Feminist writer Laurie Penny stirred up trouble last week by suggesting we treat a woman with compassion. Not, one would assume, a controversial concept – especially among ostensibly feminist liberals – but controversial nonetheless, as the woman in question was Melania Trump.
Melania has presented herself as a cog in the Trump bulldozer, currently demolishing the social fabric of the U.S. with offensives against women, migrants and refugees. The justifiable outrage needs a target and here sits an aloof, privileged woman, flaunting her obscene wealth, her quiet adornment of proceedings lending an air of legitimacy. It's easy to feel resentment.
I'll be honest. I'm not fond of Melania. I don't dislike her exactly, but I've been presented with little beyond an austere visual and sparse, unenthused words supporting her husband's goals. I don't feel I know Melania. What I do know, is that as First Lady of the U.S., the way Melania Trump is treated by her husband, the press and the left sets a cultural frame for how we treat women.
In the wake of the inauguration, speculation was rife regarding Trump's well documented misogyny and how it may be playing out in his marriage. Spurred by footage of inconsiderate behaviour and uncomfortable body language, Women's March protesters insinuated abuse with signs asking Melania to "blink twice if you need help".
Subsequent dismissal of these concerns (and to Penny's suggestion of compassion) from publications such as Jezebel and The Root have left me deeply unsettled.
Not because they deny any alleged abuse (I'd worry for anyone married to an habitual liar accused of multiple assaults, but Melania herself denies it and there is no legitimate evidence to base it on). What unsettles me is the outright wrath directed at Melania, and the profoundly patriarchal assumptions upon which it rests.
Certain phrases jumped out at me as the internet warmed to the subject matter. "She knew what she was getting into." "She supported him in public." "She has the means to leave." "She married him for money." "We should save our compassion for the real victims."
I believe Penny had the right of it when she described Melania Trump as "a salon-styled lightning rod for all of America's weird feelings about women," because, effectively, these reflections expose more about our codifications of women, and how we cast them in abuse narratives, than they do about Melania Trump.
With the world's superpowers openly chipping away at women's rights, I wonder if we should be more careful about reinforcing patriarchal narratives that abet abuse on a wider stage.
But what do these phrases reveal?
Incredibly, we still believe women are responsible for their own abuse if there were warning signs. An assertion that, in practicality, keeps victims of known offenders silent, understanding they'll be held accountable and derided if they come forward. Self-blame, pride and embarrassment can effectively immobilise victims, particularly when abusers have learned to reinforce and exploit those feelings. By insisting Melania Trump "knew what she was getting into", we inadvertently fortify the silence of all women who might find themselves in a similar position.
Taking a woman's public expressions of support for her spouse as evidence against abuse is also risky business, as consequences for failing to publicly support abusers can be dire. Facades of normalcy work in favour of abusers, and methods of manipulation, such as gaslighting, are commonly used to make victims complicit in maintaining them. Once this is achieved, fear of appearing hypocritical and thus being disbelieved can also work to keep victims quiet.
Then we have assumed that an affluent lifestyle means freedom from violence; but domestic violence occurs across socio-economic divides and can be just as fatal to high profile, wealthy women.
According to Dr. Jeanne King, a specialist in upscale abuse, women who disclose the domestic violence of powerful, wealthy men risk new "warfare" involving dream teams of lawyers and high risk of losing custody battles. "She's exposed his abuse from behind closed doors," King says, "and possibly ruined his career, so now there's a campaign against her." Could we blame a woman in Melania's position for keeping quiet?
"But she married him for money!" we cry, as though this apparent mark against a woman's character negates any wrongdoing that may be committed against her; the same logic, incidentally, used to dismiss the abuse of sex workers.
We still believe that a woman who uses her body, her desirability, for financial gain has implicitly given up her right to full humanity. Support therefore remains contingent upon a woman's conformity to acceptable notions of feminine modesty and sexual purity.
"But who cares?" we ask. We have other priorities. President Trump is already making victims of other women, of immigrants, of refugees, people without the resources or apparent culpability of Melania Trump.
But perhaps compassion is not a zero sum game. Perhaps failing to expose the misogyny of Melania's detractors will come back to bite us before all's done.
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