Collective memory, like personal memory, is a problematic thing. It is selective, prone to the ravages of time, an ever-fading document written in the minds of a vast network of persons, monuments, and organizations. When it comes to violence against women, our collective memory is especially faulty, prone to selective omissions, and distortions. The incidents and accusations of the past do not fit neatly into the narratives of progress, and the stories that make it into the national news are not only incomplete, but they become twisted and misshapen, often molded and folded into other narratives, or else swept away into the dust of time.
Geniuses, however, artists, charismatic leaders, visionaries…these people are not demolished or diminished by the winds of change. They are built up over time, revered, worshipped, or, less grandly, simply well thought of. They are the building-blocks of our collective nostalgia—those who have guided us, consoled us, revealed our humanity to us—or risen above it. To the general public, they are inevitably men, these geniuses, these artists, these charismatic leaders, politicians, musicians, innovators, and entertainers.
When ugly accusations surface against these Great Men, the resulting battle for the dominant narrative is never clear, never easy. In the last year, (at least) three men of larger than life standing have come under public scrutiny, and the subsequent refusal of our collective memory to acknowledge their crimes is both horrifying and not unexpected.
Bill Cosby, Woody Allen, and the CBC radio personality Jian Gomeshi have been accused of sexually assaulting women. In the case of Cosby, the story is getting fresh press every couple of weeks. Just last week, two more women came forward to say that they were drugged and assaulted by Cosby in the 1980s. This story broke just as Cosby’s former cast-mate, Phylicia Rashad, defended Cosby, saying, “Forget these women…What you’re seeing is the destruction of a legacy…a legacy that is so important to the culture.”
Rashad’s explicit enjoinder to “forget these women” articulates a move in our collective memory that needs no such urging. We are forgetting these women—and many thousands of others—every day. Who still remembers Anita Hill? The abuse suffered by Madonna at the hands of Sean Penn? The violence against Rihanna perpetrated by Chris Brown four years ago? What about that girl, Emma Sulkowicz, who brought a mattress to class last fall at Columbia to bring attention to the fact that her alleged rapist was still on the university campus?
Rashad’s fear that the accusations against Cosby will destroy his “legacy” are ludicrous—just like anyone’s concern that the allegations against Woody Allen will stop people from watching his films is also ludicrous. What is much more likely to be forgotten are the things these men did.
In the case of Jian Gomeshi, CBC radio darling, the more women come forward with accusations of sexual assault, the more stories surface revealing that pretty much everyone at the CBC knew of Gomeshi’s bad behavior—and they chalked it up to just that: boys being boys. Bad behavior. He’s “a little creepy.” Many of the women who finally came forward have said that they felt that to accuse him at the time of the assault would have meant an end to their careers at the CBC rather than Gomeshi’s. And they’re probably right.
We admire geniuses, visionaries, innovators…those charismatic leaders whose foibles we, well, we tend to forget. Or turn a blind eye towards. (Do I dare, only days before his holiday, to bring up the violence Martin Luther King Jr. wielded against the white prostitutes he purchased?)
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At the heart of many rape cases and other sexual assaults or sexual violence, is the issue of memory. Whose story is right? Did she want it? Did she encourage him? Does it count if she can’t remember it?
When it comes to non-sexual abuse—physical abuse, battering, hitting, shoving, cutting, punching, killing….the case should be much clearer. The wounds are visible. The victims often end up at the hospital—or dead. Sometimes these attacks are even caught on camera. There is evidence. And yet…these cases are also subject to interpretation in the public eye. Charlie Sheen is a good example. He has abused multiple romantic partners physically. And yet…he’s such a funny guy! Such a loveable weirdo.
Again and again, we forget. Even when we as a society acknowledge the injustice, we still forget. And yet, many of the creative efforts of these perpetrators will remain to be watched, listened to, consumed, and enjoyed, over and over again. Is a show, a film, a book, or an entire sport to be tainted by the creator? The artist? The athlete? Does our reverence of genius go too far when we say that we can no longer watch reruns of The Cosby Show? That we shouldn’t watch Woody Allen’s movies because of who Woody Allen is and what he did?
If we judged an artistic work by the artists’ moral compass, there might be fairly little art left to enjoy. Should I forget how much I enjoyed Blue Jasmine because the director is (allegedly) a sexual predator? The film owes as much to the performance of its many actors, as well as the input of hundreds of other creative and hard-working people, as it does to the writing and directing of Woody Allen.
On the other hand, it seems impossible not to consider that if Woody Allen had been tried and convicted of sexual assault back in the early 90s, he would have gone to prison (one hopes), done time, and….possibly not made many of the films that he was able to make because no one took the claims against him seriously at the time.
Similarly, if Cosby had been put away back in the 80s for drugging and assaulting women, if Gomeshi had been brought to justice before his career at the CBC seemed too perfect to touch, then their subsequent cultural products would not exist either.
How do we reconcile our love of the lone genius or the auteur with the image of the pervert, the criminal, the man who has gone too far? And, more to the point, how do we stop the incessant forgetting? The push to demonize the victim? The refusal to acknowledge that fame, creativity, power, and vision are not exclusive of abuse of power? Undoubtedly the cult of celebrity, of the individual, does much of the harm. On the other side of the balance is the fear of speaking out, the fear of being the scapegoat or the one with the ugly words. It seems that this forgetting will continue until accusations are taken seriously, until the violence against women is seen as, indeed, a crime worth punishing.
