Over the years, Schwyzer has written here and there about his struggles with drugs and alcohol, and how a religious epiphany led him back to the straight-and-narrow. I first became aware of him in 2005 Ė and found much of his writing wasnít really to my taste, but appreciated the novelty of a man writing about womenís rights and the sexist behaviors of other men.
Iíve always found some aspects of his writing a little troubling. Heís admitted to a history of sleeping with female students back when he was struggling with substance abuse, which is obviously problematic in light of his interest in working with teens. He wrote an article for the Good Men Project in which he accepted blame for ďaccidentallyĒ pressuring a college girlfriend repeatedly into sex, saying that half the fault lay with her for not more clearly articulating a ďno.Ē But Iíd managed to miss a post from his personal blog about a year ago, in which he described a drug-fueled attempt to murder an ex-girlfriend who had come to him for help after being raped by her drug dealer. (Presumably under legal advice, he has removed the offending post from his site, but you can find more information about it on Student Activism blog.)
Luckily, there are others who follow Schwyzerís writing more closely, and have launched a concerted campaign to pressure prominent feminist blogs and organizations to stop giving him a platform. And I agree that, even if Schwyzer has truly changed as a human being, his problematic history causes his presence to do far more harm than good in a movement where many women have violent and abusive history.
Like Schwyzer, my ex is active and vocal in my local progressive community. When I must walk past Occupy Denver, I shuffle through quickly, with my eyes to the ground, afraid that he might be among the protestors. As a freelance writer, I rent a desk from a local, green co-working space Ė and recently spent the entirety of a networking event terrified he might show up after spotting his RSVP on Facebook.
I wish that I could say that abusers were an anomaly in progressive, activist communities. The sad reality is that they appear to be more common than anyone wishes to acknowledge. Over the past few years, Iíve run into several.
During an ďoffĒ period of my relationship with Dave, the co-op community I was living in welcomed a new member Ė a PhD student in anthropology with a quick sense of humor and passionate interest in feminism and social justice. While he could speak for hours about institutionalized racism and sexism, when it came to his actual relationships with women, he was manipulative and pushy. He lied to women he was romantically involved with and slept around behind their backs. He treated his female housemates incredibly poorly. After moving out, he began sending me unsolicited, aggressive messages on Facebook, so I had to block him. For all his rhetoric about respecting women, he seemed unable to put those words into practice.
Itís not only straight men who use their involvement in political movements to downplay and cover up their abuse. At one point, an acquaintance of mine who was heavily involved in the local feminist and queer community was accused of rape and the serial physical and emotional abuse of her partners, who were also members of the same activist organizations. This was a woman with a high online profile as a queer feminist, who had an essay appear in a prominent anti-rape anthology. While she disputed the claims, her protests were a little too eerily reminiscent of justifications I had heard time and time again. I distanced myself from her, unable to maintain a friendship that was so triggering and raised so many uncomfortable questions.
What Schwyzer and these people in my life had in common was an inability to take responsibility for their actions, a refusal to understand how and why their presence was actively detrimental to the political causes they claimed to support. Unfortunately, even when their past deeds came to light, they still had many supporters within their communities.
American society loves redemption narratives Ė we want to believe that someone can truly transform their life and become a better person. I donít dispute that itís possible, but I also think itís important to keep in mind that abusers will always claim theyíve changed. Itís a classic and well-known aspect of how they operate, and how they manage to repeat their abuse.
I rarely attend protests or participate in any political action in person anymore. I have trouble finding the courage to speak up and out my ex by name Ė I know how convincing he can be when he tells people that any charges are simply lies spread by a bitter ex-girlfriend.
Moreover, I donít want to open myself up to the possibility of stalking or harassment by drawing his attention to me. And Iíve seen how publically calling out oneís abuser can result in someoneís credibility being dragged through the mud, motives and honesty questioned Ė even when the only thing the victim wants is to be able to participate in causes they believe in without the constant fear of confronting their abuser.
But Iím not just nervous about running into my ex Ė Iím terrified of running into someone new, an abuser whose past deeds are covered up or overlooked because of his or her dedication to ďthe cause.Ē The way that parts of the online feminist community have rallied around Schwyzer disturbs me, because they are advocating exactly that.
Ultimately, it comes down to a simple question: should women who have been victims of domestic violence and emotional abuse be active members of progressive political movements, or should people with a history of abusing others be allowed the opportunity to grow and change? The latter will always come at the expense of the former. The simple reality is that as long as past abuse is downplayed, excused or ignored in activist communities, there are many people, mostly women, who will not feel comfortable being involved in political action.
So ask yourself this: which is more important to you?
Photo by: Helga Weber
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