Not That Bad

Published originally on Adolescent

Months ago, I sat in a classroom, fingers dug into knees, and uninhabited my body. I wrote about the experience immediately following it, but I reflect on it now with more understanding, and perhaps a clearer empathy, than I did then.

We were discussing the accusations against Aziz Ansari, by an anonymous woman known as “Grace.” “Discussing” is an improper word; dismissing feels more accurate. The quietness of the girls in the room compared to the outspokenness of the boys caused a revelation for me. A disorienting, somewhat traumatic revelation, but important nonetheless. The boys argued, largely, what most critics of the story did: this story is being blown out of proportion. It’s not really rape. It’s unfortunate, but it’s not worth ruining a man’s career over. He’s a feminist! We don’t even know who she is. Aren’t there more important things to discuss? It’s not like he’s Harvey Weinstein level.

That last idea — that only what we collectively consider the “worst of the worst” is worth talking about — is what scares me most. Roxane Gay edited an anthology of writing about sexual violence, in all its multifaceted forms, titled, fittingly, Not That Bad. The collection was recently released, and I dove into the discomfort of reading it, the self-recognition, the turbulence of emotion that swelled up in me and my memory. The title is what gets me, though: not that bad. What we were discussing, in that classroom, didn’t merit discussion, because in the scheme of things, it was not that bad.