Armageddon

THE GUARDIAN I

OPINION | WEALTHY BUSINESSMEN CONTINUE TO ABUSE THEIR POWER IN THE WORKPLACE. WHY DO POOR WOMEN CONTINUE TO PROTECT THEM?

13 September 2019

By Nandi Williams

Like a lot of people born in Britain and the United Kingdom, I was raised by conservative, Christian parents who believed that women had sexual power over men, and that they had to be ashamed if they ever 'weaponised' this power, and respectful - that is, conservatively dressed, generally non-sexual - women were seen as the only ones deserving of a place in society. I remember my parents being outraged when Madonna shared a kiss with Britney and Christina, and them talking about the bad example 'this old woman' was setting for young girls, and how she had sent all women - or at least white women - in the world on the path to hell with that one kiss. Black women (because my family is black) were seen as the divinely chosen ones, and thus had the duty to uphold the values of the black family and to defend black men against evil white men and seductive, equally evil, white women.

My mother played (and continues to play) this role perfectly. She invested a lot of time to raising me and my two sisters to do the same for our black husbands and black children - emphasis on black. My brother, on the other hand, was taught to 'provide for his family - whatever the cost' and to be wary of white men. He grew up to be a serial cheater who hit each and every one of his girlfriends, and he died from a gang-related shooting last year.

Despite the very traditionalist upbringing I got, I was also aware of the shift in the political discourse surrounding women, especially women of colour, when I was a teenager. I got my first smartphone in 2013, which gave me access to social media. This is important because this was at the beginning of fourth-wave feminism. This was where we first started to see women really fight against the gender pay gap. This was where we started to see women come out and share their stories of sexual abuse - and have society believe them! This was where we first started to see women of colour speak about their experiences being overlooked by mainstream feminists - and have society concede that it hasn't been very fair towards them - it was also when 'Ain't I a Woman?' and Chimamanda Ngozi-Adichie started to really impact mainstream discourse around where feminism should go.

Of course, I resisted against these women's stories at first. I believed that the gender pay gap was inherently fair because men were rightly appointed by God to provide for their families, and women had no business demanding equal pay as men; besides, women miss so many days of work because they have to pick up children from school and they get periods, right? I thought the women who claimed to have been sexually harassed or assaulted (especially by their bosses or co-workers) were either blowing things out of proportion or had actively seduced the men they were exposing by way of action or clothing, and they were simply jealous that they themselves weren't men. I also believed that black women had no business in feminism anyways because their primary responsibility was to take care of their black men and children.

I finished school in 2015 and had to find a way to fund my varsity education. I was not a very bright student, so I had to work to raise these funds. This was when I got my first job as an assistant to a very successful media house. Following the teachings I got from my mother, I always wore a knee-length skirt and never wore a top that exposed my cleavage, and I generally tried to hide as much skin as I could. Despite this, my white male boss always made it a point to make comments on my beautiful, exotic skin and my petite physique (I think I should also mention that he was married, and his wife worked with us). You may find this ironic, but I had been taught that it was indecent for women to sleep with their employers; however, in that same vein I knew that I was poor and could not afford to lose my job if I wanted to make it to college. Thus, when my boss told me to go to dinner with him, I was at cross-roads: I knew exactly what would come next, and that it was bad; however, I also knew that I had to hold on to my job as best I could.

That first dinner was extremely nerve-wracking. I remember my boss constantly reached his hand out to mine, and every time I felt his skin on mine, I felt a strong feeling of my soul leaving my body. Although, my soul never did leave my body; it was all a coping mechanism so I wouldn't feel the shame I had been conditioned to feel if God forbid, I found myself in this situation. I continued to dine with him, virtually everyday and, as such things typically go, I ended up having to commit myself to giving him sexual favours. I broke up with my boyfriend shortly after I started sleeping with my boss because I felt as though my blackness and my womanhood had been depreciated - and continued to be depreciated - every time I lay with my boss; plus, I figured it was not fair on him that that I was cheating on him. Despite the emotional wreckage I had gone through in just a few months of me working, my boss seemed unbothered. In fact, I had to set up meetings and gifts for his wife, the company's lawyer (he also had sexual relations with her), and his other flings as his personal assistant. I will admit that seeing him act so nonchalant about my relationship with him hurt me deeply, but I had to keep that hurt to myself if I wanted to continue having a steady stream of income.

Needless to say, I finished my gap year with enough money to cover registration costs, and a good credit score where I could get a student loan. This was supposed to bring me happiness, but it didn't. Instead, I found myself descend into madness everyday I was in school. The academic pressure, coupled with constant exhaustion from having to work part-time to cover my living expenses, and my 'sins' catching up to me weighed heavy on me, and I had a breakdown during an exam. I was committed to a psychiatric ward for a week until I recovered; however, all my results for the tests I had written were horrible. The bank stopped paying for my education and I had to drop out with a debt of £22 000. I somehow convinced myself that this was God's retribution for the sinful life I had led in the previous year, and I confessed to a local pastor and asked for guidance on what to do next.

From that confession, I was forced to tell my parents what I had done if I wanted to be truly redeemed. I was sceptical. I was scared. However, I pushed myself to tell them everything. My relationship with my parents was already strained due to several things, and I was disowned after this confession because I guess that was the final straw for them. I was shunned by everyone in my community, made to feel like less of a woman, told that I would never get married, and I had to move in with my friend who lives in a neighbouring town. To this day, I work two minimum wage jobs and still fail to meet my payment deadlines.

It is tempting to say that the reason that poor women protect rich men after being sexually assaulted by them is because they need to keep a clean slate so they do not thwart their chances of being objectified by other (or the same) rich men in the future; however, I feel that is an oversimplification. A gross oversimplification that characterises poor women, who are likely to be women of colour, as selfish, power-hungry individuals. The real reason that poor women protect rich men, in my opinion, really comes from a fear of the cultural ramifications that come with doing so - rejection by their families and communities being one of them - and the sense of cultural and racial decay they get from having sex with people of different ethnicities that follow them for the rest of their lives when their stories come out. Black communities are very religious communities because religion is where they find hope, and there is unfortunately a tie between religion and a patriarchal system, a tie that I do not have enough time to explore in this piece. However, protecting men - including rich men - from accountability is a product of this tie. If we are to change the discourse surrounding the relationships between rich men and poor women, we have to actively work towards dismantling patriarchy, and that requires a change in the discourse surrounding religion - a proposition a lot of folks (black or white) are not willing to even talk about.