Briefcase on the Kitchen Table

You may have seen recently where a small-town school board made national news when a female student was presenting to the board on some research and during her presentation one school board member, Keith Ervin, put his arm around the student, pulled her closer to him, and said, “God you’re hot, you know that?” The entire meeting was recorded. Luckily the child’s face has been blurred by media outlets but it does not take much to read what her body language is telling us- she is uncomfortable and doesn’t know what to do. Not a single adult sitting in the room came to her rescue or confronted Ervin about the inappropriateness of his comment. You hear some nervous laughter in the background and that is it. The backlash from the public was swift, forcing the board to call an emergency meeting held on April 8th. At that meeting Ervin learned his penalty- a public finger wagging in which the board censured his conduct. A unanimous vote of, “Let’s make better choices,” the same thing I tell my three year old. In the weeks since the initial meeting there has been a great deal written about how inappropriate Ervin’s conduct was, how unjust the punishment is, and how embarrassing the board’s lack of response has been. For me, the immediate take away was how unsurprising this all was. Even after a great deal of education and cultural awareness regarding women’s safety, bodily autonomy, and consent, we are light years away from any real, consistent public understanding of how moments like this happen. Many people probably watched that video and thought how unbelievable, how unlikely. Clearly instances like that would only happen to a scantily clad young woman in a bar or a woman in a too-small string bikini laid out on beach somewhere. If that was your reaction I would challenge you to speak to the women around you about their experiences of being objectified, of being made to feel unsafe. I can guarantee you that you know a woman who has been made to feel this way. I know because it happened to me.

In November 2017 I was working as a Major Felony Prosecutor in Tippecanoe County, Indiana. Our offices were in a building directly across the street from the historical courthouse that is the anchor to the beautiful town square. I had court that morning and was making the trek across the street to a secured courthouse door that you have to swipe a badge to get into, separate and more direct from the public entrance. I was in a full black pant suit and button up top with my hair pinned up. I was coming out of a building that had “Prosecutor’s Office” in large gold print on the door and walking directly to the secure courthouse entrance. I had my computer and a file in one hand. There was some work being done by a construction crew to restore the outside of the venerable courthouse facade and there had been scaffolding and crew members out there for months doing the delicate work. Seeing heavy equipment and men in hard hats had become part of the landscape so at first the man clad in jeans and a white hard hat didn’t catch my attention at all. But then, out of the corner of my left eye, something about his movements drew my focus.

Somehow, either based on his pace or his direction, I could tell that he was following my movements. Even more alarming, I could tell by the position of his hands that held up his cell phone in front of his face, he was either photographing or filming me with his phone. My internal reaction to this was surprising, even to me, I immediately felt myself flush from head to toe and I could hear my own blood roaring in my ears. It’s like all of my senses flew into hyper-focus (adrenaline is a hell of a thing). I could hear him saying things as he advanced, “Yeah, walk that way. Shake that ass.” I couldn’t tell if he was saying this with the intent of me hearing him or if it was for the benefit of his recording. I watched him walk in front of one of the grand staircases that flanked the building and was worried he may intercept me before I could get to the secure door. And the next logical question is- why was I afraid he would reach me? I think the fairer question is why wouldn’t I be afraid?

Here I am, going about my life and my job. Walking from one building with the words “Prosecutor’s Office” across the door into an obviously secured door of a courthouse. There are sheriffs deputies milling about. Every external clue should have indicated that I was coming from a place of protection and power. Did any of that shield me from becoming the object of sexual harassment in that moment? Of becoming online fodder for enthusiasts of curvaceous women who had the audacity to walk across the street and do their job? Not one bit. I picked up the pace as much as I subtly could and got to the secured door while my heart thumped in my chest. I tried to scan my ID card so quickly the door reader didn’t work the first time. I rushed to scan it again, this time it worked. I went through the door and pulled it behind me by the push bar. When I heard the door lock click, I took three deep breaths before going through the second set of doors. Even by the end of the trip up to the third floor of the courthouse, I was still rattled. And pissed. I was especially concerned about this perpetrator’s intention with the video. With my ears still ringing I sat at counsel table, pulled open my laptop, and immediately wrote a high-alert email to my secretary and two investigators at my office to let them know what happened. By the end of the hearing, I had an email back from my Elected Prosecutor instructing me to stay at the courthouse, he wanted an investigator to walk me back to the office. By the time I made it back, I found out the entire thing had been captured on security camera.

When I returned to the office, there were two investigators and my boss huddled around a computer screen viewing the footage. I gave a quick recounting of what happened. They were understandably concerned, not just about the harassment but of someone filming a Deputy Prosecutor coming out of our building; there are unique concerns for prosecutors. At the time of this video, I was prosecuting multiple major felonies including people charged with attempted murder, narcotics dealing, child molesting, etc. Plenty of people with an axe to grind. I was immediately bolstered by these men, who were so zealous in their protection of me and the seriousness of the situation. The two investigators left to go speak to someone on the construction crew. It was later that day that I received a copy of the incident report; they were able to find the man who made the recording and did the best they could within the law to insure the video was deleted.

I had so many feelings that day. I was angry- at this man and myself. I had every advantage in that moment. I could have yelled “Help” or “Stop” one time and officers I know and trust would have been there in an instant. But in that moment, in a moment I have had to explain and educate about in court over and over again on behalf of a victim in a case involving much more severe sexual conduct, I couldn’t find my voice. I was also embarrassed that coworkers I adored and who followed me as a leader through every case had to, for a few hours that day, see me as a victim and hear me recount a man talking about my ass. I was sad that, although one of the most galling instances of sexual harassment I had experienced at that point in my life, it was added to a long list of catcalls, unwanted brushes, and lewd comments that is unremarkable among women.

So when the story of what happened to the teenager at the school board meeting in Jonesborough, Tennessee popped up, I was disgusted and also unsurprised. I was unsurprised by his conduct-a man being in a position of power certainly doesn’t guarantee good behavior. I was unsurprised by this sweet girl’s lack of vocal protest or reaction, especially as the trusted adults around her did nothing. I was unsurprised by the chortles of nervous laughter as the only reaction of those trusted adults. And I sit here unsurprised at the subsequent gaslighting session by Ervin in the meeting on April 8th during which he tried to convince his constituents and a now national audience that when he called the student “hot” he meant she was on a roll with her questions.

What happened to this teenage girl in Tennessee should be both alarming and unsurprising. It should be heavily condemned and equally expected. It should be a moment of encouragement to find a voice but also introspection to ask questions. It is nice to say that if we had been the girl or if we had been one of the adults in the room, as a Monday-morning quarterback, surely we would have done something differently. Statistically we know that is not true. That is why the tropes that come up in all instances of sexual harassment are so ridiculous to me at this point. “Well what was she wearing?” “What did she think would happen going there?” “What does she expect of a young man his age?” “It’s just locker room talk.” “Boys will be boys.” A girl presenting research in a public board meeting cannot expect to be any safer from harassment and than a female lawyer walking across a public street to court. As with any news story people only have a certain amount of time, attention, and energy to give to it. We need to stop using those finite resources to be surprised by moments like this and instead figure out how to change them.