In every singles ward I’ve ever attended, there have been predators.
Often they are charming, talented, witty men. Often they are proactive about quoting prophets and volunteering for service projects and asking women on dates. To their fellow Elders Quorumites, the predators are often indistinguishable from ordinary Priesthood holders.
But women suspect trouble. Stories of terrible dates, of over-aggressive advances, of nasty breakups and refusing to respect boundaries, quietly percolate among Relief Societies. When these women see a creepy or known threat approaching a friend, they quietly pull her aside and whisper a word of warning.
These whispers help protect women’s friends, but they leave gaps. Young, or brand new, or socially unconnected, or vulnerable women are approached by the flattering guys before they receive the whisper warnings. Sometimes sisters with the most institutional ward knowledge move away or get married, leaving a gap in the furtive rumormongering. The same whisper networks which protect women also serve to protect the predatory man. Meanwhile, men in single wards are often oblivious that the whispers, or the threats, exist.
As a First Amendment lawyer and Mormon socialite in the era of #MeToo, this dynamic has weighed heavily on my mind. I have never publicly identified them, but most of my #MeToo stories involve Mormon men.
In London, one Mormon guy said hi to me – the new intern – walking out of the chapel on a Sunday afternoon. We started chatting and wandering around Hyde Park, surrounded by other ward members enjoying the beautiful day. Within ten minutes he started aggressively flirting with me. The other Mormons scattered, I suspect because either they were uncomfortable or assumed the PDA was consensual. For the next 4 hours, the guy put his arms around me, tried to kiss me, told me how beautiful I was, and at one point disturbingly babbled about how the Bishop had instructed him to stay away from women but that didn’t make sense since isn’t the purpose of Mormon singles wards to date and get married? I told him I had homework and needed to leave. I tried to lead him to a false address. I refused to give him a real number. I made sure we stayed on public paths. I thought about slapping him for repeatedly trying to kiss me, but I was scared he would retaliate. Eventually I escaped. And then ran to my room and cried, dreaming of burning the dress I had worn that day because I felt so contaminated.
In Spain, one Mormon guy invited me – the new study abroad student – to a soccer watch party for the dozen or so singles in our family ward. I had attended several similar events in my first weeks there and loved them. I navigated the city bus and showed up at his house … but no one else was there. No one else was coming. He had lied to me. He turned on the TV and started trying to cuddle with / flirt with me. Uncomfortable, I insisted on going home. The Spirit was screaming at me in Spanish to get away. He responded by trying to cajole me into spending the night instead. Eventually he drove me home, protesting about how I had inconvenienced him by not sleeping over. On Sunday, I quietly approached the other single girls for intelligence – and heard multiple accounts about this guy having a history of preying on study abroad students.
I don’t know how to describe the terror of being a woman and realizing you’re alone or stuck with a guy who just proved he’s untrustworthy and doesn’t respect boundaries. A man who has broken one norm will break more, and you have no idea which ones. You have to figure out a way to gently extricate yourself from the situation without escalating – because the all-to-possible result of you firmly rejecting him is violence.
Years ago in Washington, D.C., a Mormon guy asked me – the new intern – on a date. We had chatted a few times at church and I thought he was witty and flirtatious and well-read. Five minutes into the date, I asked him a small-talk question about his job. “Wow Carolyn,” he teased. “We haven’t even kissed yet and already you’re evaluating my long-term career potential?” I instinctively threw up a wall. “Neither are we going to: I don’t kiss on first dates.”
Apparently he took my boundary as a challenge. He started cuddling with me as soon as we sat down at our jazz show. I tried to pull away. I tried to push his arm away. I tried to get up and go to the bathroom to break contact. Every attempt made him pull me in tighter – I didn’t know how to communicate any clearer that I wanted him to stop, so I gave up. Until he tried to kiss me. At that point I pulled away and repeated, “I told you: I don’t kiss on first dates.”
“I know you said that earlier,” he slimily winked. “But I was just testing to see if you had the courage to stand up for your convictions.”
Once home, I complained to some roommates. They started telling me stories of him acting the same way when they or their friends had moved into the ward in prior years. “He’s super flirty.”
Two or so weeks after that icky date was Valentine’s Day. My internship that day had been exhausting. As I sat down on the DC Metro, I leaned my head against a window and closed my eyes. I felt another passenger sit down next to me, heard the doors close, and dozed off as the train started moving. Suddenly I felt an eerie shift in the air. I cracked opened my eyes. The Mormon guy from the terrible date was hovering over my face, his lips pursed approximately one inch from mine. I startled, and he smoothly pulled back as if nothing had happened. Instead he pulled a rose from a bouquet in his hand and handed it to me. “Hi Carolyn, Happy Valentine’s Day, I just wanted to make sure that you and all the women in my life feel loved today.”
A few nights later, he was at a single’s ward party in my neighborhood. He swung by to ask what time he should pick me up the next morning – he had offered to drive me to the airport. I gave him a time, but then he attempted to barter for a kiss in exchange. I rebuffed him.
“Gosh, if you’re going to play hard-to-get, maybe I should just go flirt with your roommate instead,” he teased with a harsh edge.
I decided to deadpan match his tone: “I doubt that would work, considering she’s already rejected you.”
I’ll never forget his response. He recoiled like he’d been bitten by a tiger. He stood up and yelled at me that if I was going to be that ungrateful and disrespectful I could find my own ride. He may have sworn. Then he stormed out of my living room and slammed the door.
I remember feeling simultaneously guilty that I had accidentally offended him, and deeply relieved that his anger meant I had gotten rid of him. I shared the story with some friends and co-interns, placing a heavy dose of blame on myself. No one except my sister flagged that this guy’s behavior was textbook abusive. Instead my peers joked, “oh that’s just how he acts, don’t take him seriously” and “of course he tried to kiss you, that’s what guys do – he wouldn’t be a man if he hadn’t tried!”
It’s been more than a decade since then, but I have witnessed and heard creepy and scary and harassing story after story after story among Mormon women about the same guy. I once staged an intervention with a friend because his behavior was so concerning. Yet I am terrified to name him, or any of the perpetrators of my other listed and unlisted stories, by name.
Why? Why am I so afraid?
One, because it wasn’t — that— bad. A guy tried to kiss me a couple times over the course of a few weeks a decade ago, and failed. What do I have to complain about? Besides, my personal experiences are stale. I have more recent information that the specific DC guy’s harassing behavior may have continued or gotten worse, but it’s based on mere extrapolations and rumors. (The same is true for my other #MeToos; I know worse stories, but they are not mine to tell.)
Two, naming him could ruin my reputation. Venting about someone else is never an attractive look. Telling these stories could paint me in my DC Mormon community as a vindictive, lying, overreacting b****.
Three, I believe in the power of the Atonement. I believe people can mature and change. I unfriended him on Facebook years ago. Maybe he’s improved? Maybe he’s stopped treating women as objects? Maybe he’s moved away? I do not know. Even if, as I suspect, the creepy patterns continue, my paramount goal is to protect women, not cause collateral damage in his work or friendships unrelated to his (toxic) romantic relationships.
Four, I’ve unexpectedly had internet posts go viral a few times in my life. It’s overwhelming and the consequences can be unpredictable. I’m acutely aware that naming him could financially harm him – which in turn could prompt legal action for defamation against me. Now, I’m a First Amendment lawyer, and I’m telling the truth, and I have friends and contemporaneous journal entries and texts that would corroborate my stories. But I have litigated #MeToo cases, and they’re nasty no matter who is “right.”
Five, at some level he’s not prominent enough to matter. Ironically women have greater legal protection the more famous their harasser is. The everyday harasser in a workplace or singles ward? It’s easier for a woman to just run away, scattering a few whispers in her wake. Meanwhile women expect most supervisors or bishops will dismiss those whispers as flukes and brush them under the rug.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to tell others to do. I can’t find a good solution.
For years I felt guilty “gossiping” about these predatory men. I felt like if I were more Christlike I would move on, forgive the men, and shut up. But in the era of #MeToo, my perspective has shifted. Whisper networks are how women protect each other. I’m filled with fear for the unwitting women who enter the predators’ orbits. Do I have a duty to name the men I know firsthand are bad news, in an attempt to protect their future victims? If we all compared notes and named them, would we be any safer?
I also don’t know what to do about my oblivious guyfriends in the Elders Quorums. I once stood in a singles ward party and overheard a guy I knew was trouble cracking crass jokes about how he was only staying with his girlfriend because she had big breasts. Another time I sat at a desk while a man joked about murdering his wife so he could swap her out for his hot secretary. Both times, the other men in the room looked a bit awkward but laughed off the sexist jokes. It sent the unmistakable signal to me that no matter how much bystander men proclaim they respect women, they don’t recognize and are not willing to confront the warning signs. They aren’t going to listen to the ladies when we try to explain that their good buddy’s “joke” was the tip of the abusive iceberg.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what society should do. I don’t know what the Church should do. Predation is a cancer, and I cannot find a cure. I’m scared to name names, and I’m simultaneously scared my silence harms innocent women. The best I’ve come up with is the whisper network – but I’m acutely aware it’s not enough.
*Photo Attribution, Mayr on Flickr.