I spent the year prior to beginning law school the way I imagine many other millennial humanities majors do: working at various part-time jobs while living with my parents. After leaving resumes at what felt like every business in my hometown, I was called to interview for a hostess position at a local restaurant and brewery.
Reading off of the standard list of questions, the interviewer asked what I thought about the mantra that “the customer is always right.” A predictable question with a litany of acceptable answers. “Excellent service is crucial to running a successful business.” “This job is about putting others first, going above and beyond for them.”
But this question irked me for some reason. Perhaps because I had already accepted a different job, I felt like being excessively honest. I responded that I wouldn’t go so far as to say “always,” because while good service is important, there comes a point when employees’ comfort and safety outweigh pandering to an irrational customer. The interviewer seemed surprised. She acknowledged that management cared about the employees’ well-being, quickly adding that customer satisfaction is still the most important aspect of their operation.
Reflecting on the question, my mind had snapped back to a situation at my previous job, as an English instructor in Peru. I had a student, a much older man, who would arrive at the school obnoxiously early every morning (before the rest of the class was around). Initially, we would converse casually until the other students trickled in and I could begin the lesson. However, this "friendship" soon snowballed into him mumbling comments about my body in class and badgering me to go out for drinks with him.
I demurred day after day, perfecting the art of avoidance: lingering downstairs, “pouring my coffee” for 15 minutes, asking the secretary questions, and organizing dry erase markers. This was not a very punctual class either, so most days I had to start teaching with only this student in the room.
My boss was a British man, only a few years older than I was. For context, whenever I didn’t have a class to teach, he would task me with standing outside handing flyers to passersby because “sex sells.” Unsurprisingly, when I told him about the creepy student situation, he joked that I should reciprocate the advances to help guarantee the guy’s continued enrollment. It was due to his pressure that I went to lunch with the student after class one day, supposedly to practice his English (we needed to have a reputation for “going the extra mile”).
I realize that teaching is not like a typical service job, and students are not usually thought of as customers. However, in a private school setting, there can be the same pervasive culture of maintaining cash flow and improving reputation at any cost to employees. This is to say that, for many women, putting up with difficult people for the sake of good business can go much further than plastering a smile and remembering to fill the water glasses regularly.
Recently, a restaurant security camera video went viral. It depicted a waitress, Emelia Holden, tackling a male customer who had groped her. She was hailed for standing up for herself, refusing to be disrespected. Other women who had been harassed before in the restaurant industry said that seeing the video had “empowered them to react more assertively next time.” Holden reported that she was confident in her reaction, knowing she would have the support of the restaurant owners and her coworkers.
For every story like this, there are many left untold of women who ignore harassment or laugh it off. A friend of mine working as a server once complained about a regular customer who always tried touch her inappropriately. Because the customer was a close friend of the restaurant owner, her boss refused to do anything about it.
While some advocate for assertiveness in the workplace as a way for women to avoid being taken advantage of (lean in?), it would be naïve to assume that employees all have equal bargaining power to their employers. Women can be assertive and demand respect, but often only insofar as their employers allow it. Many part-time and low-wage workers are at will employees, meaning that they can be terminated without cause. This, along with other factors such as language barriers and immigration status, can lock women into a harmful work environment.
It is unclear whether legal solutions would play a role in solving these issues, considering that many do not have the time and resources to commence a lawsuit. However, some suggest that steps be taken in training management on sexual harassment, in the hopes of reducing internal problems and building support for employees. Another option is to employ more women in higher up positions in this sector, with the idea that they may be more empathetic to issues like harassment.
Ultimately, I am probably reading too deeply into an old adage that doesn’t necessarily imply so much. But abiding by the contention that the customer is always right promotes the idea that profits are all that matter, disregarding the reality that women are more likely than men to experience harassment in the course of work. Some even argue that the way the service industry is run keeps women in a subservient position and normalizes sexism. While many things may be improving, these traditions perpetuate the reality that many women must suffer in order to maintain employment.
Wednesday, February 13, 2019
Tuesday, February 12, 2019
Combatting the attorney archetype
Growing up, my family instilled the belief in me that if I worked hard enough, I could make any of my dreams a reality. Attending law school was that dream for me. I believed my capacity to empathize, combined with my ambition and the skills I would learn in law school would make me an effective advocate. However, those outside of my immediate family seemed to have a different impression of my place in law school. Their comments persisted throughout my time as a law student.
"But . . . you don't seem like the lawyer-type." This is the sentiment I hear over and over again when I tell community members that I am a law student. Every time I hear that comment, I cannot help but question what qualities I am missing that make it difficult for others to perceive me (or even respect me) as a law student.
It further shakes me to my core to think that seemingly masculine traits have become the new "gender neutral" characteristics that have embodied the archetype of lawyers. Not only does this signal that women must change themselves to succeed in the legal profession, but an inherent message is sent to women that “feminine” qualities have little to no value in the workplace. It seems like I have to choose between being a lawyer or being myself.
But is it really true that adopting masculine characteristics would make me a better lawyer? Is it really true that masculinity is synonymous with professionalism? An earlier blogger on this forum, Alcestis, posted about how they didn’t agree that “becoming a man in a ‘man's world’ will help produce a better and more efficient working environment.” Just because someone embodies "feminine" characteristics, doesn't relegate their opinions and contributions as meaningless. In fact, these unique traits may help provide valuable perspectives and solutions to increase efficiency and effectiveness in the workplace.
When I think about my future as a lawyer, I think about this balancing game women must play to fit into their office culture. I also think about the importance of incorporating more "feminine" features into the work environment.
Going forward, while I will continue to hold myself to highest professional and ethical standards, I will not mute who I am as a person to fit into an office. While I don't want to be relegated as outsider, I think it would be worse to change who I am and incidentally perpetuate the devaluation of femininity in the workplace. I may not be the lawyer type, but I will do everything in my power to fight the one-dimensional notion of who a lawyer is and can be.
"But . . . you don't seem like the lawyer-type." This is the sentiment I hear over and over again when I tell community members that I am a law student. Every time I hear that comment, I cannot help but question what qualities I am missing that make it difficult for others to perceive me (or even respect me) as a law student.
When I think about who I am as a person, a number of different traits cross my mind. For example, I would say that I am empathetic, independent, nurturing, and ambitious. Our socially constructed categories of masculinity and femininity would place independence and ambition in the former category and place empathy and nurturance in the latter category. This separate spheres ideology becomes problematic when people assign value to those categories and decide what qualities are valuable and which ones are not.
I always saw myself as an amalgamation of different qualities, but now these traits were being broken up into categories and instead of syncing up harmoniously, these traits were being weighted, categorized, and assessed differently by others – especially in professional settings. These traits had been set up on opposing sides, with the socially constructed traits of femininity (which I thought of as personal strengths) being considered professional weaknesses and liabilities. In light of this, I constantly wonder who I should be.
In their germinal law review article, Rand Jack and Dana Crowley Jack posit that a number of female professionals, especially female attorneys, have the same internal tension of defining themselves in their profession.
One solution women have adopted is to mute their “feminine” characteristics. Pixar recently released a new animated short film that illustrated this issue. Purl is the story of a ball of pink yarn who begins work at a male-dominated office. The men in the office make it clear to Purl that she doesn’t belong in the office. They ignore her ideas and exclude her from office activities. In an effort to avoid being shut out, she decides to change who she is to fit into her office’s culture – going as far as changing her appearance and speaking in a deeper voice. To her surprise, it worked.
But as Jack’s article finds, even when women mute their feminine characteristics and attempt to assert more masculine characteristics, they are stuck in a catch 22 because no matter what they do, they can never really "get it right".
I always saw myself as an amalgamation of different qualities, but now these traits were being broken up into categories and instead of syncing up harmoniously, these traits were being weighted, categorized, and assessed differently by others – especially in professional settings. These traits had been set up on opposing sides, with the socially constructed traits of femininity (which I thought of as personal strengths) being considered professional weaknesses and liabilities. In light of this, I constantly wonder who I should be.
In their germinal law review article, Rand Jack and Dana Crowley Jack posit that a number of female professionals, especially female attorneys, have the same internal tension of defining themselves in their profession.
One solution women have adopted is to mute their “feminine” characteristics. Pixar recently released a new animated short film that illustrated this issue. Purl is the story of a ball of pink yarn who begins work at a male-dominated office. The men in the office make it clear to Purl that she doesn’t belong in the office. They ignore her ideas and exclude her from office activities. In an effort to avoid being shut out, she decides to change who she is to fit into her office’s culture – going as far as changing her appearance and speaking in a deeper voice. To her surprise, it worked.
But as Jack’s article finds, even when women mute their feminine characteristics and attempt to assert more masculine characteristics, they are stuck in a catch 22 because no matter what they do, they can never really "get it right".
If a woman chooses to reject the usual lawyer image and follow a less combative form of participation, she may be labeled too feminine, and others may doubt her fiber as a tough lawyer. A woman attorney must walk the fine line between being feminine and being assertive. . . If she is too feminine she is accused of trying to use it to her advantage and is therefore resented, but if she is equally assertive to her male counterpart, she is accused of being too aggressive.This identity strain is an added burden on women in the workplace. As women, we exert so much energy to define the "right" persona for our office culture, that it inhibits time, effort, and energy from focusing on the work we were hired to do.
It further shakes me to my core to think that seemingly masculine traits have become the new "gender neutral" characteristics that have embodied the archetype of lawyers. Not only does this signal that women must change themselves to succeed in the legal profession, but an inherent message is sent to women that “feminine” qualities have little to no value in the workplace. It seems like I have to choose between being a lawyer or being myself.
But is it really true that adopting masculine characteristics would make me a better lawyer? Is it really true that masculinity is synonymous with professionalism? An earlier blogger on this forum, Alcestis, posted about how they didn’t agree that “becoming a man in a ‘man's world’ will help produce a better and more efficient working environment.” Just because someone embodies "feminine" characteristics, doesn't relegate their opinions and contributions as meaningless. In fact, these unique traits may help provide valuable perspectives and solutions to increase efficiency and effectiveness in the workplace.
When I think about my future as a lawyer, I think about this balancing game women must play to fit into their office culture. I also think about the importance of incorporating more "feminine" features into the work environment.
I believe that people should not have to mute characteristics society has devalued to fit in. Lawyers need to be fierce, professional, hardworking, and competent advocates. Those traits and femininity are not mutually exclusive. In fact, femininity may even enhance features essential to lawyering.
Going forward, while I will continue to hold myself to highest professional and ethical standards, I will not mute who I am as a person to fit into an office. While I don't want to be relegated as outsider, I think it would be worse to change who I am and incidentally perpetuate the devaluation of femininity in the workplace. I may not be the lawyer type, but I will do everything in my power to fight the one-dimensional notion of who a lawyer is and can be.
Sunday, February 10, 2019
On "older women"
I watched the documentary RBG on Friday and I was struck by this line, spoken by the two youngish women periodically interviewed about the significance of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, "Who is more disdained or told to go away than older women?" They then contrast that norm with Justice Ginsburg, on whose word everyone hangs.
This so resonated with me because the older I get, the more I feel disdained. I don't think women have the gravitas that older men enjoy. No, the older women get, the more their clout diminishes. It's the reverse of what I perceive men experience as they age. I'm also recalling something I read back when Bernie and Hillary were vying for the Democratic nomination: Bernie was the cute grandpa, but Hillary was the crazy old woman.
This so resonated with me because the older I get, the more I feel disdained. I don't think women have the gravitas that older men enjoy. No, the older women get, the more their clout diminishes. It's the reverse of what I perceive men experience as they age. I'm also recalling something I read back when Bernie and Hillary were vying for the Democratic nomination: Bernie was the cute grandpa, but Hillary was the crazy old woman.
Why is this?
Saturday, February 9, 2019
Denying women credit for their critical roles in military combat
In part because I have a step son in the military, and in part because women's proper role in the military has been a subject of great controversy over the years, I took special note of this story in yesterday's New York Times, Her Title: Cryptologic Technician. Her Occupation: Warrior. Richard A Oppel, Jr. reports on the life and death of 35-year-old Shannon Kent, who was killed a few weeks ago in a suicide bombing in northern Syria. Oppel writes that Kent, officially a Chief Petty Officer in the Navy, wore body armor and carried an M4 rifle and a Sig Sauer pistol when she was on patrol with special forces like the Navy SEALS. Oppel's point: "for many years women have been doing military jobs as dangerous, secretive and specialized as anything men do."
Oppel quotes extensively Shannon Kent's husband, recently retired after a 20-year career with the Green Berets:
Women like Shannon Kent certainly challenge the image of women as the inferior sex, as somehow less capable than men. She also challenges gender stereotypes that would consign women to domestic roles. Lastly, they remind us that women often don't get their due--they don't get full credit for their contributions, including the risks they take. The story leaves me wondering, among other things, how much a Chief Petty Officer earns, compared to a Navy SEAL. Is Kent's death benefit any less than the other military personnel who died alongside her in that suicide bombing?
Don't miss prior posts under the military label, most on the very topic of women being excluded from combat roles and/or not getting credit for effectively performing those roles.
Oppel quotes extensively Shannon Kent's husband, recently retired after a 20-year career with the Green Berets:
She’d tell me, ‘You can say what you do in two words, but I have to explain over and over to people what I do, and half of them don’t believe me.’ ... As the years went on, she wished she could just say, ‘Hey, I’m Joe, and I’m a Green Beret.’
In many ways, she did way more than any of us who have a funny green hat.
* * *
Her job was to go out and blend her knowledge of cryptology and sigint [signals intelligence] and humint [human intelligence] to help the task force find the right guys to paint the ‘X’ on for a strike or a raid.
She understood how all the pieces came together. She wasn’t just relying on local informants. She knew how to fill in the gaps through her knowledge of different intelligence capabilities. She was kind of a one-stop-shop for finding bad guys.Kent spoke half a dozen Arabic dialects and four other languages. Kent was also a mom; she leaves behind two children, ages 3 and 18 months.
Women like Shannon Kent certainly challenge the image of women as the inferior sex, as somehow less capable than men. She also challenges gender stereotypes that would consign women to domestic roles. Lastly, they remind us that women often don't get their due--they don't get full credit for their contributions, including the risks they take. The story leaves me wondering, among other things, how much a Chief Petty Officer earns, compared to a Navy SEAL. Is Kent's death benefit any less than the other military personnel who died alongside her in that suicide bombing?
Don't miss prior posts under the military label, most on the very topic of women being excluded from combat roles and/or not getting credit for effectively performing those roles.
Wednesday, February 6, 2019
Notes on an intersectional feminist’s unabashed love of “The Bachelor”
In the words of the inimitable Roxane Gay, I, too, am a bad feminist. The best part of my month is receiving my Ipsy “glam bag.”[1] I never hesitate to ask a man to carry heavy things. If a guy on a dating app doesn’t text me first, we will likely never speak. But, chief amongst my sins, is the religiosity with which I have followed “The Bachelor” franchise since my senior year of college.[2] And I mean the whole franchise. “The Bachelorette,” “Bachelor in Paradise” - if Chris Harrison is forcing boringly good-looking people to hand out roses, I am there with dip and the few friends I have roped into watching with me this time around.[3]
An ABC fixture since 2002, “The Bachelor” is based on one (straight, white) man’s “journey” to find “true love.” In order to do this, the show finds him 20-30 ladies who are objectively attractive - that is, the majority of them are pretty, thin, again white, and blonde. Each week that year’s Bachelor – lately a fan favorite from the previous year’s “The Bachelorette” – thins his herd of women through the notorious “Rose Ceremony,” in which he asks each lady if they will accept a rose, and thus continue in the competition for another week. Before the ceremony, the Bachelor goes on “dates” with the women. Sometimes, that date is one of the coveted “one-on-one” dates, which is exactly what is sounds like with the addition of a dramatic date activity (like bungee-jumping), a fake dinner, and several camera-people. More often, it is a group date, which ends up being mostly the same, but with a higher chance of drama due to infighting among the contestants. When it gets down to four contestants, the dates get more intimate with hometown visits with the ladies’ families, and, of course, the overnight dates. The finale is supposed to consist of the Bachelor proposing to one of the last two contestants, and thus dumping the other. Fun!
“The Bachelor” and its progeny have consistently been the subjects of criticism and mockery, and why shouldn’t they? The show is excruciatingly heteronormative, with its insistence that a man always proposes to a woman (even on The Bachelorette!) during the finale. With the rise of Instagram stardom as a potential, lucrative post-show career, not being there “for the right reasons” is hardly even scandalous anymore. There has never been a black Bachelor. But, just how bad of a feminist does loving this seemingly anti-feminist show make me?
In defense of the franchise itself, it has been inching towards self-awareness on some of its issues. This season features Colton Underwood as the Bachelor, and, as the show will not let you forget, he is a virgin. Colton is otherwise attractive and nice enough, if a little boring. Facially, the fact that he is a virgin at 26 is surprising. This overemphasis on his virginity has likely led to some interesting discussions and even simple thought exercises about societal expectations of sex and when we expect one to have it. Colton, of course, is not the only member of the “Bachelor Family” who is/was a virgin on the show. Nearly every season, there seems to be one, and nearly every season it is a big deal, something to be confessed as a possible roadblock, or even deal breaker, for the relationship. Sex is the norm on this show - we expect The Bachelor or Bachelorette to sleep with the people who make it to the “fantasy suites." We applaud it, even. This feels at odds with middle America’s – you know; the people we would expect to love "The Bachelor” - sometimes Puritanical view of pre-marital sex. I am of course referencing conservative pushes to challenge Roe vs. Wade, decisions like Hobby Lobby that allow employers to refuse to include birth control coverage in healthcare plans, and the general reluctance to expand access to birth control and comprehensive sex education.
Still, while the show can be read as somewhat sex positive, it also reinforces stereotypes and double standards with respect to societal expectations of men and the amount of sex they should have had by that age. A few seasons ago, on Kaitlyn Bristowe’s season of The Bachelorette, Kaitlyn was slut-shamed for having sex with one of the contestants before the fantasy suite episode. She ended up telling some of the other men about her tryst, most likely at the behest of a producers trying to ensure as much drama as possible. This lies in stark contrast with the teasing Colton is subject to for being a virgin. This is a clear double standard, and many fans and columnists have not forgotten Kaitlyn’s treatment. Maybe, hopefully, this is a sign that the show is making some progress on its views about sex. More likely, it is because producers are hungry for a story.
Colton’s virginity may have been the catalyst for one of the most genuine conversations on the show. Last week, contestant Caelynn Miller-Keyes opened up to Colton about being sexually assaulted in college. Raw, emotional conversations are not a new thing in the world of the Bachelor. Two seasons ago, the Bachelor team managed to get footage of the Bachelor dumping the girl he initially proposed to because he was in love with the technical runner-up. This one felt different though. Miller-Keyes has had practice with this conversation, as fighting for stricter Title IX protections was part of her platform when she competed in Miss USA. Miller-Keyes told her story eloquently, and, perhaps recognizing that much of this conversation would be played on TVs across America, was careful in punctuating specific details. For example, she spoke about how the first hospital she went to refused to administer a rape kit, which, she emphasized, is illegal. Colton, for his part, handled the situation well, mentioning that his ex, and first love, is also a survivor.[4] As a fan, I admit that I love making fun of this show. However, The Bachelor team deserves praise for the way they handled filming and editing this conversation, and thus ensuring that people Bachelor Nation at least had to think about the issues survivors face after a sexual assault, and how a decent man should treat such an admission.
The Bachelor franchise is problematic, even without a critique on its racial dynamics. However, like any piece of pop culture, it can lead to important discussions about gender dynamics, societal expectations, and sometimes even serious issues such as sexual assault. Granted, I don’t always watch in hopes of such discussion. But when it does provide that opportunity, it has the potential to reach audiences who hadn’t dedicated much time to such issues, a result which ends up fostering feminist discussion.
[1] Five make-up products for $10 a month in a cute little bag! Amazing!
[2] I graduated college in 2013.
[3] Which is not to say I haven’t watched alone. I definitely have.
[4] His ex-girlfriend is Olympian Aly Raisman.
An ABC fixture since 2002, “The Bachelor” is based on one (straight, white) man’s “journey” to find “true love.” In order to do this, the show finds him 20-30 ladies who are objectively attractive - that is, the majority of them are pretty, thin, again white, and blonde. Each week that year’s Bachelor – lately a fan favorite from the previous year’s “The Bachelorette” – thins his herd of women through the notorious “Rose Ceremony,” in which he asks each lady if they will accept a rose, and thus continue in the competition for another week. Before the ceremony, the Bachelor goes on “dates” with the women. Sometimes, that date is one of the coveted “one-on-one” dates, which is exactly what is sounds like with the addition of a dramatic date activity (like bungee-jumping), a fake dinner, and several camera-people. More often, it is a group date, which ends up being mostly the same, but with a higher chance of drama due to infighting among the contestants. When it gets down to four contestants, the dates get more intimate with hometown visits with the ladies’ families, and, of course, the overnight dates. The finale is supposed to consist of the Bachelor proposing to one of the last two contestants, and thus dumping the other. Fun!
“The Bachelor” and its progeny have consistently been the subjects of criticism and mockery, and why shouldn’t they? The show is excruciatingly heteronormative, with its insistence that a man always proposes to a woman (even on The Bachelorette!) during the finale. With the rise of Instagram stardom as a potential, lucrative post-show career, not being there “for the right reasons” is hardly even scandalous anymore. There has never been a black Bachelor. But, just how bad of a feminist does loving this seemingly anti-feminist show make me?
In defense of the franchise itself, it has been inching towards self-awareness on some of its issues. This season features Colton Underwood as the Bachelor, and, as the show will not let you forget, he is a virgin. Colton is otherwise attractive and nice enough, if a little boring. Facially, the fact that he is a virgin at 26 is surprising. This overemphasis on his virginity has likely led to some interesting discussions and even simple thought exercises about societal expectations of sex and when we expect one to have it. Colton, of course, is not the only member of the “Bachelor Family” who is/was a virgin on the show. Nearly every season, there seems to be one, and nearly every season it is a big deal, something to be confessed as a possible roadblock, or even deal breaker, for the relationship. Sex is the norm on this show - we expect The Bachelor or Bachelorette to sleep with the people who make it to the “fantasy suites." We applaud it, even. This feels at odds with middle America’s – you know; the people we would expect to love "The Bachelor” - sometimes Puritanical view of pre-marital sex. I am of course referencing conservative pushes to challenge Roe vs. Wade, decisions like Hobby Lobby that allow employers to refuse to include birth control coverage in healthcare plans, and the general reluctance to expand access to birth control and comprehensive sex education.
Still, while the show can be read as somewhat sex positive, it also reinforces stereotypes and double standards with respect to societal expectations of men and the amount of sex they should have had by that age. A few seasons ago, on Kaitlyn Bristowe’s season of The Bachelorette, Kaitlyn was slut-shamed for having sex with one of the contestants before the fantasy suite episode. She ended up telling some of the other men about her tryst, most likely at the behest of a producers trying to ensure as much drama as possible. This lies in stark contrast with the teasing Colton is subject to for being a virgin. This is a clear double standard, and many fans and columnists have not forgotten Kaitlyn’s treatment. Maybe, hopefully, this is a sign that the show is making some progress on its views about sex. More likely, it is because producers are hungry for a story.
Colton’s virginity may have been the catalyst for one of the most genuine conversations on the show. Last week, contestant Caelynn Miller-Keyes opened up to Colton about being sexually assaulted in college. Raw, emotional conversations are not a new thing in the world of the Bachelor. Two seasons ago, the Bachelor team managed to get footage of the Bachelor dumping the girl he initially proposed to because he was in love with the technical runner-up. This one felt different though. Miller-Keyes has had practice with this conversation, as fighting for stricter Title IX protections was part of her platform when she competed in Miss USA. Miller-Keyes told her story eloquently, and, perhaps recognizing that much of this conversation would be played on TVs across America, was careful in punctuating specific details. For example, she spoke about how the first hospital she went to refused to administer a rape kit, which, she emphasized, is illegal. Colton, for his part, handled the situation well, mentioning that his ex, and first love, is also a survivor.[4] As a fan, I admit that I love making fun of this show. However, The Bachelor team deserves praise for the way they handled filming and editing this conversation, and thus ensuring that people Bachelor Nation at least had to think about the issues survivors face after a sexual assault, and how a decent man should treat such an admission.
The Bachelor franchise is problematic, even without a critique on its racial dynamics. However, like any piece of pop culture, it can lead to important discussions about gender dynamics, societal expectations, and sometimes even serious issues such as sexual assault. Granted, I don’t always watch in hopes of such discussion. But when it does provide that opportunity, it has the potential to reach audiences who hadn’t dedicated much time to such issues, a result which ends up fostering feminist discussion.
[1] Five make-up products for $10 a month in a cute little bag! Amazing!
[2] I graduated college in 2013.
[3] Which is not to say I haven’t watched alone. I definitely have.
[4] His ex-girlfriend is Olympian Aly Raisman.
Exposing the race and privilege shield in college sexual assault and rape cases
Brock Turner, Jacob Anderson, Cory Batey, and Tevin Elliott are young American men commonly associated with sexual assault and rape. Despite committing the same heinous and despicable crime, these men faced drastically different punishments, apparently because of their race and respective privileges.
Brock Turner, a 19-year-old white male and Stanford University swimmer, faced multiple felony charges, including assault with the intent to rape an intoxicated woman. Numerous eyewitnesses corroborated the victim’s allegations and testified that they saw Turner forcibly penetrate the unconscious victim behind a dumpster.
Although a jury found Turner guilty of multiple felony rape offenses that typically carry a lengthy prison sentence, Santa Clara County Superior Court Judge Aaron Perksy sentenced Turner to six months in the local county jail, with the possibility of release within three months. In issuing the sentence, Judge Perksy viewed Turner’s alcohol impairment, character references, and lack of prior criminal record as mitigating factors. Moreover, Judge Perksy further justified his decision to award a lighter sentence by expressing his concern around the “severe impact that state prison could have on someone Turner’s age and the adverse collateral consequences on Turner’s life from a felony conviction.”
Similarly, Jacob Anderson, a white male and Baylor University fraternity president, faced charges of drugging and raping a 19-year-old female student. Ironically, this despicable act occurred in Waco, Texas, a city commonly known as “the buckle of the Bible Belt” and at a university with a sexual assault policy that prides itself on “expecting its students, faculty, and staff to engage in behaviors consistent with a Biblical understanding that physical sexual intimacy is to be expressed in the context of marital fidelity.”
However, as James C. Moore of CNN News aptly noted, “the Bible Belt seems often to be unbuckled.” Despite the city and university’s alleged adoption of these noble Biblical ideals, the court showed lenience when punishing Anderson.
Brock Turner, a 19-year-old white male and Stanford University swimmer, faced multiple felony charges, including assault with the intent to rape an intoxicated woman. Numerous eyewitnesses corroborated the victim’s allegations and testified that they saw Turner forcibly penetrate the unconscious victim behind a dumpster.
Although a jury found Turner guilty of multiple felony rape offenses that typically carry a lengthy prison sentence, Santa Clara County Superior Court Judge Aaron Perksy sentenced Turner to six months in the local county jail, with the possibility of release within three months. In issuing the sentence, Judge Perksy viewed Turner’s alcohol impairment, character references, and lack of prior criminal record as mitigating factors. Moreover, Judge Perksy further justified his decision to award a lighter sentence by expressing his concern around the “severe impact that state prison could have on someone Turner’s age and the adverse collateral consequences on Turner’s life from a felony conviction.”
Similarly, Jacob Anderson, a white male and Baylor University fraternity president, faced charges of drugging and raping a 19-year-old female student. Ironically, this despicable act occurred in Waco, Texas, a city commonly known as “the buckle of the Bible Belt” and at a university with a sexual assault policy that prides itself on “expecting its students, faculty, and staff to engage in behaviors consistent with a Biblical understanding that physical sexual intimacy is to be expressed in the context of marital fidelity.”
However, as James C. Moore of CNN News aptly noted, “the Bible Belt seems often to be unbuckled.” Despite the city and university’s alleged adoption of these noble Biblical ideals, the court showed lenience when punishing Anderson.
A Texas district judge allowed Anderson to plead to a lesser charge of unlawful restraint. Under this lesser charge, the court only required Anderson to pay a $400 fine and attend substance abuse and psychological treatment sessions. Anderson faced no prison time and escaped being publicly listed as sex offender, much to the general public’s dismay.
When looking at Turner and Anderson's cases in isolation, the race and privilege undertones behind their sentences may not be readily apparent. However, when comparing their sentences to other sentences for similar crimes, the role of race and privilege becomes painstakingly obvious.
For example, consider Tevin Elliott, a 20-year-old African American male and Baylor University football player. Elliott faced charges of sexual assault and rape, charges that were practically identical to the ones fellow Baylor student Jacob Anderson faced. However, their sentences differed significantly, as the judge sentenced Elliott to the 20 year maximum. Unlike Anderson, the judge gave Elliot no opportunity to plead to a lesser charge and denied his request for probation to raise his sons.
Similarly, Corey Batey, a 19-year-old African American male and Vanderbilt University football player, faced charges of sexually assaulting and raping an unconscious woman. Although the charges and evidence provided in Batey’s case closely resembled those against Turner, the outcomes varied starkly. While Turner was convicted of multiple felony charges and sentenced to only six months in a local prison, Batey was found guilty of three felony counts of rape and aggravated sexual battery. He was sentenced to 15-to-25 years in prison.
Shaun King of The New York Daily News highlights that Batey’s sentence was “3,000 percent longer than what Brock Turner was a given for a comparable crime.” King further emphasizes this harsh racialized reality by stating that “One man is black and the other is white. I won’t even ask you to guess which is which. This is America.” Unlike Turner’s case, the judge in Batey's case failed to consider the potential impact of incarceration on Batey’s future or the presence of any other mitigating factors.
While the racial implications of these sentences are themselves deeply troubling, what is even more unsettling and under-appreciated is their negative impact on female victims. Failing to hold these men equally accountable merely because of the color of their skin and socioeconomic status atrociously devalues the pain and trauma of their victims.
When looking at Turner and Anderson's cases in isolation, the race and privilege undertones behind their sentences may not be readily apparent. However, when comparing their sentences to other sentences for similar crimes, the role of race and privilege becomes painstakingly obvious.
For example, consider Tevin Elliott, a 20-year-old African American male and Baylor University football player. Elliott faced charges of sexual assault and rape, charges that were practically identical to the ones fellow Baylor student Jacob Anderson faced. However, their sentences differed significantly, as the judge sentenced Elliott to the 20 year maximum. Unlike Anderson, the judge gave Elliot no opportunity to plead to a lesser charge and denied his request for probation to raise his sons.
Similarly, Corey Batey, a 19-year-old African American male and Vanderbilt University football player, faced charges of sexually assaulting and raping an unconscious woman. Although the charges and evidence provided in Batey’s case closely resembled those against Turner, the outcomes varied starkly. While Turner was convicted of multiple felony charges and sentenced to only six months in a local prison, Batey was found guilty of three felony counts of rape and aggravated sexual battery. He was sentenced to 15-to-25 years in prison.
Shaun King of The New York Daily News highlights that Batey’s sentence was “3,000 percent longer than what Brock Turner was a given for a comparable crime.” King further emphasizes this harsh racialized reality by stating that “One man is black and the other is white. I won’t even ask you to guess which is which. This is America.” Unlike Turner’s case, the judge in Batey's case failed to consider the potential impact of incarceration on Batey’s future or the presence of any other mitigating factors.
While the racial implications of these sentences are themselves deeply troubling, what is even more unsettling and under-appreciated is their negative impact on female victims. Failing to hold these men equally accountable merely because of the color of their skin and socioeconomic status atrociously devalues the pain and trauma of their victims.
Failing to hold these male perpetrators accountable diverts the focus away from obtaining justice for the victim to crafting arbitrary distinctions between perpetrators based on characteristics completely unrelated to the crimes they commit. The disparity in treatment of perpetrators ultimately disservices the victims of rape and sexual assault by resting their violators fate on their appearance and respective wealth rather than solely focusing on the nature and circumstances of the atrocities they commit.
These sentencing inequalities build a system where victims will only receive protection and justice if their perpetrators are people of color because those perpetrators are held to a higher standard and face harsher punishments for their actions. As the Sentencing Project’s 2013 report articulated, African-American males are six times more likely to go to prison than white males.
These sentencing inequalities build a system where victims will only receive protection and justice if their perpetrators are people of color because those perpetrators are held to a higher standard and face harsher punishments for their actions. As the Sentencing Project’s 2013 report articulated, African-American males are six times more likely to go to prison than white males.
But the question still remains: Why should a white male be treated any differently than an African-American male if their actions are virtually identical? Why should race and privilege shield some perpetrators while condemning others to a life sentence?
If a white male’s actions are equivalent in nature to those of an African-American male, they should be equally scrutinized and held accountable to the same high standard. Treating perpetrators differently is extremely unfair to victims, especially those of white male perpetrators. It forces these victims to live in a world where their violators potentially get off scot free.
If a white male’s actions are equivalent in nature to those of an African-American male, they should be equally scrutinized and held accountable to the same high standard. Treating perpetrators differently is extremely unfair to victims, especially those of white male perpetrators. It forces these victims to live in a world where their violators potentially get off scot free.
As the victim in Jacob Anderson's case described it, “[my perpetrator] is now free to roam society, stalk women, and no one will know that he is a sex offender.” Without perpetrators of similar crimes experiencing equivalent negative consequences, how can we expect victims to experience redemption?
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