By Sarah Tuttle
The last few weeks have been difficult for many folks as a highly politicized confirmation process played out on Capitol Hill. Issues around gender and race swirled barely below the surface as we watched echoes of the past, with Anita Hill reminding us about how we were in some ways reenacting recent history (and in other ways dancing around it). For many of us, this pushed a lot of buttons and renewed memories of trauma even outside of the explicit scope of Dr. Blasey Ford’s Senate testimony – from alcoholic family members, to abusive partners, to harassment or assault at school and work.
It is a lot to carry.
I’ve collected a small number of responses from women throughout our field to give us some space to reflect, to be together in community even when we are many miles apart, and to acknowledge that sometimes the hardest part of our work isn’t the intellectual challenges of our research but existing in a world that resists making room for us to exist.
Shared Anonymously
Watching Christine Blasey Ford – her mannerisms, her exquisite politeness, the whole bending over backward to fit into male spaces; the smiles, the “wish I could help you more” but – all of that was so triggering. It was like a mirror held up to the women who have been in academia for 20+ years. We have gotten so used to stopping, contorting ourselves to fit into the tiny places allowed us. That was the most unexpectedly shocking thing. The rest went as I had expected. Not that one could completely suppress an atom of hope that sprung up every now and then.
Shared by Dr. Isabel Hawkins
Over the years, since I emigrated to the US in 1977, no matter the situation, I have somehow found solace in the sheer weight of this country's institutions that are ostensibly founded on the principles of democracy. No matter what members of the executive office or the legislative office did, I always managed to find hope towards the future because of the past. Despite the foibles of leadership, the people and the institutions were the saving grace, most especially because of my belief in the judicial system. I cannot but compare the governing of the US with that of my birth country, Argentina, where corruption is the norm, and the worst of it stems from the fact that the judicial system is as corrupt as the other branches of government. The one big difference between the US and other places, to me, was that our judicial system, in particular the Supreme Court of the land, was something I could believe in and hang my hat on. The events of the past few weeks have made that hat fall off the rack. And what saddens me the most is the realization that I live in a polarized and divided country, and that I don't share the values of many of its citizens. I worry for my daughters, niece and nephew, and the children of my friends who will need to bear the outcomes of landmark decisions that will affect their lives for longer than mine. Decisions made by people we cannot trust. I pray for them and for the future generations, but I refuse to give up hope, since after all, the future must and needs to belong to strong, intelligent, empathetic women and men with high integrity and moral character.
Shared by Dr. Aparna Venkatesan
I feel gutted. I feel hollowed out. I feel flattened, like a skid mark on the highway bearing witness to the rash actions of others.
As a midlife midcareer woman, I wonder what my response now will be. The planet is overheating, and so am I. Is Category 5 our new normal setting for national discourse? Do we need to define a Category 6?
The events over a few weeks leading to the confirmation of a new "justice" this past weekend are dispiriting and agonizing, as are the normalized cruelty of rally crowds laughing at Trump's impersonation of Dr. Blasey Ford, and the intense backlash against her and her family. But one of the most discouraging things for me personally has been the great lengths the women who spoke at the hearings went to to appear reasonable, calm, likeable and thoughtful to the male Republican leadership, taking pains to explain their rationale behind their decision and grasp of their profession. This was true for both Senator Collins and for Dr. Blasey Ford. I did not see one man amongst the Republican senators attempt this. Many, including the nominee, took pride in their self-indulgent rants and rages. This burden of being a likeable sympathetic survivor remains uniquely feminine across space and time, and leaves an especially bitter aftertaste this week. As Jennifer Weiner wrote in the NY Times this week, "Our behavior must be impeccable; our manner, above reproach; our back stories, pure inspiration; our histories, spotlessly clean. "
So: my heartfelt thanks to Dr. Blasey Ford, and the many fearless women and men who have taken time from their lives, homes and jobs to demonstrate and speak up for justice for the past many weeks in the nation's capital. Indelible in our hippocampus is your courage, your pain and your truth. We will not forget. We will not stop. Together, we will endure.
Shared by Dr. Sedya Ipek
During the confirmation hearings, after Dr Blasey Ford came forward with her story a hashtag started: #WhyIDidntReport. I thought I could handle this after #MeToo, but quickly I realized that I couldn't. I really could not make myself read these posts. I was harassed and abused by people who are considered "very nice people". I didn't tell any of our mutual friends. As messed up as it is, I think it's still easier to think/talk about some abstract notion of abuse. But the WhyIDidntReport stories put me in too much distress about my own actions or inactions. So, this is not "dealing with it", but my navigation has been around the need for suppressing anxiety.
Shared by Dr. Emily Leveque
I've been Fine.
In many very tangible ways this has been a really pleasant past couple weeks. The weather's been nice, and I love fall. I started fall quarter, and I'm enjoying teaching a class full of enthusiastic students. I traveled to see friends, played in the university community orchestra, took care of errands, went on bike rides, worked on my book. Pleasant.
At the same time there was a simmering mix of guilt, rage, and hopelessness boiling away under everything. Guilt because who the hell was I to be *happy* right now? Rage because once again we were watching a new installment in the million-act play of "entitled mediocre old white dude gets everything he wants and still crumbles over not having a cherry on his sundae while women get hurled under the bus again". Hopelessness because I was so deeply convinced that none of the grotesque circus that we all watched play out on every public forum in the country would actually matter (and somehow I was still heartbroken when this wound up being proven true).
I realized that I was - and continue to be - Fine. I am Fine. Like so many women I am a master of Fine. Sometimes because I truly am, sometimes because I have to be for the sake of others or to keep things glued together, and often just because life is easiest when I'm Fine. I'm teaching, chairing committees, writing a book, traveling a ton. I need to be Fine right now.
