Of uncertain, troubling times

Putting a little decency, love out into the universe might help us all better understand these uncertain times.

I had a dream last night that I was seated next to the president of the United States on a cross-country flight.

It did not go well.

In an effort to avoid conversation with the leader of the free world, in my dream, I put on my noise-cancelling headphones and watched ‘An Inconvenient Truth’ on my iPad. This did not please my nearby passenger. He requested to sit somewhere else, away from ‘such unpleasantness.’

It was a strange dream, a sort of prelude to what greeted me when I woke this morning.

The man from my dream retweeted three incendiary anti-Muslim videos posted by a leader of the far-right group, Britain First.

In response, Britain’s Prime Minister Theresa May issued this statement: ‘Britain First seeks to divide communities by their use of hateful narrative that peddle lies and stoke tensions. They cause anxiety to law-abiding people.

‘British people overwhelmingly reject the prejudiced rhetoric of the far right, which is the antithesis of the values this country represents, decency, tolerance and respect. It is wrong for the president to have done this.’

Amen.

We live in uncertain, troubling times, I think.

Apart from the president seemingly endorsing such anti-muslim rhetoric and hate this morning, a major news organization fired a well-known newsman after sexual misconduct allegations were leveled against him.

Again, I say Amen.

The wave of people now speaking out after enduring terrible acts of harassment and misconduct, and years of silence for fear of retribution, is encouraging to me. Still, I am troubled by the lack of accountability and decency on so many levels.

I have told a few people my #MeToo stories. They are long behind me. I have put them to bed in my mind. Still, I know such disgusting, demeaning acts happen and very little is done to fix them.

My first #MeToo involved an older man my parents trusted to watch over my brother and me when we were too young to be left alone and they had to be away for a night. That night, the man sat on a sofa in his home as my brother and I watched television, sitting on the floor in front of him.

I was cold and asked for a blanket. The man, instead, patted the sofa beside him and encouraged me to sit down next to him. I did.

From there, the man reclined behind me, reached toward my waist, wrenched open the elastic belt I was wearing, breaking it, stuffed his hand down my pants and began touching my vagina. The whole time, he had his other hand around my neck and was telling me to be quiet or he would hurt my brother.

I was able to free myself when I started crying loud enough that the man thought I would alarm my brother.

Days later, I showed my broken belt to people I trusted to help me. Instead, they downplayed the experience. They suggested I likely misunderstood what happened. I likely heard stories from my friends and fabricated this scenario for attention. I was devastated.

For years after that, I watched the man parade young children around the neighborhood on an all-terrain vehicle, giving them rides and what I now suspect to be ‘grooming’ them.

One day as I was packing up some gear to return to college in another city, the man leaned over the fence at my parent’s home and said to me: ‘No one ever believes the children when they tell whoppers.’ He smiled and took a long drag off the cigarette resting between his teeth.

I was again shocked, sickened, saddened. The scene might as well have played out in a made-for-TV movie.

The man is long dead now. I don’t know if he ever hurt anyone else. Whenever he talked to my brother or tried to get him to ride the all-terrain vehicle, I made certain I was there to get my brother interested in anything else. Away.

My second #MeToo happened when I was working as a reporter for a community newspaper. One Saturday, I was tasked with covering a firefighter training academy. The story was a big deal because so many people were trying out for service. It was such a big deal that a Phoenix news station sent a reporter and cameraman to also cover the story.

While I was squatting down taking some photos that day, the news station’s cameraman came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my chest, put his hands on my breasts and picked me up to move me out of his way. A few firefighters I knew and had worked with before, ran over and ‘saved’ me. They yelled at the cameraman and asked me if I was OK.

I wasn’t. Still, I just wanted the attention shifted. So, I remarked that I was in the way and should have moved before the cameraman even approached me.

It was difficult. It was gross.

I have thought for weeks about putting my #MeToo stories out there. I’m not sure what this will accomplish. I can’t do much about them now other than know how some people are hurting.

However, I can admit when I have behaved badly, try to put some decency back out there.

I’m sure there are several situations where I said something inappropriate or acted gross but one that immediately comes to mind is when I called a young female reporter working for me a ‘cupcake.’

She was pretty and a good reporter. So much so her sources always did their best to help her out.

I was remarking to her that she was good at her job and people liked her because she was ‘such a cupcake.’

When I think back to that comment, I cringe. Jesus. What a terrible thing to say to a young woman doing her job and doing it well. I should have had a review from human resources. I should have simply been a better person.

I guess that’s where I am now. Wondering why we all can’t be better.

We don’t have to be saints. We just need a reckoning for these uncertain, troubling times.