The #MeToo movement was flawed from the start; co-opted – as worthy causes so often are – by white women, it promised a shift from the cultural power dynamics that silence survivors and embolden abusers. Inevitably, the movement struggled to deliver.
In 2017, following The New York Times' momentous exposé of Harvey Weinstein, the hashtag – originally coined by Tarana Burke in 2006 – was leveraged as a stance against the pervasive nature of sexual abuse in Hollywood. As the mighty (Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, Louis C.K., etc.) began to fall, it really felt as though something was going to change. Except, as with most landmark cultural moments – see Barack Obama's historic election wins in 2008 and 2012 – a societal backlash eventually ensued – see the reactionary presidency of Donald Trump in 2017-21.
As a 20-something woman then living in Yorkshire, the #MeToo movement always felt too far away; it was just another celebrity spectacle rippling through my Twitter feed, leaving nothing tangible in its wake.
As awards ceremonies vied to deliver the most impactful references to #MeToo – largely in the form of black couture gowns – powerful men accused of violence against women still reigned supreme. At the 2018 Oscars, Gary Oldman – whose ex-wife accused him of choking her and beating her with a telephone in front of their children – picked up the gong for Best Actor, and the late Kobe Bryant – was charged with sexually assaulting a 19-year-old woman in 2003 – won the award for Best Animated Short Film.
[Oldman denied the allegations, describing them as “replete with lies, innuendoes and half-truths.” Bryant's case was dropped by prosecutors, and he later reached a private settlement with the complainant. After the criminal case was dismissed, Bryant said, "After months of reviewing discovery, listening to her attorney, and even her testimony in person, I now understand how she feels that she did not consent to this encounter.”]
Female musicians are still facing relentless misogyny, MPs warn.
While #MeToo got off to a shaky start, its legacy is also left wanting. Weinstein was found guilty of rape and sexual assault in 2020, but he's remained firmly in the public eye after winning a bid to appeal his convictions earlier this year. Louis C.K. was briefly “cancelled” after he admitted to flashing and masturbating in front of five different women, but this year he won a literal Grammy for his comedy album, which directly addressed his sexual misconduct. In 2018, James Franco wore a #TimesUp pin to the Golden Globes, where Seth Myers joked about him being the next male celebrity to be mentioned in the #MeToo conversation. Note: this was after he'd allegedly flirted with a 17-year-old girl on Instagram and before he settled a lawsuit with two former students who alleged he took advantage of them at his acting school.
[Franco addressed the Instagram messages on Live with Kelly and Michael, saying, “I used bad judgment and I learned my lesson.” He also admitted to sleeping with students during his career.]
It begs the question: What did we think a “post #MeToo” society would actually look like? Did we expect – shock horror – for men who abuse women to be held accountable? In a 2019 interview, Tarana Burke reflected on how perpetrators of sexual violence could be treated in the aftermath of their exposure, saying, "We can't move to a culture that eliminates sexual violence if we're not dealing with how harm-doers become harm-doers and how they undo that.
“Leaving them in a heap on the side of the road is not the answer; allowing them to sneak back in through the back door [...] and acting like nothing happened [is not] the answer. There should be an expectation that there's real rehabilitation and that [offenders] have seen the light and want to make dramatic shifts in their behaviour.”
From slut-shaming in the playground to media reporting around rape, something needs to change.
Sadly, Hollywood has little appetite for rehabilitation and shifts in behaviour. Instead, in 2022 alone, we've witnessed the silencing and degradation of famous women who allege that they've been assaulted and/or abused.
The most obvious example is Amber Heard, who was sued for defamation by her ex-husband, Johnny Depp, earlier this year. During the trial, Heard was subject to relentless trolling and misogynistic abuse by Depp fans and public figures – she was even called out by a make-up brand, while Depp was hero-worshipped. Similarly, in the aftermath of the trial – in which Heard was judged to have defamed Depp – Heard largely fell out of the public eye, while Depp was invited to appear at the VMAs, his face projected onto an astronaut suit.
Depp v Heard was a PR masterclass on how to vilify alleged survivors of domestic violence. Unlike the #MeToo movement, I've felt the impact of Depp v Heard on a far more personal level. Earlier this month, Sean Lloyd appeared in Leeds Crown Court – a 40-minute drive from my parent's house – where the court heard how he had brutally attacked his ex-partner. Incidentally, he had her name saved as “Amber Heard” on his phone (via Yorkshire Live). The ramifications of Depp v Heard weren't limited to Hollywood, but – of course – they're still unfolding across the entertainment industry.
Court documents from Depp v Heard show that Marilyn Manson previously referred to his wife, Lindsay Usich, as “Amber 2.0” (via People). He's currently in the process of suing Evan Rachel Wood for defamation after she alleged that he groomed her as a teenager, manipulated her, and abused her for years. Responding to the allegations, Marilyn Manson shared an Instagram post saying, "There will come a time when I can share more about the events of the past year. Until then, I’m going to let the facts speak for themselves.”
A similar sentiment has been picked up on social media – presumably by Depp-stans who want to relive the excitement of Depp v Heard all over again. Evan Rachel Wood has been dubbed “Another Amber Heard in the making”, while the hashtag #EvanRachelWoodIsALiar has already amassed hundreds of tweets. We're seeing this happen – in real-time – to all female celebrities who come forward, whether it's Megan Thee Stallion being accused of lying about getting shot or the backlash to Angelina Jolie's allegations that Brad Pitt assaulted her and her children.
A representative for Pitt denied the allegations, calling them “another rehash that only harms the family.”
Not only has Hollywood failed to turf out abusers, but it's also opted to profit from the stories of survivors. Brad Pitt – the same Brad Pitt accused of assaulting his wife – is one of the producers for She Said, a film about the journalists whose investigations of Harvey Weinstein kicked off the mainstream #MeToo movement. In her 2018 Washington Post op-ed – for which she was sued by Depp – Heard presciently wrote, “I had the rare vantage point of seeing, in real time, how institutions protect men accused of abuse.” Five years on from the #MeToo movement, it's a vantage point that more and more of us – are beginning to share.
For more information about emotional abuse and domestic violence, you can call The Freephone National Domestic Abuse Helpline, run by Refuge on 0808 2000 247.
For more information about reporting and recovering from rape and sexual abuse, you can contact Rape Crisis.
If you have been sexually assaulted, you can find your nearest Sexual Assault Referral Centre here. You can also find support at your local GP, voluntary organisations such as Rape Crisis, Women's Aid, and Victim Support, and you can report it to the police (if you choose) here.
The resources and helplines you need to know.
For more from Glamour UK's Lucy Morgan, follow her on Instagram @lucyalexxandra.
