Al Franken
Over the past month, 156 women stood on a podium in a small Lansing courtroom, microphones to their mouths, weights in their chests. Standing there, all eyes on them, they faced a monster — a monster many of them did not know was theirs to face.
Larry Nassar, a once nationally-renowned sports doctor, is a monster. For two decades Nassar sexually abused more than 200 young women when they were girls, under the guise of osteopathic medical treatment. On Jan. 24, Judge Rosemarie Aquilina sentenced the serial pedophile to 40-175 years in prison. She did so only after hearing the testimony of each survivor who chose to come forward.
These testimonies were a heartbreaking and inspiring display of strength and healing all at once — what the #MeToo movement has tried, but failed, to embody.
The #MeToo movement is part of the past year’s incredible phenomenon that has blazed the trail for thousands of women to come forward and share their experiences grappling with past sexual harassment and abuse. But what began as a sincere movement to help women move on and heal quickly devolved into a mad free-for-all in which every man was a possible culprit.
It became a contest to see who could point the next finger, who could topple the next patriarchal demigod, who could garner the most national attention. Or, at least, that’s what it felt like. Speaking as a young woman, the national #MeToo movement has failed.
It rightly exposed Harvey Weinstein and Matt Lauer but unfairly ousted Senator Al Franken, D-Minnesota, and Detroit Free Press columnist Stephen Henderson. Neither Franken nor Henderson were accused of sexual assault but both were held as guilty of it.
A zero-tolerance policy sounds great in theory, but without a distinction between criminal and inappropriate behavior the result will be an unworkable, unjust legal system. #MeToo has undermined its credibility by failing to draw this line.
Its advocates claim all stories are equivalent. In some ways, this is true. As a society, we should decry acts of inappropriate behavior and conduct as we do sexual assault and harassment. But while these stories might all carry very real, painful outcomes, it is a disservice to Nassar’s victims and other victims of past abuse to assert there is no legal distinction. If we follow that line of reasoning, soon a catcall on the streets will carry similar penalties to rape.
Here’s another example: Supreme Court Justice Ruth Ginsberg recently shared her #MeToo story, in which she accused her past college professor of asking for sexual favors in return for an easier exam. While this is certainly despicable behavior, it can hardly be held on the same legal level as the years of anguish Nassar’s victims have suffered after a trusted doctor violated them repeatedly as little girls. But that is what the #MeToo movement seems to call for, with one of its advocates, actress Minnie Driver, telling ABC News: “There is no hierarchy of abuse — that if a woman is raped it is much worse than if a woman has a penis exposed to her that she didn’t want or ask for.”
By failing to draw a line, #MeToo has failed the survivors of these atrocious acts. #MeToo started as an outlet for victims to come together, share their stories, and begin the healing process. Instead, it has become a celebrity-driven medium for women to tear down men who previously “wronged” them, like the Brooklyn photographer who accused actor Aziz Ansari of making unwanted advances after she willingly followed him to a hotel room.
Once again, though Ansari acted abhorrently, that story does not advance the #MeToo movement. That unnamed woman came forward because she was upset Ansari wore a “Time’s Up” pin to the Golden Globes, not because she was seeking closure and healing. Without some level of accountability, #MeToo will simply become a fruitless #BelieveTheWoman campaign.
Despite this, the Nassar trial somehow restored hope in the #MeToo movement. The testimonies of those 156 women are a glowing beacon of what the #MeToo movement should be: strong women coming together, sharing their stories to protect the little girls of tomorrow.
Yes, Nassar’s victims shared their stories in hopes of seeing him locked away for good. But they did so not out of a vain grasp for attention but a genuine desire to heal and shield others from the trauma they experienced. They inspired other Nassar survivors, who did not initially want to come forward, to testify and face their monster. Because it was on that podium in that Lansing courtroom that they would finally find the strength and healing he had taken from them.
That is the true #MeToo movement, and one that will make the world a more just place for women.
Kaylee McGhee is a junior studying politics.