Here’s a hashtag: #nomore!

So, another powerful man took advantage of his position and harassed, assaulted, manipulated, demeaned, and caused great harm to many women, for many years. And again, almost no one did anything meaningful to stop him.

It’s a sad, and infuriating story that seems to play out—over and over. 

There are rumors. Occasionally a victim will try to come forward, and people won’t believe her, so other victims remain silent, and the cycle of abuse continues. Women develop strategies and systems for protecting themselves and others, because it’s only a matter of time before they’re in the cross hairs. And the women who fight back, say ‘no,’ or make a stink about the incidents quickly learn that they’re on their own. Their careers are under threat. Their reputations are called into question. 

And when the truth of the story surfaces, we all feign shock and surprise, but leading up to that moment, when hints of the truth trickle out, we all shrug our shoulders and declare that’s just the way it is in Hollywood, corporate America, politics, the music business—wherever. 

But the reality? It’s not just any of those places. It’s in our schools, in our workplaces, on our streets, in public places, in our dating culture, and sometimes our homes. There is literally no place women go that is completely free of sexual harassment, misogyny, innuendo, assault or abuse. 

We’re talking about it, again, because a slew of women in the entertainment industry have been subjected to all of these things by one powerful man. But that’s not the only reason. We’re also talking about it because this secret wasn’t really a secret. It was the saddest, and most infuriating common knowledge there is. 

It was the knowledge that women were under attack, and had to accept it, because nobody would do anything about such a powerful individual’s actions. Not the men who knew about their significant others who dealt with these incidents. Not their colleagues. Not anyone in the industry. Because while women were the victims, both the power to kill careers, and the sense that this was just part of the deal kept everyone quiet. 

And that’s one of the things that non-victims least understand about trauma and victimization. Men like Harvey Weinstein, Bill Cosby, Donald Trump, Roman Polanski, Brock Turner, my stepfather, a friend’s uncle—they don’t commit these acts because they’re aroused by sex. They commit these acts because they get off on the sense of power they feel. And most aren’t selective. It’s not about the way you look, how thin you are, whether you’re too friendly or not, or the way you are dressed. It’s about opportunity and access.

But every time the conversation about sexual misconduct on the part of men comes up, the conversation about what victims did, wore, said, or looked like quickly follows. It follows because men and society have taught us well. They have taught us that only we are responsible for what happens to us. 

We are the ones who have to measure our shorts or skirt length before we go to school. We are the ones who have to make sure our shoulders aren’t bare, or our necklines aren’t too low when we go to algebra. We are the ones who can’t wear comfortable clothing to class. We are the ones who carry pepper spray when we jog alone. We are the ones who have a list of safety instructions emblazoned in our minds from the time we start going anywhere on our own. 

And you cannot argue that boys have a list too. It’s not the same. There’s a huge difference between looking both ways before you cross the street, and the myriad of warnings girls and young women must heed. You can argue that “times have changed,” and even men and boys can be the targets of violent sex crimes, but the reality still is that the number of female victims far and away exceeds the number of male victims. 

The other conversation that quickly follows these mass revelations of wrongdoing on the part of abusers is whether victims reported the incidents right away, or waited. What many non-victims continue to misunderstand is why victims don’t come forward and report sex crimes immediately. They don’t understand trauma, or the systems we have created that make reporting so difficult. And these slings and arrows come not only from men, but bafflingly, even from other women. 

Trauma morphs into a infinite web of psychological symptoms in victims. We feel the initial harm. We feel confusion, uncertainty, guilt, powerlessness, fear of further violation, retaliation, social stigma, denial, anger, judgment, and loss. And that’s a short list that never ends for the rest of our lives. 

And the systems we have created for reporting and dealing with sexual and/or violent crimes do only one thing extremely well: create further trauma, and often without achieving any justice. Because of the conversations that so quickly follow the revelation of such crimes, victims are frequently doubted, interrogated through multiple stages, forced to repeatedly relive events that are psychologically scrambled because of PTSD, and forced to allow their personal lives to be paraded for strangers to judge. We’re also very frequently forced to accept that our perpetrators’ lives are valued at a higher level than ours, and that they may face little in the way of consequences. If our perpetrators do pay a price, it will often be a slap on the wrist, and maybe registration as a sex offender. 

What we face: lifelong PTSD, damaged relationships, self-esteem and confidence issues, loss of employment opportunities, loss of housing options, medical issues and bills, the cost of counseling if we seek it, physical damage, damaged interpersonal skills, and many other tangible issues. We live in a perpetual state of traumatization, because these kinds of crimes find a foothold in our subconscious, and wrap around our thought processes like metastatic cancer. 

People are always suggesting forgiveness and putting the past in the past. Those are great suggestions. And some people are able to put these incidents behind them, and move onto be very successful and happy. I would argue that many of those people who do so still have bad moments. They still have flares of unexplainable fears, doubts and crippling thoughts that they don’t just “get over.” And I would argue that many of those “bad moments” probably tend to coincide with revelations like those in the Weinstein, Cosby, Brock Turner and Trump cases. 

We can’t truly get away from any of it, because there’s always another victim or list of victims somewhere—just waiting to be revealed. 

When we see it, the same questions always come up. Why does this keep happening? Why won’t anyone do something? And in our minds, the same answer keeps coming—nobody really cares, as long as it’s not them, or someone they love. Nobody cares, because women are not equally valued. 

Why wouldn’t we think that, given the conversations that follow the revelations? 

From the young girl getting ready for school and measuring the length of her dress, to the high school freshman who receives an unwanted photo or video from a male athlete, and knows that she will face more repercussions than her male counterpart—we teach both girls and boys that girls and women are responsible for everything that happens to them. From the first time a boy’s behavior is written off as “boys will be boys,” to the moment a judge says a young male athlete who rapes an unconscious woman shouldn’t have to face years in prison because of the harm it will cause him, we teach both girls and boys that boys and men deserve more from their lives than girls and women do. 

In our complicit acceptance of women and girls being sexually victimized, everyone learns that it’s okay to look the other way, victim blame, victim shame, and move on from one well-publicized sexual misconduct scandal to the next. And we seem never to learn anything new, or truly meaningful. Hashtags come and go. Incidents make headlines and then fade away. There is only one constant. 

Those of us who are part of the statistic, those of us who reported, those of us who couldn’t face the further traumatization—we are forever changed, even down to our DNA, and possibly our children’s DNA. For us, nothing is ever the same. There is no completely “safe” place. There is no way of avoiding all of the things that might trigger us.

No matter what may happen to the person who traumatized us, one of us will absolutely endure a life sentence. It will forever erase the person we were becoming, and it will forever influence who we are. 

The “metoo”hashtag is a brief drawing aside of the black curtain. It reminds those of us who are “on the list” that we are not alone. Sometimes, it’s helpful to know who we are, so we can reach out to each other. But to be honest, knowing that someone else has been equally changed, and had their life equally shattered will never bring me comfort. The only comfort that I will ever have is that possibly unattainable moment when we all say “no more!”

America: What is your role?

6:45 p.m.—First call comes into the dispatch center.

Dispatcher: “911 dispatch. What’s the nature of your emergency?”

Caller: “There’s a huge ruckus next door. Lots of yelling. I heard a couple of screams, and some kids crying. I don’t know what’s going on, but it sounds real bad.”

Dispatcher: “Okay, sir, thank you for calling. We’ll send someone out.”

7:00 p.m.—Second call comes into the dispatch center.

Dispatcher: “911 dispatch. What’s the nature of your emergency?”

Caller: “I think there’s been a shooting across the street. I heard yelling, screaming and crying earlier, but to be honest, it happens a lot, so I didn’t think much of it. But I swear, I just heard gunshots, and things are real quiet over there now.”

Dispatcher: “Okay, ma’am. Thank you for calling. We’ll get someone out there right away.”

7:10 p.m.—Third call comes into the dispatch center.

Dispatcher: “911 dispatch. What’s the nature of your emergency?”

Caller: “I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but there’s been a big disturbance just down the street. I think I heard at least one gunshot, and there’s a man pacin’ up and down the road. He looks real mad. I’d swear I saw blood on his hands and face, but I pulled the curtains as soon as he looked my direction. He looks like some kind of thug or something.”

Dispatcher: “Oh. So he’s black?” Caller: “No. No. He ain’t black.”

Dispatcher: “Can you describe him?”

Caller: “He’s wearin’ jeans, a flannel shirt, and a ‘Make America Great Again’ ball cap.”

Dispatcher: “Oh. So he’s a redneck?”

Caller: “I don’t know. I didn’t about that. A lot of people voted for him.”

Dispatcher: “We’ve gotten several calls already. We have a squad car on the way.”

Caller: “You’re gonna have to get an ambulance out here, too. I got a bad feeling.”


7:38 p.m.—Police arrive on scene.

Officer #1: (calls to man pacing along road) “Sir, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”

Man: “Leave me the hell alone. Stay out of my business.”

Officer #1: “We’ve had several calls about a disturbance in the neighborhood. Do you know anything about that?”

Man: “I’ll tell you what’s disturbing. It’s disturbing that people can’t mind their own damn business. That’s what’s disturbing. There ain’t nobody in this neighborhood worth a damn. Just a bunch of lazy-assed spics, towel-heads, and gang-bangin’ thugs. That’s the problem with everything these days.”

Officer #1: “Well, sir, we’ve had reports of fighting, yelling, screams, and even gunshots. Can you tell me anything about that?”

Man: “Yeah, I got a gun, but it’s my right. And it’s my home. What goes on in my home, with my family ain’t nobody’s damn business, but mine and God’s.”


Officer #2 Goes to address given by dispatch. The screen door is wide open, and banging against the front of the house. All is quiet. He draws his firearm, and cautiously steps through the front door, which is ajar.

Officer #2: “This is the police. Is there anyone home?”

He takes the flashlight from his belt, and winds his way through each room, carefully checking his surroundings.

“We had reports of some kind of disturbance here, and that there were gunshots fired. Is anyone hurt?”

As he steps into one of the smaller bedrooms, he can just barely make out the sound of a child whimpering, then a “shush” from another voice. Very slowly, the officer opens the closet door, and finds two children huddled together.

“Are you two okay?” They both nod, and mumble ‘mmm hmm.’ Both are clearly terrified.

“Is there anyone else in the house?”

Child #1: “Just our mom. I think she’s been shot. She’s in the room across the hall.”

Child #2 begins to rock and silently sob.


Officer #2: “Stay put.”

He steps slowly through the door of the room across the hall. On the floor, at the end of the bed, lies a woman in shock. He can see she has several gunshot wounds, and immediately radios dispatch to ensure paramedics are on the way. Blood is pooling around the woman, and she is shivering. It looks bad.

Officer #2: “Stay still. Don’t try to move. An ambulance is on the way.”

7:45 p.m. —Ambulance and paramedics arrive on the scene. A second police squad car has also arrived. 

Officer #2 is escorting the two blanket-wrapped children out of the house, and one of the officers from the newly arrived car leads them to safety in the back of the vehicle. She promises bottles of water and a snack.

Paramedic #1: “Dispatch said there may be a gunshot victim?”

Officer #2: “Yeah, follow me. She’s in shock. At least a couple of gunshot wounds. From what I could tell, there was one to the abdomen, and possibly one in the leg. She’s already losing a lot of blood.”

Upon reaching the woman, the paramedic team begins assessing vitals and damage. There are multiple wounds. Her pulse is thready. She has lost consciousness. They perform as much immediate damage control as they can, to limit additional blood loss, and they prep her for transport as quickly as possible. Her condition is grave.


Meanwhile, several clusters of people have gathered along the street. They watch as paramedics take the woman to the ambulance.

Officer #1 and the fourth remaining officer from the second car have cuffed the man in flannel, and are escorting him to the first squad car. Even from a fair distance, you can see the veins near his forehead pulsing by the flashing lights of the squad car.

Officer #2 begins circulating among the clusters of neighbors in hopes of finding any credible witnesses. He passes a couple of women—both with their three middle fingers over their lips. The scene has been distressing for them.

One turns the other.

“I knew something like this was gonna happen. It was just a matter of time. I don’t understand why any woman would put up with that.”

“I heard she was trying to get a job so she could sock away some money and move out. But she couldn’t afford to finish her nursing degree, and she was havin’ trouble finding anything that would pay enough for her to cover daycare, let alone give her anything to save. And I heard she had another one on the way.”

“You’d think she’d be on birth control or something. I know I wouldn’t be with any man who ever laid a hand on me. No way.”

A third woman, who has just come back from her evening jog overhears the conversation and stops.

“I heard them fighting about it months ago. He didn’t want her on birth control. He said if she was on something like that, it would only tempt her to cheat on him. She told him that she had been having some female problems, and her doctor thought they would help, and that she thought two kids was a good number. He said it wasn’t up to her or any fancy doctor to decide what was going on with his wife.”

One of the women responded.

“Well, did you ever see her when she left the house? It seemed like all she ever wore were short skirts, and tight-fitting blouses that left almost nothing to the imagination. No wonder he thought she would cheat. She dressed like a whore.”

A little farther down the street, a young couple watched the scene unfold in disbelief.

“I just don’t understand why nobody would help her” said the woman. “He’s a fucking animal. How can anyone treat a woman like that? And of course, he voted for that asshole.”

“Honey, now’s not the time to talk about the election. I know how disappointed you are that your candidate got screwed by his party. But I tried to tell you that she—or pretty much anyone was better than the guy we ended up with.”


The two frightened children are drinking water, and eating the cheese crackers offered to them by the police officer. It’s a warm, humid evening, and the windows of the squad car are down. The officer is making notes after asking them a few questions. She’s radioed for dispatch to send out the on-call social worker to place the kids in temporary care.

A young mom is walking by with her child. She stays home, and has heard the many fights. She even tried to reach out to the woman, but feels terrible that she couldn’t do more. As she walks by, she notices the children in the squad car.

“I am so, so sorry about your mom. I wish I could have done more to help.”

“Thank you,” the older child responds. “My mom really likes you. You’re kind. She says you’re the only one in the neighborhood that she trusts. She says that you keep her from giving up hope.”

The woman brushes away a tear on her cheek, and swallows hard.

“I hope she’s going to be okay.”


8:10 p.m.—Paramedics arrive at trauma center. 

The team has been prepped. Upon arrival, the woman is unresponsive, and her pulse is weak. The trauma team works to stop blood loss and to stabilize her. She is given multiple units of blood, and doses of medications to reverse her shock. She is unresponsive, but breathing. Unresponsive, but holding on. The team works, watches and waits.


Hours pass, and the press wants a statement.

11:59 p.m.—The lead trauma doctor agrees to give a brief statement. 

“We have been working to get the victim stabilized, and are proceeding with caution. Her condition is critical. She has multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, abdomen and one of her legs. There was blood coming from all of these wounds—from everywhere.”

Reporter: “Can you give us a name?”

Lead trauma doctor: “Liberty.

Reporter: “Is that her full name?”

Lead trauma doctor: “It’s Liberty Justice Fairness. We’re asking everyone to keep her in their thoughts and prayers.”

The reporter takes a knee.