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Monica Lewinsky wonders if her story belongs within or adjacent to #MeToo

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I had to sit with this Monica Lewinsky essay for a while to really figure out how I felt about it. Monica Lewinsky wrote an essay for Vanity Fair called “Emerging from ‘the House of Gaslight’ in the Age of #MeTo.” I’ll admit that I sort of rolled my eyes at the idea that Lewinsky would equate or compare her own story to a #MeToo story – she has said repeatedly that her sexual relationship with Bill Clinton was consensual, and that the traumatic experiences she faced came afterwards, with Ken Starr’s investigation. She says as much in the essay, but she also creates an argument about how her traumatic experiences post-affair could be and possibly should be included in the larger #MeToo narratives now, 20 years later (we’re actually coming up on the 20-year anniversary). You can read the full piece here. Some highlights:

The national trauma: …As I find myself reflecting on what happened, I’ve also come to understand how my trauma has been, in a way, a microcosm of a larger, national one. Both clinically and observationally, something fundamental changed in our society in 1998, and it is changing again as we enter the second year of the Trump presidency in a post-Cosby-Ailes-O’Reilly-Weinstein-Spacey-Whoever-Is-Next world. The Starr investigation and the subsequent impeachment trial of Bill Clinton amounted to a crisis that Americans arguably endured collectively—some of us, obviously, more than others. It was a shambolic morass of a scandal that dragged on for 13 months, and many politicians and citizens became collateral damage—along with the nation’s capacity for mercy, measure, and perspective.

Trauma in isolation. Isolation is such a powerful tool to the subjugator. And yet I don’t believe I would have felt so isolated had it all happened today. One of the most inspiring aspects of this newly energized movement is the sheer number of women who have spoken up in support of one another. And the volume in numbers has translated into volume of public voice. Historically, he who shapes the story (and it is so often a he) creates “the truth.” But this collective rise in decibel level has provided a resonance for women’s narratives.

The abuse of power: There are many more women and men whose voices and stories need to be heard before mine. (There are even some people who feel my White House experiences don’t have a place in this movement, as what transpired between Bill Clinton and myself was not sexual assault, although we now recognize that it constituted a gross abuse of power.) And yet, everywhere I have gone for the past few months, I’ve been asked about it. My response has been the same: I am in awe of the sheer courage of the women who have stood up and begun to confront entrenched beliefs and institutions. But as for me, my history, and how I fit in personally? I’m sorry to say I don’t have a definitive answer yet on the meaning of all of the events that led to the 1998 investigation; I am unpacking and reprocessing what happened to me. Over and over and over again.

The House of Gaslight. The reason this is difficult is that I’ve lived for such a long time in the House of Gaslight, clinging to my experiences as they unfolded in my 20s and railing against the untruths that painted me as an unstable stalker and Servicer in Chief. An inability to deviate from the internal script of what I actually experienced left little room for re-evaluation; I cleaved to what I “knew.” So often have I struggled with my own sense of agency versus victimhood. (In 1998, we were living in times in which women’s sexuality was a marker of their agency—“owning desire.” And yet, I felt that if I saw myself as in any way a victim, it would open the door to choruses of: “See, you did merely service him.”)

Defining consent. But it’s also complicated. Very, very complicated. The dictionary definition of “consent”? “To give permission for something to happen.” And yet what did the “something” mean in this instance, given the power dynamics, his position, and my age? Was the “something” just about crossing a line of sexual (and later emotional) intimacy? (An intimacy I wanted—with a 22-year-old’s limited understanding of the consequences.) He was my boss. He was the most powerful man on the planet. He was 27 years my senior, with enough life experience to know better. He was, at the time, at the pinnacle of his career, while I was in my first job out of college. (Note to the trolls, both Democratic and Republican: none of the above excuses me for my responsibility for what happened. I meet Regret every day.)

[From Vanity Fair]

At no point does she equate what happened to her with the actual #MeToo stories of abuse and worse. And she’s not wrong – it was an abuse of power on Clinton’s part, and Monica was treated poorly by nearly everyone involved. But I still feel… edgy, or uncomfortable with this idea that Monica’s story belongs within or adjacent to the #MeToo Movement. She consented. She thought she was in a relationship with the president. From what I remember, she even pursued him in their first encounters. Does any of that belong within or side-by-side with #MeToo? I really don’t know.

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Photos courtesy of Getty.

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