Sylvia Ann Hewlett - #MeToo in the Corporate World: Power, Privilege, and the Path Forward

It was Friday afternoon in late January and I was chomping at the bit, eager to leave the office. I had turned twenty-three two days earlier and had a celebration to get to. My sister was throwing a party for me at the flat we shared in West Hampstead. I wanted to get home to help her set up.

I checked my watchfor the umpteenth time. It was only 4:30 p.m., still too early to walk out the door. As a new employee (just three months on the job) I felt obligated to stick around until at least 5:30. I opened up a data file I was working on and attempted to settle down.

A few minutes later there was a tap on the frosted glass panel that ran along the side of my desk. Sebastian Tylers large head loomed over the edge of my cubicle. Come join me for a drink, he boomed, thrusting his face uncomfortably close to mine. I shrank back, trying to avoid spittle as well as a lewd leer. Five oclock sharp, something strong. Sebastian wet his fleshy lips and stared at me. I think you know where my office is.

Beating back shock and surprise, I made my excuses: Afraid that cant work, Mr. Tyler. I need to leave a little early today. It was my birthday earlier this week and I have plans with friends. Sebastian straightened up and pondered. Then, with a salacious grin and an air of triumph, he thrust his face into mine again. Tell you what. Ill be very happy with a hand job, and that wont take very long. Come along about 4:45 p.m. and youll be out of here in a jiffy. Sebastian let out a snort of satisfaction, turned on his heel, and leftleaving me reeling.

I fled to the ladies room and rinsed my hands and facethree times. I took the stairs, left the building by the side door, and headed to the Underground. Before getting on the tube at Green Park, I stopped for a cup of tea at Lyons to steady my nerves before heading home.

I was gobsmacked. There had been no lead-up to Sebastians crude proposition. He was the boss of my boss, and I hardly knew him. Wed had one previous encounter. In mid-December, at the firms Christmas party, Id somehow ended up in a stilted conversation with him and his wife, Ava. What did this overweight, sweaty, married man, twice my age think he was doing? Did he really imagine that I fancied him? Sebastians arrogance and entitlement were breathtaking.

I was also ashamed. Had I somehow signaled I was available for hand jobs on Friday afternoons? I was pretty sure I didnt come across as a siren. My go-to office outfits were Ann Taylor suits and high-necked blouses. I didnt wear come hither shoes or crack jokes with sexual innuendos. Yet even though I couldnt put my finger on the reason why, I still felt complicit, deserving of shame and blame.

But most of all, I was scared. How the heck was I going to fight off Sebastian?

He had enormous power over me. Sebastian was on the management committee of the prominent consultancy where I worked and could make or break my fledgling career. I could only imagine how vindictive hed be if I had the temerity to reject his advances. He was so full of himself he probably thought he was doing me a favor by inviting me to give him a hand job at the end of the working day! This huge sense of entitlement would spur him to retaliate viciously. Hed probably throw me out on my ear without a reference and therefore no prospect of landing another job in the consulting sector.

By the time I left the tea shop that Friday afternoon, I had made two decisions. I would deal with my shame and self-blame by keeping quietnot telling anyone. I reckoned that would reduce the humiliation and the cost to friends and family. I would also do my level best to dodge Sebastiankeep out of his way and hope he would go away. If he persisted, I would turn him down. I couldnt live with myself if I caved in to his demands.

Over the next couple of weeks a few things unfolded.

Sebastian did not let up. The following Wednesday I attended a division-wide, end-of-month planning session led by Sebastian and the CEO of the firm. The meeting ended at noon. As participants collected their notes and headed for the door, Sebastian peered over his bifocals, waved in my direction, and said loudly, See that new girl? Now she has a smashing figure. Theres definitely an upside to hiring women. He chortled, and several other male executives joined in. Deeply embarrassed, I pretended I hadnt heard and slipped out of the room.

Two days later, Sebastian sidled up behind me as I was standing in the lunch line in the cafeteria. With a dozen or so colleagues looking on, he whispered in my ear, slapped my bottom two or three times, and walked away laughing. I was beyond mortified. The slaps were bad enough, but even more humiliating were the ways he affected familiarity and ownership. It was as though he wanted everyone to think that we had a sexual thing going on, that I belonged to him.

He made that point even more brutally later that day. It was midafternoon and I was in what was called the Xeroxing room, copying some documents, when Sebastian walked in. After checking that no one else was around, he closed the door, turned off the lights, and grabbed me. He went for my breasts, yanking on them, pulling them out of my blouse and my bra. He then began squeezing and twisting my nipples. I let out a loud squeal of painwhich seemed to bring him to his senses. A slobbering kiss and he was gone, leaving me a wreck.

Trembling, I stayed quiet for a few minutes and focused on just breathing. I then smoothed my hair and went to work to deal with the blouse situationit was missing three buttons, so I used paper clips to hold it together. But my ordeal wasnt over. When I emerged from that small dark room, I encountered a queue of curious coworkers. Sebastian had spread the word that I had been hit with a debilitating migraine, had retreated to the Xeroxing room, and was not to be disturbed. Of course, no one believed him. As I scuttled by this line of male colleagues, they took in my flushed face and tattered blouse and made judgments.

People gossiped. Rumors spread. Before long nearly all of my immediate colleagues believed that I was having an affair with Sebastian. They became wary of me, afraid to share work-related problems for fear that I would tell on them to the big boss. They also became resentful, convinced that I now had unfair advantages and would be first in line for a pay hike or promotion. Shunned and surrounded by suspicion, I became totally isolated. No one was willing to look at my draft reports, involve me in new projects, invite me to client meetings, or even grab a coffee with me.

I was at my wits end. I figured it was useless to go to HR, widely seen as feeble and in the pocket of senior management. The top brass would simply protect one of their own. So I approached the professor who had recommended me for my consulting jobsomeone who had supervised my honors thesis and knew quite a bit about my ambitions and capabilities. We made an appointment, and I traveled up to Cambridge to get his help.

Over tea and biscuits I told him of the poisonous brew I was facing at work, how harassment and isolation were making it difficult to do my job. I asked him: Did he know any other senior executives at the firm, and if so, could he appeal to them on my behalf? I needed one or two of the top dogs to rein Sebastian in. Professor Coea kindly mangave me his full attention. At the end of my appeal, he pushed his teacup aside, sighed deeply, and told me the bad news.

Best get out of there. Sebastian is a prickIve known him for twenty years, and hes always been a prick. But the fact is, hes the biggest producer and runs the show. I do know one or two chaps at the top, but they wouldnt intervene.