Standing up to sexual harassment at the Capitol
Colorado politicians should use the recent flurry of tell-all reporting about the bad behavior of state lawmakers as an opportunity to ensure future generations of leaders don’t first have to run a gauntlet of sexual harassment.
Politics — with its big egos, at-will employment, lack of a human resources department, and irregular business hours away from home — allows some of those in power to act pretty much however they want without fear of repercussion. Instead the fear is carried by their victims, who worry about how pushing back against inappropriate behavior could affect their careers, whether working late will put them in an uncomfortable situation, and if they have somehow encouraged the flirting.
Having covered politics for nearly a decade, including several years in statehouses in Colorado and Oklahoma, I was not surprised by The Denver Post’s Sunday story about a toxic culture at the legislature.
The official response to the stories — which were sparked by the national #MeToo movement of speaking out about sexual harassment, assault and rape — has so far been encouraging. The Democratic and Republican leaders of Colorado’s legislature have agreed to work together and review workplace harassment policies, taking these allegations seriously.
However, what haven’t been encouraging are the reactions from lawmakers accused of being serial sexual harassers by multiple women, some of whom came forward using their names and had witnesses to the events.
State Sen. Randy Baumgardner, a Republican who has run for U.S. Senate in the past, said he has “done nothing wrong.” Yet Megan Creeden told a KUNC reporter that when she was a 25-year-old intern at the legislature, Baumgardner remarked to her boss, in front of her, that he was sad she made him go home alone from the bar after they had met at a work-related function.
I’d have been stunned into silence by such blatantly gross conduct, too. But just because no one — including Creeden’s boss, who corroborated her story — spoke out at the time, that doesn’t make it OK.
Baumgardner’s comment was way out of line. It was disrespectful. He should apologize.
Cassie Tanner was a legislative aide when she says Rep. Steve Lebsock leaned over at a bar during a Young Democrats event and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, remarking, “That’s better.”
If, like me, you find yourself wondering what weirdo would do something like that, have no fear, Lebsock tried to explain himself in a press conference last week: “I’ve been at jobs all my adult life where I hear others talking about sex openly. It’s not sexual harassment, they’re just talking about their sex life … .”
Sorry, but that’s not normal behavior, nor should it be.
A young legislative aide, intern, campaign staffer, state employee or fellow lawmaker shouldn’t have to suffer such stupidity in the workplace, but if there’s one thing we’ve learned from the #MeToo movement, it’s that they do.
Women and men who talk or complain about these issues are often accused of being puritans. It was just a joke — teasing or flirting, some will say — indicating the flaw lies not with the person who made sexual remarks to someone who is their subordinate in the workplace, but with the person who took offense.
After all, there’s nothing wrong with a man making sexual advances to another adult as long as he is willing to take rejection without retaliating — and there isn’t a spouse at home expecting fidelity. But it really isn’t complicated. With colleagues, and especially with subordinates, there’s a clear line.
Rep. Susan Lontine, who told The Post a lawmaker touched her inappropriately during her first legislative session, has brilliant parting words: “I will say that, in the past, I’ve just put up with it. I’ve just laughed it off, ‘You’re so funny,’ when comments are made. I’ve decided I’m not going to put up with it anymore.”