By Monica Hesse / The Washington Post
Taglines are tricky. They’re meant to be evocative, but must also be short. They can get at something while still not entirely getting the full something, and in the past two years I’ve put a lot of work into convincing dubious readers that they have nothing to fear from the MeToo tagline “Believe Women.” It is not, in fact, out to ruin their lives.
Consider it this way: If you say that you love dogs, does it mean you hate cats? If a fundraiser vows to “eradicate diabetes,” does it mean they don’t care about cancer anymore?
If the plant-milk industry, encouraging you to try a beverage alternative made from pea-protein, launched an ad campaign sloganed, “Give peas a chance,” does it mean that you will now be arrested for tempering your coffee with half-n-half? Of course not. It’s a slogan that simply acknowledges that cow milk has had a decades-long dominance of the coffee-creamer market, but why not branch out into the legume family for a little change of pace? Give peas a chance. Believe peas.
“Believe Women” is a problematic phrase if you understand it to mean, “never believe another man again.” It’s not problematic if you understand it to mean that men have had a decades-long dominance of the believability market. “Believe Women” doesn’t assume that women never lie; it makes the point that for too many decades we’ve assumed they always do.
This week, MSNBC host Chris Matthews became an inadvertent advertisement for “Believe Women”; or rather, an illustration of why we needed to turn it into a tagline at all.
In Tuesday’s Democratic presidential debate, Massachusetts Sen. Elizabeth Warren raised an old accusation against former New York mayor Mike Bloomberg; that he once instructed a pregnant employee to “kill it.” The account was revived in a recent Washington Post investigation. Bloomberg denied it, but another employee, who witnessed the exchange, corroborated the story.
During Matthews’ post-debate interview with Warren, the “Hardball” host couldn’t get his head around it:
“You believe that the former mayor of New York said that to a pregnant employee?” he asked.
“Why shouldn’t I believe her?” Warren replied, connecting it to her own experiences of pregnancy discrimination.
“But you believe he’s that kind of person?” Matthews broke in, appearing confused.
He pressed on. “You believe he’s lying?” he asked twice. “I just want to make sure you’re clear about this.” While earnestly bumbling around in the dark, Matthews accidentally flipped on a light switch. “And why would he lie?” he asked. “Just to protect himself?”
Ding ding ding ding ding.
Amazingly, you don’t have to know for certain whether Bloomberg lied about this particular incident in order to recognize the absurd aspects of this exchange. Neither Matthews nor Warren had been present for the alleged “kill it.” But Matthews immediately defaulted to believing Bloomberg. Or, at least, defaulted to being perplexed by the idea that Warren didn’t.
This isn’t about Matthews, really. There’s a collective thought process that dug us into this hole to begin with: the notion that men with money and titles, like “the former mayor of New York,” couldn’t really be “that kind of person.”
But these qualities — being in power and seeming like a good dude — aren’t evidence of innocence; they’re the exact ingredients that historically allowed harassment to go unchecked. Bosses deserve deference because they’re bosses; men deserve deference if you can imagine playing a round of golf with them. And women? Well. If they accuse someone of assault, they’re either crazy or humorless or conniving, or a hat trick of all three.
It’s either ironic or fortuitous that the Matthews exchange happened in the same week that Harvey Weinstein was found guilty of rape in a New York courtroom; a case excavating years-old claims that lacked forensic evidence and often came down to whether you believed women.
Which scenario was more likely? That an egomaniacal Hollywood producer with unlimited power might abuse his power and then lie about it when the accusations threatened to disrupt his empire? Or that multiple women who had never met one another would concoct similar stories of rape, spanning several decades, and then go public because they were eager to be accused of being promiscuous opportunists who slept their way into their careers?
The Weinstein verdict was rightly seen as a legal watershed, because jurors chose to believe the former scenario.
The Matthews moment was a sign that one verdict doesn’t undo years of harmful stereotypes and assumptions.
Which scenario was more likely? That a man running for president might deny allegations that would make it more difficult for him to run for president? Or that a woman 23 years ago filed a false lawsuit and planted a corroborating witness because some women want nothing more than to suck money from men? Do you think it’s maybe remotely possible that he’s decided now to stick with his story from 23 years ago when he denied what may just well have been truthful claims in a lawsuit because he didn’t want to pay out?
It’s possible that Chris Matthews’ bumbling was born of horror, at the idea that an influential politician on his beat might have harassed women and discriminated against pregnant employees. But he mostly seemed flabbergasted by the revelation that sometimes men might lie, too.
Monica Hesse is a columnist for The Washington Post’s Style section and author of “American Fire.” Follow her on Twitter @MonicaHesse.
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