Recognising Sexual Harm
We all know sexual harassment is wrong. Most of us have been taught how to stop it, and how to address it when we can’t.
But what if we struggle to recognise it in the first place?
I was invited to the FeKK Film Festival in Ljubljana to speak about #MeToo and sexual harassment in film festival environments. The below is an abridged version of what I shared during the workshop. Most violations are carried out by men, which is why I use he/him in addition to they/them. But if it still needs saying: not all men commit sexual violations, not all perpetrators are men, and not all victims are women.
Click here to cut straight to Five things I want people to know about sexual harm in professional contexts
A decade after the #MeToo movement began, sexual harassment and other forms of unwanted sexualisation or abuse remain widespread. In the film and television industry in particular, freelance work, lack of official reporting lines, informal networks, frequent travel, and overlaps between work and social events can make people especially vulnerable.
A survey conducted by USA Today together with Women in Film and Television and the National Sexual Violence Resource Center a few years ago stated that 94% of women in Hollywood experience sexual harassment or assault.
The behaviour is varied: Nearly 90% of women reported “unwelcome sexual comments, jokes or gestures”. and more than two-thirds said they were touched in a sexual way. One in five women reported that they have been forced to do a sexual act. and 10% said they were unexpectedly ordered to appear naked.
The most serious offences are, thankfully, the least common. But it is still far too common. And because it comes in many different forms, it can be difficult to recognise.
Helpfully, the EU’s Recast Equal Treatment Directive (2006/54/EC) — later transposed into the UK’s Equality Act 2010 — gives us a workable legal definition for sexual harassment:
unwanted verbal, non-verbal or physical conduct of a sexual nature that has the purpose or effect of either violating a person’s dignity, or creating an intimidating, hostile, degrading, humiliating or offensive environment for them.
When we think about the type of person who commits sexual harassment, we can construct an easy narrative. Maybe there have been rumours, or maybe you just have a feeling. He abuses power, intimidates those around him, and takes — or attempts to take — sexual gratification even when he’s not entitled to it, because he is a “bad person”.
But there are other stories.
In those stories, you know his good qualities, and he knows yours. You like spending time with him — perhaps even where your professional and social sides blur together: coffee, networking, industry events, wrap parties. And, yes — maybe there was flirtation. Maybe there was alcohol. Maybe you were wearing a sexy dress.
But you’re safe. Because you’re not working with a dangerous person.
And yet sometimes, even “good people” can cause profound harm.
People whose visions we share, and whose creative instincts we respect.
People with whom we’ve laughed, and in whom we’ve confided.
People we may still, maddeningly, care about.
One of the hardest things I’ve had to learn is that we don’t need to characterise someone as a villian in order to take the harm they’ve caused seriously. And it wasn’t until I went through what I did that I realised: even a lawyer can suffer from logical fallacies.
And with sexual trauma or any sort of abuse, that logical fallacy can look something like this:
“He isn’t a bad person.”
Therefore
“He couldn't have meant to hurt me.”
Therefore
“Perhaps I misunderstood...”
Therefore
“Perhaps nothing happened.”
Therefore
“I wasn’t sexually violated.”
But “he isn't a bad person” and “I was sexually violated” are not mutually exclusive. Both statements can be true.
The question to answer isn’t whether I liked him.
It isn’t whether I flirted, enjoyed drinks together, or wore a sexy dress.
It isn’t even whether or not I enjoyed the attention.
The only relevant questions are about what happened,
and whether I consented to that.
Five things I want people to know about sexual harm in professional contexts
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Sometimes the first disclosure will not sound like a disclosure at all.
It might sound like: “I don’t know if this counts.”
Or: “I think I’m probably overreacting.”
Or simply: “Can I tell you something?”
It can take time to understand what happened, particularly where trust, attraction, alcohol, professional relationships, gaslighting, shame or self-doubt are involved.
A person may know that something felt wrong long before they know what legal or emotional label to give it.
That’s why we need psychologically safe spaces where people can speak before they have worked out the right terminology, and before they have decided what they want to happen next.
If someone comes to you in that position, you do not need to diagnose the situation for them.
You do not need to decide whether the other person is a narcissist, whether it was “just flirtation gone wrong”, or whether the conduct meets a particular legal threshold.
Sometimes the most useful response is simply: “I’m listening.”
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When someone is afraid, hurt, or confused, they may respond in any number of ways.
Fight is all about facing and controlling the threat by standing up for yourself. Perhaps it looks like calling them out. Asserting your dignity. Demanding accountability or justice. Reporting them to HR. Or the press. Or the police.
Flight is different. Here, the person tries to run away from danger. We think of this firstly as a physical movement away: leave the party. Block his number. Quit the job. But it can manifest in psychological or emotional escape, too. High anxiety, busyness, avoidance. Feelings such as shame, confusion, and gaslighting can exacerbate these tendencies.
Less discussed is the freeze response. In this case, the victim stops all movement or action. She feels numb, spaced out, stuck, or mentally foggy. Perhaps she lies still. Perhaps she stays quiet and overanalyses.
But in addition to fight, flight, and freeze, there is still yet another response to trauma.
And it’s one that may make little sense to outsiders: fawn.
When we’re fawning over someone, we’re praising them too much — giving them a lot of attention. And in the context of abuse, the victim is perhaps trying to please that person in order to stay safe. So she becomes useful, agreeable, or invisible. She ingratiates herself to the person that hurt her, so that he has no reason to attack.
Because sometimes, fighting back, running away, or shutting down will make everything worse.
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If there is something in your gut telling you this is not okay, take that feeling seriously.
Then write things down.
Not because you necessarily intend to report it, but because memory changes.
Record the timeline.
What happened, when, where, who was there, what was said, what happened afterwards.
Save messages, emails, call logs, screenshots, photographs, anything that might matter later.
Do not edit your memory into a legal statement.
Write down what you remember, including what you are unsure about.
Then find support.
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We are often told that victims of sexual violations should report the violation through official channels — tell HR, tell the manager, tell the police.
And if that doesn’t happen, the violation wasn’t serious enough.
That perspective is wrong.
Reporting is not necessarily the brave option, and not reporting is not necessarily the cowardly one. It can take time to figure out what you actually want the outcome to be.
Sometimes accountability and justice are the goal, and the best way to acheive it is through telling a colleague or the police.
Sometimes simply being heard and believed is the priority, which some people acheive through therapy or telling a trusted friend about what happened over a bottle of wine.
But either way, a victim does not owe the industry their trauma simply because telling the truth might protect somebody else.
Not saying anything at all is valid.
And sometimes, it is the safest move.
Reporting sexual violations — even when the victim has a valid claim, even when the law is clear — can be costly. It’s not uncommon for victims to decide that their reputation, confidentiality, career, or peace of mind are simply too valuable to risk.
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Lawyers are trained to ask whether a legal right has been infringed, whether there is enough evidence to prove it, and what remedy might be available.
But the law has thresholds, limitation periods, jurisdictional rules, evidential requirements and definitions.
Something may fall outside a particular legal claim.
There may simply not be enough evidence to safely pursue it.
Maybe the limitation period* to pursue a case has expired.
The police may decide that the criminal threshold has not been met.
Maybe the specific harm isn’t covered off yet in legislation (e.g. certain online content).
The perpetrator’s own legal rights might lead to a counterclaim.
Even where a legal remedy is available, it may not provide what the victim actually wants.
A damages payment is not the same as an apology.
Facing reprimand is not the same as having to take responsibility.
A successful complaint or prosecution may not restore trust, safety, or dignity.
Sometimes a victim wants something quieter: to be believed, to understand what happened, to have their boundaries recognised, or to reclaim the story in their own words.
The law is only one tool for responding to harm.
*The limitation period to bring a criminal sexual harassment claim in the United Kingdom can be as short as SIX MONTHS in certain situations.
