#MeToo
I wasn't going to join in.
I thought I was late in the game.
I actually thought the world wouldn't benefit from my story. I did not want to weigh the world down with another depressing story.
But when, just before Thanksgiving, there was a Twitter altercation between Olympic gymnasts, I knew I had to let this skeleton out of his closet.
If you don't understand Twitter, in order to read these tweets chronologically, you have to start from the bottom:
It seemed, to most people, that Gabby Douglas was insinuating that women who dress immodestly are asking to be sexually harassed. It's the classic "If you roll in the mud, you'll only attract pigs" argument.
I hope that as I share my story, this phrase will die and nobody will believe it ever again.
I was a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I say this honestly, so you can know the full story. In no way was the Church at fault for what happened to me. There was nothing more that could have been done to help my situation. The Church is actually very good at enforcing rules that protect its missionaries and keep them safe. We always have at least one companion or two and we are required to stay in sight and sound of each other in all occasions outside a bathroom break. There were strict curfews that we were expected to follow. In my particular mission, there were areas we were completely banned from because it was unsafe. Our mission president reserves the right to uproot and move our location if he deems we are unsafe. All these precautions combined with the fact that I was called to serve in one of the safest countries in the world assured that I was protected.
What happened to me was nobody's fault but the perpetrator's. The fact is, Evil doesn't just come out at night, when you're alone. Bad things can happen to people who follow every precaution and keep every rule.
It was Easter 2016. In a month from then, I would be finishing my mission and returning home. My Japanese was at its peak, my confidence to speak to strangers was thriving, and I could not imagine being any happier. Ten of us missionaries brought a giant poster of Jesus Christ right outside the Shibuya train station in Tokyo, Japan. We were wishing everyone a happy Easter when a group of men approached me. I wished them a happy Easter as cordially as I could and halfheartedly presented a pamphlet to them; I was half doing my duty as a missionary and half shielding myself from them. But a man to the right of me was closer to my back than my front and before I knew it he groped my breast. All the men laughed and walked away.
Would you like to know what I was wearing? Will a photograph prove to you my victim-hood? Don't you think my nametag that had the name of Christ just beneath it was enough to discourage creeps? Well this is what I was wearing:
After that day, I knew for certain that creeps really do just pick on absolutely anyone. Any instance of sexual harassment is the fault of the perpetrator alone. It is never, ever the victim's fault. So if you're the harasser, I hope you know the guilt and fault lays squarely on your shoulders. If you're the victim, I hope I've relieved you of yours. (It was never really supposed to be there in the first place).
I thought I was late in the game.
I actually thought the world wouldn't benefit from my story. I did not want to weigh the world down with another depressing story.
But when, just before Thanksgiving, there was a Twitter altercation between Olympic gymnasts, I knew I had to let this skeleton out of his closet.
If you don't understand Twitter, in order to read these tweets chronologically, you have to start from the bottom:
I hope that as I share my story, this phrase will die and nobody will believe it ever again.
I was a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I say this honestly, so you can know the full story. In no way was the Church at fault for what happened to me. There was nothing more that could have been done to help my situation. The Church is actually very good at enforcing rules that protect its missionaries and keep them safe. We always have at least one companion or two and we are required to stay in sight and sound of each other in all occasions outside a bathroom break. There were strict curfews that we were expected to follow. In my particular mission, there were areas we were completely banned from because it was unsafe. Our mission president reserves the right to uproot and move our location if he deems we are unsafe. All these precautions combined with the fact that I was called to serve in one of the safest countries in the world assured that I was protected.
What happened to me was nobody's fault but the perpetrator's. The fact is, Evil doesn't just come out at night, when you're alone. Bad things can happen to people who follow every precaution and keep every rule.
It was Easter 2016. In a month from then, I would be finishing my mission and returning home. My Japanese was at its peak, my confidence to speak to strangers was thriving, and I could not imagine being any happier. Ten of us missionaries brought a giant poster of Jesus Christ right outside the Shibuya train station in Tokyo, Japan. We were wishing everyone a happy Easter when a group of men approached me. I wished them a happy Easter as cordially as I could and halfheartedly presented a pamphlet to them; I was half doing my duty as a missionary and half shielding myself from them. But a man to the right of me was closer to my back than my front and before I knew it he groped my breast. All the men laughed and walked away.
Would you like to know what I was wearing? Will a photograph prove to you my victim-hood? Don't you think my nametag that had the name of Christ just beneath it was enough to discourage creeps? Well this is what I was wearing:
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| Church Easter Morning (The Day it Happened) |
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| The Place it Happened |
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| I include this picture so you can see the full length of my skirt |
After that day, I knew for certain that creeps really do just pick on absolutely anyone. Any instance of sexual harassment is the fault of the perpetrator alone. It is never, ever the victim's fault. So if you're the harasser, I hope you know the guilt and fault lays squarely on your shoulders. If you're the victim, I hope I've relieved you of yours. (It was never really supposed to be there in the first place).
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