#batali

Such is the state of the male apology, a phenomenon that's emerged with the rise of the #MeToo movement. According to its critics, the male apology—by which I mean, very specifically, men's response to allegations of misconduct—is characterized, first and foremost, by a lack of any genuine remorse.

Last year, multiple outlets published year-end roundups of the worst apologies of 2017, and, by way of summary, Vox writer Anna T. Donahue called the year's male apologies an "utter failure." Among those to receive mention in these critiques was Louis CK, who, while admitting that his accusers were telling the truth, said the source of his power over them was derived from their admiration from him. Kevin Spacey used his public statement of apology to come out as a gay man. Harvey Weinstein said he came of age during a different time, when "all the rules about behavior and workplaces were different." Chef and restaurateur Mario Batali signed off his apology, which he sent in an email newsletter, with the suggestion that his readers try his recipe for pizza dough cinnamon rolls.

"The intention of these public statements is never to apologize to the victim," Sage Carson, an advocate from sexual assault survivor advocacy group Know Your IX, tells Broadly. "It's always to explain to the world why they should be forgiven or why they're in the right."

The trend persists, and without any apparent improvements, according to Carson. She notes that Tyson's apology shares some noticeable qualities with its antecedents. Like CK and Batali, Carson says, Tyson finds opportunities to tout his achievements. He talks about his "professional history with the demotion of Pluto" when addressing the groping allegation against him, and mentions the "grueling adventure-marathon" that was finishing astrophysics graduate school. And then he uses these successes, Carson adds, to tear down his alleged victims, whom he seemingly blames for his alleged indiscretions.

It was probably inevitable that the tide of #MeToo would turn to “redemption.” Our culture loves a good comeback story; men’s sins, no matter how grave or public they are, never quite seem to toll the death knell on their fame. And the backlash to the movement against sexual violence—which once seemed like the beginning of a permanent culture change—has been ongoing for months, less as an overt attack on the principles of the movement than as a slow, sad backslide into the status quo.

In this context, the New York Times’ choice to run a profile on accused chef Mario Batali—reportedly plotting his "second act" after multiple misconduct allegations that included "repeatedly grabbing" and groping his female employees—seems like yet another reversion to the bad old days.

Its sympathetic portrait of Batali is clear: The culture’s attention has shifted away from reckoning with the harm done to women by sexual assault or harassment and toward rehabilitating the reputations of the men accused.

If anything, the profile paints Batali as a victim, characterizing him as one of many "powerful men" who "have had their worlds kicked out from under them as the #MeToo movement has gathered momentum." It paints him as the survivor of an unspeakable loss, "deeply introspective" and wondering "whether he and his family want to endure all that would come if he stepped back into the food business." It cites his (anonymous) friends in the celebrity chef community, who "[privately] suggest the time has come for a more nuanced approach to replace the scorched-earth policy toward men who have harassed women—one that allows something resembling redemption."

There is, however, one thing the profile does not contain: A direct quote from Mario Batali, acknowledging what he did wrong and saying that he is sorry. He certainly didn’t seem to be sorry four months ago, when he gave perhaps the single most infamous non-apology of the #MeToo wave—the one that paired a vague acknowledgment of "wrong" "behavior" with a recipe for cinnamon rolls.

The article doesn't even quote the women who claim he harassed them or detail what concrete reparations or amends Batali has made to them, if any. There’s some attention paid to the fact that Batali approached female friends for advice and a note on how he's reportedly mulling over a new company, one that would be kindler, gentler and led by a "powerful woman chief executive." But the women who accused him of misconduct were, apparently, not important enough for either Batali or the Times to consult on the matter of what constitutes his "rehabilitation."

Even if you do believe the #MeToo movement should allow for the rehabilitation of men who have committed sexual misconduct, it should be reserved for men who've demonstrated genuine contrition. And if men who abuse their power at work are return, they need to be held accountable for their actions, subject to serious oversight and not in a position to harass subordinates. They should not create a new business, over which they rule, and use a token woman to cushion the blow. And no abusive man is owed a profile in the New York Times by which to rehabilitate his reputation.

This approach to men who've abused or harassed female colleagues, with no real change to the conditions that produced that harassment, and no real contrition or penance from the men themselves, isn’t some evolved, new approach to harassment. It’s just business as usual—restoring the world to a place where men can harass women with no consequences.

Portraying abusive men as the victims of the #MeToo movement is grotesque, not least because rewrites the trauma of workplace sexual harassment. The truth is victims of abuse are seldom granted a "comeback." And their recovery can take a lot longer than the four months it's taken Mario Batali to attempt his turnaround.

(Foto: Specna Arms, Pexels.com) Oni diras, ke…Dio sendas al la plej penigaj batalejoj la plej fortajn soldatojn.Sed ŝajne Li pensas, ke mi estas Rambo…