#time'sup

I’m not a touchy-feely person. Like most humans, I appreciate having a say in whose fingers touch me, if I can help it. On New York City subways this seems almost impossible. But even when subways are crowded, it’s easy to notice people moving their bodies awkwardly to make sure they are not being touched

It’s because people like personal space. We have a right to claim our space and be guardians of our bodies.

One evening, I was on the train with my partner reeling over Avengers: Infinity War after having watched it the second time when I caught an older white woman’s hand hovering over the sleeve of my pink faux fur coat. If I did not catch her, she would have touched me without permission.

When we locked gazes, she asked if she could touch the fabric and, naturally, I told her “no.” Her face twisted into a look of bewilderment and she glanced up at my partner, her eyes urging him to keep me in check. The beep of the subway doors was my cue to break eye contact with her and continue our conversation.

As the woman exited the train car, she told me that she just wanted to feel my coat, and mockingly repeated that she wouldn’t touch me as she got off the train.

Her response to my refusal felt like a not-so-creative way to tell me that she did not agree with a Black woman having agency over her body, and I hopped on Twitter to voice my outrage. Her actions weren’t surprising, and it wasn’t out of character compared to other white people I had come across, but I wanted to know: how many Black women have had similar experiences and how often? So I asked.

This wasn’t the first time something like this has happened to me. I attended a concert on New Year’s Eve and a drunk white woman decided it was her duty to fix my collar. No permission. She did not let me know that my collar was waving to everyone first. I remember feeling her fingers brush the back of my neck out of the blue, just because she thought she had the right to.

Racial harassment has been defined by the Civil Rights Act of 1964 as a form of employment discrimination. It is unwanted and unwelcome behavior because of your race or color. While racial harassment was coined to describe the ways in which this type of violence can occur in workspaces, it can also exist on trains, in clubs, and virtually anywhere.

Historically, with white women-led feminist movements in the US, the issues that affect Black women are intentionally carved out of national conversations in order to serve the interests of white women. This is why so many of us are skeptical even in our support of newly founded movements like #TimesUp. Topics like consent have pushed their way to the front of trending topics, but we also must address racial subtleties affecting Black women for these conversations to truly be feminist.

How race affects conversations surrounding consent isn’t just about fingers in our hair or incessant searches at TSA. In response to my tweet, many Black women shared that they have also been sexually assaulted by sober and drunk white women alike.

White womanhood is inherently doused in entitlement and maintained through victimhood and the gaslighting of Black womens’ experiences. This entitled notion is rooted in the racist myth birthed during slavery that Black women’s bodies do not belong to us. As activist and organizer Fannie Lou Hamer said, “A black woman’s body was never hers alone.”

The case of Recy Taylor, a Black woman who was abducted and raped by six white men in 1944, highlights the ways Black women were made “incapable” of violation as scholar Patricia A. Broussard proposes and reveals the lack of bodily integrity Black women are allowed to have. The quick dismissal of Recy’s case breathed life into future violence exercised against Black women by both white men and women because these racial assaults would continue not to be interrogated by the justice system.

When these racist myths are created and perpetuated, it frames our bodies to be subjects and toys for our oppressors. White women who touch our bodies without permission are subscribing to this white patriarchal idea that our bodies are not ours and that we have no say in who is allowed to touch us.

Last year, the New York Times published an intensive investigation of three Black women being sexually harassed in Chicago’s Ford plants, a story that was largely ignored by others in the mainstream media, despite the heightened #MeToo climate. We are intentionally silenced because of pre-existing racial prejudices that frame our existence, making it difficult and almost impossible for us to defend ourselves when we are violated. This is the very reason that the white woman on the train grew unpleasant with me when I denied her access to my body.

Most of us can remember a time when media coverage of sexual violence were left to the police blotter in the local newspaper, but in the last year alone, the #MeToo and Time’s Up movements, fueled by allegations of violence perpetrated by celebrities like Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, and even President Donald Trump have made top news headlines in print and online and sparked a reckoning on the prevalence of sexual violence worldwide.

Following a mistrial, and prior to his eventual conviction, Bill Cosby announced a speaking tour, where he would discuss how young men could avoid being accused of sexual assault, before his publicity team backpedaled after public backlash. More recently, Aziz Ansari and Louis C.K. prompted widespread outrage after their decisions to reenter comedy following accusations of misconduct.

But there’s an irony that survivors and advocates are grappling with: as sex crimes grow more visible in media and victims receive more positive responses from the community, other survivors bear the emotional weight of seeing that news on a daily basis.

Soliman is part of Amnesty International’s Brave Campaign, which calls for the recognition and protection of human rights defenders around the world.

Movements like Me Too and Time’s Up have put women’s rights firmly back on the agenda. But away from the spotlight, there are many other girls and women who are risking their lives to demand an end to sexual violence, harassment and inequality. Just recently, Egyptian activist Amal Fathy was arrested for posting a Facebook video in which she shared her experiences of sexual harassment.

But women in Egypt refuse to be silenced. One of these unsung heroes is lawyer and founder of the Center for Egyptian Women’s Legal Assistance Azza Soliman. Azza risks her own safety and freedom to defend survivors of sexual violence in Egypt.

I’ve been arrested and interrogated for doing my job: defending survivors of abuse in Egypt.

There is no comprehensive law covering all forms of sexual violence in Egypt. Many people believe that the blame lies with the girls and women involved, rather than the perpetrator, and survivors face shame and stigma.

The lack of clarity around what constitutes harassment or assault has created a culture where girls and women are afraid to speak out. With female police officers few and far between in Egypt, women’s experiences often stay shrouded in silence—the idea of reporting harassment or rape to a male officer is too intimidating for many women.

Now, the global #MeToo and Time’s Up campaigns are slowly changing the way girls and women speak out about violence in Egypt, and helping women break the silence. Witnessing women from different backgrounds, countries, and statuses speak out has given many Egyptians the courage to slowly share their experiences anonymously or under their names. They’ve even created an Egyptian equivalent to #MeToo on social media called “Ana Kaman,” a direct translation. Women, in Egypt and elsewhere, felt that they are not alone and that they are strong.

However, if we want to ensure this movement truly makes a long-lasting difference, we have to invest in it. We need to make it easier and safer for women to report incidents of sexual violence. Tools need to be put in place to ensure that allegations are impartially and effectively investigated, and that those reporting them are protected.

As a lawyer, and as a woman committed to defending human rights, I want to make sure girls and women have a safe space to speak out. It’s an issue I’ve been working on for many years. Believe me when I say, it’s not been an easy fight and, for me, it’s one that’s had difficult repercussions.

I have been defamed by the media. I’ve faced criminal charges. I was accused of damaging the image of Egypt by spreading “false news” of sexual harassment and rape. I had my picture published in a state-affiliated newspaper attacking my marital status and accusing me of “encouraging women to know their rights and seek divorce.”

I’m currently under a travel ban and I’ve had my assets frozen, as I’ve been accused of receiving foreign funds that will harm the image of Egypt and the national interest of my country. Yet I refuse to give up hope, because there’s still plenty of work to be done.

I want to see more conversations about how to combat harassment in the workplace, particularly workplaces dominated by men. I want to see women’s rights placed firmly on the political agenda. And I want to see more women rise up to the positions of power they deserve.

Going forward, I hope survivors of violence will be able to safely report crimes with the knowledge they will be protected by the state. We also need specific laws to be put in place to combat domestic violence in Egypt.

The struggle to enhance and support women and human rights is long and tiring, but I refuse to give up the fight. I know I am not alone. During some of my most difficult moments, I’ve been encouraged to keep going. Through Amnesty International’s Write for Rights campaign, I received hundreds of letters of support.

As I have watched the national dialogue unfold around sexual harassment and sexual violence, I can’t help but take notice of the lack of tie in to a much larger picture: namely, how men have abused their power to dominate and inflict violence upon not only women (and women of color in particular), but our Mother Earth. And they absolutely are related.

The roots of colonization and patriarchy in the Americas, included the strategy of stealing lands from Indigenous peoples, inflicting violence and domination over women, and further exploiting those lands for monetary gain. But this is not some distant past — it is happening at an alarming rate today. 

Both the land, water, and Indigenous women have been ‘othered’ and devalued in our society. Native American women are 2.5 times more likely to experience sexual assault and rape than any other ethnic group and the unsolved cases of Murdered & Missing Indigenous Women (#MMIW) are staggering. Extractive industries play a major role in this violence and I encourage you to visit www.landbodydefense.org for a report and toolkit on how to support these resistance efforts. Another resource on MMIW community-led work is at It Starts With Us.

This patriarchal worldview of how we relate to Mother Earth and to the non-human is so toxic that academics are referring to it as a new epoch — the Anthropocene. Under a patriarchal, colonialist mindset we find ourselves consuming and polluting the natural resources of our Mother Earth at a rate that is exacerbating climate change and threatening life on this planet. Yes, TIME. IS. UP. Time is up for unjust patriarchal systems. Period.

It was empowering to see the Time’s Up Movement intentionally elevate the voices of women of color, immigrant women, and lesbian, bisexual, and transgender women at the Golden Globes — including having Suquamish Tribal Member, Calina Lawrence, speak out on MMIW.

The creator of the #MeToo movement, Tarana Burke, had this to say: “Sexual violence knows no race, class or gender, but the response to sexual violence absolutely does,” she told TIME last fall. “Until we change that, any advancement that we make in addressing this issue is going to be scarred by the fact that it wasn’t across the board.”

While the movement against sexual harassment and abuse in the workplace is receiving increasing attention and support from the public, it’s also made apparent that there are, and have always been, biases when it comes to who is believed and who is highlighted. While there is much to celebrate about Time’s Up, something that should not be forgotten is how many people had spoken up before this moment only to be shut out of the industry, silenced, or simply ignored.

For instance, Gabrielle Union has spoken about how media tends to focus on white victims rather than women of color. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence whose pain has been taken seriously,” says the actress, “Whose pain we have showed historically and continued to show. Whose pain is tolerable and whose pain is intolerable. And whose pain needs to be addressed now.”

It was upsetting then, but not totally surprising, to read this morning that Westworld actress Thandie Newton says was excluded from the movement in a Daily Telegraph interview. She attributed this to the fact that she wasn’t “wasn’t hot enough” in terms of fame. “I wasn’t mainstream enough and I wasn’t going to be at the Oscars this year, even though I am having a renaissance in my career,” she said.

Newton called this “very painful,” especially considering the fact that the actress has spoken openly about her experience with sexual harassment and abuse in the industry and had been “ostracized” for it. In 2013, Newton spoke about a casting director taking advantage of her at 18 to perform inappropriate acts. The director then showed the audition tape to friends who would “all get off on it.” The actress has also spoken about her relationship with director John Duigan who was 39 when she was 16, and while she doesn’t see herself as a victim also says she “wasn’t in control of the situation.”

“I felt if there was one girl whose family was thinking about putting their child into show business, that would help them decide,” she says in the interview, “That was all I cared about.”

Time’s Up is a movement and legal defense fund started by women in entertainment. Started when survivors were coming forward with stories of powerful men like Harvey Weinstein, it aimed to combat sexual harassment, assault, and abuse in all workplaces, especially ones where survivors did not have the same kind of platform or position as some in the entertainment industry.

Singer and actress Melissa Schuman -- who wrote a blog post in November accusing Backstreet Boys star Nick Carter of raping her in 2002 -- has now filed a police report.