Friday, August 18, 2017

Why "It Happened To Me" Needs To Be Taylor Swift's Next Single

I was sitting in the East Lansing Greyhound bus station in October of last year when I received a breaking news alert about then-Presidential candidate Donald Trump. Reading over the exchange now makes me just as sick as it did on that autumn day.
 
"I moved on her and I failed. I'll admit it," Trump said. "I did try and fuck her. She was married."
"...You know I'm automatically attracted to beautiful -- I just start kissing them. It's like a magnet. Just kiss. I don't even wait."
"And when you're a star, they let you do it. You can do anything ... Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything."
 
Of all of the horrible, vile, inappropriate things Trump had said up until that point, this revelation, from an exchange in 2005, was the one that devastated me to my very core. Because I know what it's like to be victimized by dehumanizing language and predatory actions. I have friends - male and female - who have been victims of intimate atrocities.
 
And, God help me, I struggle to respect and understand why people whom I genuinely love and get along with would vote for him after that. Why they defend this so-called "locker room talk."  I want to scream at them: How dare you?  How dare you betray the dignity and worth of your fellow human being by electing someone who uses his power to prey on the vulnerable? How dare you?
 
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On Monday afternoon, after four days of testimony, Taylor Swift won her countersuit against former disc jockey, David Mueller, for sexual assault and battery. She accused that, in June of 2013, he had groped her during a photo opportunity at a meet-and-greet. 

 
In her 2016 deposition, Swift said, “Right as the moment came for us to pose for the photo, he took his hand and put it up my dress and grabbed onto my ass cheek, and no matter how much I scooted over, it was still there. It was not an accident, it was completely intentional, and I have never been so sure of anything in my life.” To the court, she stated, “It happened to me. He had a handful of my ass. It happened to me.”
 
I have always been a huge fan of Taylor Swift. We are the same age. We share an affinity for fashion, red lipstick and cats. Taylor's music has provided the soundtrack to my life for the better part of a decade, and I have often wished that I was in her "squad" of famous ladies. In reading about her 2013 assault, and how she has responded to it through the court system, my respect and admiration for her has only deepened. And, sadly, this incident has given me even more commonality with the pop star.
 
In August of 2013, it happened to me. He had a handful of my ass. It happened to me.
 
Richard and I had just ended our second date, and I knew this would be the last. I hesitated even accepting the second date, because he had crossed boundaries. On our first date, I stammered, "I don't do that,"  as he slipped his hand past my dress and up my thigh. "I'm a virgin." I was proud of my chastity, and I thought it would protect me; thought that he wouldn't want to pursue someone who is inexperienced. I couldn't imagine that knowledge of my virginity would only heighten the chase.
 
He asked to walk me to the door. I declined, making some witty comment about independence and feminism. I wanted to appear confident, but truly, I couldn't wait to leave the confines of his customized European car. Richard insisted. "Let me be a gentleman. I'm old-fashioned."

Old-fashioned, perhaps, but most certainly old. Richard was nearly four decades older than me. Yes, you read that correctly. He was around the same age as our President was when he made those comments about grabbing pussy back in 2005.  I was 23. Richard was 62.  I was lonely. He was lecherous. I had Old Hollywood ideals of an older man (I blame you, Cary Grant!), and Richard knew how to play that daydream.  He told me I was his embodied fantasy. His Grace Kelly. His fairy queen. He confessed that every time we shared an elevator, or whenever I walked past him, "I just want to grab you and kiss you!" Sound familiar?
 
I just start kissing them. It's like a magnet. Just kiss. I don't even wait.
 
All of these were red flags (Taylor Swift's song lyric, "I knew you were trouble when you walked in", comes to mind, here!), but I was experimenting. (He was exploiting.) I allowed him to walk me to the door. He leaned in for a hug, I was hesitant. And suddenly, his hand was far below my waistline, clamped. He had a handful of my ass.
 
Two thoughts simultaneously erupted in my mind at that moment. 1.) NO. 2.) Shouldn't I be enjoying this? Isn't this the part of the date where my hormones are supposed to get all hot and heavy, and my heart, wild and hurried?
I pushed him away.  I rushed up to my apartment, alone, suddenly fearful and feeling incredibly vulnerable.
Richard and I worked in the same building. The next day, I had an all day conference out-of-town. The day after that, I called in sick. I didn't want to see him. I verbally told him that I didn't want to see him.
 
Richard was persistent. He sent me cards through interoffice mail. He made me a mix CD of love songs. He bought me a huge glass bottle of Coca-Cola. About a month after our first date, he followed me as I waited for the Go!Bus and presented me with a gift. He bought me jewelry with a card that said, "Please accept this as a token of my esteem." I refused. He became angry with me. He accused me of being dramatic when I insisted that men don't buy jewelry for a woman unless they are expecting something from her. He was insulted, and forced the gift into my hands. Richard left the building just as my bus arrived.
 
He was using his power to try and buy me. We hadn't slept together, but in that moment, I felt like a prostitute.
 
Richard proceeded to stalk me while I was at work. I didn't use that word for it at the time - I was too afraid, but that's what he did. He was everywhere that I was, in and outside that building. And I'll never forget his casually predatory stance -- always leaned up against a wall, always watching me, and undressing me with his eyes. I could just feel him. And at those times when I was brave enough to confront him with my own gaze and a forced congeniality, Richard would shuffle his feet and lower his head. More than once I asked him to leave me alone.
 
Six months after our first date, he cornered me in the mailroom and invited me to move in with him, as if we were already in the middle of an intimate conversation. His tone of voice was so soft and matter-of-fact. He said, "I can just picture you there. You would look so well in my kitchen," and "You deserve to be the belle of Grand Rapids. Just like your last name."
 
For two and a half years, Richard and I worked in that same building, and his patterns of "causally bumping into me" stayed mostly the same, with only a few creative exceptions of showing up at my office with his grandson, or whatever. I found out that he was only one of two individuals in the building who had access to the security cameras, which explained why he knew exactly where I was at all times. I was constantly anxious, wondering where he watched, and how often, and if he would show up at my apartment. And once, he saw me in Barnes & Noble with a date. He didn't approach me there....he simply watched me and my date from the second floor, and told me about it the next Monday.
 
I was too afraid to make any formal reports. I told my parents and my coworkers and my roommates, but beyond that, Richard was just that creepy guy who grabbed my ass and worked in my office building. By his own account, he had previously worked for law enforcement, so even as I thought about pursuing legal action, I was horrified that he would find a way to turn it all back on me. That he would say that I was just a lonely graduate student who got confused about her dating choices.
 
Which is why I am devastated that Donald Trump can so carelessly speak about inappropriately touching women and be elected to our highest office. Which is why I am so thankful that Taylor Swift won a dollar worth of damages as a symbol for women like me. Which is why she needs to write about it, And sing about it. These things are connected. And they are vitally important.

 
It happened to me. He had a handful of my ass. It happened to me.


 


 

 

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