For Wilshire Baptist Church
On our way home we stopped at a grocery store we seldom visit. It was between rain showers on a busy Saturday afternoon, and as we joined the parade of people going in I looked into the face of a man and felt a familiarity. He turned his glance toward me and, yes, I knew who he was. As quickly as our eyes met we both looked away from each other. I leaned forward and whispered in LeAnn’s ear. She nodded, and I turned and walked back outside to sit in the car. Whew, that was a close call.
What I whispered to LeAnn was, “There’s a man here that I don’t want to see. I’ll explain later.” And what I explained to her when she got back to the car is that I played a role in his dismissal from work for sexual harassment.
Ten years earlier I worked with this man. The group he managed added graphics to my words. His top designer was my best friend in the office. Over a period of time I began to hear from her that he was mistreating women with his words and in the way he controlled their career paths. Things came to a head and I was among the employees who was called in and questioned about him.
When asked if I had witnessed any bad behavior or language, I said yes. I had heard him say rude things about women in the office. His behavior wasn’t all bad all the time. Most of the time he was friendly, charming, funny, intelligent and a pro at his craft. His coarse comments weren’t shared in the presence of anyone and everyone. They were mostly made in one-on-one meetings – in those quiet moments where we often reveal our worst selves.
The fact that I said yes means I was complicit. I didn’t participate, encourage, laugh or applaud. But I also didn’t say “enough” or “stop.” I didn’t walk out on him, I didn’t report him. I waited for his victims to speak up; I waited for the safety of the official process.
If this man and I had made more than eye contact at the grocery store, I don’t know what would have happened. I don’t know if he knows of my small role in his dismissal. If he does, he might not have welcomed a conversation, and I don’t know how I would have reacted to his reaction. But if he didn’t know and we struck up a conversation, would I have treated him as if nothing had happened, or would I have said something about the past even though I hadn’t seen him in a decade?
I’ll never know the answers to these questions because I chose the easy route. I went outside; I ran and hid. Which is the same way I acted when he was being rude in the office.
Ever since the #MeToo movement dragged the ugly truth out into the daylight from the dark, secret places of Hollywood, Washington, corporate America, academia and even the church, I have shaken my head and wagged my finger at the perpetrators of abusive behavior. But I also have indicted those who stood by and did nothing.
And then on a rainy Saturday in Dallas I walked out of a grocery store for fear of confrontation and realized that I had been a very real part of that story.