We Need to Talk About Nancy Mace

In an election cycle characterized by bombastic if deluded rhetoric, it can be difficult to isolate the signal in the noise. Truthfully, I could sit here and type thousand after thousand after thousand words on the communication strategies of players on both sides of the aisle. I could talk about how Dems continue to exhibit cowardice (to quote McAvoy: how come we lose so goddamn always?) or the Republican commitment to a perverted version of hari-kari on behalf of a man who should be receiving treatment for dementia instead of the white glove treatment the party has offered. Maybe I will. But that’s not today’s conversation.

Instead, I’d like to talk about Nancy Mace on the Sunday morning talk show circuit this weekend, because what she said and did had implications far beyond her polling or Trump’s.

Mace has been transparent and vocal about her personal experience with sexual assault. George Stephanopoulus asked her this weekend how, as a survivor of assault, she could throw her support behind a man (Trump) who had been found liable for sexual assault in a court of law. Here was her response.

There are two ways to look at this, both of which matter. We’ll start with the kindest

We Are Not a Label

I’m going to pivot back to Newsroom for a second, and you’re going to have to stomach it, because it’s probably the most appropriate reference.

In the show, McAvoy goes after a Black male Republican who happens to be gay. Moreover, he’s a Republican supporting Santorum for president. If you don’t remember how potent Santorum was for about two minutes, you’re forgiven. But he was known as a very religious, highly conservative, surprisingly competitive candidate during the cycle that nominated Mitt Romney. In Newsroom, McAvoy goes after the fictional Black gay man hard, demanding how he could possibly support a candidate who views him as an abomination. The man’s response? Both the video and transcript of the comments are below.

WALL: Stop – just stop! I believe in the sanctity of life. And if that word is too vague for you, then look it up. I support the senator because, of all the candidates in the field, I believe his the only one whose passion on the issue of abortion equals my own. And I believe he has the skills to make a fantastic president.

MCAVOY: I’m not talking- that’s not what I’m talking-

WALL: Do not interrupt me again, sir! I am more than one thing. How dare you reduce me to the color of my skin or my sexual orientation. There are people who look just like me – thousands and thousands who have died for the freedom to define their own lives for themselves. How dare you presume to decide what I should think is important. Yes, when it comes to equality for the gay community, Senator Santorum is wrong. But I am far more insulted by your high-handed implication that I need your protection.

MCAVOY: Sir, I-

WALL: Shut up! I’ll let you know when I’ve finished. I came on this program because Rick Santorum believes that the right to kill an unborn child is not inalienable, and I stand with Rick Santorum, and I stand with the Catholic Church.

I am not defined by my blackness. I am not defined by my gayness. And if that doesn’t fit your narrow-minded expectation of who I’m supposed to be, I don’t give a damn, because I’m not defined by you, either.

I want to be really clear, because between the people I love and the litany of scholars I respect on the same level, I get identity politics probably better than most (without assuming full comprehension, because duh). And as a woman who has had the great misfortune of being sexually assaulted twice in her life, I struggle to identify with both the fictional Mr. Wall and real-life Representative Mace.

But as a neurodivergent woman with more years of therapy and my own experiences counseling women in dire straits, I also understand the argument that we should not be defined by our traumas. We’re more than that.

And I don’t want anyone else reading this to use this writing as a measuring stick for where they’re at or a prescription for getting to good. I know better, and I need you to know that too.

Except that’s not what happened this weekend with Mace, is it?

Exploiting Trauma

I’m never, ever, going to tell a sexual violence survivor how to process their trauma. Each trauma and person who has shouldered it is unique, no matter how many parallels might exist.

But where I draw the line is the exploitation of the basic shared trauma of millions of women to try and score political points on behalf of a proven and unapologetic assailant.

Mace co-opted the language survivors often use to defend themselves in the face of misogynist and abusive language for just that end. We know all too well what it means to have to defend ourselves when people ask how much we had to drink, what we were wearing, how we acted during interactions with our assailant, and – arguably most disgustingly – the impact of an allegation of the assailants so-bright future.

But Mace wasn’t defending herself or other survivors. She used the language most of us use as armor – not to protect herself, but a known and remorseless criminal.

I use that word deliberately.

Stephanopoulus was 1000% correct in calling her out. McAvoy might have gotten it wrong in terms of approach and tone, but he didn’t. He wasn’t shaming her. He was interrogating the integrity of a political position relative to what she made into a political talking point.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Should sexual assault be made political?

In 1970, the (imperfect) feminist activist Carol Hanisch published an essay called “The Personal is the Political.” It had been a rallying call in second-wave feminism, but Hanisch is largely (if not rightly) credited as bringing it into academic literature.

What does it mean? Basically: politics cannot be divorced for its impact on the human experience. On a personal level, we cannot divorce our political choices from its impact on us and those around us. Broadly speaking, such discussions are driven by narratives. That means that, in a wold where the political is personal, our understanding of the human experience must be informed by lived experiences.

I’m getting too academic. Let’s simplify things. While Representative Britt’s attempt at humanizing policy concerns came off as a pseudo-terrifying alien impression of a real-life person, she was at least attempting to rise to the challenge of effective argumentation. Ethos, Pathos. Logos. Otherwise understood (in a very basic way) as perceived authority, emotional resonance, and logical presentation.

Britt fell short. Mace most definitely fell short with her media appearances. I can say that objectively.

But that’s not the whole story.

Blame the Broads

Nancy Mace’s (and I hate to use this word) leverage of her trauma was inarguably disgusting. It wasn’t about advocating for survivors. It was about dodging a question.

BUT.

Both Mace and Representative Britt with her very deeply weird rebuttal(?) to Biden’s State of the Union speech have faced fierce backlash. I can’t disagree with it. What I can disagree with is the difference in treatment that they’ve received relative to their male counterparts.

I don’t even need to cite the word salad of Biden’s predecessor to make this argument. Instead, I point you towards the acceptance speech of the newly coronated male chair of the RNC.

I dare you to look up each of his claims. You’ll find that Biden’s policies have actually decreased the flow of undocumented migrants to the country. You’ll find that the proportion of crime committed by migrants is dwarfed by both the frequency and impact of straight, white, male, American-born citizens. You’ll find that the inflation spurred by the Covid era policies initiated by Trump were 1) necessary, and 2) mitigated by Biden policies since.

But MOST importantly, because apparently our standardized (if whitewashed) education system doesn’t actually cover this – THE PRESIDENT DOES NOT DIRECTLY CONTROL INFLATION.

I’m not going to sit here and say Biden is perfect. I disagree with him on many, many issues. But that’s not the point. It’s that – especially with Republican women – we expect perfection and write them off if they don’t rise to the challenge.

Don’t get it twisted. I’m never going to back Marjorie Taylor Greene, Lauren Boebert, Nancy Mace, or Katie Britt. I will actively donate my time and resources to keep them out of Congress. ,

But I can’t help noting that the new RNC chair – along with countless other male GOP figures – do not face the vitriol that GOP women see. I mean, they literally put a woman who clearly has had no voice and diction training in a kitchen under an impossible spotlight and then reveled in slamming her. It was a layup.

It’s not like any of this is new. From where I’m sitting, I cannot understand how – as a woman – you can support these other women working against us and the men who have been actively working to keep us in the kitchen for decades.

I also recognize what McAvoy got body-slammed by in that episode of Newsroom. I am not in a position to dictate people’s priorities, and neither is anyone else. None of us are one thing. I, specifically, am not just a survivor of sexual assault. I’m a lot more.

Where I struggle is a firm belief – backed by data and experience – that words have power. Narratives have power. If you are in a position of influence, the choices you make regarding your language and strategy come with higher stakes. That’s true for both men and women, but let’s be real.

The stakes are higher for women. Fair? No. Real? Yes.

What Next?

I heard a “favorite statistic” on the news the other day. Can’t remember the speaker, so I apologize. He pointed out that five minutes one-on-one with an undecided voter made them six times more likely to not only vote but vote for your candidate.

Once upon a time, I’d have believed that. The world has dramatically changed since those numbers were crunched. The calculus is different today.

Never in our (at least mine) lifetimes has narrative argumentation mattered more. Our polling methodologies were grounded in an era of ubiquitous landlines, limited youth engagement, and the absence of easily manipulated social media that is used by many to digest news.

This all means that we need more reasonable and informed voices speaking up. By all means, directly engage with your loved ones. But the best way to counter the AI-generated attempts to manipulate our newsfeeds on every platform is to speak truth to power on a broader basis – with the caveat of prioritizing individual safety.

I’ve said it a million times. I’ll say it a million more. I don’t believe in our country as an idea. I do believe in the country’s people and their humanity. THAT is how we save enough to move towards that elusive more perfect union.

We tell each other stories. And we listen.

On Following the Words

There is a beautiful poem I often find myself reciting in my head when the feelings come too fast and too hot. Different passages and lines depending on the situation, but it’s a mother talking about what she will teach her daughter, and there is one particular piece I feel I turn to most often:

I’ll tell her that when the words finally flow too fast
and she has no use for a pen
that she must quit her job
run out of the house in her bathrobe,
leaving the door open.
I’ll teach her to follow the words.

“Daughter” by Nicole Blackman

I’ve spent most of my life, for better or worse, following the words. I work with them, play with them, find solace in them, find purpose.

But lately, like most I know, I’ve found myself drowning in them – drowning in headlines that strike like sonic boom after sonic boom, in predictions that grip my heart in fear like a vise, in lamentations and guttural cries so loud and fast they suck the air from your lungs against a throat already raw from screaming.

I’ve been told that maybe I feel too much. I’ve got a number of doctors and therapists who will probably spend eternity debating the appropriate diagnoses and neuroses that describe how much I feel.

Yet, for someone who cares so very much, I care not at all about whether or not it’s too much in this moment. The truth is, it’s not. The truth is, we got here because too many people cared too little. The truth is, I’m not the only one feeling all of this.

The most important truth in this specific moment: you are not alone.

We are all floundering in a sea of words – angry, heartbroken, charged, terrified – that make following any of them seem a fool’s errand. After all – which ones do you choose? Which path is right or wrong? What does following words even mean right now? How do we follow words with our own words when we can’t find any words that feel right?

Me? I turn on the TV. No, not the news. Don’t get me wrong – I’m following it – but that’s not what I mean. I mean your favorite TV show. Or maybe pick up your favorite book. Maybe listen to your favorite movie soundtrack.

I want you to turn to that thing, that story, that character that made you feel so sharply and clearly that it sharpened and clarified everything else in ways that caught you off-guard. Watch Leo McGarry declare the need to let Bartlet be Bartlet and sit in that moment of certainty. Listen to Lin-Manuel Miranda talk about this truly fucked up country as an unfinished symphony and believe he could be right. Wrap yourself in the poetry of everyone from Whitman to Tupac and let your own thoughts become stanzas with a rhythm with which your heart can keep time. Splash paint onto a canvas in a way that would make Pollock feel foolish for having ever tried in the first place. Angrily belt out Aretha Franklin or System of a Down in the shower or the car or your favorite walking trail and don’t wipe away the tears that come while you do. Fill up one of those journals you always thought was too pretty to write in with scathing screeds that no one need ever read but you. Call your grandmother and ask her to tell you a story. Listen to it.

You are not running away or hiding from reality. You are centering and strengthening yourself so that following the words is possible again.

I won’t sugarcoat it. If you think things are scary right now, you ain’t seen nothing yet. But if we are going to rise up against this tide of terror – not as one voice, but as a chorus that will shake the halls of history in its texture and depth and beauty and power – then we have to recalibrate.

So I’m going to keep going with the day-to-day of what has to get done for me to do anything else and give myself grace while I do so imperfectly. I’m going to keep paying attention but shut myself and my laptop down occasionally in order to make sure neither burn out. I’m going to keep that weird timer on my phone going to remind me, every two hours at this point, to stop, close my eyes, take a deep breath, and think of three things for which I’m grateful.

And I’m going to keep moving with my West Wing rewatch and crying – not even because of the show (though, I mean, c’mon) but because the idea that we are capable of shaping a world so different than the one we’re in now is fucking beautiful and worth holding onto. And because, in this moment, following their words is going to help me find the words worth following tomorrow and the day after that, no matter how big this storm gets.

I love you all. Hold onto love – for others and for yourself. It’s the fuel we’re gonna need as we move forward.

Now. What’s next?

Dear Men

Hey guys.

I know things have been tough lately.

Weinstein. Franken. Levine. Batali. Rose. Thrush. Simmons. Tambor. Zimmerman. Kreisberg. Lauer. Louis C.K. Piven. Halperin.

And on and on and on. The list seems endless.

Probably because it is.

In the past month, I’ve had many men in my life who I care for and respect, many of them frequent allies, express horror at the seeming deluge of sexual misconduct and assault cases bubbling to the surface lately. How, they wonder, could this possibly be so common?

Welcome to our world, fellas.

It’s one where we walk to our cars with keys carefully gripped between our knuckles, just in case.

It’s one where we stay vigilant as we make that walk, or any other, picking up the pace when it seems like a man is following too closely for too long, crossing the street when need be.

It’s one where we remind each other to text when we get home so we know everyone is safe.

It’s one where we watch each other carefully at the bar, knowing full well that one moment without full awareness could mean something slipped in a drink.

It’s one where bathrooms become confessionals, places to plot escape routes from scenarios primed to go very wrong, where women exchange code words with strangers designed to elicit help.

It’s one where we know that even the men we trust can’t necessarily be trusted, because it’s the men we know who are most likely to try to hurt us.

It’s one where we know the word “no” to be dangerous to our careers, relationships, and very lives, and that wielding it is no guarantee of respect should that danger be outed.

Think we’re paranoid? If the news lately has rattled you, consider this: it is highly likely there is not a single adult woman in your life that has not had to walk another woman through the fallout of an assault, if she isn’t a survivor herself.

And yes, before you go there, this is personal.

Because I have lost count of how many times I’ve had those conversations, consoling traumatized women and reassuring them they did nothing wrong, were still whole and worthy.

Because strangers still think they’re entitled to grope me regularly, and it rattles me even now.

Because I’ve taken business meetings where the shape of my body was clearly of greater interest than the shape of my analysis, underscored by attempts to close a very different kind of deal by the end.

Because I haven’t left the house without being catcalled since I was 14, hearing in vivid, scatological terms the commodification of my own body, even while holding my small, confused daughter’s hand.

Because when my 9 year old asks me each morning why she has to wear a training bra, I choke, unable to find the words to explain to my child that there are men who sexualize such otherwise carefree little lives.

Damn straight it’s personal.

For some of you, the horror you’re experiencing is genuine. The fact that it’s taken you this long to get to this point after centuries of women screaming at the top of their lungs is frustrating as hell, but if it means you reflect and adjust and start calling out unacceptable behavior in your day to day life – including when women aren’t present to hand you a cookie for it – I am willing to take a deep breath and say thank you. Better late than never.

But if your focus right now is on saying “not me though,” you’re missing the point. I’ll give you a second to consider that. If you’re too busy defending yourself, you’re centering yourself in the conversation again instead of actually listening.

See, what’s hard to get past in all this is that there are others for whom this horror is something else entirely. The acts are heinous. Maybe they admit that. Maybe they don’t. But the real fear stems from the fact that those committing these acts are FINALLY facing a tidal wave of consequences. Not enough in some cases, frankly, but consequences nonetheless.

Hell, even Roy Moore couldn’t carry a blood red state.

The problem is that there is an unspoken question behind some of their reactions. They don’t support the behavior, they’ll say. But did he have to lose his job? But did he really have to resign if he apologized? But why did these women wait so long? But how do we know they’re telling the truth?

But but but NOTHING.

These reactions are as old as time, but our patience for them is waning. It is particularly hard to stomach within circles which pride themselves on intellectual vigor. I get it. Questioning claims is how we’re wired. At some point, though, as claims and corroboration of assault and misconduct mount, your need for a scientific proof doesn’t make you a skeptic. It makes you an asshole who might just be asking questions rooted in thousands of years of patriarchal oppression so you don’t have to wonder if you might be accused next.

If you find yourself thinking such things, then maybe you should wonder. And ask yourself why you’ve made choices that would make your wonder in the first place. Then do something about it. Make amends. Stop making choices that make women feel unsafe or objectified.

Because making an allegation of sexual assault is not a small or easy thing. There are significant consequences in the personal and professional lives of survivors for speaking up, often compounding the original trauma. There are good reasons false allegations are statistically exceedingly rare, even relative to other major crimes.

Add into the mix having to deal with jerks more concerned about asking these sorts of questions to shield their own ego and yeah, coming forward takes a whole lotta guts.

And gents, if you think YOU feel uncomfortable right now, imagine how we’ve felt for basically all our lives.

Right now is different though. It’s a moment. After we watched a country (including an embarrassing amount of white women with some major internalized misogyny issues apparently) elect a pussy grabbing traffic cone with no actual qualifications for the job rather than a woman, we took to the streets. Looking around Chicago during the Women’s March, feeling the rage and determined energy in the air, I knew, without a doubt, that things were going to start changing.

Ladies reading know what I mean. It feels important, like a potential shift in the tide to a life possibly a little more empowered and a little less dangerous.

I see you. I hear you. I stand with you. There’s this sense of responsibility, like we HAVE to get things right, have to be measured as we raise our voices on a subject that makes us want to scream and cry all at once. It is exhausting.

And yes, to some end, there is a responsibility to every woman who has survived assault and endured harassment to be deliberate and careful in our advocacy. Misappropriation of language surrounding these experiences, directly or implicitly, makes it so much harder to recruit potential allies in this quest for progress and justice, who then in turn make it much harder for survivors to come forward and advocate for themselves. 

I feel it too. I lost count of how many drafts of this I went through. I am still not sure I’m getting it right, but I know that trying to get it right is worth every single moment of effort.

Above all, now is the time to listen. Listen to the stories in the news, yes, but also the other women speaking out without such bright spotlights. Talk to women in your life about experiences they’ve had.

Then think, hard, about whether some of your behavior might be part of the problem in the past or now. Commit to being better. Commit to pushing those around you to be better. Do not allow the onus for propelling change to rest on the shoulders of women who have been abused by people like Cosby and Weinstein and Moore, shoulders that have been carrying far too much for far too long as it is.

And do this, not because there’s a woman or girl in your life you care about, but because we owe it to each other, and to ourselves, to, I don’t know, treat each other as human beings?

Love,

Me