On cock-sucking jokes & decades of shame
I consider myself lucky: I’ve been told to suck a colleague’s cock only at one of the jobs I’ve had. It’s a job that I talk about a lot. I am proud how I got it; of the kind of designer I was while employed there; and of the intellectual paths it helped me discover. I speak about these things to my students as lessons of how to find what intimidates them and go after it with all their youthful zest.
But, in the past 17 years, I have never spoken about the cock sucking humour.
I am writing this today — after avoiding the task for months — because of a sense of responsibility to add to the many voices of women in tech, and contribute to our collective record-keeping. To help make visible that which is systematically hidden.
So, back to this job. In early 2000, I attended a presentation by a creative director from a web design company that was located on the Halifax waterfront. The moment it ended, I knew I had to work there. I was about to graduate with a BDes Honors in Digital Media from NSCAD University, and this company looked like the New York Times equivalent for launching one’s web design career. I shook hands, called, got an interview, and started the job even before receiving my parchment. They occupied the 20th and 21st floor of The (note the capital T) Building in Halifax. It was all open concept desk sharing, visible design process, beer in the cooler, and company retreats. I had amazing colleagues (technical writers, designers, testers, and programmers), went through a great HTML training program and, within three months, clients were selecting my design proposals through an open-pitch approach that didn’t seem to favour seniority. It was absolute fucking perfection for a twenty year old who wanted to live her work.
A great job, full of great people (are you sensing a turn here?)
By the time I reached my four-month anniversary, I had met everyone at the office. We worked in small teams, with each team responsible for one web design project. Teams were comprised of one senior designer or creative director, one or more (regular) designer, a programmer, and a tester (eventually those were called UX specialists, but in 2000 the term wasn’t yet in wide use). The programmers and the testers were housed on the 21st floor, and the designers, the CEO, and the technical writers lived on the 20th. The 20th was also the beer’s home (in fact, the beer room was right by my desk).
I fill in these details so you’ll accurately picture my surroundings: desks attached to one another, the CEO embedded into our group, everyone freely chatting about projects, resources, and meetings, and everyone openly socializing. Folks from the 21st would come share our desks when they coded our designs. We spent nights together working to deadlines.
I don’t remember, precisely, when the jokes about cocks and cock sucking began, or the ass smacks and lewd close-captioned glares, but I know they got a lot worse once the next, new designer was hired: a big, deep-voiced male, with the same degree as I had. He was placed at the desk attached to mine. From then on, every day I would attempt to manage an onslaught of awkwardly and unsuccessfully veiled references to breasts, cocks, cum, cunts, and a multitude of under-the-desk acts. The programmers escalated their comments, joining in or initiating at every opportunity. All of them senior to and older than me.
Most of the comments were made in full ear shot of my other colleagues. They were made daily, unrelentingly.
When I spoke back, it was taken as a joke or I was told to loosen up and not be such a bore. I wanted to keep this job. I wanted to be accepted and included because collegiality was praised above all else, and collegiality meant being asked to work on new projects.
On January 3rd, a bunch of us were ushered into the conference room. I looked around and counted the female and male faces. This company was 80–20 male-female and, in that room, that ratio was reversed. 15 of us were laid off that day, citing the dot com bust as the culprit. We were offered a pittance of compensation. Illegally, as I soon discovered (thanks to a female tech writer who’s husband was a lawyer. She risked her own position to tell me how much the severance had to be). When I pushed back against HR, armed with this information, they made me promise to not tell any of the others. I called everyone anyway.
Though the layoff came as a shock, and the gender imbalance and subsequent compensation fiasco left a bad taste in my mouth, being let go in such a way, fundamentally, never felt like a problem. The sudden change of direction gave me the motivation to apply to grad school. The severance made it possible to buy my first car and relocate to the other side of the country. But I was left wondering, even all these years later, if the harassment and the gender discrimination were connected.
Scenario 1: my male colleagues make sexual and dehumanizing remarks, but when it comes to the layoffs, the company conducts them with clarity, transparency, and equality. As a result, I hold those specific individuals at fault, though continue to see their behaviour as deeply rooted in misogyny.
Scenario 2: my male colleagues treat me with respect, but when it comes to the layoffs, the company ignores competence and seniority, and attempts to mislead its employees. As a result, I see corporations as self-serving systems that will use all means, including patriarchy, to screw over the “other”.
How likely is it then that both of my experiences didn’t stem from the same toxic source?
Other than standing with women who are harassed, daily, by their bosses, colleagues, or clients — qualified for that amazing job, excited to get it, then finding themselves in a testosterone-fuelled outhouse — can this story do any good? Now that I’ve finally been able to reflect on my experience, do I have any advice to give? Can I, ethically, tell women not to stay silent like I did, knowing that I didn’t speak out for very real and legitimate reasons, and knowing that none of those reasons have disappeared?
I can’t.
What I can offer is this: for the past 17 years, I have felt shame for not trying harder, when still with the company, to bring attention to the harassment that was taking place: I should have spoken out; I should have gone to HR; I should have quit…17 years of cycling through shame, disgust, and anger. But nothing about the culture of that company communicated to me — a twenty-year-old, fresh into the real world woman — that I wouldn’t be punished. What I saw in the complacency and/or participation of others was the rewarding of collegiality at all costs. What I saw in the layoff ratio, was clear hierarchy and preference — punishment based on gender. #metoo
I now tell my students the following:
- Find what intimidates you and go after it with all your youthful zest. Go for it, but do so knowing that you’re worth a good job. A good job that’s more than good experience or exciting projects; more than perks or a youthful-sounding mission statement. You’re worth the kind of job where you’re treated with respect, and where you can trust that you’ll be heard if you don’t get it.
- If you’re not treated with equality and respect in one area, it is likely you will be seen and treated as a less valuable human being in other areas as well. This lack of equality will continue to manifest (with you at the receiving end) in times of company stress, inter-personal conflict, or economic downturn.
- If you don’t get treated with respect, know that you’re not alone, and if you have to remain silent, there’s no shame in making that choice. I am now in a position of privilege (though not without its issues), but I remember that toxic world, and I will continue to work, on your and my own behalf, to make it better.
Still Curious?
I teach, design, and research as a feminist scholar, usually located in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. You can see some of my work, or find out more about me, at http://milenaradzikowska.com. I am on twitter as @candesignlove.
