Luck has nothing to do with it

Uniqlo blouse
Zara shorts (similar)
Mango heels
Louis Vuitton handbag
Anine Bing sunglasses
Keltie Leanne Designs ring (c/o)
Madewell rings
& Other Stories earrings
Location: Ponte Vecchio – Florence, Italy

What I love most about travel but rarely acknowledge is the fact that it allows me, at least temporarily, to escape from my life.

It seems fitting to look back on pictures of our time in Florence, which was without question the most idyllic week of this year for me, while I broach a subject I had hoped never to feel compelled to speak of again. A little less than two years ago, I wrote The Lucky Ones. The post came after months of reticence, in a moment of such profound despair and rage that I could no longer hold back. And yet, I restrained myself. I know that I did. And what incredible foresight I showed in doing so. It turns out that if I had not, there is a good chance that I would now be named as one of the numerous defendants in a defamation lawsuit filed by the disgraced professor at the centre of that story.

Apparently, the simple act of believing sexual harassment and assault victims when they come forward can now, according to some, be construed as defamatory.

I sat with my anger
long enough, until she told me
her name was grief.

When I wrote the story of my time studying creative writing at university, I deliberately left out the name of the professor whose fall from grace might well be the plot of a New York Times bestseller. A star novelist and academic struck down in his prime, a promising career ruined by allegations of misconduct against women… I could go on, but no one needs to read the whole sordid story again. The fact is, I left his name out because I don’t believe he deserves to see his own name in print even one more time. I don’t believe he deserves anything but contempt. And the most powerful way to show contempt for a former star is to forget them entirely. This man should live alone in with his ignominy, without the benefit of news agencies willing to report on his every action.

And without the benefit of righteous anger directed at him, against which he can retaliate.

I can’t believe I have to write about this again. I will continue to leave his name out of it. Because I refuse, categorically, to give him that kind of satisfaction. While the knowledge of his actions continues to inspire me to levels of fury I did not know myself to be capable of, the fact is – luck has nothing to do with it. I was in one place at one time where the likelihood of my becoming a victim was high. But I avoided the professor. In other scenarios, with different mathematics, I have been a victim. That is because the professor’s actions are still not truly exceptional. Most women have been victims at some point, somewhere.

There is no luck in suffering harassment or assault. It doesn’t matter if it “could have been worse.” It doesn’t matter if you came out the other side, left only with invisible scars. Avoiding it entirely – that would be luck. Nothing short of that qualifies. I meant that, when I wrote The Lucky Ones, but I didn’t say it.

I am not lucky because when I was a victim of harassment, someone believed me. That is basic decency. To speak the truth about my harasser did not defame him because facts, however unflattering, remain free from the constraints of connotation. They simply are, timeless and immutable. My harasser accepted this, to his credit. He issued a written apology, however hollow. I am not convinced he ever fully understood what he had done wrong, but knowing what I know now, having watched the professor’s story unfold, it seems to me that I received more than most victims ever well.

Travel allows me to escape my life. But in the end, I always have to come back to it – to the stories I wish would have ended differently, and the ones I wish I didn’t have to tell at all. Facts remain. I have to hope, for the sake of my faith in humanity, that the facts, in this case, will eventually be seen for what they are and the victims will finally be given the time and space they need to heal. But I live in the world, so I remain skeptical. The fact is, I can believe I have to write about this again. I believe I will have to write about it again, and again – and I will, until there is a fundamental shift in the social paradigm, one that grants women the right to the same level of safety to which men are entitled.

“She has been through hell. So believe me when I say, fear her when she looks into a fire and smiles.”
– E. Corona

In the meantime, to the victims and defendants – I believe you.