DESPITE HAVING FACEBOOK, TWITTER, and LINKEDIN accounts, I haven’t placed too much emphasis of maintaining the quality of them with the exception of LinkedIn when I was in need of a new writing contract–twice since I opened the account. Of the three, the time-wasting Facebook was the first one I abandoned. While I more frequently check on my nom de plume account, the one iwth my family and close friends is stagnant. And I have to say, I 
preferred Twitter when there were fewer users, and fewer famous users, at that.
The power and social networking, though, was shown to me recently when I began to follow Theo Fleury and Sheldon Kennedy (on Facebook and Twitter) in their pursuits of justice and advocacy for survivors of sexual assault and rape.
The messages on Fleury’s FB page, mostly by those with personal experiences of sexual assault, many of whom had not spoken about this. As I read the old posts, and the recent posts in response to a newspaper columnist’s ignorant and potentially damaging commentary, I, too, felt obligated to share something personal, in this very public forum, if only to illustrate that everyone has an unwanted sexual experience that they have kept quiet about.
In my late teens, I experienced what is now referred to as sexual harassment. It had no such label then. I quit my job, just as I suspect a long list of young girls did before me. Twenty years later, my former boss was charged and found guilty of sexually assaulting a young employee. When I learned this news, I wondered how many others there had been since he’d stalked me. There were no stalking laws then, either. This doesn’t assuage my guilt that I feel for all those that followed.
There are a couple of sayings that come to mind about hindsight
One is one of Oprah’s favourite sayings from her friend and mentor Maya Angeliou: “When we know better, we do better.” Where writer Laura Robinson reminds us of the definition for truth in the First Nation language of Ojibway: “As much as I know from the place I now stand.” Both of those statements give me solace.
In the past, I’d wondered if I was complicit for not coming forward when I was sexually harassed by an employer, but I don’t need a dufus sportswriter telling me that I enabled my former boss, allowed him to harass others. He had a wife, he had siblings, he had children who worked alongside the young girls their father preyed on. In the sports columnist’s view, the perpetrator bears no responsibility. Bullshit.
Thankfully, social media allows victims to connect with one another in a way that was not available before.
The healing power of social media, in an online meeting place like Facebook, gives a voice to those who have lived through the horrific experiences of incest, sexual abuse, rape, should they wish to post about their experiences. When others respond to your pain, it is acknowledged, perhaps in a way that it was not by family, friends, counsellors, social workers, police officers, lawyers, judges, the perpetrators.
Sharing tips for recovery, and resources for healing, are within reach of a few keystrokes. The more we talk about any subject, the less power it has over us, and the greater the potential for solutions and resolution.
In the years since I first learned about my former employer’s conviction, I wondered why I didn’t do anything. Of course, there are explanations—stalking was not yet recognized as a criminal offence, sexual harassment was still thought of as forceful, physical contact only; I was afraid that I would be blamed somehow; and excuses—I was young and afraid; I was embarrassed at the absurdity of a man twice my age writing me love letters, in giving me gifts, in offering me a weekend getaway; it was easier to do nothing.
When the bravado faded, and the years moved on, what was left was damaging effects of the experience, the least of it was guilt. And although my own experience is very different from those who posted very private, very personal comments on Facebook, and the other newspaper columnists, including one who wrote about his own inaction, we all seem to feel complicit in our complacency.
Again and again, I return to a line in a novel by Jane Urqhuart, one of my favourite authors, which reads: “What did I do, after all, what did any of us do to interrupt the chain of events that led to catastrophe?”