Resorts, which owns the Plaza, said in a statement to TIME that it takes remedial action against harassment when warranted.)

Other women, like the actor Selma Blair, weathered excruciating threats. Blair says she arrived at a hotel restaurant for a meeting with the independent film director James Toback in 1999 only to be told that he would like to see her in his room. There, she says, Toback told her that she had to learn to be more vulnerable in her craft and asked her to strip down. She took her top off. She says he then propositioned her for sex, and when she refused, he blocked the door and forced her to watch him masturbate against her leg. Afterward, she recalls him telling her that if she said anything, he would stab her eyes out with a Bic pen and throw her in the Hudson River.

Blair says Toback lorded the encounter over her for decades. "I had heard from others that he was slandering me, saying these sexual things about me, and it just made me even more afraid of him," Blair says in an interview with TIME. "I genuinely thought for almost 20 years, He's going to kill me." ( Toback has denied the allegations, saying he never met his accusers or doesn't remember them.)

Many of the people who have come forward also mentioned a different fear, one less visceral but no less real, as a reason for not speaking out: if you do, your complaint becomes your identity. "'Susan Fowler, the famous victim of sexual harassment,'" says the woman whose blog post ultimately led Uber CEO Travis Kalanick to resign and the multibillion-dollar startup to oust at least 20 other employees. "Nobody wants to be the buzzkill," adds Lindsey Reynolds, one of the women who blew the whistle on a culture of harassment at the restaurant group run by the celebrity chef John Besh. (The Besh Group says it is implementing new policies to create a culture of respect. Besh apologized for "unacceptable behavior" and "moral failings," and resigned from the company. )

Iwu, the lobbyist, says she considered the same risks after she was groped in front of several colleagues at an event. She was shocked when none of her male co-workers stepped in to stop the assault. The next week, she organized 147 women to sign an open letter exposing harassment in California government. When she told people about the campaign, she says they were wary. "Are you sure you want to do this?" they warned her. "Remember Anita Hill."

Taylor Swift says she was made to feel bad about the consequences that her harasser faced. After she complained about a Denver radio DJ named David Mueller, who reached under her skirt and grabbed her rear end, Mueller was fired. He sued Swift for millions in damages. She countersued for a symbolic $1 and then testified about the incident in August. Mueller's lawyer asked her, on the witness stand, whether she felt bad that she'd gotten him fired.

"I'm not going to let you or your client make me feel in any way that this is my fault," she told the lawyer. "I'm being blamed for the unfortunate events of his life that are a product of his decisions. Not mine." (Mueller said he would appeal.)

In an interview with TIME, Swift says that moment on the stand fueled her indignation. "I figured that if he would be brazen enough to assault me under these risky circumstances," she says, "imagine what he might do to a vulnerable, young artist if given the chance." Like the five women gathered at that echoing soundstage in San Francisco, and like all of the dozens, then hundreds, then millions of women who came forward with their own stories of harassment, she was done feeling intimidated. Actors and writers and journalists and dishwashers and fruit pickers alike: they'd had enough. What had manifested as shame exploded into outrage. Fear became fury.

This was the great unleashing that turned the #MeToo hashtag into a rallying cry. The phrase was first used more than a decade ago by social activist Tarana Burke as part of her work building solidarity among young survivors of harassment and assault. A friend of the actor Alyssa Milano sent her a screenshot of the phrase, and Milano, almost on a whim, tweeted it out on Oct. 15. "If you've been sexually harassed or assaulted write 'me too' as a reply to this tweet," she wrote, and then went to sleep. She woke up the next day to find that more than 30,000 people had used #MeToo. Milano burst into tears.

At first, those speaking out were mostly from the worlds of media and entertainment, but the hashtag quickly spread. "We have to keep our focus on people of different class and race and gender," says Burke, who has developed a friendship with Milano via text messages. By November, California farmworkers, Pascual among them, were marching on the streets of Hollywood to express their solidarity with the stars.

Women were no longer alone. "There's something really empowering about standing up for what's right," says Fowler, who has grown comfortable with her new reputation as a whistle-blower. "It's a badge of honor."

III

Discussions of sexual harassment in polite company tend to rely on euphemisms: harassment becomes "inappropriate behavior," assault becomes "misconduct," rape becomes "abuse." We're accustomed to hearing those softened words, which downplay the pain of the experience. That's one of the reasons why the Access Hollywood tape that surfaced in October 2016 was such a jolt. The language used by the man who would become America's 45th President, captured on a 2005 recording, was, by any standard, vulgar. He didn't just say that he'd made a pass; he "moved on her like a bitch." He didn't just talk about fondling women; he bragged that he could "grab 'em by the pussy."

That Donald Trump could express himself that way and still be elected President is part of what stoked the rage that fueled the Women's March the day after his Inauguration. It's why women seized on that crude word as the emblem of the protest that dwarfed Trump's Inauguration crowd size. "All social movements have highly visible precipitating factors," says Aldon Morris, a professor of sociology at Northwestern University. "In this case, you had Harvey Weinstein, and before that you had Trump."

Megyn Kelly, the NBC anchor who revealed in October that she had complained to Fox News executives about Bill O'Reilly's treatment of women, and who was a target of Trump's ire during the campaign, says the tape as well as the tenor of the election turned the political into the personal. "I have real doubts about whether we'd be going through this if Hillary Clinton had won, because I think that President Trump's election in many ways was a setback for women," says Kelly, who noted that not all women at the march were Clinton supporters. "But the overall message to us was that we don't really matter."

So it was not entirely surprising that 2017 began with women donning "pussy hats" and marching on the nation's capital in a show of unity and fury. What was startling was the size of the protest. It was one of the largest in U.S. history and spawned satellite marches in all 50 states and more than 50 other countries.

Summer Zervos, a former contestant on The Apprentice, was one of roughly 20 women to accuse the President of sexual harassment. She filed a defamation suit against Trump days before his Inauguration after he disputed her claims by calling her a liar. A New York judge is expected to decide soon if the President is immune to civil suits while in office. No matter the outcome, the allegations added fuel to a growing fire.

By February, the movement had made its way to the billionaire dream factories of Silicon Valley, when Fowler spoke out about her "weird year" as an engineer at Uber. "I remember feeling powerless and like there was no one looking out for us because we had an admitted harasser in the White House," Fowler says. "I felt like I had to take action."

Barely two months later, Fox News cut ties with O'Reilly after the New York Times reported that he and the company had spent $13 million to settle claims against him from five women. In October, the Times revealed a sixth settlement, bringing that total to more than $45 million. Wendy Walsh, a psychologist and former guest on the network, was one of the first women to share her story about the star anchor-but she was initially reluctant to go on the record. "I was afraid for my kids, I was afraid of the retaliation," she says. "I know what men can do when they're angry."

Eventually she allowed her name to be used. "I felt it was my duty," Walsh says, "as a mother of daughters, as an act of love for women everywhere and the women who are silenced, to be brave."

The downfall of O'Reilly, who has denied all allegations of harassment, would prove to be just the beginning of the reckoning in media and entertainment. In June, Bill Cosby was brought to trial on charges that he had drugged and sexually assaulted a woman named Andrea Constand, one of nearly 50 women who have accused Cosby of sexual assault over several decades. Although the case ended in a mistrial-it is scheduled to be retried in April-the fact that it happened at all signaled a shift in the culture, a willingness to hold even beloved and powerful men accountable for past misdeeds.

Complaints at the University of Rochester helped expose harassment in academia. The chief executive of SoFi, the $4 billion lending firm, resigned following a lawsuit over claims of sexual harassment. Then, in early October, the dam finally broke.

On Oct. 5, the New York Times published the first story to expose Weinstein, one of the most powerful men in Hollywood and a leading Democratic political fundraiser, as a serial sexual predator. The revelation was quickly followed by New Yorker investigations that widened Weinstein's list of accusers and showed the incredible lengths he went to cover his tracks. Weinstein denied the allegations, but the levers that he had long pulled to exert his influence suddenly were jammed. Fellow chieftains refused to defend him. Politicians who once courted him gave away his donations. His company's board fired him.

Within days, the head of Amazon Studios, an influential art publisher and employees at the financial-services firm Fidelity had all left their jobs over harassment claims. By the end of the month, the list of the accused had grown to include political analyst Mark Halperin, a former TIME employee; opinion-shaping literary critic Leon Wieseltier; and numerous politicians and journalists. The Oscar-winning actor Kevin Spacey was scrubbed from a completed movie.

The response to the Weinstein allegations has shaped the way people view women who come forward. In a TIME/SurveyMonkey online poll of American adults conducted Nov. 28-30, 82% of respondents said women are more likely to speak out about harassment since the Weinstein allegations. Meanwhile, 85% say they believe the women making allegations of sexual harassment.

The movement-and fallout-quickly spread around the world. Michael Fallon, Britain's Defense Secretary, quit the Cabinet after journalist Jane Merrick revealed that he had "lunged" at her in 2003, when she was a 29-year-old reporter. In France, women took to the streets chanting not only "Me too" but also " Balance ton porc," which translates roughly to "Expose your pig," a hashtag conceived by French journalist Sandra Muller. In the week after #MeToo first surfaced, versions of it swept through 85 countries, from India, where the struggle against harassment and assault had already become a national debate in recent years, to the Middle East, Asia and parts in between.

"Suddenly," says Terry Reintke, a German member of the European Parliament, who discussed her own harassment in a speech on Oct. 25, "friends from primary school or women that I know from completely different surroundings that would never call themselves feminists were starting to share their stories."

By November, the spotlight was back on American politicians. A woman named Leigh Corfman told the Washington Post that Roy Moore, the Alabama Republican nominee for the Senate, abused her when she was 14 and he was a 32-year-old assistant district attorney. Nine women have come forward to describe inappropriate encounters with Roy Moore, including several who say he pursued them when they were teenagers. Moore has called the allegations "false" and "malicious." "Specifically, I do not know any of these women nor have I ever engaged in sexual misconduct with any woman," he said in late November.

The following week, radio host Leeann Tweeden wrote that Minnesota Democratic Senator Al Franken groped her on a USO tour in 2006, before he was in office. Several other women have since come forward with similar harassment allegations against Franken, who has called on the Senate Ethics Committee to investigate his own behavior. On Dec. 5, Michigan Democratic Representative John Conyers resigned amid allegations that he had made sexual advances toward the women on his staff. He has said that the allegations "are not accurate; they are not true."

Texas Republican Representative Blake Farenthold has also found himself in the crosshairs after media reports that he used $84,000 in taxpayer dollars to settle a sexual-harassment lawsuit with a former aide in 2014. Farenthold denies that he engaged in any wrongdoing and has vowed to repay the settlement.

The accused were both Democrats and Republicans, but the consequences thus far have been limited-and often filtered through a partisan lens. In politics, at least, what constitutes disqualifying behavior seemed to depend not on your actions but on the allegiance of your tribe. In the 1990s, feminists stood up for accused abuser Bill Clinton instead of his accusers-a move many are belatedly regretting as the national conversation prompts a re-evaluation of the claims against the former President. And despite the allegations against Moore, both President Trump and the Republican National Committee support him.

That political divide was revealed in the TIME/SurveyMonkey poll, which found that Republicans were significantly more likely to excuse sexual misdeeds in their own party. The survey found that while a majority of Republicans and Democrats agree that a Democratic Congressman accused of sexual harassment should resign (71% and 74% respectively), when the accused offender was in the GOP, only 54% of Republicans would demand a resignation (compared to 82% of Democrats).

As another election cycle approaches, Americans find themselves trying to weigh one ugly act against another in a painful calculus of transgression. Is a grope caught on camera more disqualifying than a years-ago assault that was credibly reported? What are we willing to forgive or ignore or deny if the violator shares our politics?

IV

It wasn't so long ago that the boss chasing his secretary around the desk was a comic trope, a staple from vaudeville to prime-time sitcoms. There wasn't even a name for sexual harassment until just over 40 years ago; the term was coined in 1975 by a group of women at Cornell University after an employee there, Carmita Wood, filed for unemployment benefits after she had resigned because a supervisor touched her. The university denied her claim, arguing that she left the job for "personal reasons."

Wood, joined by activists from the university's human-affairs program, formed a group called Working Women United that hosted an event for workers from various fields, from mail-room clerks and servers to factory workers and administrative assistants, to talk about their own harassment experiences.

It was a proto-version of the social-media explosion we're seeing today, encouraging unity and reminding women that they were not alone. But even as public awareness about the problem of sexual harassment began to grow, legal and policy protections were almost nonexistent. In the 1970s, most businesses and institutions had no policies on sexual harassment whatsoever, and even egregious complaints were regularly dismissed.

In 1980 the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC), the federal agency tasked with enforcing civil rights laws in the workplace, issued guidelines declaring sexual harassment a violation of Title VII of the Civil Rights Act. It was a victory, but with caveats: even after sexual harassment became explicitly illegal, it remained difficult to lodge a complaint that stuck-in part because acts of harassment are often difficult to define. What separates an illegal act of sexual harassment from a merely annoying interaction between a boss and his subordinate? When does a boss stop just being a jerk and become a criminal? Because the Civil Rights Act offered no solid legal definition, interpretation has evolved slowly, shaped by judges and the EEOC over the past 37 years.

In 1991, Anita Hill testified before the Senate committee confirming Clarence Thomas to the Supreme Court, accusing him of sexual harassment and bringing national attention to the issue. But, she says, "The conversation was not about the problems in the workplace. It was about the fallout in politics."

Even now, the contours of what constitutes sexual harassment remain murky. Some of the recent stories clearly cross the line, like a boss exposing himself to a subordinate or requiring that his researcher sit on his lap. But others feel more ambiguous. Under what circumstances can you ask a colleague about their marriage? When is an invite to drinks alone a bridge too far?

Jonathan Segal, a partner at the Philadelphia law firm Duane Morris, who specializes in workplace training, says he hears that confusion in the conversations men are now having among themselves. "It's more like, 'I wonder if I should tell someone they look nice, I wonder when it's O.K. to give a hug, I wonder when I should be alone with someone in a room,'" he says.

This uncertainty can be corrosive. While everyone wants to smoke out the serial predators and rapists, there is a risk that the net may be cast too far. What happens when someone who makes a sexist joke winds up lumped into the same bucket as a boss who gropes an employee? Neither should be encouraged, but nor should they be equated.

Companies, meanwhile, are scrambling to keep up. Most large U.S.-based corporations now have fairly complete policies on sexual harassment, and many have anti-sexual harassment training programs and claim to be "zero-tolerance workplaces." A 2016 EEOC report found that a company's willingness to protect so-called rainmakers-high-performing men like Kalanick, Weinstein and O'Reilly-to be one of the most pernicious reasons C-suites and corporate boards overlooked harassment. It doesn't matter how good a company's policy is if its systems are ignored or don't work. "So much harassment training is like an episode of The Office," says Victoria Lipnic, the acting chair of the EEOC.

In some instances, sexual-harassment training has even been shown to backfire. In a 2001 study, Lisa Scherer, an associate professor of industrial-organizational psychology at the University of Nebraska at Omaha, found that while training increased knowledge about what constituted sexual harassment, it also sometimes had a corrosive effect on workplace culture. "What was disturbing was that the males who had gone through training showed a backlash effect," she says. "They said they were less willing to report sexual harassment than the males who had not gone through the training."

Employers are also girding for future allegations and lawsuits. The insurance company Nationwide reported a 15% increase in sales of employment practices liability insurances between 2016 and 2017. And Advisen, which tracks insurance trends, says that EPLI insurance price has increased 30% since 2011, which indicates that more companies are reporting losses.

Corporate boards, wary of alienating female employees and customers and of drawing bad press, have been among the quickest to make changes. Uber, for example, which built its reputation on a willingness to flout norms, used to be a guiding light for small startups. Now nobody is pitching their company as the next Uber, says Fowler. "There's a shift to, 'We're not disrupting anymore. We're trying to build something that's good for consumers and treats employees fairly.'" It's a start.

State and local governments have also taken some concrete steps. In October, the Chicago city council passed an ordinance requiring hotels to provide panic buttons to employees who work alone in hotel rooms. In Springfield, Ill., lawmakers passed a measure that will allow an investigation into a backlog of sexual-harassment complaints in the statehouse. In Arizona, pending legislation would void nondisclosure agreements signed by victims of harassment to keep them silent.

At the federal level, the House and Senate have passed new rules requiring members of Congress and their staff to complete mandatory sexual-harassment training. A handful of Senators have also introduced legislation to rein in what are known as mandatory arbitration agreements-legal clauses that can appear in employee contracts that prevent workers from suing their employers in court for any reason, including sexual harassment. Some 60 million American workers are currently bound by them.

V

We're still at the bomb-throwing point of this revolution, a reactive stage at which nuance can go into hiding. But while anger can start a revolution, in its most raw and feral form it can't negotiate the more delicate dance steps needed for true social change. Private conversations, which can't be legislated or enforced, are essential.

Norms evolve, and it's long past time for any culture to view harassment as acceptable. But there's a great deal at stake in how we assess these new boundaries-for women and men together. We can and should police criminal acts and discourage inappropriate, destructive behavior.

At least we've started asking the right questions. Ones that seem alarmingly basic in hindsight: "What if we did complain?" proposes Megyn Kelly. "What if we didn't whine, but we spoke our truth in our strongest voices and insisted that those around us did better? What if that worked to change reality right now?" Kelly acknowledges that this still feels more like a promise than a certainty. But for the moment, the world is listening.
-With reporting by Charlotte Alter and Susanna Schrobsdorff/New York, Sam Lansky/Los Angeles, Kate Samuelson/London, Maya Rhodan/Washington and Katy Steinmetz/San Francisco
Correction: The original version of this story misstated when the claims settled by Bill O'Reilly and Fox News were first disclosed. The New York Times reported in April that Fox and O'Reilly had settled five claims against him. O'Reilly left the network later that month.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
TIME Person of the Year 2017: The Silence Breakers

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Movie stars are supposedly nothing like you and me. They're svelte, glamorous, self-­possessed. They wear dresses we can't afford and live in houses we can only dream of. Yet it turns out that-in the most painful and personal ways-movie stars are more like you and me than we ever knew.

# data[].attributes.body
"Burke worried that the shift toward outing perpetrators would overshadow her work and focus. Other scholars have pointed out how the media framing of outing accusers has a second potentially negative side effect of obscuring the systemic nature of sexual violence in favor of individualizing stories and accusations (Johnson Hostler and O'Neill 2018)" (Mckinney 87).

"Media reporting repeatedly focuses on the most famous accusers" (McKinney 87)

# data[].attributes.headline
impact of sexual assault/harassment in general 

# data[].attributes.subject
impact of sexual assault/harassment in general 

# data[].attributes.body
"it denies individuals their capacity to fully individuate or to come to see oneself as a fully formed person" (McKinney 85)(Cornell 1995).

"is a form of objectification that denies someone the capacity to imagine oneself as a subject as well. It reduces the ability for people to have a sense of their own value and to feel confident in their ability to pursue their own intentions, two crucial aspects of self-respect" (McKinney 85).

internalized shame and guilt. (McKinney 86).

# data[].attributes.body
"To actually publicly tell one's story about being sexually coerced is uniquely exposing and a different genre of action. One risks being ignored, disbelieved, or further harassed by the public. One can lose his or her job, friends, and support networks. In effect, even now during the fervor of Me Too, making sexual coercion public is to risk one's material safety and sense of self" (McKinney 85).

# data[].attributes.body
not resigning to reality. (McKinney 84)

"a dream of a new future where people are held accountable for sexual misconduct and targets of sexual assault are supported and valued" (McKinney 84).

it "[shines] a much-needed light on the fight to end gender-based violence" (Burke 2017).

# data[].attributes.body
"Part of the solution to gender inequality is to change the 'laws, institutions, customs, public opinion, and the whole social context,' certainly not a small feat and one which Beauvoir recognizes has never been achieved" (McKinney 83).

"Intimacy is both the site of women's oppression and the space where reframing relations are necessary for equality and freedom" (McKinney 83).

# data[].attributes.headline
reading the movement through a Beauvoirian lenses

# data[].attributes.subject
reading the movement through a Beauvoirian lenses

# data[].attributes.body
Beauvoir's characterization of gender oppression: "men seek to foist all immanence on women so men can achieve absolute transcendence. Thus, men treat women as confined to and only useful because of their bodies" (McKinney 77).

"Humanity is male, and man defines woman, not in  herself but in relation to himself; she is not considered an autonomous being... she is nothing other than what man decides; she is thus called 'the sex,' meaning that the male sees her essentially as a sexed being" (McKinney 78. make sure to site de beauvoir as well though!!)

"In the context of Me Too, the notion that a person's body is appropriable because a more powerful person desires that body is crucial for the operation of sexual coercion" (McKinney 78)

"we can condemn men who engage in sexual coercion because they have enacted their freedom at the expense of others; their victims are denied freedom through the assertion of their desire" (McKinney 81).

# data[].attributes.body
although originally created by Tarana Burke in 2006, the Me Too hashtag reemerged in popularity as a result of the Harvey Weinstein stories published by the New York times and actress Alyssa Milano encouraging people to tweet the hashtag if they've also been sexually assaulted to "further the conversation sparked by the Weinstein allegations" (McKinney 76)

# data[].attributes.body
"it is fomenting conversations about how to better report on sexual assault and harassment, how to confront the problems with sexual harassment and assault from entertainment to housekeeping and from agriculture to academia, and the need for new legal tools to contest nondisclosure agreements, forced arbitration, and assault and harassment themselves" (McKinney 76).

gives people a certain sense of freedom. "but a principled dedication to the freedom of the self and other given our worldly constraints points to the possibility of reaching new futures" (McKinney 82).

"can help constitute a solidarity around working for a different world" (McKinney 83).

"What does it mean for a person to narrate his or her experience with sexual coercion publicly? In one sense, it represents a significant break with the past" (McKinney 85).

informs people about who are known sexual assaulters. serves as a warning. "Genre of survival strategies" (McKinney 85)

"Speaking out can be interpreted as an attempt to reclaim one's value and intentionality or a recuperation of a self as subject" (McKinney 86).

"potential solidarity" (McKinney 87)

"The young girls of color that first encountered the “me too.” movement in community centers and classrooms and church basements were there not only because they needed a safe space, but because they needed their own space. They needed to find spaces where they could focus on their healing without having to be performative or guarded and “me too.” gave them that space" (Burke 2017).

"One of the most powerful things about #MeToo has been its ability to allow people to expand the conversation beyond celebrity. The reality of seeing everyday people — friends, neighbors, co-workers, family — disclosing their various experiences with sexual violence has been jarring for many and enlightening for most" (Burke 2017).

# data[].attributes.body
"Unwittingly, a slogan created by Tarana Burke in 2006 to help survivors of sexual assault transformed into a viral hashtag that became the basis of what is popularly characterized as a movement" (McKinney 76)

"Tarana Burke's original work was based on creating spaces and securing resources for healing and support of survivors" (McKinney 87).

"Tarana Burke's first use of 'Me Too' was a way to cope with her own speechlessness hearing a 13-year-old girl narrate her experience of sexual assault" (McKinney 93).

"and so saying 'Me Too' and providing resources for survivors were ways to help claim a future never free from that trauma but one that could move beyond it" (McKinney 93).

" I started this work with the intention of reaching young Black and Brown girls" (Burke 2017).

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https://www.nytimes.com/video/us/politics/100000004698018/donald-trumps-lewd-comments-about-women.html

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https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/05/10/style/sexual-consent-college-campus.html

**This article can be really triggering but is beautifully done

Storytelling as epistemology.

"Feminist theory has long argued that lived experience should be considered a form of knowledge alongside scientific inquiry, logic, and so forth, because all knowledge is situated by our objective capacities and our subjective imaginative frameworks" (McKinney 86)

"The countless narratives of sexual coercion that have constituted the most diffuse aspects of Me Too work to individually claim spaces of subjectivity while actively producing a new form of knowledge about what it means to be situated as a sexed being in a gender oppressive society" (mcKinney 86).

# data[].attributes.body
A hashtag created by Kelly Oxford as a result of the leaked video of Donald Trump making really fucked up comments about women. This hashtag was created to encourage people to "share the stories of their first sexual assaults. Over 1 million people tweeted their assault stories" (McKinney 76). KEY WORD "first".

Example of a hashtag that successfully provided a platform for people to speak up against assault.

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"Me Too movement as an exercise of the responsibility for political freedom" (McKinney 75)

"Speaking out can be interpreted as an attempt to reclaim one's value and intentionality or a recuperation of a self as subject" (McKinney 86).

"and so saying 'Me Too' and providing resources for survivors were ways to help claim a future never free from that trauma but one that could move beyond it" (McKinney 93).

# data[].attributes.headline
Problems with sexual harassment training 

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Problems with sexual harassment training 

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"Although many institutions and organizations provide sexual harassment prevention training, these training
are very rarely evaluated for their effectiveness. Those few trainings that have been evaluated demonstrate only weak efficacy" (Deen 38)

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Question: why have so many people who have experienced sexual assault remained silent about it?

"'Elephant in the Valley Survey' that surveyed 200 people in the tech industry and found that 60 percent had experienced sexual harassment, only 10 percent had reported the harassment to human resources, and 39 percent did not report out of fear that it would negatively impact their careers."  (Deen 37)

"From actors and comedians who know they will be blacklisted if they expose powerful men to the agricultural workers who fear that reporting on supervisors will cost them a job necessary to support their families or make them targets of immigration officials, the lack of access to money and institutions of power make silence a rational, if fear-based, response" (McKinney 79)

Thinking about racism, poverty, and other structural violences that make silence seem like the only option.

"Such a complex of shame and stigma makes silence seem preferable" (McKinney 86).

# data[].attributes.body
Catholic Moms For Kavanaugh: It Could Happen to You video.
https://heavy.com/news/2018/10/catholic-moms-for-kavanaugh-ad-video/

"The response of #NotAllMen to claims of systemic patriarchy or misogyny exemplifies the dilemma of masculine guilt" (McKinney 83).

"The notion that activists do not or cannot discern a difference between rape, pervasive harassment, and a person who acts a little creepily characterizes Me Too as sex panic" (McKinney 91).

# data[].attributes.body
"Jewish characters ard represented a lot and Queer characters are represented a lot, but when the[se identities] do intertwine it is through male characters. Only really see in cult TV and real life -- in media, no one really wants to take a risk like that" (April 19th).

# data[].attributes.body
As a Jewish and Queer performer she said: "'Indecent' literally changed my life. It was the first lesbian kiss I'd seen onstage, and I just didn't realize that was possible" (March 29th)

# data[].attributes.headline
What is Queer Judaism? Ia Judaism more accepting of LGBTQ+ individuals than other religions? How are these divergent identities represented in the media?

# data[].attributes.subject
What is Queer Judaism? Ia Judaism more accepting of LGBTQ+ individuals than other religions? How are these divergent identities represented in the media?

# data[].attributes.body
Tyler says that growing up attending a "homophobic" Jewish Private school in Atlanta was difficult: "No one was out, there was no queer staff, and [queerness] was not explicitly spoken about"

"I still haven't melded my two identities [Queer and Jewish] -- I do Jewish things with Queer people, but I don't think of it as Queer Judaism. It's the same ritual, but we're all just queer." (April 19th)

"I haven't seen anything that shows what it's like to speak to trans Jewish narratives."

When he identified as Lesbian --before coming out as Trans--  "Beyond the Pale" by Elana Dykewomon spoke to him.

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"At my temple growing up, my Senior Rabbis were gay and lesbian. No one had to sit me down and explain what it was to be queer"

She grew up in a very accepting, Jewish environment, and feels "privileged to have grown up in a community that when I was questioning [her sexuality], it didn't feel unnatural. I feel like these identities go really well together and hold each other up" (April 19th)

# data[].attributes.body
"Being Jewish and Bi in NYC is a pretty normal thing, so I have to check my privilege. The environment and media I'm surrounded by definitely speaks to [her privilege]"

In comparison with her Christian Queer friends' experiences, Bauchner felt like "Judaism is more chill and not as imposing about sexuality"

"I feel like a lot of Lesbians in the media happen to be Jews." (March 29th)

# data[].attributes.body
After spending all day thinking about what she was going to say: "I can't think of a single representation [in media] that is Jewish and Queer identities together. There are probably some out there, but that says a lot that I can't think of any off the top of my head" (April 19th)

# data[].attributes.body
After more thought, the only person she could think of as vaguely fitting these identities is
Schmidt from "New Girl" who is clearly Jewish but not gay although he is characterized as flamboyant (April 19th)

# data[].attributes.body
Ornstein-Luks '22, Littman '22 and Ben-Porath '21 all pointed me in the direction of this play about Queer Jews in a performative context. The play dealt with this topic meta-theatrically, giving me a well-rounded perspective on this issue.

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"The only person I can think of really is Rachael from 'Glee,' and she's not even gay, she's just jewish and a lot of people around her are gay.

# data[].attributes.body
"I feel like you see these identities represented pretty often separately, but I've never seen them together" (Apr. 19th)

# data[].attributes.headline
Bauchner '21 and Tyler '19: "Transparent"

# data[].attributes.subject
Bauchner '21 and Tyler '19: "Transparent"

# data[].attributes.body
Both drew my attention to this Amazon TV show. Tyler has "mixed feelings" (April 19th). Bauchner referenced "Transparent" TV series and claimed it didn't handle social issues very well but has good representation (Mar. 29th)

# data[].attributes.headline
Interviewed Students who Identify as Queer and Jewish at a Friday Shabbat (March 29th) and Passover Seder (April 19th)

# data[].attributes.subject
Interviewed Students who Identify as Queer and Jewish at a Friday Shabbat (March 29th) and Passover Seder (April 19th)