One of the things that struck me was how interconnected the stories, themes, and ideas seemed to be. Not only did most of those present have a direct experience surviving abuse or know someone who did, but both Chiu and Previlon shared about how their immigrant upbringings (Chinese and Haitian, respectively) made it especially difficult to speak out against the abuse they encountered or experienced. “We didn’t talk about sex at all,” said Chiu of her immigrant Chinese church, “much less sexual abuse.” Previlon talked about how speaking up about abuse feels like such a huge undertaking for young women in the church. “How can we be big,” Previlon lamented, “when we’ve been taught to be so small?”
One pastor in attendance, Rev. Iesha Hawley of Arlington United Church in Arlington, Washington, had her own connection to Weinstein. Before pastoring in Arlington, Hawley previously worked as a prison chaplain at Rikers Island in New York, where she was working when Weinstein was convicted and incarcerated. Seeing him in person filled her with mixed emotions. He was weak and in chains, but he was in protective custody. As a chaplain, she knew it was her job to be compassionate toward him, but she was also very angry at how even in prison his wealth and status protected him and set him apart from the other men incarcerated there. As she shared these details, we marveled at the sense of interconnected trauma on display and our collective desire for healing—a testament to the efficacy of the group sponsoring the event, Collective Healing PDX.
I was grateful to be able to participate in the event, but the lack of turnout, specifically among men, was disheartening. Of the fifty or so people present, only about eight were men. And most of us were pastors on staff at partnering churches. By that count, it seemed that few men, even in progressive Portland, were willing to take time out of our week to engage the pain of the women in our midst and work toward their collective healing.
That low male attendance was, to many of the people I talked to afterward, dishearteningly familiar. It’s one thing to mentally assent to the equal value of women as God’s image bearers, or to affirm the right of women to participate in all levels of ministry and leadership in the church. But it’s another thing entirely to go out of our way to elevate and amplify the voices of women speaking out against the abusive treatment they’ve experienced from other men.
While it’s important to recognize that men are also sometimes victims of sexual abuse, statistically most abusers of women are men. And it’s not just the abusers themselves who are complicit. How many of our male pastors, board members, or administrators use NDAs (non-disclosure agreements) in church settings to cover up allegations of abuse that might damage the church’s brand? How many women have been discouraged from speaking up because they’ve witnessed how quickly others dismiss or discount their experiences? And how many more women would find the courage and boldness to speak their truth if they witnessed more men speaking up on the topic?
Men, we need to do more.
We must speak out, not only in grandstanding displays of public solidarity, but also behind the scenes—in hiring committees, staff meetings, and fact-finding investigations. We need to watch how we speak about women and issues pertaining to women’s health, women’s needs, and safety, especially in the casual confines of our homes or offices where impressionable minds are taking their cues from us. We need to humbly admit our missteps and identify areas for improvement as part of an ongoing commitment to making our congregations and organizations safer, more welcoming, and more equitable for women.
If you’re not sure where to start, I recommend She Said. Watch it with your small group, including your youth group. If you don’t normally do so, this might be a good opportunity to meet in separate gender groups, so that both sets of young men and young women can be honest and forthright about the patterns of behavior they see at school, at home, and in their own lives. We need more people—especially men—to take an active role in changing the culture of minimizing abuse that results in people—mostly women—being ignored, attacked, and silenced.
And in the words of the old Sunday school song “Father Abraham,” “I am one of them.” I clearly have work to do.
And maybe, just maybe, so do you.
Commentary, News
Changing the Culture of Abuse Starts at Home
I recently attended an event called #MeToo and the Church, hosted by West Hills Covenant Church in Portland, and I was feeling pretty good about myself as someone who stands up for the rights of women. But then I did something stupid that reminded me of how much work remains to be done.
My wife and I had some friends over, and we were watching a TV show. Because there was some confusion over which episodes we had already seen, I was trying to gain clarity around when a certain actor had left the show. This actor had been fired a few years prior after credible allegations of sexual assault were levied against him by two different women. And so what I said was, “Wait, was this before or after [actor’s name] was MeToo’d?”
It was a boneheaded thing to say, and as soon as it came out of my mouth, I knew I done messed up. I tried to walk it back a bit, but it was too late. The two women present, my wife and one of our very close friends, promptly pushed back at my characterization of events. Knowing me well, they didn’t hold it against me for long, but that moment stayed in my mind for the rest of the evening.
The next day I asked my wife about it, and after some discussion, it was clear to me that she experienced my comment as a microaggression. Without intending to do so, when I used the phrase “MeToo’d,” I was making it sound like the man in question was the real victim of the affair, and that by telling the truth, the women who accused him were doing something wrong to him. I don’t actually believe that; I think it was probably the right thing for him to be fired. But by choosing that bit of linguistic shorthand, I was adopting terminology often used by abusers and their enablers to escape accountability for their misdeeds—a technique often described by the acronym DARVO (deny, accuse, and reverse victim and offender).
Here’s the really messed up part: I already knew all this. I read a lot in matters of entertainment, politics, and language. I knew about DARVO and other narcissistic tendencies that contribute to cultures of abuse. But in that particular moment, I fell back on a shorthand that ended up being hurtful to people around me.
In my defense, the phrase “MeToo” was already on my mind, not only because of the event I’d attended but because several days earlier I’d hosted a screening of the film She Said with folks in our youth group as part of our church’s willingness to grapple with the broader church’s history of complicity regarding abuse.
She Said dramatizes the true story of New York Times reporters Jodi Kanter and Meghan Twohey as they pursued and eventually broke the story unmasking the trail of abuse from serial abuser Harvey Weinstein. A powerful Hollywood producer, Weinstein was eventually prosecuted and incarcerated for his crimes because so many women were finally willing and able to speak out about how they were treated. It was the genesis of the #MeToo movement, which spread awareness across social media by encouraging survivors of sexual abuse to speak out and tell the truth about how they’ve been treated, not only by the offenders themselves but by enablers who protect abusers by rationalizing, minimizing, or explaining away their abuse.
One of the first women brave enough to go on the record speaking out against Weinstein was Rowena Chiu, who worked as a production assistant for Weinstein as a young woman in the late 1990s. Part of Chiu’s story was dramatized in the film, and she’s spent several years since the New York Times story broke advocating for women to speak up and tell their own stories. Chiu is also a Christian, and she sees her faith as a part of her call to activism. West Hills invited her to speak at the #MeToo and the Church event, alongside Rev. Dieula Previlon, a licensed therapist and Covenant minister specializing in the healing and empowerment of women.
It was powerful. (To watch a recording, click here.)
One of the things that struck me was how interconnected the stories, themes, and ideas seemed to be. Not only did most of those present have a direct experience surviving abuse or know someone who did, but both Chiu and Previlon shared about how their immigrant upbringings (Chinese and Haitian, respectively) made it especially difficult to speak out against the abuse they encountered or experienced. “We didn’t talk about sex at all,” said Chiu of her immigrant Chinese church, “much less sexual abuse.” Previlon talked about how speaking up about abuse feels like such a huge undertaking for young women in the church. “How can we be big,” Previlon lamented, “when we’ve been taught to be so small?”
One pastor in attendance, Rev. Iesha Hawley of Arlington United Church in Arlington, Washington, had her own connection to Weinstein. Before pastoring in Arlington, Hawley previously worked as a prison chaplain at Rikers Island in New York, where she was working when Weinstein was convicted and incarcerated. Seeing him in person filled her with mixed emotions. He was weak and in chains, but he was in protective custody. As a chaplain, she knew it was her job to be compassionate toward him, but she was also very angry at how even in prison his wealth and status protected him and set him apart from the other men incarcerated there. As she shared these details, we marveled at the sense of interconnected trauma on display and our collective desire for healing—a testament to the efficacy of the group sponsoring the event, Collective Healing PDX.
I was grateful to be able to participate in the event, but the lack of turnout, specifically among men, was disheartening. Of the fifty or so people present, only about eight were men. And most of us were pastors on staff at partnering churches. By that count, it seemed that few men, even in progressive Portland, were willing to take time out of our week to engage the pain of the women in our midst and work toward their collective healing.
That low male attendance was, to many of the people I talked to afterward, dishearteningly familiar. It’s one thing to mentally assent to the equal value of women as God’s image bearers, or to affirm the right of women to participate in all levels of ministry and leadership in the church. But it’s another thing entirely to go out of our way to elevate and amplify the voices of women speaking out against the abusive treatment they’ve experienced from other men.
While it’s important to recognize that men are also sometimes victims of sexual abuse, statistically most abusers of women are men. And it’s not just the abusers themselves who are complicit. How many of our male pastors, board members, or administrators use NDAs (non-disclosure agreements) in church settings to cover up allegations of abuse that might damage the church’s brand? How many women have been discouraged from speaking up because they’ve witnessed how quickly others dismiss or discount their experiences? And how many more women would find the courage and boldness to speak their truth if they witnessed more men speaking up on the topic?
Men, we need to do more.
We must speak out, not only in grandstanding displays of public solidarity, but also behind the scenes—in hiring committees, staff meetings, and fact-finding investigations. We need to watch how we speak about women and issues pertaining to women’s health, women’s needs, and safety, especially in the casual confines of our homes or offices where impressionable minds are taking their cues from us. We need to humbly admit our missteps and identify areas for improvement as part of an ongoing commitment to making our congregations and organizations safer, more welcoming, and more equitable for women.
If you’re not sure where to start, I recommend She Said. Watch it with your small group, including your youth group. If you don’t normally do so, this might be a good opportunity to meet in separate gender groups, so that both sets of young men and young women can be honest and forthright about the patterns of behavior they see at school, at home, and in their own lives. We need more people—especially men—to take an active role in changing the culture of minimizing abuse that results in people—mostly women—being ignored, attacked, and silenced.
And in the words of the old Sunday school song “Father Abraham,” “I am one of them.” I clearly have work to do.
And maybe, just maybe, so do you.
The Evangelical Covenant Church equips leaders to pastor people who have experienced the injustice of intimate partner and sexual violence through its Safe Sanctuaries training. For more information, contact lmdj@covchurch.org.
Jelani Greenidge
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