This last week or so has been more triggering for me than the awful first few weeks of the #MeToo campaign when the magnitude of harassment and abuse hit home. A debate on a Facebook parenting site following a post about a girl who was assaulted made it evident that victim blaming is alive and well. What will it take for all people to understand the simple rules of consent? And sadly, it’s not just men who don’t get it. Not even close.
I was seething with anger, trying to figure out what I can add to the conversation, and then I remembered a cold November night more than 25 years ago.
May the good Lord be with you down every road you roam, I sang in my friend’s ear as we walked into Long Island’s Nassau Coliseum for the Rod Stewart concert. And may sunshine and happiness surround you when you’re far from home, she responded. And we were quite far from home that night, happy to take a break from our second-year law studies.
Our seats were so close to the stage, we could feel the sweat flying off Rod Stewart’s body, but isn’t that what we came for? About midway through the show, Stewart and his security guys started letting women onto the stage, as was customary in those days. At one point it seemed like more than twenty women were up there dancing with him, and security made an attempt to prevent others from coming up through the staircases on either side. Hefty guys materialized and corralled the dancing women down towards the steps. One woman, who apparently took “Tonight’s the Night” too literally, snuck around the bouncers and made her way behind Rod Stewart who was now standing still and singing. She couldn’t have been more than thirty feet away from us when we saw her surprise the living daylights out of him, grabbing his buttocks with both her hands.
I felt the air being knocked out of me when he lurched forward a bit, the color draining from his face. A security guard, who noticed, grabbed her by the shoulders and removed her from the stage. Rod Stewart didn’t look like Rod Stewart anymore as he finished singing in a lifeless manner. He seemed like a humiliated middle-aged guy as he exited backstage. We continued to sit alongside thousands in the audience, but even before the lights came on, we knew there would be no encore. The overhead lights came on eventually signaling that even Rod Stewart has his limits. One thing was for certain: we witnessed a battery.
Rod Stewart’s fame, implicit invitation to join him on stage, explicit lyrics and suggestive dancing were not a solicitation to be touched inappropriately. He was clearly horrified, and so were we, even back when we were too naïve and inexperienced to know that men can be victims, also.
We saw it happen, and we instinctively knew it was wrong. No one has the right to touch another without consent. It didn’t matter that he was gyrating all over the stage, dripping with sex appeal and begging, “just reach out and touch me.”
No one “asks for it.” No one “deserves it.” No one gets to do that to another human being.
We tell our kids that their bodies are private and that no one – not a stranger, family member, teacher, friend – no one, gets to touch them in their private parts. So why is it okay if someone was drunk in college? Do the rules of our own accountability and standards change? If we don’t hold everyone accountable, we may as well frame a new rule: You have to keep your hands to yourself unless the other person is weaker than you or drunk, then you should grab what you can.
If you want my body and you think I’m sexy
Come on, sugar, tell me so
If you really need me, just reach out and touch me
Come on, honey, tell me so
Would anyone in their right mind argue that Rod Stewart asked for a stranger to sneak onto the stage, and grope him from behind in front of thousands of people, shocking and humiliating him? Would anyone in their right mind argue that his lyrics, outfit or behavior negate his right to autonomy and privacy?
So I’m enraged when I happen upon a debate on a parenting site – of all places – where mothers of boys and girls hurl accusations at one another all in the name of protecting their children. I am a mother of both a boy and a girl. There are no sides. There’s only one message: Treat others with respect and empathy, keep your hands to yourself and make sure you understand consent.
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