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Manipulative men in politics like Eric Schneiderman force women into survival strategies
Don’t be shocked that I, a woman who has worked in politics and government for 40 years, wasn’t shocked upon hearing the news about Eric Schneiderman. That’s not because I know the former attorney general — we’ve met only in passing — but because I know men in politics. The relentless effort to exert control over women — whether by emotional and professional manipulation or with sex, alcohol or drugs — is entirely familiar to any woman who has worked in politics.
The alleged physical assaults in the Schneiderman case are on the extreme end of the spectrum, but also are extensions of behavior most women have experienced or witnessed in the political world.
For many male politicians, obtaining power and exerting control is the essential nature of the whole political enterprise. They spend their lives dedicated to beating the other guy (yes, usually a guy) and pushing the rules as far as they can to do so.
Women in the proximity of a man who has dedicated his life to the pursuit of power over others learn to tread carefully, putting up with smaller mind-control exercises (belittling one’s work or appearance) to keep a job, while hoping the behavior doesn’t escalate to something more overtly sexual.
Given the Schneiderman case, women should add to their list: Does your political mentor know how to draw the line between his desire to crush his opponent and his desire to crush your windpipe?
For young women in this line of work, ambition to advance a career, or even just to fit in, collides with powerful men early. In my case, I was in a lively local political hangout in Greenville, Miss., in 1984, where the governor of Arkansas, Bill Clinton, was holding court after a fundraiser. A couple of dozen people crowded together at a table to drink and gossip.
Clinton seated himself next to me. For 30 minutes, he asked me a dozen questions about a U.S. House race I was working on, my thoughts on racism in Mississippi and Arkansas, and what we needed to do to reduce lowincome poverty. I was 24 years old, and Clinton made me feel brilliant. Here was a governor with presidential ambitions asking me questions and appearing to be interested in my thoughts.
Until he handed me a note with the name of his hotel and his room number. I got away from that table fast and left the bar.
I felt stupid. Every woman knows this experience: hoping to be valued for your knowledge and skills, and then feeling crushed when you realize it is P something else altogether. ractically every woman in America has a story she can tell about psychologically or physically abusive relationships, personal or professional or both. If the story isn’t about her, then it’s about someone she knows.
I eventually made it from Mississippi to Washington, D.C., to work for a member of Congress. When I worked on Capitol Hill in the late 80s and early 90s, I witnessed female friends panicking over dates they had to take with members of Congress, some married, some not.
I saw cases in which Congressmen “encouraged” their young staffers to accept a date with a fellow member of Congress as part of an effort to win favor to support a bill or donate money to his re-election. The blurring of politics and sex, power and control was part of the fabric of the institution. What is it about men in politics that makes them unable to control themselves while trying to control others? Two decades ago, researchers James McBride Dabbs and Mary Godwin Dabbs pinned it on biology. Namely, testosterone. But in their book “Heroes, Rogues and Lovers: Testosterone and Behavior,” the Dabbs took pains to say that male propensity to dominate and control is not the inevitable result of genetic predetermination.
“Fearlessness and freedom to act … can go either way, to selfish violence or to pure altruism,” but biology does not guarantee “destiny”; they deem family and community important in shaping how men act. Yet they suggest that nature has still provided an un-level playing field with women, who are generally not built to harm or punish anyone to obtain power and control for themselves.
Ok, good to know. But even if we buy the biology, it’s not women’s responsibility to save men from their own worst instincts. Some of the women in the Schneiderman case feared for their safety but also worried that going public would ruin him as a politician who had won fights they cared about and would accomplish much more in the future.
This is something women should never worry about. Plenty of ambitious and accomplished politicians, men and women, surround us. Someone will take Schneiderman’s place on the playing field.
Meanwhile, we have to pass legislation and urge legal rulings that will protect women. Women across the globe are starting to work together to produce safety and legal mechanisms against abuse and violence. And we have to be open and direct about our abilities, talents and desires with or without men as professional and/ A or personal partners. fter working in Congress, I made my way to a public affairs position at a federal housing agency far away from the White House – HUD. I had my eye set on an assistant secretary of public affairs spot, a job requiring White House approval and Senate confirmation.
As the Clinton affair with Monica Lewinsky began to emerge, a Newsweek reporter, Michael Isikoff, was researching a book about Clinton, Lewinsky and other women in Clinton’s life. Isikoff heard about the Mississippi incident about Clinton and me years earlier; he thought it fit a pattern in Clinton’s life and wanted to include it in his book. I hesitated to give him any details, but then James Carville, Clinton’s campaign manager, and others on the Clinton team began calling Arkansas women who had spoken publicly about liaisons with Clinton “trailer park trash.”
I agreed to let Isikoff use some of my “trailer park trash” with pride, given my Mississippi upbringing. After “Uncovering Clinton” was published, the White House declined to move on my nomination.
I knew the stakes would be high. I knew I might even lose my job. Had I simply not spoken out, I would probably have a Senate-confirmed position on my resume today. But I would have been part of the enabling culture that we see persist today. I’m comfortable with my choice.
In politics, it’s always been a throw of the dice. It’s a risk. Often women in politics have to balance a scale of abuses. Emotional abuse is high on the list because it plays with our confidence and questions what we do as staffers, friends and lovers.
It is not as lethal as physical or sexual abuse, but there’s more of it. It’s also heavy on the shoulders and drains emotions.
This is how many women in politics have learned or are learning how to maneuver: 1) we can often produce quality results faster than men; 2) we are more forgiving about bad behavior than men; and 3), despite 2), we can not only stop abuse but also gain positive power and control over our own lives.
We need to do step 3 as often as I possible. ’ve been fortunate to have male bosses, like Andrew Cuomo and Bill de Blasio, who know how to be respectful of women even while being no-nonsense managers. But the institutions of government and politics remain saturated with the poisonous odor of men who don’t know where to draw the line.
In 2015, not all that long ago, I served
as press secretary for de Blasio. During that time, an NYPD official propositioned a woman reporter covering City Hall and, even though she turned him down, he continued to approach her, telling her that he knew she wanted him.
He did the same to two other women I knew at City Hall. One day he accompanied former Police Commissioner Bill Bratton to a meeting with the mayor. The NYPD official thought Bratton needed a glass of water. He sent phone text messages to female staffers — sitting in the same room — telling them they needed to get the water.
They all responded via text message with a version of these words: You work for the police commissioner. You get the water.
Good answer. A lesson learned.
Hinton, a communications consultant in New York, was a press secretary for Mayor de Blasio and Gov. Cuomo, when he served as U.S. secretary of housing and urban development.