A Culture That Taught Men They Could |
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Culture has trained women to doubt their boundaries and men to see persistence as acceptable.
Power and status have shielded abusers from accountability for far too long.
#MeToo exposed patterns and empowered voices, but progress remains uneven.
Real systemic change requires cultural accountability.
Co-authored with Krista Smith, MSW, MAT
When I was just starting out in the workplace, I had a boss who liked to linger a little too long. He would comment on my appearance, thread compliments and veiled flirtation into ordinary conversation, and stand just a little too close for comfort.
The first few times it happened, I laughed it off. That is what I had been taught to do: Don’t be dramatic. Do not create unnecessary tension. Certainly don’t make things awkward with your boss.
So I smiled and tried to make nothing of it. But I knew what I felt: uncomfortable, disrespected, and annoyed. Even then, I understood that this behavior was not really about friendliness or flirtation. It was about power and entitlement. And I felt, as so many women have felt, that I was expected to accommodate it rather than risk being seen as difficult, humorless, or the one creating trouble.
Like many women, I learned early that part of moving through the world meant managing men’s behavior without naming it too directly. We were taught to defuse rather than confront. To absorb discomfort so others could remain comfortable. To laugh off what did not feel funny. That reflex was not instinctive. It was trained into many of us.
Women are often socialized to mistrust their own discomfort. We are encouraged to wonder whether something was really “that bad,” to smooth over moments that should give us pause, and to second-guess the wisdom of our own boundaries. Many men, meanwhile, are still socialized in the opposite direction: to read persistence as charm, to treat women’s boundaries as negotiable, and to mistake access for entitlement. Scale up that dynamic, and you begin to see how a culture is built.
Consider Jeffrey Epstein. For years, women and girls spoke up. Allegations accumulated. Yet the system responded with a familiar slowness, as though it could not quite absorb the meaning of what was being said. Wealth, status, and proximity to power helped shield him from accountability and distorted what others were willing to see. Around such men, our culture often follows a familiar script: dismissal, deflection, minimization, and gaslighting.
Gaslighting has become one of the signature tactics of this cultural era. Women describe something that happened, and they are told they misunderstood. They name a pattern, and they are accused of exaggeration, oversensitivity, or ulterior motives. The effect is not just denial but erosion: an attempt to wear away a woman’s trust in her own mind, her own perception, her own reality.
That is one reason the #MeToo movement felt so powerful when it surged into public consciousness. For a moment, it seemed we had reached a genuine turning point. Millions of women spoke openly about harassment, assault, coercion, and abuse. The sheer volume of testimony made one thing undeniable: these were not isolated stories. They were patterns. Many of us hoped that such collective truth-telling would usher in lasting change.
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And in some ways, it did. But progress has been uneven. Some powerful figures have faced consequences; others remain protected by institutions, money, ideology, or political loyalty. The #MeToo movement itself was complicated by accusations that it over-reached, criticized for flattening all men into villains or pretending all stories were simple. Many of those accusations were unfair—but not all. They were enough for some to deny the underlying dynamics that prompted #MeToo in the first place, to assume permission to resume the status quo.
This doesn’t mean #MeToo failed. In fact, it may have succeeded in one of the most important ways possible: It allowed women to reclaim their reality. When women speak together about what they have lived through, it becomes harder to dismiss each account as an exception, misunderstanding, or fabrication. Shared testimony creates a record by naming what was once kept private, fragmented, and easier to deny.
Women have spent generations being told to adapt—to tolerate, to keep the peace, to stay likable while navigating what should never have been theirs to manage. Real progress—true well-being—will require more than asking women to be stronger, louder, or more resilient. It will require giving women permission to feel their feelings without skepticism—and say no.
So, women should hold fast to the core truth that #MeToo surfaced: It is never okay for someone to make you feel that way.
Call it #MeToo 2.0: the individual choice each of us has to preserve our own boundaries. We can refuse to play along. We can call out someone who dismisses a demeaning joke, overly familiar contact, or sexist trope as “just kidding.” We can trust our gut.
The forces that animated #MeToo existed long before it was a hashtag, and they endure today. This Women’s History Month, and every day after, empowerment must mean more than celebrating women’s strength. It must also mean building a culture in which women are not asked to ignore their discomfort and perform pleasantries and politeness, and in which men are taught clearly that power is never permission.
The promise of movements like #MeToo was never that change would arrive all at once. Cultural shifts this deep rarely come easily. It is no easy thing to change what boys learn, what men excuse, what institutions protect, and what a culture is willing to call normal.
But every time a woman refuses to laugh off what is not funny, every time a bystander chooses courage over complicity, every time a community listens instead of dismissing, the ground shifts a little.
And the future becomes a little less hospitable to abuse hiding in plain sight.
Krista Smith, MSW, MAT, is Program Director for UPEACE NY and a Master of Nonprofit Leadership student at the University of Pennsylvania School of Social Policy and Practice. She is a former research associate at the Yale Center for Emotional Intelligence and high school educator.
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