A bell rang out in my brain when I heard Senator Elizabeth Warren describe a disturbing moment in her early career. You guessed it! Warren’s “me too” moment took me back more than 40 years to a time and place I had neatly repressed. I had gone to Washington to advocate for (what else?) the arts. Forewarned that I might be shuffled off to an aide, I persisted. My efforts rewarded, I was face to face alone with an important, esteemed and powerful elected official.
As I made my case for the arts with facts and figures, I was prepared for almost any question except the one I was asked: “What is your room number at the hotel?” What was a serious advocacy effort was turned into a charade. I felt diminished to think that my presentation had been reduced to a possible roll in the hay. I felt disillusioned that an elected official would be so brazen as to proposition a constituent. I felt sick that my generation’s efforts to liberate women had failed to even give us equal respect. So yes. Me too. I join the chorus to end this sexual predator behavior. Let’s call it what it is...just another dangerous assault on our integrity.
Artwork above: Me Too (2017) by Michele Pred
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A version of this article first appeared in Janet Langsam's blog, This and That by JL. To subscribe to her blog, visit: thisandthatbyjl.com.
