I’m no Harvey Weinstein... I know right from wrong. But I, too, abused women
Jaw-droppingly honest? Shockingly self-serving? YOU decide...
THE world of humanitarian aid is not Hollywood. And despite recent appearances, the world of humanitarian aid is much more than a sex party in Haiti. For sure I know I am not Harvey Weinstein. And I am not Roland van Hauwermeiren [the former Oxfam chief accused of using prostitutes in Haiti] .
But I think back to near the end of my 30-month stint as a rural development agent in west Africa. I went to the Flamboyant, a favourite nightclub for male expats in the capital of the country I worked in.
For most of my stint I had promoted and honoured the moral code that it was wrong to hook up with club girls and engage a ‘professional girlfriend’ as was common. Anxiety and insecurity propped up my sexual self-righteousness. But here is an entry from my diary that betrays the fragility and hypocrisy of my moral convictions.
‘I got horny enough to follow through on my resolve to get laid the easy way. It [the club] was packed with whores, some eye-catching and some not in the least bit so. Two ugly Ghanaians approached me but I told them not to come to my hotel. Then I went out and danced with a dungareed, alooflooking girl. Her name is Ami. Intelligent, distant, not very interesting in bed and attractive. I like her.’
Later I visited the Flamboyant again, leaving with a woman named Aisha. Another time with Maimouna. I would eventually try to justify my actions to my wife by saying there was never a direct transaction for money. Ami, Aisha, and Maimouna were not prostitutes, there was no quid pro quo. ‘I didn’t have any direct power over these women; they came on to me!’
YOU could find similar women in clubs in any major city in the world. Statuesque and intelligent young women who will leave with less statuesque though perhaps wealthier older men. I know I am no Harvey. I know I am no Roland. Over my 15 years with a big agency I had no relationships with beneficiaries, staff, prostitutes. I didn’t have a ‘professional girlfriend’ – where the financial transaction is unspoken, such as ‘help’ buying a new pair of shoes or dinner at a nice restaurant.
But as Quentin Tarantino said [about the Weinstein scandal]: ‘I knew enough to do more than I did.’ I recall the bevy of local girlfriends at the parties in Luanda; our wellmarked cars parked in the prostitute cruising area; seeing a local woman exit the shower in the morning, never to be seen again; cringeworthy relationships between senior and junior staff, or international and national staff.
This was the powerful sense of entitlement earned from the nobility of humanitarian aid. There were deep bays of machismo and rivers of old-boy networks that accounted for too much in the way of promotion and position. There was turning a blind eye not from fear but acceptance. That I helped develop our safeguarding policy and facilitated training sessions only complicates this picture. Sixteen years ago, a report exposing routine sexual abuse by aid workers on refugee children in west Africa jolted our sector. Progress was made. But jolts fade and cultures of abuse show resilience and endure.
The Oxfam scandal is deeply distressing, not least since Oxfam has always been among the finest in fighting this culture of abuse.
But the humanitarian sector descends as the saviour of helpless victims and it is within this lopsided environment that disturbing relationships take place. There is a risk in placing aid workers among the traumatised, desperate and broken. Aid work transforms an ordinary guy like me into a hedge fund titan or the owner of a Ferrari – it places in my pocket a ticket to the high life and a passport out of hell. Therein lay the path to my moral undoing.
IAM not Harvey. I am not Roland. But that is not good enough. We dwelled in the same culture. We propagated its rituals and allowed ourselves, in different ways, to become shamefully corrupted. This is the global culture of rape, harassment, abuse and the devaluation of women. It often faded to invisible for me, or was pushed aside by matters more comfortable to prioritise. Now we all need to be more open – although I fear the catastrophic impact of this saga on Oxfam risks driving these issues below ground and making them more difficult to expunge.
I had to read through months of my diary entries from more youthful days to locate my encounter with Ami. Many passages brought a smile or a sense of pride. Many others left a deep sense of sadness. I cried for a moment. It is painful not to be the person I believe myself to be. I knew right from wrong and yet I managed to find enough moral wiggle room to engage in abuse.
That women in Hollywood, politics and now the aid world speak of their experiences, and that men condemn those responsible – and accept responsibility for their own actions – is crucial. When it comes to aid work, men need to rethink what it means to possess and exercise power. Not just with regard to women. For it goes far deeper.
We are seeing the imbalances of power and the inequitable relationships that criss-cross the core culture of our sector.
Aid work transforms ordinary guys into hedge fund titans